The Challenges of Unadvised Performance and Investments

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

THE LAWS OF CHAOS part 1.

The child who wakes up covered in puke is exactly the child whose entire bedding set got washed the day before.

The day that your husband has put extensive effort into getting dinner reservations and babysitting lined up BY HIMSELF will be the day that a pregnant woman will come in for her appointment, in preterm labor.  And the night will then consist of corndogs and Blues Clues with a 3 year old.

The one day in a million that you all are ready for church with ample time to spare will be the morning that the youngest steps in a pile of dog shit, and gets into the car, and climbs all over the drivers seat ...before anyone notices.

The one full can of paint that you forgot to tightly seal will be the can that is tipped over by the three year old... on the newly laid kitchen floor.

The kitchen chairs you painstakenly strip and stain will be the exact item your son decides to use as a teething toy.

The rescue dog that you adopt and treat to a day at the puppy spa will be the dog that rolls in cow shit the very next day.

The 30 year old  collectible John Deere tractors (still in the box) are exactly the toys a three year old will stack a chair on top of a table to retrieve and remove from their boxes.

When your nephew asks  "Do we need to take this along?" regarding the bucket filled with tire jacks and tire changing tools, and you reply "Nope!" will be the exact bucket you need when the trailer blows a tire less than 15 miles from your house... in sleeting rain and 40mph winds.

The wallpaper you decide to paint over, for fear of finding paneling underneath it, will be the exact wallpaper your toddler decides to pick at and peel off chunks... in several spots.

We call this style Modern Toddlerism with a hint of Destruction

When on a nature walk with your toddler, the one thing laying on the ground, a dessicated racoon poop, will be the one thing he mistakes for a cheetoh... and eats.

The only household chore that will be copied with zealousness by a toddler will be cleaning the toilet, and walls, and floor... with the toilet brush.

The night you decide to stay up way too late gluttonously watching a Hoarders marathon (in an attempt to feel better about your own house) will be the night before your children will wake up a two hours earlier than normal.

The day you forget to put away your inhaler is the day the 3 year old decides to freshen the bathroom with an "albuterol air freshener."

If you are born a night owl, you will marry a morning dove, and birth only morning doves.

If you wait for 10 years to buy your first home together, the zipcode in which you wish to purchase said house will be declared a Natural Disaster Area due to flooding. Mortgage companies don't particularily like Natural Disaster Areas.

And finally, the expensive vet-prescribed dog food you buy is refused by the same dog that prefers to eat cat poop and dead deer carcasses.

I is smart.

  

My Summertime Fashion Public Service Announcement

Summer is back! Time for grilling, bonfires, playing at the lake and my least favorite thing: short shorts!!  I really only have two soap boxes, one being leggings, and the other short shorts.  I've already expressed my thoughts on leggings, and now is perfect timing to share my observations on the most unflattering fashion fad, the short short.

Though I have no proof, I believe the concept of short shorts was hatched in some parents' basement by pubescent males whose only reference to the actual female form came from their sister's Barbies or Candace from Phineas and Ferb.  The concept works for approximately 1% of the female population.  The problem I see comes down to basic geometry.  If I learned anything from da Vinci's (naked) Vitruvian Man sketch is that the human leg is wider at the top than it is at the knee. That is how it is supposed to be.  When one takes a line ( a short shorts hemline) and run it straight across the widest part of the leg, it is not flattering. Ever. And besides that, I just don't want to the bottom of bum cheeks anymore! 

To help young women decide if their shorts are too short, here are some helpful questions to ask oneself in front of a full length mirror.  If the answer to any of these questions is yes, remove your shorts and give them to the nearest 6 year old, because they are probably the appropriate length for her.  Are my shorts WIDER than they are LONG?  Coincidentally, this question applies to skirts also!  Do you feel the need to use Glide or vaseline to prevent a friction burn between your thighs, like runners do?  Do you feel the need to tend to your bikini area before wearing your shorts?  Do your shorts make an inverted "V" where your inner thighs meet?  However if this question doesn't apply to you because you have a "thigh gap," I concider you as mythical as Sasquatch.  I came out of the womb rocking no thigh gap and with a mid-thigh wrinkle.  Luckily I've lost the mid-thigh wrinkle... And lastly, are your pockets hanging down longer than my actual short?

I just wish young women would realize that just because something is a trend, doesn't mean it actually looks good or even works for the majority of the population.  Just take polyester leisure suits, quilted cat suits, low saggy pants worn below the butt, ruffly pirate shirts, big hair (this wasn't even good for the environment... sorry Ozone layer...) shoulder pads, and MC Hammer pants.  And I would like them to know that sometimes, more is more.  Where does fashion go from the short short, because it can't go much farther up!!

As a favor to the humanity's sight, and to prevent further seeing of things we can't unsee, I offer a bit of advice.  I swore to my friends who had also discovered this little secret that I wouldn't share, but I feel it is my duty to womankind.  The alternative to the hideous short short is called a dress or skirt.  There I said it. Now many woman are of the belief they don't "do skirts," but hear me out.  I have been in recovery from shorts for about 4 years now because I found out that maxi dresses felt like I was essentially wearing my pajamas all day!  People have this perception you are "dressed up." In reality, I roll out of bed, lift my arms up and slide on a maxi dress.  They are an extremely forgiving article of clothing.  Swollen from too many sunflower seeds? No problem.  Haven't shaved your legs in 2 weeks? Maxi dress has you covered.  A knit skirt is also your friend.  They do not have tight waist bands, they are cute and give the impression you actually made an effort into looking "put together" which you didn't. They don't wrinkle, they are light and breathable and they also stretch, for those days when one less s'more would have been a good idea the night before.  

Short shorts are marketed as sexy.  However the reality is the sight of an inner thigh friction rash, butt creases and crotch wedgies are not sexy! Fashion fads are not always our friends, are they, home perms?  I invite young women to join us lazy fashionable moms and make this summer the one of wearable pajamas dresses and skirts!

Icky Mouse and Pantless Animals

Late Tuesday night our family returned from the Happiest Place on Earth. No, not Chuck -e-Cheeses, but the other mouse place, DISNEYLAND.  I can say without a doubt my husband and I were more excited about this trip than the kids were. How do I know that? Because they didn't know about it. At all. Why didn't they know? Because we didn't tell them until we were sitting in the Denver airport. We had whisked them out of their beds that morning, telling them we were going to Fargo and it wasn't until we were about 30 minutes into the hour drive that the oldest realized it was only 7:15am.  And why didn't we tell them? Because first off, this ain't our first rodeo and neither of us wanted to endure 24/7 questioning about Disneyland and would we take an airplane there and where would we stay and are we going to California or Florida and is there McDonalds in California and is there a swimming pool at the hotel and would there be a waterslide at the hotel and would they get to see Micky Mouse and would there be princesses there and can we go inside the castle and if they are REALLY good could they get something and can they go swimming and on and on and on....

Secondly, my in laws offered to take the kids for the night, two nights before we were leaving to aid in my covert packing. To stay at her Grandma and Boppa's house for approximately 14 hours, my daughter packed a suitcase, a "Stuffee" full of crap, two blankets and a stuffed animal. All was deemed absolutely necessary for the overnight stay. Given this, we were not feeling up to paying the overage charges on her 2 steamer trunks that a week in Disneyland would have required.

Finally, we were SO excited to surprise them, out of the blue with something like this.  We had a rough spring, as a family, and we wanted some quality, fun time together, just the five of us.  I had it all planned out. The travel agent had given us five Disneyland baggage tags.  I took three of them and inside them slide the words, "You Are" "Going To" and "Disneyland!!" and placed them inside their McDonalds Happy Meals that we had got them inside the Denver Airport. 

My first mistake was not chucking the crappy toys at this point, because when the three boxes were opened, anarchy ensued that all three toys were PINK!  The oldest picked up the bag tag, glanced at it and tossed it aside as he complained the happy meal toy was a girl toy.  Our daughter gleefully claimed all three of the toys as I repeatedly said, "What are those other things? What do they say?" The youngest dove into his cheeseburger coming up only long enough to thrust his milk at me with a disgusted grunt to convey I should open it for him.  When I finally got my daughter to read the three tags in order, I said, "You are. Today. You are getting on a plane to go to Disneyland today!" "Really??" was the reply. "Really?!?"  As we confirmed it, our daughter gleefully cheered "Oh good! Then all the toys are mine!!!" Note to self: in the future, food and crappy toys trump everything.

Prior to going I had been going through a mental checklist of responses I should prepare to questions I may get. Things like, "What language are they speaking?" (anything other than English)  "What is that thing on his head?" (Sikh or Jewish) "Why are those boys kissing?" (a Gay couple) or "Why is that little girl bald?" (A Make-a wish recipient or any cancer patient.) As it turns out, the questions I got were more like "Why doesn't Pluto wear pants but Goofy does?" (I have no good answer for that) and "Can we go back to the hotel and swim now?" (No, I sold my right kidney to afford soming to this joint, so we are staying.)

I guess I was surprised by their collective lack of questioning regarding things I was seeing which were really out of their realm of normalcy.  It made me think maybe I have the most unobservant children on earth. I DID manage to pack two large suitcases without them noticing...  But for the sake of poetic observation, and the makings of a good essay, lets just assume they are pretty normal kids.  Why didn't anything really phase them?

On the one day, there was a steampunk convention at the park.  Steampunk, for those who don't know, is a historical sci-fi subculture which tips its stovepipe hat to the late 19th century Victorian period for dress and inspiration, and looks to a future of technology driven by steam.  Think of it as the old west meets gamma rays.  What this resulted in seeing, for us, was a lot of corsets and decolletage, a lot of goggles, some really amazing outfits fitted with gears, gauges and pocket watches and a lot of fishnet stockings.  I was SURE there would be a gazillion questions, but nada. Not a one.

In any given line, the 5 of us were the minority.  We were surrounded by beautiful shades of brown and olive and gorgeous manes of dark hair I envied.  Our English words commingled with Spanish, German, Italian and others I couldn't identify, but I savored the lilt of the words as they fell from the mouths around us.

My children just saw people. People doing what people do at Disneyland, wait in lines, eat, ride rides, and bribe their children (I'll buy you cotton candy if you PLEASE LET DADDY CARRY YOU!) They soaked in the experience and what it meant to them, oblivious of those around them.  They were present, relishing the experience with each other and with us.  They absorbed the sights and sounds, like sticky sun-kissed sponges.  They questioned things, details and facts, but not people.  They made declarations about themselves ("I'm not into Ducks that don't wear pants." and "I wuv Icky Mouse!") but not about others.  I found myself in awe of them.  How wonderful this world would be if we all were more able to see life through the eyes of a child.  How beautiful it would be to experience the world around us like they do, without the veils of judgement that get hung in our minds as we age? What if we were more concerned about our own experiences then those of others? Maybe the happiness would spill beyond the gates of Disneyland, leaving a winding pixie dust trail and making its way around the world, which is a small one, after all.

Shots from Behind

Sometimes what I see from behind expresses so much more than anything I can put in words.

                              

                 

The unexpected aftermath

I am happy to report that life is pretty much back to normal.  I'm driving, walking quite normally and even found  myself running through a parking lot in the recent rain!  I get a bit tired towards evening but that is nothing I am going to complain about.  I am blessed with recovery, health, and wonderful family and friends.  

Going through my ordeal, I had a lot of time to think.  A LOT of time.  One place my mind continued to return to was my children.  It brought me back to the last month I spent with my Mom before she died. Something I don't think I could have ever grasped without experiencing this hiccup in my health was the fear she felt about us, her kids, upon her departure from this physical earth.  I know she didn't fear dying in the sense of where she was going, in fact I think a part of her looked forward to seeing her parents again.  But there was this look she had when she would look at us, her kids; a look created by an emotion of which I have now felt an inkling.  She was worried about US. What would happen to us after she was gone. What has she left untaught? On what experiences would she miss out?  Would she miss the opportunity to hear "Mom, you were right?" a couple more times?

Not knowing what was going on with my health, I spent some time thinking about these same things.  Not the bread and butter stuff about how they would get to school or piano lessons, or if they had their homework signed. I thought about the long term stuff, the stuff that isn't really fitting to discuss at their current ages, but they eventually need to know.  

For instance, I have not yet told my boys to NEVER sleep with a woman before his wedding night.  This isn't for the obvious reasons most would think.  They need to know that NO woman can ever, ever, ever know just how badly they each grind their teeth and thrash around in their sleep before she is legally bound to one of them.  I worry that they will end up as eternal bachelors because the exhaustion a woman will endure trying to catch some REM sleep will be grounds for terminating an otherwise great relationship.  They need to know that on any flight they fly on, they will be asked to stow everyone in their area's bag in the overhead compartment.  So they should just expect it.  They will need to know that the highest shelf in the bathroom is not the acceptable place to store the toilet paper, even if it makes perfect sense to them and is easy for them to reach.  They need to know that many will try to squash their sparkle, and they will tell them to be tough and stoic. They need to know a kind and empathetic heart will make them vulnerable, but it will be worth it.  And so it doesn't take until they are 35 to figure this out, like it did with their father, if a girl walks all the way to your apartment (which is the complete opposite direction of hers) and then offers to bake you cookies at her apartment, SHE LIKES YOU.  Oh, and listen to your sister's opinions about potential girlfriend because she will have insight that only a woman possesses.

For my daughter, there are so so many things I would want her to know. Things about life, love, pregnancy, marriage... the list goes on and on.  For her, I think it may require a book.  I've mulled over  the idea of a writing a book for a while, but never much more than just a fleeting thought.  That was until I went through my crippled chicken-walker phase.  And maybe that is what was to come of that whole event, my rediscovery of my love for writing.  

For about 2 months, my family weathered an unknown storm, and now in the aftermath, I continue to process the experience (which by the way was finally called an Atypical Migraine resulting in physical manifestations, or in my kids' words ' A really, really, really, really, really, really bad headache.') I know that life is too short to leave things undone or unsaid. So, soon I hope to  start to put words to paper (or in reality, fingers to the keyboard) and start expressing the ideas that have played in my head for a while.  A written record of advice for my daughter, and all young girls really, to use as they navigate through the murky and hormonally driven existence of their teens to twenties.  So stay tuned as I begin the adventure of writing a book!

Lessons of the Grape Vine

When we bought our property, we inherited Concord grape vines.  Since Mother Nature decided to have a couple "up" days (of her seemingly unstable displays of behavior lately) and let the sun shine recently, I decided to tackle the vines.

I don't really know what I'm supposed to do with them, but as I sat there looking at them, I decided to just jump in.  On the outside, they were a tangled web of branches, a mess really. They haven't yet budded or blossomed and are somewhat unsightly.  

I decided to start with the obviously withered and desiccated branches, knowing that by clipping those away, more energy can be given to the younger branches.  

I saw that the grapes were being interfered with by a dogwood bush. Though these branches are red, attractive and quite pretty, they interfere with the growth of the grape vines. When they leaf out they cover and block the life giving energy the vines require.  These had to be clipped away.

I clipped away slowly, looking at each vine, choosing where to nip it.  Some of the branches were extremely long.  The extremely over-extended branches were snipped with the thought that they were so far removed from their strong foundation that they were weak and lost growing upwards into a nearby pine tree.  

The bases of all these vines are old, weathered and thick.  They are strong main stalks that all the subsequent generations of vines have sprouted.   Their roots run deep, and though they are quite tattered, they stubbornly remain.

We have lived here long enough that I have seen these vines bear fruit several seasons. Some years they have born hideous amounts of grapes, other years the harvest is sparse.  The vines productivity is usually affected by things out of their control like wind or birds and deer pecking away at the fruit.

As I thinned and clipped, I realized these vines were a lot like life.  We are all a tangled mess at times.  Sometimes the best way to tackle an issue is to just jump in.   We may or may not have blossomed yet.   We have the life sucked from us by those relationships that are desiccated and dead.

We all possess productivity and purpose but can get lost in a tangle of our own life's vines.  We get distracted by the pretty, easy and attractive things that can pull us away and block us from that which gives us energy.  We become over-extended by distractions, obligations, tasks and the need to be connected at all times.  We grow thinner and weaker, until we look down from 20 feet up a pine tree to the foundation that lies far away from us.  

Eventually we may find ourselves looking at our bases... those relationships that have weathered us and the storms we have brought.  The family members and friends that have tolerated our pecking, as the vines have withstood the irksome birds noshing on ripe fruit.  They have stood stubborn and strong, supporting  and sustaining us.  

And it just remains to be seen how we will bud and blossom and what will the fruit resemble that we will bear?