kids' parties

I went to a three year old's birthday party today.  We over did it on our gift. We always do.  We also brought packages for his brother and sister to open-with Mom and Dad’s foreknowledge.  We knew what he wanted for his birthday, and did our level best to obtain it.  We went realizing we were there at the parents’ request, not at our own ultimate decision.

Upon greeting the birthday boy, we noticed that Mommy was still holding little sister.  I, of course, seized the opportunity to hold her a bit, Nana-free.   I should probably explain something here, about the “Nanas” the kids have.  Different older women the family knows have “adopted” each kiddo-so they get all of these Nana and Poppies in their lives.  Pretty good deal for the kiddos, not so bad until Nanas think they know better than Mommy and Daddy.  The Nana for the baby doesn’t like her “Aunties” very well, so we do not get much time holding her if Nana is around.  So you can see why I was ecstatic.  Anyway, happy baby goes to Auntie for some overdue loving.

In swept crabby Nana, “Oh she’s hungry, I need to feed her.  She needs a bottle or some Cheerios,” and tried to take her from me.  Instead, I passed the now weepy infant back to Mom, who is after all, the primary caregiver.  Nana literally ripped her away from Mom.  Mom indicated,"She may need to nurse."  Nana replied,"She’ll be fine with formula."  Whew.  We moved on to the other 2 kiddos, who no longer have that kind of Nana drama.  We started playing and opening presents.  Our presents were well received and the rest of the mess was driven away.

Then came cake time.  Baby is still eating baby food, no dairy.  Nana pretended to hand me the baby.  She pinched her arm as she passed her to me (yes she did!).  So I handed her right back.   Then came the cake and ice-cream.  Mom said to baby, “None for you yet,” in front of all 3 Nanas.  Mom was then occupied with the birthday boy.  Soon, baby was eating ice-cream!  Are you kidding me?  All well and good for Nana-the-ice-cream-feeder now, until baby, WHO DOES NOT EAT DAIRY, gets a sore, screamy tummy at 2 am.  I was dumbfounded at this woman.  A pushy, inappropriate, aggressive person who wouldn’t even follow Mom’s directions.  We left at that point.  Enough already.

Parents have the say so in the raising of their children.  No matter how well meaning, unless you have been invited, your input is inappropriate at best.  Sometimes we forget that others are allowed to raise their kids in ways other than what we might choose.  It comes down to politely remembering we are in their lives by invitation only.  Sometimes they are not our choices to make.

Penguins

Today I met the three little penguins from Mary Poppins-they came to fix my cable.  Remember those cute little fellows?  Tripping over each other in their haste to serve, they were too cute.  The cable guys were just like that; non- threatening, positive, enthusiastic, and knowledgeable.    Good thing too, because the thought of people in my house freaks me out.  They were just goofy enough to be safe.

What a statement on today’s society that having repairmen in the home is fear provoking.  (Course, it is also a commentary on my anxiety and “stranger danger” reflex.)  In times past, a plumber came to the house, fixed the sink, had an offered cookie, chatted a minute, then went to his next call. No wondering on his part if there was something in the cookies, no fear on your part that he might rob you blind, or worse.  What happened?  When did we become a society of isolated islands instead of an inter-reliant community trusting and helping each other? 

That’s why the penguins made me smile.  One was in training, one the lead, and the other was, near as I could tell, along for the ride offering some support.  It was fun to watch-one would start something, the next would pick it up so the other could go on, then the third finished up the task.  Their light hearted banter back and forth was calming.  They were able to get their jobs done well and efficiently.  My house is still standing; all my things are just fine.

I learned today that just because a repair person needs to be in your home, it doesn’t mean that you will be horribly harmed.  I enjoyed the penguins-thanks Charter.

Messages to myself

Your head does funny things to you when you have too much time to think.  Since separation from my employer, my thinker has been on overdrive.  It doesn’t help to know that these circumstances were beyond my control.  I have a tendency to punish myself repeatedly for the lack of perfection.  I grew up as a first born.  My life is supposed to be perfection personified.

It isn’t.  I have a mental health disability-panic attack with agoraphobia, anxiety attacks, Mood disorder, and PTSD.  I don’t talk to trees or telephone poles (unless they talk first-ha-ha).  I have nothing contagious.  I live in reality, the same as you.  I just get over hyped about things and can’t seem to calm back down.  This makes it very difficult to be in public, as crowds increase the issues.  I get hyper focused on things, like needing a feeding chair for the baby we occasionally watch.  It’s kind of ironic, as this is what I did for my job, helping people learn to live and adapt for MH D/O (mental health disorders).

So dealing with the public and not being able to deal with the public don’t go together as far as employment goes.  CF&CS were very kind and did what they could.  You could not do my job from home, even if counseling was taken out of the picture.  My disability, despite my education, has rendered it impossible for me to work outside my home.  Yet SSI/DA has denied my claim-"you can work."  So I have the doctor saying it is a debilitating disability, my former employer saying they cannot modify any further to meet my disability needs, my checkbook saying, “Dude, you is broke,” and my perfectionism saying, “Get a job already!”

The guilt comes from that perfectionism.  I could not/cannot control the panic/anxiety, even with meds.  The perfectionism says that I am a “loser” for not being able to pull it together and hold on to the job I had for 10 years.  Now I cannot find that resume/letters of recommendation.  Another notch down. So I need to find a way to restate the messages to myself, or I will go nowhere fast.

Perfectionism sucks.  Be kind with the messages we give to ourselves.  We matter-how we feel about ourselves matters.

Naptime

My dog snores.  All 12 furry pounds of her Lhasa Apso self.  She falls asleep and it begins almost immediately.  It is gentle, cute at first.  But it builds.  I just had to literally turn up the T.V. because was so loud.  Most of the times it makes me giggle.  There are also times it just annoys me.

I think I might be a bit jealous.  Can you remember when you last so totally trusted your environment that you relaxed in the middle of the day, put your head down, and fell deeply asleep, snoring at the top of your lungs without worrying about what someone else thought?  I can’t. 

We used to.  As small children, we would fight our afternoon naps.  But once down-we really gave it our all.  So once upon a time, we knew how to rest our weary bodies and minds.  No meds needed.  Then we added school, and the freedom to nap when we needed began to fade away.  Then the stress of homework.  Then we added activities.  Don’t forget social events.  By the time we hit high school, there was enough stress to wipe out naps altogether.  Too bad, because High School really made us need them.  The older we got, the more was put on our plate.  Our napability correspondingly decreased.

 It is too bad really.  The world would be a nicer place if the cranky adults all had naptime.  No decisions made in the middle of sheer exhaustion.  I know I would be a nicer person.  Maybe if we all had naps, violence from misunderstandings might drop.  Before big negations, Heads of State would have to snooze.  I would be able to kick back and snooze just as carefree as my dog.

Nap for world peace.  Think about it.

Packing

“Cleaning out the space should be therapeutic.”  I HATE cleaning out a room.  When it is an office you have had for 10 years, it becomes next to impossible.  The only thing worse is later, when you have to go through the boxes and decide what to do with the contents.  I don’t do well with giving away my stuff.  With this recent separation from employer, I have been faced with both dilemmas; cleanout/pack up and redistribution of wealth. 

The packing made me tearful.  All of the memories those items evoked-the laugh of a child, the tears of a parent, real expression of feelings, and families reunited.  The toys still held echoes of the children who used them.  I remember the Dad perched on the floor playing with his son and the dollhouse.  I also remember the stuffed toy sailing across the room, propelled by anger, the markers scribbling in frustration, and the game being flipped over.  All of these are precious memories for me.  How do you pack these up?  What do you wrap them with so they don’t shatter in transport?  Gently, carefully, well cushioned, and tucked right in to the box seems to be the right answer.    Thankfully, with the lid on, the hard part was over.

Or not.  My spouse’s work has a yard sale tomorrow and it seems that some of the things would bring top dollar.  HOLY CRAP.  I just ripped out my heart packing these treasures up, now you want me to rip out my heart so you can sell it at a yard sale?!?!  It is part of the disorder that has led me to this place; parting with concrete, tangible memory-provoking items is too overwhelming.  I go into immediate survival mode; distract, distract, redirect, redirect.  But alas, I am forced to face reality: some of this stuff has got to go today.  I can freak out or I can select items that have the least significance.  Wow, that was the way to go, as I could see the things as items instead of memories.  So I didn’t touch the toys or games.  I shifted an entire carload to the yard sale.  Without tears.  I tried to overdo it though, with the gathering of craft items for a local Girl Scout troop led by a friend.  Ah, well, live and learn.

I think I learned that the memories are not in the items themselves.  However, you cannot change your personality in one sitting.  I like my stuff.  I need my stuff.  Yard sales suck.  Tomorrow we will try again.

Dance in the rain

“Drip, drip, plash…Plink plink, plink…”  The sounds outside my window are not common sounds in this desert environment.  I love this season.  It rains almost daily starting about now and lasting up to 6 weeks.  Everything looks and smells clean and revitalized.  So healthy.  So alive!  And the children- laughing, spinning, and jumping in puddles.

Too bad we as adult humans cannot do the same.  Stand out in the rain and wash away all of the pettiness, hatefulness, betrayals, and various other ugliness.  Gone.  Start fresh.  Clean slate.  How would you handle it?  What would you do?  What would the rain require you to scrub from yourself?

The cleansing rain would require of me to believe my Savior’s promise of forgiveness.  Gone would be the guilt for jealous reactions, the condescending comments, the anger over pitiful things, the slights, the cold shoulders, and the sarcastic responses.  Impatience, judgment, and hostility would be a thing of the past.   I envision dancing in the droplets and the negatives, intentionally or unintentionally, I’ve given to others sliding away.

Dancing in the droplets would bring some wonderful gifts to replace that which was washed away.  I would find patience in the raindrops.  Joy would splash across my nose.  My clothing would be painted with splishes of kindness.  Acceptance would drip from my hair with each drop that fell from above.  The soothing refreshment of the drops bringing contentment and peace.

Will I dance in the rain?  Will you?  Don’t forget to jump in the puddles.

Keep going

One of my Aunties died several years ago, losing her fight with breast cancer, but striding joyously into Heaven.  She displayed a type of courage that is often overlooked.  No matter what the disease threw at her that day, she was determined to fight it again tomorrow.  The last time I saw her, I told her how brave I thought she was.  She told me that it wasn't bravery; it was just what you had to do.  I still believe she had more courage than many "heroes" I know.

My Mom lives with this just-keep-going belief set.  She and my Father brought us up believing that you do the best you can each day and you will do the same tomorrow.   You didn't quit when the going got tough.  There was no job-jumping, house hopping, friend-dumping when things got bumpy.  You kept plugging away at it.  Life wasn’t disposable.  You make mistakes, assume responsibility, and go on.  Thanks Mom and Dad.

Sometimes I am able to honor those teachings and just keep going.  When I find I can't do it, my wonderful spouse will remind me that tomorrow is another day.  It is ok to stop right now and take a breath.  The trick is to try again tomorrow.  This has helped guide me though my life-the ups, downs, and sideways that hit us all.  I’m struggling with one of those downs right now.  I’ve been talking about it in Facebook. 

This was posted recently on my Facebook page, under the link for this blog: "I admire your courage, Jenna."   I had to read it twice. She wasn't referring to the rush-in-the-building-save-the-baby type of courage, but rather the "I'll try again tomorrow," attitude that keeps one plugging away day after day.  Despite my disbelief that I am doing this mantra justice right now, I am very thankful for the encouragement.  I almost forgot.