The Checkout Line: Bread, Milk, Cheese, Self Worth

I don't know if this is your experience, but I tend to reach for my writing pen, virtual or otherwise, most often when I'm not in a good place. I think overall it's to find a place to vent it, to look at it a little closer (read: over analyze it with a view towards blowing it into an international incident), or just to hear myself yell. It doesn't take a psychoanalyst to puzzle out why I use this device--as a kid if I uttered what I was really thinking and feeling I was liable to get smacked. Hence, railing somewhat uselessly at the blank page commenced early on. Nevertheless, the fact that I feel like I'm bitching so much really rankles me. Yes, I'm bitching, about bitching.

For many years now I've had an etched plaque with a saying that has sustained me through many a rough patch. In fact, when my husband and I were in our early relationship, going through some pretty world rocking stuff, I fairly drove him nuts with each and every utterance of this sage advice: "Very little is needed to make a happy life. It is all within yourself, in your way of thinking." I'm sure he appreciated hearing it repeatedly very much, but we survived it, so, annoying--yes, but also useful. What you choose to give your attention to does often determine the direction of your life.

So today I want to bitch and moan about some pretty trivial, but nevertheless making me angst ridden stuff, but I choose to write about something else.

Today, I took Big Kidlet on a walk and I needed to go to the grocery store afterwards. He's not a nightmare in a grocery store, but it's pretty much like wheeling around a wild motormouth octopus some days. I've resolved to let up the reins a bit now that he's approaching three and is exhibiting some better listening skills, and a modicum of impulse control. In other words there is a slight stutter step while he thinks about it before he runs into traffic; a glimmer of a reasonable being is emerging. It's not easy for me. Did I mention that my mother thinks that really there was no problem using a dog run as a playpen when I was a kid? Yes, my example has been a clear owner/owned kind of paradigm, so although I resist it, I have to school the instincts every living day as I make my way through early parenthood.

Anyway, so back to the grocery store. As we approach the store he asks/tells me that he wants to "walk himself" today inside the grocery store. Previously my response pretty much can be summed up as an automatic with alacrity, brooking no argument whatsoever, "no way, no how, not gonna happen." But, these days I'm being a lot more aware of when I decide not to let him try simply because it might be a huge hassle for me. I'm looking long term these days. So I said, "sure, with a few ground rules," which we took a moment to review before we entered. To mark the occasion, I led him over to the "customer-in-training" mini shopping carts, which I previously had jealously eyed when other cute little children sedately (to my eyes) wielded them through the aisles after their (to my eyes) relaxed parents, and regarded as absolutely unrealistic in my lifetime for my spirited little boy. I can't describe the look on his face. I wish I could have a snapshot of it to remind myself each time I decide that he can't do something.

Aside from having a minor coronary every time he came in range of a wine bottle display (seriously this place seemed like it was wall-to-wall wine bottles!), he more or less walked behind me, full of pride, as I placed our groceries in his basket. It was a thing of beauty. He proudly stood in line , handed the groceries to the checker, and generally looked to stand about a foot taller.

It was a good lesson. For today that plaque in my mind says: "Very little is needed to make a happy kid, it's all within themselves, when they are allowed to try, and know they can."

Funny, all those little bitchy things I wanted to write down are like vivid dreams that become hazier and a vague echo upon waking and getting on with it. And my day with my kids has been a lot easier.

• Macro Goal: Be present for my kids, and do some personal remodeling.
• Micro Goal: Be aware that I and my kids are what I choose to focus on. Try and focus not on how much my kids need to test their boundaries can be a pain in my tuckus, but on how great it is that they don't have fear to do so.

Photo by beardenb

Waste Not, Freak Not

When I'm anxious, I clean and organize. It helps me feel some measure of control. I used to work in a high pressure environment; there was always something to stress out about, and there was always a mess to clean up. Don't get my husband started how many dead of the nights he awoke to find me still not home, and would call me at work to find me protesting, "I'm just clearing up a few things and I'll be home soon." Remember, I have the ability to be almost unnaturally focused when I want to. Bless him for not bailing on me then.

This kind of behavior would not work with kids. This is why I feel that I wasn't gifted with my children, until I learned on my own that it was time to relinquish such an unhealthy existence. And, I do not embellish when I say I got pregnant unknowingly, and unplanned I might add, the exact day I left that life.

But those feelings just don't go poof! (I wish) Making the transition to a stay at home mother these last few years has had many starts and stops. Mainly the control thing. I always worked up to that point. When I say "always," I mean virtually from birth. My parents have owned their own businesses all my life, and I just tagged along. I didn't go to preschool, I went to a playpen in their store, and developed a hell of a vocabulary my father claims virtually by osmosis. I was the mascot. As I aged, I was put to work in other capacities. Except for a brief month immediately following my completion of college (early), I was employed, and usually in a few jobs at once.

When I no longer had a "job" of my own outside the home, I felt dependent. I did, and don't like this feeling. Cue anxiety.

Lest you think I am now obsessively compulsively cleaning my house, don't worry I won't show up anytime soon on Oprah. I kind of wish I was more, but no, it manifests itself in different ways.

For example, I hate waste. I hold onto stuff. Again, don't look for me on one of those Oprah hoarder episodes. I'm really, really tidy about it actually. But I hold onto stuff nevertheless. Not surprisingly it's about control.

I wasn't deprived as a kid and I never felt "want," but things were certainly tight. I never was in the latest stare of fashion, or with the latest gadget. To this day, stuff like that still doesn't interest me. But, I did learn a certain degree of fear surrounding money from my father. My mother is a very pragmatic, if one angle doesn't work, go at the problem from another direction type of person; My dad, however, is more apt to freak out and run screaming that the sky is falling. I'm a perfect blending of the two: I'm freaking out on the inside, but on the outside I just try to muster up and find a way through it.

My father used to verbalize about his fears of not having enough, and consequently things got hung onto way past their original intended purposes. My parents are dedicated "repurposers." I get this impulse from them, but I'm just not as efficient. Things hang around my house, in their nice and neat (mostly) locations, and just sit. This I think gives me a sense of security, knowing I have these things around me that could be used for something.

That's why one of my goals this year is to "get rid of stuff." I'm trying to realize that I can't build a wall of things between myself and those things I fear.

Today I started small: I started to clean out my pantry. And the organizational fiend couldn't resist busting out the Excel spreadsheet to inventory what I have in an effort to control the waste issue. I buy things, don't end up using them, and forget that they are in there. And then I feel shame, because I hate to waste. It was really big for me to let go and throw out several things in there that I had stubbornly held onto because I didn't want to acknowledge that I had let them expire unused.

Today it's dealing with food that has expired, tomorrow perhaps some fears and aspirations.

Photo Courtesy of zenilorac

Fear of Sucking: Writing it Down

Ahhh, procrastination, my old friend. I'm sitting down at 11:59pm to work on one of my other goals this year: write something everyday. So with a minute to go, I'm finally making myself sit down and squeeze in something productive on this front. I wish I could say I'm so overwhelmed with things I have to accomplish that preclude me giving this particular resolution the time it needs, but this journey is about honesty...I futzed, I delayed, and finally with the clock clicking down, I crammed. Now let's really get down and expose the dirty here...I even considered altering the posting time. But I say NO! Say it loud, say it prroo...ok, shamefully, I'm a big fat time waster...especially when I'm afraid of something.

What am I afraid of? Well...I'm afraid it will stink. I'm afraid of what you'll think.

Let me explain. As a reader you can judge this for yourself (and I'm bracing myself to duck), but for most of my life I have generally been regarded as a better than average writer. I won the competitions, I earned the high marks. My eighth grade graduation from my small rural school was an embarrassment of accolades that I'm sure did not endear me to my peers. My artistic ego has stretched luxuriously, like a cat in the sun, with each admiring compliment. Oh it's heady, I'm not going to lie. Along with those compliments also came the expectation, expressed and unsaid that I was "going somewhere" with this little gift. Except, um nope, not so much. Why? Well, I could tell you I had to do some serious soul searching to figure it out, but no I know exactly why I haven't broken through. I don't have a discipline problem, because when engaged by what I'm doing, you'd be hard pressed to find anyone with more singular focus. The problem is...fear. Fear that it will not be good enough.

Oh the cliches just keep rolling! I'm a writer who is insecure and afraid of failure. I promised myself absolute honesty, but oooff, that hurts to type out loud. Well then, we're in it, let's keep it rolling. I have also always struggled with the unseemly need to be liked. Now the reasons for THAT are something that has required a lot of soul searching, and the quest to figure out and defuse that particular self destructive time bomb continues.

But ultimately, it's all about fear. It's a problem, and I'm not sure it can be solved so much as diverted through a bit of skilled rewiring. So here I go tinkering with the wiring:

• Macro Goal: Tackle Fear
• Micro Goal: Write something everyday, even if it stinks. And...and this is going to be the clincher...not for you, dear reader, but for myself.

Photo Courtesy of UNTAMED+