Now and Then

A new friend, an old friend, and I were out one night recently, and the topic of shyness came up.

My new friend was surprised to hear that, during my first two years of high school, I regularly went the entire school day without speaking to anyone.

Yes. Seriously.

Like many introverts, I wasn't antisocial (I wanted to talk to others), stuck up, uninterested, or uninteresting (although I thought I was). I just was too shy to speak. I started coming out of my shell midway through sophomore year, and developed some friendships during my junior and senior years.

And these days, it's not an issue at all.

In fact, my new friend couldn't believe that I was describing myself. Though I may not be the most gregarious person she knows, I'm certainly not afraid to talk to friends, strangers, anyone.

She looked to my old friend - who has known me since high school - for confirmation. And she got it. No, I wasn't exaggerating or making it up.

Since that conversation, I've thought about how people change over time. Depending on when you knew me during my lifetime, you might have a different view of my personality, tastes, and convictions than someone who knew me at a different time in my life. Because those things, well, change. And the same goes for you, of course.

Being a mom of three, I can't help but look at my children as sociological laboratory rats, so naturally I study them. {OK, "rats" sounds a bit distasteful, but I mean it in the most affectionate way...} And I wonder how much of my kids I really know. How much of what I see in them now will stay with them through adulthood? And what, of all those invisible traits that even we, their parents, can't yet detect, will become essential to their core being later in life?

Guess we'll find out in a decade or two or three.

Someday, they'll have a laugh over cocktails with friends as they share stories about whom they used to be. But whom are they destined to become?

One Step at a Time

I may not have been a straight-A student, but I was a good student.

I just "got" most of the lessons my teachers taught. But when I didn't, I felt extremely stressed and disappointed with myself. I'd get so worked up when I had a big project and a looming deadline. Or a concept that was just difficult to grasp, the grasping of which became most urgent with an upcoming test.

In those instances, crisp & clear logic gave way to foggy emotion. I feared failure, but felt overwhelmed and couldn't see a way to success.

My dad would come to the rescue. Always the patient and logical man, he simply talked me through the problem so I could see a solution. One of the most important problem-solving lessons he taught me was to take it one step at a time.

Such a simple lesson. Yet difficult to remember in moments of stress. He'd work with me to break down a multi-faceted project into achievable tasks. Or the steps of a calculus problem into logical parts. We'd write them down. Then he'd point to the first task, and tell me to work on that, and only that, and to not even consider the subsequent tasks until the first was completed.

Well, once broken down into discrete, achieveable components, any project becomes possible. That lesson has gotten me through many sticky moments in life.

Item #8 on the Top Ten list I created just over a year ago is to cook a Thanksgiving turkey dinner without help from my mother or mother-in-law. When I wrote that goal, I didn't realize my opportunity to achieve it would present itself so soon.

I put it on my list in the first place because I still fear failure and, to a non-intuitive cook like me, Thanksgiving dinner presents a myriad of opportunities for failure. Yet so many other people do it with ease. So I really wanted to overcome this fear in my lifetime. I just didn't realize I'd do it so soon.

You see, about two months ago, I offered to my mother that we could host Thanksgiving dinner this year. I know that she has trouble standing for long periods of time in the kitchen, and I also know from Thanksgivings past that she doesn't delegate much to me when we congregate at their house. So I figured the only way to give her a break was to host the meal at our house.

To my great surprise - and delight - she accepted!

(Except for the pies. After all, she is the family's best - albeit only - piemaker. From scratch. They're really delish. With such a supreme piemaker in the family, I really have no incentive, or desire, to embark on piemaking myself. So she agreed to do dessert.)

I was on the hook for everything else.

Yet I was not without help altogether. My husband really was the turkey master. He partially deep-fried one turkey in the morning, then I stuffed it and put it in the oven for the remainder of its cooking time. With a half-and-half cooking method, we kind of had to "wing it" (no pun intended) on the timing. Then he fully deep-fried a second turkey. The first turkey, plus all the side dishes, needed to be ready to serve when the second turkey was done.

I didn't want to blow it - not with so many of us depending on my timing & cooking skills in order to eat the most important meal of the year. So Thanksgiving became a two-day affair for me. I made a list of what I needed to do, and set about completing it - one item at a time. On Wednesday, I spent 12 hours preparing all the appetizers and side dishes, as well as setting the table. On Thursday, after running the Thanksgiving Day 10k Race with my brother, I came home to one already-deep-fried turkey and the assembling/heating tasks.

As my brilliant husband and I coordinated our cooking responsibilities so that everything would be hot and ready to serve at the same time, I thought of Dad.

(Yes, he was actually present in person at that moment. But I thought back to the Dad of my youth who taught me how to complete a complex project: one step at a time.)

Because of what he taught me, I was able to prepare Thanksgiving dinner for our extended family with almost no stress. {OK, there was that one moment around 6:00 pm Wednesday, but my husband forgives me and it lasted only about 5 minutes anyway...}

As I cross off #8, I reflect on what I'm teaching my kids. I hope I'm teaching them the kind of lessons my dad taught me. The kind they'll remember when they're older.

And kids, here's your first lesson: Don't forget the gravy! You're in for a lot of teasing if you forget to serve gravy at Thanksgiving. Don't say I didn't warn you.

Thankful for Helpers

I teased my daughter the other day with the mock-inflammatory statement, "Why do you even have Wednesday off school? It's not even a holiday! It's just a regular day."

Her defense: "Well, it's the day before Thanksgiving. And there are LOTS of things to do to get ready for it. We have the day off so we can help you!"

I wonder if she'll remember our conversation a couple of decades from now, when she's busy getting the house ready and food prepared for a household of holiday guests, and her precious little ones offer to "help"...





Incidentally, at ages 10, 10, and 11, the kids have been very helpful today. Of course, their help occurs at about 1/3 the rate at which I could just do it myself. And it's accompanied by lots of "Why's" and "Is this the right way's." But they're learning. And one day, when they're grown up, they'll host Thanksgiving at their house and all I'll have to do is show up with one dish in hand, while they've done all the rest. I'll see their lovely decorations and the spread of food and I'll remember who taught them patiently, one Thanksgiving Eve years earlier, about our family's Thanksgiving traditions.

And I'll be thankful for my helpers, as I am today.

In His Pocket

From the category of Strange But True, I bring you the latest (indeed strange) discovery from my son's pocket.

{Long-time readers may recall a post from January in which I revealed some of the very odd objects found in my son's pockets while I launder his clothes.}

So today, after school, we were sitting in a doctor's waiting room. My son was being silly about something or other, and declared, "You know what's missing? Glitter!" He stuck his hand in his pocket. When he pulled it out again, his fingers were covered with blue glitter.

Yes, his fingers were covered with blue glitter. From his pocket.

Allow this to sink in. (It took me a moment...)

Good thing he shared this with me. He doesn't usually feel the need to tell me what he's collected and stashed in his pants pockets. I keep a catch-all bucket near the washing machine for the express purpose of storing these finds... found by me after they've already been through the ringer, of course.

Had he kept this to himself, I would have been irritatingly surprised to find an entire load of the family's clothes covered in blue glitter. Do you know how hard it is to get glitter out of anything? Thankfully, I was privy to his find before it contaminated the rest of the laundry.

Now, excuse me while I quarantine his clothes.

Greetings From Cancun

Thanks to the Zac Brown Band - and their song "Toes" - for providing my anthem for the week...



















"I've got my toes in the water
My ass in the sand
Not a worry in the world
A cold beer in my hand

Life is good today
Life is good today"

Self-Fulfilling

Ever notice that the preparations for a vacation are so exhausting and time-consuming that they actually cause you to need that vacation, simply so you can get a break from planning for it?

By the time I finish:

... painting the kitchen (don't want to leave an unfinished project)
... washing, drying, folding, putting away all the laundry
... cleaning out the refrigerator
... tidying up the house
... packing for the going-awayers
... prepping for the staying-behinders
... creating a "cheat sheet" for those caring for the staying-behinders
... paying the bills
... tying up loose ends for work, school, and other obligations

I'll have bags under my eyes and will be stumbling my way to the airport terminal.

But don't worry: It's nothing that a cool drink, the hot sun, and lots of free time can't cure.

Is It Worth It?

I'm all for a good challenge.
For something that takes time, patience, skill to accomplish.

I try to convince my kids of the same.
(They're still skeptical of anything that is not mastered in about 1.5 seconds.)

But sometimes I undertake a project and later wonder, "Is it worth it?"

My current project - painting the pantry, mud room, and kitchen - is one of those dubious endeavors. I started it last weekend, have painted all week long, and will still be painting this weekend. Initially, I thought the satisfaction of bringing lightness & freshness to the walls would be its own reward.

Now, it brings nothing but loathing. It's the project that doesn't seem to end! (Lots of trimwork to paint, then lots of cutting in to go around the doorways, trimwork, and cabinetry. Very little rolling.)

When lamenting to my husband, he asked me, "So, is it worth saving the couple hundred dollars to give up so much of your time to do it yourself?"

My answer: "NO!"

He laughed. He knew the answer to his question before I'd even begun painting last weekend.

So, in the future, I'll willingly train to climb a mountain, run a marathon, improve my tennis strokes. I'll patiently help my children with homework, make a home-cooked meal, iron all our shirts myself.

But I will never paint my kitchen (myself) again. I'm too slow and too sloppy. It's not worth my time. There are professionals who can do it much faster, and more precisely, and not very expensively.

I've learned that sometimes it's worth the cost to pay someone else to do the job right. In the meantime, I've got to finish what I started. Back to my paint brush...

Reconnaissance

Our neighborhood may be known for having an active - uh - social reputation. But we're also known for our vigilance in protecting one another from delinquents and criminals.

We like to have our fun, but we're serious about safety.

Did anyone see that episode of Law and Order (you know, "Ripped from the headlines!") a few years ago, in which the detectives referenced an Ohio neighborhood that paid a sex offender to move?

That sex offender lived directly across the street from me. My kids were just hitting the age at which I could let them play outside without my watching over them every minute. They'd ride their bikes or play on the driveway, and I'd be just inside the door, washing dishes or getting dinner started. I'd pop outside to check on them every 5-10 minutes. It was age-appropriate independence, a loosening of the apron strings.

Once we found out that our new neighbor was a sex offender, I had to rescind the kids' new freedom and step up the parental oversight when they were outdoors. We were all frustrated, but these precautions seemed prudent. The sex offender literally lived just steps away.

But his wife and child seemed nice enough, and certainly the child was completely innocent in the situation. On the one hand, we wanted to give our legal system, and the sex offender and his family, the benefit of the doubt and let them live their lives. (The crime for which he was labeled a sex offender had occurred about a decade previously.) On the other hand, the recidivism rate for sex offenders is particularly high. Had anything happened to one of my children due to my insufficient parental controls, I would never have forgiven myself.

In the end, the neighborhood, collectively as the homeowners association, offered the new family a sum of money in exchange for their selling the house and moving away. Turns out he was expected in another state for another, more recent charge. So he hadn't really overcome his "problem" after all.

On a day-to-day basis, we simply keep our eyes out for suspicious behavior. Our neighborhood is closed, with no throughstreets. There should be no one "just passing through." Therefore, a van driving slowly through our neighborhood - particularly if it's during the after-school hours and the driver is taking pictures or writing down notes, raises a red flag. Sure, it could be someone not meaning any harm at all. But it could be a predator. These days, we just don't know.

Today, someone driving a van with out-of-state license plates drove slowly through our neighborhood, stopping at various locations and making notes. Another mother and I were curious about this man's behavior. Since she was walking, with no cell phone and two young children in a stroller, and I was in my car with phone in hand, we decided that it would be safer for me to approach the van instead of her. We simply wanted to ascertain (1) whether he needed directions to someplace, or (2) whether he had no viable reason for loitering in our neighborhood. As I pulled up close to him, he stuck his head out the window to look back at me, a concerned look on his face, and immediately drove off.

To be sure, I do not have a threatening physical presence. There I was, a woman alone, in her workout clothes, during daylight hours, in suburbia. I hadn't said a word. I was not driving aggressively. Had the man simply been in need of directions, I would expect that he would have felt comfortable talking with me, and would have waited for me to approach.

But he drove off. And he kept looking back at me to see if I was following.

Which I was.

And as I was following, I felt apprehensive. On the one hand, I felt justified in letting this stranger know that residents of our community are attentive and will not let suspicious behavior slide. On the other hand, I didn't know what I should actually do. He hadn't committed a crime, so there was nothing to report to the police. What would I have done had he stopped and gotten out of his car? (You can bet I wouldn't have gotten out of mine.) And how far was I willing to drive to follow this man? To another state? (No. I have painting to do back in my kitchen.)

So I followed him as far as the interstate. When he pulled onto the entrance ramp, I turned around for home, pulled into the garage, and put the door down.

My neighbor decided to call the police station to report a suspicious vehicle. They'll know if this man has been loitering in other neighborhoods nearby.

I would never want to be an actual police detective. But I didn't mind playing one, for a moment. And I wouldn't hesitate to do it again if a stranger acts - well - strange around my friends and family.

Just call me Detective Kim.

Memory Mall

My son had the day off from school today, so we went to the mall.

Oddly enough, it prompted a trip down memory lane.

During the cold winter months, when all three of my kids were toddlers, the mall served the same purpose as a park: it got us out of the house and around other people. These days, my tween son likes to go there to see, hear, and touch the electronic devices & other gadgets that he wishes he could own.

Once upon a time, Gymboree was a favorite - I loved their children's clothes, and the kids loved the sing-along videos continually playing on the TV in the back of the store. From the front of the store to the back of it was the extent of our separation, yet we were all kept busy and entertained.

On our shopping trip today, the distance of our separation has lengthened. My 11-year-old and I frequently split up to do our own thing in different stores, to meet again later. (He wanted nothing to do with clothes shopping, and I'd become bored with electronics window shopping.)

As I left Everything But Water, I knew I'd find him at Sony across the way.

And there he was, in the back of the store, just like in the olden days. But instead of watching a Zoo Safari video, he was immersed in some PS3 game that he was playing on the ginormous flat-screen, decimating vehicles with his character's superpowers.

I stood there, watching my boy, remembering him as that cherub-faced toddler nearly a decade ago. Isn't it strange how we can walk down Memory Lane in the most unusual of places?

Pain in the Neck

Leave it to me to throw out my neck while sleeping.

Yes, actually sleeping. {Yawn. How boring.}

It's been about two years since I last threw it out, and I'd happily gotten used to living without the pain.

But here it is, back again.

The origin of the pain seems to have been a fender-bender I was involved in when I was in my early twenties. Ever since, my neck has been very sensitive. Turn my head too fast in a slightly wrong way? My neck goes out. Sleep funny? My neck goes out. Use too heavy a weight at the gym while working out my shoulders? My neck goes out.

I've even caused it to go out on me while talking on the phone! {'Course, it wasn't the talking that did it... it was the hands-free way I held the phone between my ear and shoulder that did it. Big no-no.}

Although I'm not 100% certain how I did it this time, I suspect I strained it during a workout at the gym the other day, and then I slept on too many pillows last night, cocking my neck in an unnatural position. I usually try to guard against the pillow injury, but evidently I became too sleepy to notice the situation.

So I look pretty odd today as I go about my business. Can't turn my head without turning my whole body with it. I walk with my back, neck, and head in perfect alignment; any deviation reduces me to tears and excruciating pain.

It'll pass within a few days. I won't be able to run or play tennis or lift weights for a few days, and then it'll I'll do it tentatively for a while. But it will get better. And I'll be more careful for a while.

In the meantime, I'll just enjoy a little downtime. Catch up on e-mails. Read a book. Rest a while. Find a little pleasure from this pain.

Just in Time

Lunches made in the morning before school. Laundry washed when a particular garment is needed for that day. Groceries purchased in late afternoon, about the time dinner needs to get started. Or not purchased at all, resulting in another dinner out. Forms signed and dated the day they are due. Work and papers completed just under the deadline.

A decade ago, the auto manufacturer I worked for was in the process of implementing "Just-in-Time" practices in their supply chain management system. In this practice, members of the supply chain network collaborated to move raw materials, inventory, and finished goods from point of origin to point of consumption just when they were needed, and not before, in order to cut costs and reduce storage requirements.

In recent weeks, I've been operating (unintentionally) under the same principle. And I'm exhausted.

By nature, I am more comfortable with a certain degree of planning, organization, and time buffering. My years as a parent have taught me to be flexible with those plans, in order to accommodate the unpredictable; nevertheless, I like to start with a plan anyway.

But by this past weekend, all planning had flown out the window. Papers were piled on my desk. My e-mail InBox numbered somewhere around 500ish. The house was a mess. We made it to appointments and activities just in the nick of time. We ate quickie, non-nutritious meals most nights. The rings under my eyes darkened due to sporadic and insufficient sleep habits.

I felt very stressed.

Relief came in the form of a Sunday with virtually no plans - a rare occurrence these days.

My husband spent the weekend in the kitchen on a soup-making binge, all homemade from scratch. My body, craving good, satisfying nourishment, was satiated. I sat at my desk, going through every single slip of paper - taking action on some, filing a few more, and depositing the rest in the circular file. My mind felt clearer with every square inch of desktop that became visible. I took a nap both Saturday and Sunday, and the dark half-moons under my eyes became lighter. The cleaning people arrived today to lighten our home of accumulated dust and grime. I made a meal plan for the entire week so that we can fill our bodies with nutritious food, and do so with one organized grocery shopping trip, rather than seven last-minute trips.

There are still numerous tasks, projects, and details to attend to this week. No sitting around eating bonbons for me. (Have I ever?) But with organization and a plan in hand, I feel hopeful about completing the things I need to do.

In time. But not Just in Time.