Spilled Milk

My three children were gone last week at camp. Six days and five nights of a fractured family, agony (at times) for their mother.

I felt such relief, such happiness, such wholeness, when I picked them up on Friday!

My sweet, precious, loving children.

Well, at least for the moment... They've been home just three days, but already they're back to the typical bickering and vying for sibling dominance.

Case in point: Tonight, after I'd poured three glasses of milk at the counter, I told each one to take a glass and sit down at the table for dinner. The same drink was poured into three identical glasses, at what appeared {to my untrained adult eye} to be the same level. Evidently, one twin (we'll call her Twin A) had set her mind on a particular glass at the same moment that the other twin (B) laid her hand on it. Of course neither one would back down from this challenge.

And of course I could see what was coming. But I let it play out.

After some verbal sparring, they moved on to physical force. By this time, each twin had her hand on the glass and was determined to pick it up and take it to her seat. Surely it's no surprise to you, my astute reader, that the result was spilled milk!

All over the counter. All over the stool that was beneath it. All over the floor. {Why, oh why, does stuff like this happen on the day the house is cleaned?}

But I stayed planted in my seat at the kitchen table. This wasn't my fight, and it wasn't my mess to clean up. And one of the lessons I learned from having my kids away at camp all week is that they can do for themselves! They don't need mom to come clean up their messes and take care of life's difficult moments for them. We all needed reminding of that valuable lesson.

So, there they were, cleaning up that big mess while their brother and I sat at the table, ready to eat. I didn't offer to help, and they didn't ask. They knew that their fighting caused the spill. They knew it was their responsibility to clean it up.

Responsibility: it's such an important life lesson. So what's a little spilled milk?

Last On, First Off

If you have read my blog during the past year, you may recall that I've created a Top 10 -- my Bucket List -- of things I'd like to accomplish before I die. (Well, actually, I'm up to 11. I added one more in January before I'd had a chance to cross off any of the other 10.)

Of course, this list is dynamic. I'll always have roughly 10 items on my list, though those specific items will change as I accomplish some and set my sights on others. I mean, I'm only 39 and I plan to be here for many more decades. What if I finish them all by age 45, but don't add any more? Then what? Just sit and wait to die? Not likely!)

Some of the items on my list will take years to accomplish, as they require very specific training, preparation, and particular circumstances to achieve. Others are rather simple, but are important to me. For some, such as #11, it's not a matter of training or preparation. For that one, it's simply mind over matter.

What is #11, you ask? It's "wear a bikini -- in public."

It seems like a silly, frivolous goal. But mentally, it's a biggie.

Though I've worn bikinis occasionally in the past, I haven't in recent years. But it's not so much about body as it is about confidence. And my natural tendency is to be stingy about my self-confidence. I easily see all my imperfections. I've had to train myself to appreciate my own skills and accomplishments. And to allow myself to be a work in progress. I grant this courtesy to my friends and family, but I tend to withhold it from myself.

So the accomplishment of #11 really is about saying to myself and the world: "Here I am -- the pleasing, the not-so-pleasing, the whole package. I'm not hiding anything (OK, well, literally I am hiding a little with the bikini, but metaphorically I'm lettin' it all hang out!). And it's OK if I'm not perfect. I accept myself for who I am, and I'm taking a risk that you will, too."

So there you go. I did it. I'm crossing off #11. Betcha I cross off two more by September... Stay tuned!

Empty Nest

A vacancy no longer filled
With needs and wants
And right-nows.

Bickering and whining
And passionate arguments
For or against nothing, really.

No silly jokes;
No slapstick.
No arms extended for a hug.

No cuddles on the couch;
No heads tilted upward,
Lips pursed for a kiss

Like birdies in a nest
Seeking nourishment
From mama bird.

The silence I coveted is cavernous.
The time is timeless.
The relief is new anxiety.

But it's important to them, to us.
They grow, they learn,
They know not to need,

To have reliance on self,
Appreciation for others,
The joy of joy.

They learn, they struggle,
They achieve!
They gain strength.

They discover their wings,
The strength of those wings;
They rejoice in their newfound selves.


Is this what they mean by empty nest? My children, like baby birds, are gone. As they discover their inner strengths, their fortitudes, and what is meaningful to them, their mama and papa watch from afar and await their return.

We survey our empty nest. Baby-less. Unneeded. Unclaimed.

A foreign state.

A trial run, this week is. They will be back. We will be whole. We will each have experiences to take with us to someday, when the nest is empty for good, and our birdies make new nests of their own.

My children: Fly, be free. But please come back to me.

Hiatus

Since beginning this blog last summer, I've loved writing for it. For most of the months I've had this blog, I've averaged 2.5-3 entries per week. That's a pace I enjoy.

For some weeks during this time, however, I've been struck by a muteness of a sort. Life moves around me, I share experiences with others, but I can't find the means to communicate. That's when I've had "writer's block." It feels almost like torture for me, and causes much anxiety. But it passes.

For the last month or more, it may appear as though I'm once again experiencing writer's block, as I've written very little. However, that's not the case this time. I'm filled to brim with experiences and opinions to express. What's lacking is dedicated time. This mom has simply been unable to find an hour or more of quiet, uninterrupted time in which to compose her thoughts. So they remain on little scraps of paper tucked in my "writing" drawer.

But I miss writing. Not only for this blog, but for other purposes.

So this is simply a hiatus. I will return to this blog! Sooner rather than later.

I appreciate all those who check this site and follow me. I love receiving your comments and plan to provide content for them very soon.

Until then, enjoy your summer!

60 Days Out

You can't imagine how hesitant I am to announce what will surely be a very exciting and memorable undertaking. But I'm going to do it anyway...

Two months from today, on July 26, I plan to climb Mt Whitney. At 14,500 feet, it is the highest peak in the contiguous (lower 48) states.

Access to the upper trails is strictly controlled. In February each year, would-be climbers apply for one-day or overnight passes. By April, we're notified of acceptance, and are assigned the specific valid date(s) of our passes.

Six of us are going on this trip, four of whom have hiked to the peak before, and two of whom (my girlfriend and I) are newbies.

This trip is my idea. The four who climbed it before swore they'd never do it again. But I wanted to, and they all rallied around me, without hesitation. (Thanks, guys!) We're all preparing for the excursion by ensuring we have the proper gear, physical training, and mental expectations for the climb.

I really feel we'll be ready for this trip of a lifetime. So why the hesitancy?

Well, I tend to over-prepare for things, meaning I overdo it. Then I injure myself, foiling my own plans. This is exactly what happened last fall, while training for my first half-marathon.

Conscious of this tendency of mine, I'm trying to temper my trainings a bit this time around. I'm working out 4-5 days a week, but paying attention to my body. If something hurts or is over-sore, I cut back for a couple of days and let my body recover before pushing forward. Lord knows I don't want to repeat those 10 weeks on crutches! So far, so good this time.

But what I can't control is mountaintop weather.

This is a very real danger that will affect our success at reaching the peak. It's unpredictable. And it must be dealt with very seriously: If there is lightening, we come down. Period. There's no place to hide from lightening above the tree line on the highest point around.

So I just remind myself that it's the journey that counts, not the destination. This will be an experience of a lifetime whether or not we reach the peak.

But still, I really want to reach that peak. In a mere 60 days, we'll know.

All or Enough?

"I can bring home the bacon,
Fry it up in a pan,
And never ever let you forget you're the man."



As a child in the 1970s, I wanted to be that woman in the Enjoli commercial when I grew up. She looked fabulous! And why shouldn't I be able to do all the things she boasted of accomplishing?

Now, I don't want to get deep in the weeds of the pros/cons of this philosophy. Some people can pull off having amazing careers, a spotless home, and nurtured relationships simultaneously, with a smile on their faces and without bags under their eyes -- and maybe even singing a song Enjoli-style. But let's just say that I, as an employed, college-educated, young married woman, found that trying to do everything well all the time was exhausting. So what works for me, and many of the women I know these days, is to pick two: career, home, relationships. At any given stage in our lives, we can achieve success and happiness with two of these simultaneously. The third gains prominence as one of the others becomes less significant.

These days, I don't even desire to be the Enjoli woman. I've discovered that being everything to everyone all the time ends up leaving me out. It's tiring. And doing it all now doesn't leave anything to strive for.

I find it similar to the time-quality-cost project management triangle: For any given project, trade-offs must be made. Typically, only two of the primary goals are achievable. The manager decides which of the two are most important for the given project, and focuses on delivering those successfully.

Compromise is the theme, then.

In compromising, my presumption is neither that I'll get everything I want, nor that I'll forsake everything that's truly important to me, all at once. But I'll have most of what I need to be happy or to get the job done. And I presume that, as the situation changes, a new compromise can be made.

It has become clear to me that some type of compromise will need to be made in my latest car search. {Don't worry: I know it's getting to be an old topic, so no more talk of the car after today!} Power, performance, roominess, overall size, comfort, fuel consumption, emissions, luxury... all are important considerations to me, but it appears that finding one hunk of metal that meets all of these ideals at once will be a challenge. I may need to compromise a little roominess for fuel consumption; or power for comfort; or luxury for performance.

I know I'll keep enough of what's most important to me in the car I choose. And for the rest? Well, I'll do it all over again in a few years. I'll get to them next time around.

Put Your Lead Foot Forward

I'm now well into my search for a new vehicle.

In most cases, the sales rep from the dealership accompanies me on my test drives. I don't mind his or her presence, as it allows me to ask questions while I'm driving.

On my first drive, conscious of the sales rep's presence in the passenger seat, I drove conservatively.

Somewhere along I-75, however, I threw conservatism out the window. "Look," I said to salesman Steve. "I like to punch it when I accelerate, and then I brake hard. So I'm tough on my tires, tough on my brakes. I take turns hard, too. Just wanted to warn you."

Steve laughed! "You're the first person who's actually said anything like that. And I'm glad you did. On a test drive, you should drive the car as you would naturally. That's the only way you'll find out if the car is right for you."

Ahhh, I could relax. Then I hit the gas.

When I drove another SUV with saleswoman Caryl, I made a similar speech, with this addendum: "My kids are used to it. They don't get carsick because my driving is what they're used to."

More laughter. Then she said, "Most people don't talk about how they actually drive the car. It's good that you know how you drive, and that you know what you want from a car."

Though I'm tempted to put my best foot forward, it's a fact that I drive with a lead foot. My dad tried to rid me of this habit when I was younger, and I really tried to change, but it didn't last long. Then my wonderfully steady, careful husband used logic to explain how my driving habits affect the wear and tear (and replacement of parts) on my car. I totally understood it. And tried to go easy. But again, I went back to my old habits.

Now I'm almost 40. I've been driving for 24 years -- more than half my life. I just don't think I'm gonna change.

And I don't care to lie to myself or anyone else.

So I offer only the truth: One of my vices is that I'm an aggressive driver. I'm far from the only one who is. But I'd like to think that one of my virtues is my ability to recognize and admit who I am. (But I also offer this reminder: aggressive is not synonymous with careless. I said I'm aggressive; I did not say I'm careless.)

I'm never going to take my vehicle out on a track. But I'm going to take my kids to school, I'm going to run errands around town, I'm going to take the family on trips. And when I do that, I'll need a vehicle that can keep up. It needs to go when I want to go. It needs to stop exactly when I need to stop. It needs to make tight turns, just because I like it that way. It needs to keep up with me, and be safe, comfortable, and reliable to boot.

So that's why, among the usual questions for sales reps, my questions also include estimates on maintenance schedules for tires and brakes for a driver like me. I don't need to know how long those parts last for the wonderfully smooth, careful drivers like my dad and my husband. I need to know how long they'll last for me.

I'm finding that my kind of questions don't come up much. The sales reps need to look up the answers.

Maybe more drivers like me just need to admit to our true habits. I won't hide any longer. I am who I am. The foot I put forward may not be the best, but it's the one I've got. And so I'll proudly put that lead foot forward.