The Woman in the Mirror

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It’s time to check off another item from my “A Pre-Apocalyptic Bucket List for the Soul.” In case you missed it last week, my challenge to you was to create a list of the top 10 things you would like to change about or accomplish for yourself before you die — a sort of bucket list for the psyche.

Here’s my item No. 2:

Love and be proud of my body. I’ve spent 45 years on this one so far, and I haven’t made much progress. I’d like to learn to look in the mirror and at photographs of myself and see the good parts instead of the bad. (Disclaimer: I don’t voice my body image issues in front of my daughter. It’s not healthy for me to force my saddle — I mean, emotional — baggage on her, and I recognize that.)

Do you remember the moment when you first became self-conscious about your body? I do. I was 10 years old and already had curvy hips and was wearing a bra. Frankly, the bra was far more embarrassing to me than the hips — until a boy teased me about them on the bus, that is. From that moment on, they became all I saw.

As a teenager, I tried dieting, but the weight never disappeared from my problem areas. I wasn’t overweight; I was just proportioned like a bowling pin. I never worked out back then, aside from an occasional ill-fated aerobics class, but my weight stayed pretty much the same into my mid-twenties.

When my metabolism slowed down and I packed on 20 pounds, I knew I had to start exercising. That was right before my 30th birthday, and I never stopped. These days I run and I strength train with Jillian Michaels DVDs (“Extreme Shed and Shred” is my current favorite). I try to work out 45 to 60 minutes a day, five or six days a week.

My body may not be perfect, but whose is? I am proud of how hard I work to stay (relatively) fit, and I think I am sending a positive message to my daughter about the importance of exercise. This is the body I was given; how I see it is up to me.

When the Cat’s Away…

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…the mouse howls at the moon.

That's me: No. 5 from the left. So excited for a night on the town after four days of single parenting.

Of course I channeled my inner groupie and wound up on stage at Howl at the Moon in Chicago. Where else would I be?

I know I look like a cardboard cutout, but that's me, really, up on stage.

I Am Lovable and Capable…Right?

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Image source: ThingLink.com

Earlier this week I challenged you guys to write “A Pre-Apocalyptic Bucket List for the Soul.” The idea was to figure out the top 10 things you would like to change about or accomplish for yourself before you die — a sort of bucket list for the psyche.

So did you start your list yet? The clock is ticking here, folks. According to the Mayan calendar (or the people who misread when it ends, at least), we only have 34 more days left. I don’t know about you, but I figure I should get cracking on checking off stuff. I stupidly knowingly wrote a pretty tough list, so I’m going to take it one item at a time. Let’s start with No. 1:

Let go of past hurts. I can forgive, but I have a lot of trouble with the forgetting part. Dwelling on things doesn’t hurt anyone but me … and my husband, who gets stuck listening to me obsess.

This is a tough one. I don’t want to call out anyone specifically and sound like a whiney tattle tale, so I’ll focus on the common theme in most hurtful situations: He/she/they excluded me or said or did something that wounded my self-esteem.

Any of you children of the ’70s remember the IALAC sign classroom experiment? IALAC stands for “I am lovable and capable.” When I was in fourth grade in Southfield, Michigan, my teacher had us make IALAC signs and wear them all day. Each time someone said something that made us feel insecure or hurt us, we had to rip off a piece of the sign.

At the end of the day, I remember looking at what was left of my sign and wondered what I had done to deserve all those torn-off pieces. It had to be my fault. Instead of blaming the people who made me feel bad about myself, I blamed myself. My lack of self-esteem was the reason I couldn’t let go of the emotional pain.

With the apocalypse approaching, I think it’s time to break out the old IALAC sign. After all, I am lovable and capable…right?

I’ll keep you posted on the state of my sign.

The Bad Wife

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I dreaded my husband’s business trips when our kids were young. Parenting alone for a few days several times a month left me in need of therapy, a vacation, or at the very least a case of wine and a visit from the fairy housekeeper. I missed his help more than his company when he traveled back then. Perhaps that sounds coldhearted and selfish, but anyone who has single-handedly wrangled a baby or toddler will understand.

Nope. That's not me. (Image source: TVRage.com)

In the tween and teen years, parenting alone is trying but manageable. The angst, attitude and backtalk stress me out, but at least my kids are old enough that I can reason with them some of the time. And because they are independent and more or less self-sufficient, this mother’s work actually is done at the end of the day. When my husband is away now, I miss his company because I do fine without his help, usually at least.

His latest trip has been a different experience for us here at home. One of our kids is having a tough time, and life has been more than a little challenging. (As much as I would like to talk about it here, I can’t, because I have to respect my child’s privacy. I’m starting to understand why people blog anonymously. Self-censorship sucks.) In light of our struggles, you would think I would want my husband here with me.

Instead I’m enjoying a few days of freedom. There’s nothing sordid to tell. I haven’t been out boozing, gambling or carousing — at least not yet. Actually, I’ve been home every night since he left.

I’m a bad wife not because of anything I’ve done while he’s away but because I’m relieved that he’s gone.

For the past few days, I haven’t worried a bit about being unemployed for the past four months. While the kids are at school, I write and work out at my leisure because he isn’t here to see me slacking. In the evenings, I relax on the couch in front of the TV without a twinge of regret because he isn’t still working in his office upstairs. I do whatever the hell I want, when I want, and I revel in it.

I’m a bad wife because even though my husband has supported me lovingly and completely ever since I lost my job, I still think I’ve let him down. He’s given me no reason to feel this way, none whatsoever. It’s all in my insecure, delusional head. He wants me to be able to relax and do the things that make me happy. Instead, I’ve relegated myself to serf status in my own home because I think I am not carrying my weight financially.

I’m a bad wife for the same reasons I’m a good mother: I would rather give support than receive it. I want to be the caregiver not the patient. I want to heal my family’s wounds, while ignoring my own. If I want to be a good wife who is worthy of my even better husband, I have to allow him to take care of me a little. I have to admit I need the emotional Band-Aid of someone telling me it will all be OK.

This bad wife could really use a good husband right now. Thank goodness he comes home tomorrow.

Workin’ on Some Night Moves…

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…well, not really. But I did laugh until I almost peed myself in the wee hours of the morning the other day.

You see, when we picked up my daughter’s bestie for band carpool, she presented me with the record below, and said, “My dad thought you might like to borrow this.”

When I saw what “this” was, I burst out laughing and so did my daughter. You see, not everyone knows I hate Bob Seger. In fact, a lot of people assume the opposite because I’m from Detroit. Apparently, you are supposed to like all music born in your hometown. Well, personally, I’ll take the White Stripes, MC5, Iggy Pop and pretty much any Motown artist out there over Bob Seger any day. And Record Girl’s dad, an infamous prankster, knows this full well.

So, with apologies to Mr. Seger, today I raise my coffee cup to the friends who always know how to make us laugh — even at 6 o’clock in the morning.

Disclaimer: I spent the entire morning trying to work out an issue with the RSS feed on this blog, and it’s still not resolved. I’m annoyed but even more frustrated that I squandered the two hours I had allotted for writing today on such nonsense. And there you have my justification for yet another short post. Sigh. I feel like such a NaBloPoMo failure.

A Pre-Apocalyptic Bucket List for the Soul

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On the way to school this morning, my 13-year-old son reminded me that the world is going to end Dec. 21. Of course he was kidding, but we decided it might be a good idea to plan a party for Dec. 20 just in case. I don’t know about you, but if the Mayans (or the folks who misinterpreted when their calendar ends) were correct, I have a lot to do in the next 38 days. The good news is we can at least scratch Christmas/Hanukkah/Kwanzaa shopping off our lists, right?

Here’s my challenge to you: Write a list of the top 10 things you wish you could change about or accomplish for yourself before you die. I’m not talking about skydiving or mountain climbing here. Let’s call it a bucket list for the psyche.

Here’s mine:

  1. Let go of past hurts. I can forgive, but I have a lot of trouble with the forgetting part. Dwelling on things doesn’t hurt anyone but me … and my husband, who gets stuck listening to me obsess.
  2. Love and be proud of my body. I’ve spent 45 years on this one so far, and I haven’t made much progress. I’d like to learn to look in the mirror and at photographs of myself and see the good parts instead of the bad. (Disclaimer: I don’t voice my body image issues in front of my daughter. It’s not healthy for me to force my saddle — I mean, emotional — baggage on her, and I recognize that.)
  3. Quit being an easy target. I wear my heart on my sleeve and always have. I don’t think this is necessarily a bad thing, but I never learned how to fight back verbally or physically. Melting into a pool of emotional mush doesn’t work out so well. Take my word for it.
  4. Stop yelling at my kids. Strangely, this correlates with No. 3. My kids don’t listen the first three or four times I say something because they don’t take me seriously. Until I yell, that is. Then they get upset with me for raising my voice and shout back. Then I yell louder. It’s a vicious, and headache inducing, circle, and I hate it.
  5. Be a better friend. I have let so many relationships fade over the past 13 or so years. I know it’s a copout to blame it on having kids, but I do, at least to a certain extent. At the end of a crazy, busy day, the last thing I want to do is pick up the phone or even compose an email. I want quiet, peace. And as a result of my lack of effort, I’ve lost track of a lot of people I truly love and miss.
  6. Call my sister more. This goes back to No. 5 and the fact that I despise talking on the phone. But that’s a lame excuse. Our parents are both gone and it’s just us (and our wayward brother; see No. 7). My sister lives alone, and I know she would love to hear from the kids and me more.
  7. Reconnect with my brother. He’s a lost soul who has been in and out of trouble over the years. He has issues I don’t feel comfortable sharing publicly without his permission. But he was always good to me, and I love and miss him like crazy.
  8. Listen more. To my husband, to my kids, to my friends. But most of all to myself. If I listened to my inner voice a little more often, I think No. 1 would be much less of a problem. I tend to overlook bad first instincts about a person, thinking that everyone deserves a chance. Maybe some people don’t, or I just need to learn to give up sooner.
  9. Let people in. I’ve experienced a lot of loss in my life. I hate when people leave me, so I put up walls to keep them out in the first place. I guess that’s why No. 1 is such a problem. When I actually do let someone in and he or she hurts me, I’m emotionally devastated and I can’t let it go. Ugh. This is the thing that drives me the craziest about myself, but I think it’s also one of the hardest to fix. I for sure haven’t had much luck in the past four-and-a-half decades.
  10. Seize the day. It’s been a tough year (death, job loss, etc.). I lost my positive mojo and confidence somewhere along the way, and I need to find it. After all, the clock is ticking.

 So what’s on your psyche’s bucket list?

Bad Case of Sunday Blues

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I remember sitting on the couch as a child, happily playing with my Colorforms or Barbies, when suddenly a wave of fear and sadness would wash over me. It was Sunday evening, and the clock was ticking away to the end of the weekend. I could feel the dread in the pit of my stomach as I anticipated the events of the next day.

Monday meant leaving the safety and comfort of home for the scary uncertainty of school. Would the mean girl on the bus who was twice my size tell me she hated me and glare at me from across the aisle? Would I get in trouble with the teacher for talking too much in class? Would the queen bee of the playground welcome me into the fold or would I wind up alone on the swingset?

I hated Sunday because it meant Monday was coming, and there was nothing I could do to stop it.

Even though it’s no longer me who has to face school in the morning, I still dread Monday’s arrival. Monday means my kids venture out into the world where I have no control over their safety or comfort. What if the carpool driver or bus taking them to school gets into an accident? What if they fail a test? What if they are excluded at the lunch table? These thoughts plague me every day as they walk out the door, but especially on Monday.

Why are Mondays the hardest? After the kids head off to school, my husband goes to work, and it’s just me and the dog at home. My abandonment issues kick into high gear because after spending two days with the three people I love the most, they all leave me behind. It sounds silly, I know. They have to go, and it’s not as if they aren’t coming back. Mondays just make me realize how much I hate it when they’re gone.

I have yet to come up with a way to make the Sunday blues disappear entirely, but spending the evening together as a family definitely helps. Usually the four of us hang out in the kitchen and make a special dinner. We try to come up with a new recipe or we make something that requires extra time and isn’t conducive to our weeknight schedule crunch.

After a Sunday evening of laughing, talking and eating with my family, Monday doesn’t feel quite so ominous. The family bonding makes it a little easier when everyone walks out the door the next morning. But I still can’t wait for them all to come home.

Do you suffer from “Sunday night syndrome”? How do you cope?

Happy Veteran’s Day!

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It’s been a wild and crazy weekend around here: anniversary dinner, concert, birthday party. But before I begin my usual Sunday scurrying to catch up and get ready for the week, I wanted to take a moment to thank and remember all the veterans who so proudly and bravely serve and have served our country, my dad included.

My father and hero, a U.S. Navy World War II veteran (RIP May 19, 1925- May 20, 2006)

Our Hillbilly Anniversary

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What better way to spend your anniversary than with a bunch of hillbillies, right?

Those of you who’ve been here before know my husband and I are music nuts, him being an actual musician and me a die-hard groupie. Well, yesterday was our 16th wedding anniversary, so we decided to celebrate it as any true fans would. We had a quiet, romantic dinner at our favorite local Italian restaurant, and then headed over to the VFW hall for some foot-stompin’ music and dollar beers with our good friends the Righteous Hillbillies.

The band was on fire, and it was a great night. I’m kind of sorry we missed the fish fry, though.

The Righteous Hillbillies rockin' the house at last night's release party for their new CD, "Trece Diablos" (photo by Michelle Gadeikis)