Years ago, I had a horrific temper. My kids used to run in fear sometimes, and I swear that there were moments where I sort of stepped outside my body, and watched this mad harpie screaming and spitting and turning beet red. It wasn't too fun....
Then, something catastrophic happened in my life and my temper seemed to melt out of me, replaced by a melancholy and hopelessness that was easier (I think) for everyone else to deal with, but it weighed more and never really subsided. It was, however, easier to cover up. That temper stuff jumps and dances around, and you can't really throw a blanket on it and pretend it isn't there; the other, though, is sedate and morose, and it will never try very hard to fight out from under whatever you toss over it. It doesn't have to, because it knows that it has an indefatigable grip on you and it'll never give up. In the case of depression, slow and steady wins its race.
Today, a drop of liquid set me into a rage. One drop. Now, granted, it was a drop of pee on the toilet seat, and so it was annoying, unnerving, wet, freaked me out, you name it. I found myself in the bathroom shouting, "F*%kin' A!" at the top of my lungs, wiped off the damn seat, finished my bathroom business, and then left the house. I was frightened. I haven't felt that kind of anger in years, and it scared the hell outta me. So, I did what any self-respecting post-menopausal almost-50-year-old woman would do: I went to a craft store. Now, a couple hours and $32 later (everything was on sale!), I am back at home, calmed down, and trying to accept the fact that this may not be the last time. Maybe the beast is back. Then again, maybe that also means that all those other jumping, shouting, hard-to-contain emotions are back as well. Maybe even joy?
Well, well, well...welcome home...
Saturday, November 27, 2010
Sunday, November 7, 2010
Visibility
One of my sister's highest criteria for rating a new car is the visibility. If she cannot see properly (for her) out the back window, side windows, mirrors, or windshield, she simply will not drive it. As I get older, I more and more agree with her. I currently own a convertible Toyota Solara and, even though I love the car, I am getting crankier and crankier about its lack of visibility.
I think that I also, as I get older, am more intolerant of my lack of life visibility. When I was younger, it was just fine that I couldn't quite see well enough out of the vehicle that is my life. Don't know what's ahead? No problem - I'm sure we won't crash. Can't see behind me, in case I want to back up? Who cares! But now....well, now I just want to have a clear windshield and be surrounded by life's windows.
Even if what I see isn't perfect, at least I'd have time to steer around it, or decide how to navigate. But seeing nothing? It's scaring the hell out of me. I am in some sort of armed vehicle with nothing but a crack in front of me to peer through, and even that is often obscured by the dust of the road ahead (or perhaps battles just fought). I am finally at a place where I need to SEE, dammit! If not, perhaps it's time to pull over, pile out of this car, and go get a new one. Maybe the paint won't be as shiny; maybe it'll be a cheaper car (or perhaps the payments will be so high that I'll find myself really just scraping by). But I'll know what's coming, and when I get into the garage at night, I'll sleep more soundly and be prepared for the next day, and the one after that.
Just sayin'...
I think that I also, as I get older, am more intolerant of my lack of life visibility. When I was younger, it was just fine that I couldn't quite see well enough out of the vehicle that is my life. Don't know what's ahead? No problem - I'm sure we won't crash. Can't see behind me, in case I want to back up? Who cares! But now....well, now I just want to have a clear windshield and be surrounded by life's windows.
Even if what I see isn't perfect, at least I'd have time to steer around it, or decide how to navigate. But seeing nothing? It's scaring the hell out of me. I am in some sort of armed vehicle with nothing but a crack in front of me to peer through, and even that is often obscured by the dust of the road ahead (or perhaps battles just fought). I am finally at a place where I need to SEE, dammit! If not, perhaps it's time to pull over, pile out of this car, and go get a new one. Maybe the paint won't be as shiny; maybe it'll be a cheaper car (or perhaps the payments will be so high that I'll find myself really just scraping by). But I'll know what's coming, and when I get into the garage at night, I'll sleep more soundly and be prepared for the next day, and the one after that.
Just sayin'...
Sunday, October 24, 2010
Talkin' Bout My Generation (and the one after)
I had breakfast this morning with my daughter and son-in-law. We talked about Sara's job, how best she could voice some concerns she has at work, how the kids' honeymoon went, and then somehow got on the subject of education (or lack thereof).
Sara recently had the pleasure of attending an event where the speaker was Madeline Levine, who does extensive research on why teenagers from affluent families are experiencing epidemic rates of emotional problems. This prompted a lengthy discussion about over-achieving students, parental pressure to do more, to be perfect, and the tendency of parents, beginning with my generation of parenting, to fill a child's every waking moment with educational and extra-curricular activities. At one point, Sara asked me if I am "ok" with the notion that Alec (my son) may never graduate from college. I thought about it for a moment and said, truthfully, that if he is happy, I'm fine with it. He has a very responsible, stressful, low-paying job, and he excels at it. My 21-year-old man-child has, in one month, taken a retail store in a rural area to a point where he has increased their phone sales by about 700% Yes, I did the math right; I may be just a dumb high-school graduate, but I can do the math. Seven. Hundred. Percent.
I told Sara that, in days of yore, I had two pieces of great advice for first-time parents:
1) Never buy your child a blankie that you cannot easily replace at WalMart or Target. Otherwise, you'll end up with a 2-year-old who is walking around with a dirty, ragged, disgusting, smelly blanket that you can't even wrestle away from him/her to throw in the washing machine. Always have a lot of backups. Wash them all equally, so the silly kid can't tell the difference.
2) Someday, you will feel like taking your adorable infant to Macy's, going to the top floor, and throwing the squalling bundle of flesh down the elevator shaft. It WILL happen. When it does, remember that feelings are OK - it's actions that are crimes. So, it's alright to want to do the tossing; it's NOT quite so OK to actually toss.
Now, I add a third piece of advice:
3) At any given point in time, allow your child to be involved in ONE extracurricular activity - soccer OR piano OR Gymboree OR jujitsu OR junior Einstein science camp.
On the whole, my generation has raised a passle of kids who cannot decide how to do one damned thing for themselves. They have been fed, showered, entertained, scheduled, mollycoddled, driven to school, driven to practice, driven to piano lessons, until we as parents are driven to tears. When I was a child, I spent probably three solid weeks of afternoons and weekends in Felicia Morrow's backyard, the two of us (sometimes four, if joined by Markie and Carla Morrow) with spoons determined to dig far enough to get to China. We entertained ourselves! I cannot once remember trudging into my mom's kitchen and whining that I was "bored" if she didn't fill every waking moment of my time with some planned activity.
Now, there are students whose parents call to drop their kids' college courses for them; parents who decide via phone photo texts which pair of shoes their kid should buy; parents who call or text their 20-something children multiple times a day and expect an immediate response. HELLOOOOOOOO...you are raising a generation of adults who cannot wipe their own noses (or, probably, arses). But they have first-rate expensive educations that also somehow never taught them how to write out a rent check.
So yeah, I am fine with Alec never going to college. In fact, I am finally fine with *my* never graduating from college. I look at my kids - one married, one not; one college educated, one not; one living in a big city, one not - and I realize that they couldn't be more equal in my eyes. And, joy of joys, I couldn't possibly love either of them one iota more.
So please, please, people - give your children a break. Teach them to have fun, teach them how to tie their shoes, encourage them to be all they can be, then support them every step of the way when they don't take the exact path you may have chosen for them.
Oh yeah, and stop calling them every day - they need some time to learn to fend for themselves! They will still call when they need you, but at least it will be for work advice and possibly a food preparation question, rather than to ask you to send them money for rent because they spent all theirs on WOW server memberships.
Sara recently had the pleasure of attending an event where the speaker was Madeline Levine, who does extensive research on why teenagers from affluent families are experiencing epidemic rates of emotional problems. This prompted a lengthy discussion about over-achieving students, parental pressure to do more, to be perfect, and the tendency of parents, beginning with my generation of parenting, to fill a child's every waking moment with educational and extra-curricular activities. At one point, Sara asked me if I am "ok" with the notion that Alec (my son) may never graduate from college. I thought about it for a moment and said, truthfully, that if he is happy, I'm fine with it. He has a very responsible, stressful, low-paying job, and he excels at it. My 21-year-old man-child has, in one month, taken a retail store in a rural area to a point where he has increased their phone sales by about 700% Yes, I did the math right; I may be just a dumb high-school graduate, but I can do the math. Seven. Hundred. Percent.
I told Sara that, in days of yore, I had two pieces of great advice for first-time parents:
1) Never buy your child a blankie that you cannot easily replace at WalMart or Target. Otherwise, you'll end up with a 2-year-old who is walking around with a dirty, ragged, disgusting, smelly blanket that you can't even wrestle away from him/her to throw in the washing machine. Always have a lot of backups. Wash them all equally, so the silly kid can't tell the difference.
2) Someday, you will feel like taking your adorable infant to Macy's, going to the top floor, and throwing the squalling bundle of flesh down the elevator shaft. It WILL happen. When it does, remember that feelings are OK - it's actions that are crimes. So, it's alright to want to do the tossing; it's NOT quite so OK to actually toss.
Now, I add a third piece of advice:
3) At any given point in time, allow your child to be involved in ONE extracurricular activity - soccer OR piano OR Gymboree OR jujitsu OR junior Einstein science camp.
On the whole, my generation has raised a passle of kids who cannot decide how to do one damned thing for themselves. They have been fed, showered, entertained, scheduled, mollycoddled, driven to school, driven to practice, driven to piano lessons, until we as parents are driven to tears. When I was a child, I spent probably three solid weeks of afternoons and weekends in Felicia Morrow's backyard, the two of us (sometimes four, if joined by Markie and Carla Morrow) with spoons determined to dig far enough to get to China. We entertained ourselves! I cannot once remember trudging into my mom's kitchen and whining that I was "bored" if she didn't fill every waking moment of my time with some planned activity.
Now, there are students whose parents call to drop their kids' college courses for them; parents who decide via phone photo texts which pair of shoes their kid should buy; parents who call or text their 20-something children multiple times a day and expect an immediate response. HELLOOOOOOOO...you are raising a generation of adults who cannot wipe their own noses (or, probably, arses). But they have first-rate expensive educations that also somehow never taught them how to write out a rent check.
So yeah, I am fine with Alec never going to college. In fact, I am finally fine with *my* never graduating from college. I look at my kids - one married, one not; one college educated, one not; one living in a big city, one not - and I realize that they couldn't be more equal in my eyes. And, joy of joys, I couldn't possibly love either of them one iota more.
So please, please, people - give your children a break. Teach them to have fun, teach them how to tie their shoes, encourage them to be all they can be, then support them every step of the way when they don't take the exact path you may have chosen for them.
Oh yeah, and stop calling them every day - they need some time to learn to fend for themselves! They will still call when they need you, but at least it will be for work advice and possibly a food preparation question, rather than to ask you to send them money for rent because they spent all theirs on WOW server memberships.
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