Tag: navigating the world

Ultimate Optimism #atozchallenge

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As I make my way through life, I have been collecting nuggets that I carry with me like badges. These are things I seldom whip out and flash around; instead, they are personal, trophies won through the experiences I have gone through—the struggles, the pain, the joys, and the triumphs.

One of the most useful nuggets I have acquired is ultimate optimism. Really more of an outlook on life—an approach to life, if you will—than a trophy or badge, I have had optimism since I was just a tyke. Maybe eight or ten. In fact, the only way I would have made it through some of my trials and tribulations is to hold onto the firm belief that things are going to get better.

When I am working with students or counseling my children, I will often refer to current challenges as “a bump in the road.” In the grand scheme of things, one day, as you look back on a situation from a different perspective, you will find that the trials, they really were just passing moments in time.

And at that point, when you look back on all you have been through, you will realize how strong you have become. And hopefully, you will realize that you, too, have the tool of ultimate optimism that you can draw on.

Because the truth is, things are going to get better.

Turning the Tables #atozchallenge

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Spring has brought warm weather here in New England, and we are beginning to open windows and leave our doors ajar to let the breezes bring fresh air into the house. In our kitchen, we have a deep windowsill, and during the winter, when the windows aren’t open, things tend to collect there. Often, these items are placed there, then forgotten.

The other night, as we sat down to dinner at the table, it was warm in the kitchen despite the open front door. I surveyed the windowsill, which was cluttered with things that had not been put in their proper places.

“W, you’re going to have to clean off the windowsill so we can start opening that window,” I said, knowing that most of the time, the stuff that lands there belongs to him.

He turned and looked at the sill, most likely mentally calculating the amount of work required to complete the task. “That’s not all mine,” he determined. “J puts it there when she cleans off the table for dinner.”

“Well,” I thought for a minute. “What about those lifesavers?” I had watched him take a couple each morning on his way out the door to the bus. “What are the lifesavers doing on the windowsill?”

“Those?” he asked, pointing to the opened bag and the white candies scattered over the pile of magazines and mail. He looked me straight in the eye. “Those aren’t mine.”

I tipped my head in question. “Yes they are. You have been eating them.”

“Yeah, but they’re not mine. They’re C’s.”

With the mention of his name, C snapped to attention. “Those lifesavers are not mine!” he exclaimed. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Yes they are,” W confirmed. “They’re the ones you took to Dad’s house.”

“Oh,” he suddenly appeared sheepish. “Is that where they went?” He looked more carefully at the windowsill.

“Those are the lifesavers you took to your father’s?” I asked.

“Yeah,” the two boys confirmed, simultaneously.

“I guess they’re mine then,” C shrugged.

“If those are the ones you took to your father’s, they’re mine,” I stated, deciding to claim them since the boys were still arguing over them. After all, I paid for them. Then again, by that standard, there wasn’t much in the house that didn’t belong to me.

“Okay, they’re yours then,” W said decisively. He paused for half a second, then turned to look at me, his eyes penetrating and his face comically stern. He took on my tone and inflection. “So Mom… what are the lifesavers doing on the windowsill?”

Wait… what?

Self-care, Sleep, and Single Parenting #atozchallenge

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When one of my coworkers left work on Friday, she said, “Have a good weekend. Be sure to do something for yourself this weekend.”

Yeah right, I thought, mentally running through the lengthy list of things that would consume my time in the two days before I returned to work.

“It’s important to take care of yourself,” she continued. “If you don’t, you won’t have anything left to give others.”

I know she is right. But for single parents, self-care is a luxury that is too often pushed to the back burner. For me, self-reflection takes place in the car on the way to and from work, and sleep…? Well, there is never enough of that.

But her comment did give me pause. Maybe—just maybe—I can figure out how to shake up my priorities so I move “self-care” a step or two up from the bottom of the list.

Queen #atozchallenge

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I think it would be grand to be Queen for a day. It would be great to have someone to do my bidding: fetch my shoes, drive me around, make my meals? Oh, and do my grocery shopping! Yes, I would like to be queen for a day.

I would spend the day being waited on hand and foot, and I might even indulge in a massage. I would definitely delegate the tasks I least like to perform: laundry, grocery shopping, and cleaning toilets. Yes, I would enjoy a day—just one—as queen.

Heck, I’d settle for a day on the couch, reading a non-work-related book. Did I say a day? I meant an hour!

NO! #atozchallenge

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Recently, I have come to the strange realization that cat treats and human treats are contained in similar bags. Sometimes, when I pull out a bag of chocolate covered somethings, the cats will suddenly appear in the kitchen, believing that they might get a small tidbit to keep their poor selves from starving to death.

This evening, I took a bag of chocolate covered blueberries out of the pantry and put them on the kitchen table. As frequently happens, I was distracted by the need to complete a task, and I went upstairs. As I was coming down the stairs, I thought I heard the bag rustle, as if someone was eating my treats! This must be the sound the cats hear before they come running.

C was in the kitchen, eating a snack and getting ready for bed. I studied him for a moment, narrowing my eyes. “Are you eating my blueberries?”

He nodded. “Yep,” he stated proudly.

“Um… no,” I stated matter-of-factly. “Those are my treats.” I moved the bag just out of his arm’s reach. His arm stretched, he leaned, and he pulled them back toward him.

“They’re my treats, too,” he informed me.

“Nope,” I tried again. “I paid for them. That makes them my treats.” I offered what I thought to be an irrefutable argument.

“But I am eating them,” he informed me, his own logic trumping mine.

I sat down and pulled the bag closer. “Go on,” I joked. “Isn’t it bedtime?”

“Just a couple more,” he teased.

“No!” I waved him away, stifling a giggle. “These are mine!” I clutched them to my chest like a treasure. He disappeared upstairs. No doubt, the minute I am not looking, he will eat them.

The letters N and O. Perfect together, but not always what we want to hear.

Knives #atozchallenge

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“Hey Mom, I booby-trapped the sink!” C exclaimed as he shut the dishwasher and dried his hands. It had been his night to do the dishes.

I looked toward the sink, and saw he had placed several knives in the position in which (I will admit) I too frequently leave them. They were on the edge of the sink, half on the counter and half “in” the sink. The blades were in mid-air, pointing into the sink. I laughed.

C had commented on this habit of mine when he first started to work in the kitchen more often. “What is this, Mom?” he pointed to the knife of the moment, hovering over the  sink. I had used it to make a sandwich, and I wasn’t done with it. I still had more to do before I was ready to clean up the kitchen.

“Are you trying to kill someone? Look at this!” He pretended to slip, moving his hand too close to the knife. “I could cut off my finger just trying to wash my hands!” He was totally teasing, but logically, he was making a good point. Balancing a knife in that position, over a frequently used sink was probably not the best idea. Point taken.

But I still leave my knives on the edge of the sink. In the time it takes me to break the habit, the kids will have moved out.

Expectations #atozchallenge

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When I was in high school, I spent a summer as an exchange student in a far away country on the outer edges of Europe. Before we left the States, we had a two-day orientation to prepare us for our journey, meeting our host families, and immersion a new culture.

There is not much I remember about those two days. I remember eating peanut butter out of a jar because dinner was of the tasteless, institutional variety. Oddly, I remember the omelet I had for breakfast the next day because it consisted of a thin bit of egg and a slice of American cheese. Most importantly, I remember a valuable lesson that I have carried with me since that time.

We were sitting in a circle on the grass. It was a breezy, early summer day, and the sun might have been shining. The leader of our group, who was once an exchange student through the very program we were part of, looked around the circle and offered us his best piece of advice—advice he wished someone had given him.

“Go into this experience without any expectations,” he told us. “If you have expectations, the reality is going to be different. It might be better, but it might be worse. If you enter your host country, meet your host family, try new foods, make new friends, all without expectations, then you are likely to be pleasantly surprised.”

This advice: it has been my go-to in new situations—in all situations, really. If we build things up in our minds to be more than they possibly can be, we are likely to be disappointed. But if we approach situations with no expectations, we might just be pleasantly surprised.

E

Danger & Discovery #atozchallenge

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I am navigating the line that separates danger and discovery. Walking this line used to be a piece of cake—it was solid, and there was a clear delineation from one side to the other. But over the years, the line has flexed and grown treacherous, making my footing uncertain.

When my children were younger, it was easy to create opportunities for them to discover the world in ways that involved little risk. They would play in the sink with soapsuds, “experiment” with science kits that were designed specifically for kids their ages, or don their puddle boots and wade along the shoreline of our pond with a net and a bucket catching frogs and fish and turtles.

Now that the children have become teens, the line I walk is thin and often barely visible. Their discoveries involve delving into some project that has an uncertain outcome. Take, for example, the electronic interests of my younger son.

He has, in our basement, an area in which he satisfies his technology-driven need to create. He has electronic components culled from the drawers at the back of his favorite Radio Shack stores, before his they all closed. He has an array of lights and breadboards and switches and transistors and miles of wire.

For his most recent project, he created a speaker, wired and assembled and tested by his fourteen-year-old self. But then he needed a transformer and an amplifier, so he built those, as well.

And then he took his creation, and he plugged it into a wall outlet carrying 120 heart-stopping jolts of electric current. That part I made him do in my presence at the kitchen table. And I readily admit, I took a step away from the table, just in case. There was a deep sigh of relief from this mom when the entire contraption did exactly what it was supposed to do.

Yesterday, he began to assemble a box for his speaker. He used power tools to cut the ¾” MDF while I made dinner, pretending not to hear the whine of the saw emanating from the basement. Pretending there was no danger involved in my son’s latest exploits.

Today, when I arrived home from work, he proudly demonstrated his new speaker—assembled and working and sounding pretty darn good, I must say. There is no doubt in my mind that the “discovery” aspect was an integral part of the process: he built, he learned, and now, he will move on to the next project.

Bigger and better discoveries lie ahead for him. And the line I walk—between danger and discovery—becomes ever more treacherous.

D

Challenges #atozchallenge

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Years ago, when I was facing a difficult time far from my family and support system, a minister said to me, “Bloom where you are planted.”

In fact, we all face our own unique challenges, and oftentimes, we forget that. We snap at the cashier at the grocery store who is moving too slowly because she has just returned to work after surgery. We honk at the teenager stalled at the intersection in front of us because we don’t realize he hasn’t quite adjusted driving a car with a manual transmission.  We sometimes get so caught up in our own lives that we forget others are dealing with their own struggles.

On my way to work this morning, I had to make a stop at the grocery store. Of course, I was running late. And it was snowing. I picked up the three items I needed, and I found myself debating which too-long check-out line to pick. Did I mention it was snowing? Because of the weather, the early morning shopping crowd was larger than usual.

I chose a place in the express lane. At one of the check-out counters, an older, somewhat disheveled man was loudly conversing with the cashier. He wasn’t angry, exactly, but he might have seemed so to a passing observer. He was questioning the charges. Each and every one. And as he did so, he was holding up the line.

I turned to survey the shoppers in my line, and I flashed an amused smile at the man directly behind me. He smiled back. “What do you think he was when he was younger?” he asked me.

“Hmm. That’s a tough one,” I responded, turning back to the man. I observed his gesticulation as he opened his wallet and displayed the contents (or lack thereof) to the cashier. She nodded and talked in a manner that was soothing but authoritative.

“School teacher?” he asked.

“No,” I shook my head. “I don’t think so.”

“College professor?” he asked.

“That’s possible,” I responded. “Absent-minded type.”

“Sculptor!” he said, this time definitively.

“Yes! I think that’s it!” Truly, this man could have been just about anything.

“Guess the occupation,” the man then said to me. “It’s a new and amusing way to pass the time in line.”

“Well… that’s all well and good,” I told him. “Until someone looks at me and says, ‘I wonder what she did when she was younger.’” We both laughed.

Sometimes, the best way to handle challenge is through humor. Sometimes, the challenges we face make us stronger, and we are able to bloom more beautifully.

 

C

Driving

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There is something about being out on the road with a brand new driver that imparts a thrill greater than any amusement park ride anyone could ever dream up.

As you barrel through town at speeds ranging anywhere from 2 to 72 miles an hour, you have absolutely no idea whether the car you are riding in will clip the mailbox on the side of the road, toppling it over, or veer into the center lane straight into the path of oncoming traffic. You have no idea if the car is going to come to a halt before it reaches the vehicle stopped at the red light just ahead of you, or… not.

In my state, there is no need to pass a test before taking the wheel. Children reach a magical age determined by a handful of stressed-out lawmakers at the end of a long day of deliberating on important issues, they grab their birth certificate, and hop in the driver’s seat. No permit necessary. And when they first take the wheel, the entire extent of their knowledge of the laws of the road is gleaned from years of sitting in the back of the mommy-van staring out the window. Truth be told, if you really think about it, it’s a frightening prospect.

And yet, this is my present reality. Each day, I drive my car to the high school in time to meet the students as they exit the school following theater practice. I dutifully move to the passenger seat to become a passive observer in the vehicle which I pay for and on which I cover all the expenses. (And to think, I once thought handing over a $300 pair of eyeglasses to a three year old was a big deal….)

As my daughter gets in, the first thing she does is move the seat three feet closer to the steering wheel and adjust all of the mirrors accordingly. Her older brother and I are close enough in size that I barely notice when he drives my car, so this is a novelty for me. The first morning after she was on the road, I had forgotten she was the most recent driver, and I hit my head on the door-frame trying to squeeze myself between the seat and the steering wheel. Now, I am a bit more astute about noticing the seat position before I attempt to get in.

I have been down this road before, but I had forgotten just how much my muscles tense and my blood pressure spikes when I am in the car with an inexperienced driver. In this situation, I am the adult; I am in control, and yet, I have no control whatsoever. I can scream all I want, but that doesn’t mean the car is going to stop.

Like childbirth, I had pushed the memory of the first-time driver deep into the recesses of my brain, and it was not until I was riding in my own car on the roads with child number two at the wheel when the memories, the physical reactions, the FEAR came flooding back. (I try to keep the fear to myself. At least until this blog post.)

Someone once told me that one of the great uncertainties of life is having a baby without finding out the gender before it is born. I beg to differ. One of the greatest uncertainties in life, if not the greatest uncertainty, is getting into the car with your teenager. You just never know how that is going to turn out. I’m hoping I’ll survive this one. And the next….