Downgrading My New Year's Resolution

In 2016, my resolution was to 'be brave.'

And, I was.

And, it was terrible.

Not all terrible. I mean, being brave allowed me to take risks and to grow. There was a lot of growth. But it felt a lot like standing on the edge of a cliff with a parachute I wasn't sure I should trust. And growth is painful. It's stretchy, scary, stabby pain. It's questioning what I knew about myself and my relationships and my perspective on the world and then fixing it when I found that what I knew was bogus. That's rul hard.

I went through a lot of therapy to figure out why I was anxious, worried, and sad all the time. It took brave to dig out some of the stuff I found. I learned I was stifling, doubting, and sabotaging myself.  I came out with confidence and a voice. I used that voice to express my needs, to stand up for myself in my relationships. (#terrifying) I wrote with that voice and submitted my writing for judgement. I got rejected a lot. (#sucks) I got accepted a little. (#sucksless) Every single time I put something out there to be read, I had to put my brave in front of my doubt. There is still so much doubt.

I worked really hard to stop performing in social interactions and to let myself off the hook for gatherings that make me uncomfortable. I had to re-establish my ability to be alone and still. My goal now is to be authentically, patiently, quietly(-ish) myself and more discerning about how I spend my energy. Not all that quiet...I also started performing on stage again. I took the added freedom we had with Robb not working full-time and I performed in a play in a community theater, which was retrieving an ancient version of myself that lived for theater. It was scary. I mean, really, really scary, but I showed myself that I can do it...well, even. So this year, I learned that I'm most at ease by myself...in the spotlight (#jazzhands) but I also acknowledge that I need support. I invested more in friendships, and that has proven very, very worth the risk (#bffbracelets). I used my brave to embrace my power as a woman and I'm learning from women who are fighting for equal rights and access. I renewed my commitment to stand for all human rights and treat the world as one big community that needs care.

Also, this year, just after the words "I'm gonna be brave this year" escaped from my mouth in a cartoon word bubble, Robb lost his job. So, we did the most logical thing, and took my one income, and our family of 4, and started an ice cream business. He got more time home with the kids and found his way around being a part-time business owner and part-time stay-at-home dad. There are not really instructions for either, so it's been a long learning process, but he's done well. It's been exciting, and stressful. There has been more financial uncertainty this year than we are used to, or that I am comfortable with, which meant a lot of late night (fights) conversations about faith and trust and risk and potential. We've had to confront all the gulfs and walls we'd dug and built between us. It took us both being brave. We're still working on it, but I'm proud of our progress. And, actually, the business is going really well...and even on the bad days there is DARK CHOCOLATE ICE CREAM.

So, this year, my resolution was to be brave. I was. I'm glad I was, but it was hard, and I am tired. I don't think I'm going to stop being brave, but I do want to make a less ambitious goal for next year.

So, in 2017 my resolution is to drink more water.

...so, if there's a drought, it's my fault.

Henry and Anna’s weekend at The M&E B&B

We're joined by guest blogger, Erica, who is my little sister and auntie to the mayhem. She and her husband recently traded in a weekend of their usual kid-free fun and relaxation for several days with our kids. By the time we got to them all on Sunday, everyone was sort of...crispy, but happy. Please enjoy! 

So. My husband, Mike (aka Uncle Mike, Muncle, Mr. Mike, and lately sometimes Mikey) and I (Auntie E) hosted two (relatively well trained) monsters at our (very un-monster proofed) house recently. 

We will have you know- they are both alive, so we consider the whole thing a success.

But Mike may or may not still be sleeping.

Mike and I are really just only barely adults ourselves. So in preparation for the weekend, we did things like put a queen mattress inside a tent in the guest room, and fill it with blankets and pillows for the coolest sleep-fort EVER. On the list of things we did not do: buy food for the children. 

We picked them up on Friday night from their usual keepers and The Big One fell asleep on the way home. Uncle Mike carried him up to bed. When I asked him what the look on his face was, he said “He has been farting on me the whole way up here.” Henry didn't stay asleep, of course, and woke up giggling, so we read The Stinky Cheese Man. For the first time. Of one thousand.

Three minutes later, they were both crying. The kids are such aggressive huggers that they wind up, and go full-throttle head-to head. They do not hold back. It’s like WWE in the tent-bedroom. The tears were quick, everyone’s pupils were symmetric, I figured we were good. So we read the Stinky Cheese Man again.

On Saturday morning, The Big One woke us up at some ungodly hour, and I made him play by himself for a little while to let us sleep more. He had plenty of bad guys to fight off so it worked out fine. I think Henry likes us and stuff, but mostly when he comes to our house he is excited because his toy stash here includes a couple swords, some nunchucks, and a nerf gun. So there were maaayyybe 25 minutes out of the whole weekend where he did not have a weapon glued to his hand. (I will repeat, everyone is alive and well).

After the rest of us peeled ourselves out of bed, we had breakfast, got ready and then literally bribed the kids out the door with Oreos. We went to a Santa parade, where The Little One almost choked out a dog and tried to eat more than one sucker straight out of another child’s hand. I don’t even think she tried to take the suckers first, I think she just let them hold it for her. Their parents seemed extremely relieved when my answer was “No” to their questions, “Does she have a dog at home?” and “Do you have kids of your own?”

At some point during the day, Henry asked when Mike and I were going to have kids. He followed up with "you probably already had a boy but he was a mean boy and he took all the pictures off your walls so you… got rid of him.” 

WHAT.

The hardest thing for us to manage while the kids were here was the vegan food thing. Mike and I, quite literally, eat meat with each and every meal, and most of our snacks are made of at least one form of cheese. [Facts: Whenever we go visit them for the weekend, we stop at a drive-through when we get into town and eat our last meat-y meal. When I lived with Sarah and Robb, I had beef jerky stashed in at least 4 places at all times. Mike has been wanting to feed the kids their first taste of bacon since the day he was accepted into our family.] So, with how you can imagine our fridge is stocked, and having not grocery-shopped beforehand like real grown-ups would have done, we clearly were not terribly prepared to feed them appropriately.

We made it work though. They ate-- mostly cookies-- but they ate. 

Christmas cookie decorating went a lot like blueberry picking. Most of them were gone long before we were done, and everyone’s tongue was blue. While we were decorating cookies, The Little One said "this cookie is for mom!” and then promptly licked and sneezed on it.

Hope you liked your cookie, Sarah.

Other than the food thing, we are also completely oblivious and off the hook regarding their toilet habits when Sarah and Robb (or my parents) are around. Anna is in the midst of potty-training. She did not do great at our house. Part of it may have been that we don’t have a kid seat for the toilet so she would dangle her poor little tush over the giant seat, and try not to fall in. Part of it may have been that she knows we’re suckers and she can do whatever she wants at our house with next to no consequences. So because of this, we used mostly pull-ups over the weekend. At one point, as she was standing, in a pull-up, she said "I'm a big girl and don't need diapers," followed directly by "I peed." Later when I tried to get her to pee in the toilet, she said through tears, "but there's no poop in my bladder!!" Kid, I know you don’t understand what you’re saying right now, but that is very, very good news!

She did “poop in the potty” though (twice she balanced atop the toilet without falling in!), and when she does that, she gets to wear her Disney Princess (Merida) dress for the day. We didn’t have a good argument for why she couldn’t wear it two days in a row, so she wore her Mirena dress the entire time she was here. Mirena? That’s not the word I was looking for. That must just be what’s been on my mind lately. Totally unrelated. I mean. Asking for a friend. What?

Anyway.

The Little One had a melt down at some point. I was never very clear on what it was about. The Big One was playing with weapons. 



Despite our lack of food, tiny butt toilet seats, and discipline, we really had a lot of fun. These kids are ridiculously hilarious, clever, fun, and just all-around amazing. 

   

But they’re also pretty gross. 

I heard Mike saying (at least once) "There's just...there's pee and poop everywhere. The amount of Febreze it would take… Oh! And back to that list of things failed to do over the weekend: Bathe the children. I’ll blame that one on the lack of bath toys. 

As we were packing everyone up to return them to their rightful owners, The Little One bolted out from my arms and I ran my ass off trying to catch her because it looked like she was going straight for the road. But, instead, she ran to the neighbors’ house, and tried to break in. Twice. As my dad would say “She’s either going to be a CEO or a serial killer.” Only time will tell.

Then we filled them with sugar and gave them back to their parents. 

  

Too Good to Be (Exclusively) True

Today I feel like an imposter. 

I made digital AND paper Christmas cards (because I cannot leave it alone and just do anything simply- for the love of God) highlighting all the things we’ve done this year and showing off the kids in their cuteness. As one does. Several people responded with things like “you all look so happy!” and “you seem to be juggling everything really well!”

It’s true that we are, and it’s also true that we aren’t. Notice, I highlighted the things I damn well wanted to and strung them together to make it look like this fabulous movie of my fabulous life. Ugh. In my heavily edited version of our lives, we look like we’re killing it. Sometimes the internet lies. 

What makes the card are the precious moments when the kids are being pleasant and do not have poop in their hands (in their hands!!! the horror! it happened last week! someone save me!) or their teeth on each other (it fucking happened again today! and now i’m drinking before 3pm!). What makes the cards are pics of Robb and I getting along, looking care-free on vacation, not neglecting and resenting each other in our own house every day. What makes the card is “Exciting! Robb’s new business venture! Yay! It’s going great!” not “How the fuck are we going to keep this up? Is this the right thing to do? I feel like I’m drowning. Are you drowning, too, or am I drowning alone?” 

I think it’s important to be clear here, because I’ve been accused of having it all together before. I work like a dog to try to cover it all, but some goes uncovered. There is a lot of yelling and confusion and messes and fear and apologies and lessons and pain…and healing, too. We’re trying. We’re wounding each other, but we’re trying to also be the healers. We’re TRYING to be graceful. We’re trying. 

It doesn’t help that the kids look like pink cherubs from fancy ceilings in Europe. You’d never know by them that Henry clings and pouts with the best of them or that Anna is an assassin. You just can’t tell by the film. It covers up so much. 

Let me just say, honestly and faithfully, as I should have in that lovely little card: parenting is fucking hard. No one is doing it great. We’re all trying and failing, trying and squeaking by, trying and occasionally having a blast. It’s disgusting and worrisome and chaotic and threatening and uncertain and guilt-inducing…and then, like, heart- sploding goodness now and then (quick! take a pic! for the love of God!). 

Not just parenting is hard, but marriage is fucking hard, too. Oh, Lord, your spouse is an extension of your own self but also a stranger. Marriage is so ridiculously demanding and weird and harsh and frightening and so, so much stretching to the point where you’re sure you’ll break, but then somehow a hand reaches out and supports the weak area and you go on.  It’s so hard. 

Personing is hard also. Just getting up and attempting to be brave and kind and accurate and on time and decent. It’s hard. 

So. There you go.  This is what my Christmas card should have said: 

“2016 was hard. 2017 will be hard too. But we’re trying. You, too? Excellent. Call me and we’ll hold each other and drink wine.”

Busy, but...yeah.

How was your weekend?/Busy, but... we got to see a lot of family!

How was the holiday?/Busy, but...we did all the fun things available! Elves! Tree! Elves!

How has your week been?/Busy, but...I got so much done and no one died.

How has this month been?/Busy, but we've almost dug ourselves out of the hole. It's cold down here.

How have the past few years been?/Busy but since I forgot my own name I get to make up a new one! It's Warrior Vanessa the Mega Monster Flame Thrower!

What?/Nothing. Never mind.

How was your day?/Busy, but...fine.

The Monday after Thanksgiving someone at work asked me how my holiday weekend was. I'd just been off for an extended time, I felt burdened to answer, "great!" But in reality, it was...flying across the country and back in 24 hours, landing at a new destination where my family had already arrived, spending a high intensity day with family cooking and eating before throwing a surprise party for other family the next day, then coming home to host another gathering, then going back to work. That's how it was. But I couldn't say all that in the 2 second hallway exchange, so I got out, "It was busy, but...yeah." I couldn't just finish with my usual "fine" because it wasn't really fine, it left me panting. And I'm trying to be more honest.

I have a friend in the "circle of trust" who was listing all the obligations she had this weekend when I casually asked how things looked for her and she finished it with, "I'm feeling so much anxiety and depression about trying to fit this all in. I just want rest."

Busy, but...yeah.

We're trained to feel valuable according to how busy and productive we are. The more we accomplish, the more we must be amazing. Some of this is a good thing, it's drive. Some of it is enormously over-rated and  unnecessary hustle. If we never say no to anything and continue to add to our tasks without relieving some others, we can't possibly accomplish it all well and we fail. Then we feel compelled to apologize as we strain and suffer under the weight of what we have to do. Our busy lives are making us sick. Stack, list, strain, fail, guilt, repeat.

How do we stop? How do we sit down? If that's like leaning back, I'm leery. If it's like monk meditation, I'm interested. Mostly because I envision there would be a robe and a haircut involved. When we have bills to pay and goals to achieve and kids to keep, how do we rest?

Perfectly timed, my super hero sister (powers include busting through walls, healing people with her brain laser, cake building and making me laugh all the time) and super hero brother-in-law (powers include putting the walls back together that my sister busts, calmly handling any obstacle in his way, and X-ray vision hidden by Clark Kent glasses) took the kids this weekend so we could just be home alone together and hide in our cave and let it all fall off.

We're lucky to have that help. In addition to asking for assistance in caring for the current responsibilities I have, I'm also trying so hard to say no to new ones. I'm encouraging my people to do the same. It's ok not to tackle everything, all the time. Much of it can wait or not happen at all. It's shocking how many things on the to-do list can be demoted to a maybe-do or meh-do or don't.

Remember the K.I.S.S method from learning to write in school? I think it stood for Keep It Sensational, Sister. Right? That's right, in't it?

Anyway. Simplify. Pare down. Chill out. Say no.

I'm trying. If you have any methods you're using to reduce your load, please share. Unless it's something like "abandon your family and move to the woods alone, living an isolated and naked existence growing root vegetables and wearing nothing but a rudimentary leaf-sewn loin cloth and an almighty epic long beard."

Hahaha. It's not a very productive fantasy that I've definitely never, ever had today ever.

I can't do that. Right?

Right?

One is Not Always the Loneliest Number

I read a fantastic book over Thanksgiving weekend called Love Warrior, written by Glennon Doyle Melton. It had me up until 2am, eyes wide open, sobbing. It left me bruised, and resolute. She's long been an influential author/leader for me. Her writing has helped me validate my own voice and path. She bravely offers unparalleled honesty, humor, naked vulnerability, insistence on her own power, and ambitious sisterhood community building. She shares the fights she has with herself in all their scary truths. She writes very clearly about being a woman and having to re-define what that means in her terms, not society's. She also has a faith in God that I can relate to in its messy questions and reassuring confidences, both.

The book is her realization that most of her life she hid herself behind a facade that was designed to be pleasing to others and is her quest to go behind the facade and bring the inside her out to the light of day. She created a "representative" to go out into the world and cover for the real person she was afraid to let talk. She was afraid of her need to be seen and understood, and afraid of asking anything of anyone, so instead she sent her representative to do it for her. The representative was bold and "fun" and kept her inside scared little voice quiet and punished through bulimia, alcohol, drugs, and sex. The rep was "fun," "game," funny and no work for anyone, while her inside self was just human; vulnerable, embarrassing, sad, anxious, timid, tender, and longing for attachment and genuine connection. She was afraid to be just human, and thought she couldn't share that with people, that she had to share something easier, this made up rep. She also gave her body to other bodies because she was detached from her own, and resented her body's perceived imperfections and requirements.

I don't want to tell the whole story, because I think you should read it. Everyone can relate to it, absolutely. Hiding ourselves out of fear, sending an inauthentic version of ourselves forward to cover for the scared little guy left behind..we all do that, don't we? This particular book is also about her marriage, how she and her husband were two people who met as intoxicated representatives of their actual selves and built a life and family together but never really knew each other. He cheated, she got ill, they separated. Across this span, she learns to write and express herself and require that she is heard and understood. She finds God through Mary, and learns that women are warriors. She becomes healthy and marries all the parts of who she is, even as her marriage to her husband is combusting. She finds strength in sharing the splintered parts of herself, and holiness. And her husband becomes his own hero, as well. They both learn to stop sending their representatives and to actually live with their inside selves out.

It resonated loudly with me, as I ache to be brave enough to pack away my representative and share my inside self with people. I'm so much closer than I've ever been, but I still slip in and out of it. Writing, therapy, and some new close friendships have helped me. In my case, I am not hiding behind substances, but definitely lean on being the silly clown, the servant, the polite peace maker, the low maintenance one who listens but does not share.

Since I was reading this over the holiday weekend and everyone I knew was scattered across the country with their families, it got me thinking about what we expect from our family relationships. Who gets to see our real inside selves? Our romantic partners? Our friends? Our families?

Holidays are hard. Everyone says that. We miss the people who are gone, we worry about money, we stress over the added activities and traveling and chores, and the pressure to be excited about all of it.

And, we feel lonely.

We're lonely, wishing for a connection sturdy enough to reveal our inside selves and to not have to wear our representative.  For a lot of people, being WITH family is just as lonely as being without. A lot of people dread going home. It's an obligation, an expectation, an energy sucker. I heard SO many people this year, preparing the week before Thanksgiving with their tactics for 'surviving' time with their families. I think it's because we know with family, we have to send the representative they expect, and it's exhausting to wear that costume. (And also because we were afraid everyone in our family would be "Drunk Uncle" this year).

I'm afraid that lot of people feel lonely in their family relationships. We revert to old roles and tendencies and feel like we're cheating on our inside selves we've so carefully cultivated because we can't trust it with our families. Our struggle to identify and empower our inner selves may not be noticed by family because it doesn't fit the mold they have for us, or may even be perceived as a threat. We may not feel like we can trust that they'll treat our vulnerable selves with tenderness. There might be too much distance or old hurt. Is the fusion that holds us to our family made of just ancient anemic cords? Is that enough, or should it be of real, blood-carrying, thriving vessels that will help us both grow stronger, better, together?

It's a lot to ask. BUT this book affirmed that, for me, I want to push my inside self out and ask that the people who love me, love her.. I'm tired of sending a representative who feels safe but lacks substance. I want real, hard, deep relationships.

I think...but I could be wrong...but I think that it's OK to insist that your people only get the real, inside you. Maybe we can try to reveal more of our inner selves to our families this year and ask them to do the same for us? If they can't or don't want to, and this is the hardest part, we may have to stop trying so hard with them or let them go.

Again, still trying to figure this out, but I think as adults  we are allowed to decide who to give our time to...those who strengthen and build us and remind us of who we are trying to be, not those who suck our energy or doubt or demoralized us. There are certain requirements in family relationships, but if we are not being fed by them, we can limit them. I know a lot of people who have had to create their own, new families, composed of friends and adopted family, who do make them feel safe and good and valuable. This never happens easily or without drama, but you have to protect that inside you. She matters.

Eesh. Scary.

Sorry if I just fucked up Christmas.