Self Talk

Those who know me well know that I come from a long line of women who worry and being the type A+ person that I am, I have taken the worry gene to new heights. I obsess about everything from the smallest issue like whether or not I can have one load of  laundry washed/dried and put away before we leave for school to how we are going to survive the third round of unemployment without imploding. Both my mom and my husband agree that I even worry about the fact that I might not have anything to worry about though sadly, that has not happened since 2002.  Right now we are facing a struggle with one of our children that has me impossibly sad and being the proactive person that I am, I need (notice I did not say want) to fix this, but the remedy seems somewhat elusive right now. We are working it though and part of that process for me means that I need to talk about it 24/7.  Talking and communicating help me process and order the chaos in my life.  Unfortunately for me, the same is not true for my husband which has led me to talking to my dog, Phoebe, almost non-stop. Poor Phoebe lived through what we in our family call the Boston Debacle, essentially Round 2 of unemployment, and she is sick of listening to me. I have said this before but I swear if she could talk like Martha the Talking Dog, a children's book that my son and I have read over and over, the first words she would say to me are 'shut up!'  Those words might be followed by the suggestion that I get some therapy and fast.

My mom has told me for years to 'talk to myself' when feeling stressed and by this she means that type of calming self-talk which would not only help me to put the situation in perspective, but might perhaps offer a more 'glass half-full' approach to my stressor. Over the past few years, I have talked to myself in this manner so many times that I have begun to tune myself out, basically my self-talk pretty much consists of me telling myself to shut up. Obviously, my 'self' has been talking to Phoebe.

Recently, Phoebe saw me watching my son's new beta fish, Shark.  Afterward, she pranced over and started barking at the little Art Deco tank in which Shark swims happily, staring at us as we watch him swim or nestle in the pretty pale blue blue rocks on the bottom of his abode. At first, I thought Phoebe was jealous that I was paying attention to Shark, but now I realize she was trying to clue him in that he might be my next 'therapist.'  I think if she could speak she would want him to know not to make eye contact with me or I might start prattling on and on about this problem or that, one stress or another, bemoaning how we ended up in this infuriating and frustrating situation. Phoebe truly is precious to want to protect her little fish sibling from me. I actually wish my children were as kind to each other as Phoebe is to Shark. That said, Shark had better watch out because while Phoebe can walk away, he is the proverbial sitting duck and I am feeling very chatty these days.

Get Back

I have never been more frustrated or stuck in a bad place in my life before now.  Emotionally mired in muck. My son often talks about having a teleporter and where he might visit and how quickly he would get there. I know exactly where I would go right now, back in time approximately five and a half years. Why that point in time?  Just to get out of MN?  Actually, no, though my readers would have to admit that my time in MN has not exactly been stellar or particularly happy, but I would want to travel back to the point where we had the option to take the job to come here or to turn it down. The writing was on the wall had we taken the time to read it and I may have (okay, I definitely did) strongly suggested to my husband that we turn down the offer to move here since the offer had been rescinded and then reinstated and I took that as a bad omen. But, no, with no other offers present, we took this one and our free fall into this maddening abyss of bad luck commenced shortly thereafter. Having my car broken into and my purse stolen, having to testify against the perpetrators of the crime in a series of trials that were postponed every three months over the course of two years, the loss of three jobs in fours years and the failed attempt at selling our home, not once, but twice over a twelve month period to name a few annoyances we have had to endure. Seriously, I am starting to believe we will never catch a break.

Unfortunately, all this stress and flux has now started permeating the lives of my children and I am totally ticked.  Mess with me, mess with my husband but don't dare mess with my little ones...yes, I know they are not that little, but they always will be to me. While I joke with my children about wanting a pair of Christian Louboutin shoes or a to die for Celine handbag for Christmas, all I really want is nice strong dose of pre-MN normal.  Hey, Santa!  Are you listening?

Chamber of Horrors

Some months ago, eight to be exact, I wrote a blog post about finally being able to close the book on our terrible years (that would be three) of unemployment.  I stated how thrilled I was to finally be able to not only close that book, so to speak, but to place it high up on a shelf and to never 'read' it again.  Well, last night that same terrible book fell off the shelf and hit me square on the head, opening to yet another chapter but with the same theme.  Yes, my husband is unemployed again. This time it was the unfortunate combination of budget cuts coupled with last man in, first out syndrome.  Regardless of the reason, we are once again thrust into the job search journey...endless reworking of the resume, non-stop networking, hour upon hour searching job boards and the overuse of the phrase 'when daddy gets a job we can fill-in the blank.'  I am going crazy as I type this bracing for all that 'fun.'  Trust me, eight short months is not nearly enough time to forget three years of financial and emotional hell; the wounds were too deep and the scars are still too fresh.  The over-whelming sense of guilt I feel because my children have not known any sense of stability for more than a few brief months in close to four years is truly incomprehensible.

Of course we have no choice...per usual..but to forge ahead and do the best we possibly can, but I must admit that this time it is ten times harder than the before.  Perhaps I will feel differently next week though I sincerely doubt it, but at this very moment I am beyond angry, tired of paying dues, and longing to just feel settled and normal for a change.  Thankfully, Halloween is around the corner because at least I can look like I have some spirit plus I don't need to spend money on a costume.  I am just going to go as myself this year, after all, zombies are all the rage, no?

Stuff

I have recently become somewhat obsessed with fashion bloggers of late. The typical elite fashion blogger travels the world representing certain major fashion brands.  Not only do they only accrue frequent flier miles, but they are 'gifted' large amounts of free items from said brands and others who might be trying to lure these bloggers to represent their brands as well.  As an offshoot obsession, I have become intrigued with the plethora of photos these bloggers post of their gorgeous homes on Instagram.  The thing that intrigues me the most is not only their beautifully decorated rooms and wonderfully organized huge closets, but the fact that these rooms are devoid of 'stuff.' You know, the kind of things one accumulates in life like papers, knickknacks and paraphernalia from parenting--yup, a lot of these bloggers have children to boot.  Granted these fashionistas have not been married as long as I have but if memory serves me correctly, when I did get married and we moved in together, my husband brought his 'stuff' with him, some good and some (in my opinion) not so good.  Since some bloggers have children, I am constantly thinking about whether or not these children get a chance to play as there seems to be no evidence of such frivolity in the pictures I have seen.  I have even taken virtual tours of their homes and have seen nothing more than an errant high-end play kitchen in the play room, no brightly-colored plastic pretend groceries strewn about either.

I have been told by many that I am a great housekeeper thanks to my mom and grandma's impeccable example and, coupled with a drop of OCD-like tendencies--labels must face forward, milk container's handle to the left, if you try on an item of clothing, it goes straight in the laundry basket to name a few--I try to run a tight ship.  That said, I would not be able to photograph any room in my house and have it look like it belongs in the pages of a magazine.  All of my closets colorized by style, but none look anything like those I have seen on Instagram and I work hard at keeping them in order.

I suppose some might say that the fastest way to feel better about my home would be to stay off Instagram, get back to reality and focus on what we have as opposed to trying to attain a seemingly unrealstic level of perfection.  I could, but, honestly, I would not find that fun at all.

No Gifts

I love preparing for birthdays (definitely not my own though) and with my son's just around the corner, I am in full-on party and gift mode.  I am certainly spurred on by his non-stop infrequent reminders about the upcoming event, too.  Heck, I have been in possession of his 'master birthday list' since August.  This boy takes his birthday very seriously.  Today, I was discussing birthday planning with a friend whose child has a birthday coming up soon as well so I had asked her what was on her daughter's list.  She replied that not only did her child not have a list, but that she had been eschewing gifts for the past couple of years in the hope of embracing simplicity in her life.  Really?  A teenager looking for simplicity--this one I have got to see. Though I was surprised by the concept in general (but to each his or in this case her own), I was even more surprised by my friend's seeming condemnation of the fact that my son had a list at all.  She thought that he was overly materialistic and by this point--the teen years, he should be looking for other ways to celebrate his birthday beyond 'tangible gifts.' Well!

I honestly don't believe that wanting a couple of birthday gifts makes a person materialistic as my friend implied.  As an adult, I still love getting birthday presents and Christmas presents, throw in an anniversary gift and I am a happy camper, too.  I hope my friend's daughter enjoys her simple and gift-free birthday though I hope that as she grows up she realizes that it is wonderful to choose to live simply, but it is more important to not sit in judgment of other people just because they want to open some presents on their birthday. That is a gift.

Disgruntled

 For me, writing is basically free therapy.  That said, I know I frighten--strong word, but you know what I mean--some of my readers with the depth of what I write and I know some of you must think I am crazy for putting so much of myself 'out there' for human consumption...and feedback.  But, on some level, getting out the words on paper or screen as it is these days, is beneficial.  Okay, so what is my gripe du jour?  In a word, everything.  From receiving poorly articulated emails to annoying phone calls to everyone needing something from me today, I am just out of sorts.  I suppose that now having test-driven my 'new normal' life for a while I have decided I would like to return it but, apparently, there is a no return policy in place. Bummer...really.  

The new normal of my life is like a great pair of jeans that are just a size too small, they still look good enough to wear but I simply cannot wait to take them off as soon as I get home. My friends don't know why I am always complaining when I wear them either, but they just squeeze me in all the wrong places making me uncomfortable and cranky as life sometimes does. I want my old life back, please, because some days my new one just doesn't seem to fit me.

Static

I have a friend whose husband has changed jobs at least 5 times in the almost 12 years that I have known her and she has never had to move nor has her son had to switch schools for any reason.  She would never think of leaving her home as there are too many memories there for her as she has told me a million times.  I used to think she was crazy as I have always embraced change, even searched it out as I grow tired of things so quickly.  Now, after 4 tumultuous years of seeming non-stop change in our lives--almost none of which has been in our control--I envy her life.  I would thoroughly embrace some consistency and lack of flux right about now.  We have had our house on the market, taken it off, put it back on and now taken it back off again because leaving it on, and facing a potential six figure loss in a sale, is simply ludicrous.  I had to take back control and essentially take my house back, too.  We are not leaving anytime soon.  I was just about to let my guard down and think that we might get a little routine in our lives when tonight, we were told that the barn at which my son has ridden for the past 5 years is being sold.  Sounds simple enough except that he has a fabulous relationship with the present owner, who also happens to be his instructor, and she is probably not staying on to continue teaching.  My son is absolutely devastated; he could not even eat tonight.  It broke my heart to see him so sad.

Of course, we put a positive swing on it and,of course, children are resilient and he will move forward, but, wow, it hurts.  I suppose it bothers me even more based on just how much craziness and change my children have had to endure over these past years.  We are war-weary and the battle is not over yet.  My youngest asked me if I really believe 'all the stuff that comes out of my mouth' and the truth is, no, not really, but no one wins if they see me down and they must learn to handle adversity no matter how sick of it we are.

So tonight as I sit here and ponder this past week--not a fun one for sure--I really envy (I know how bad that is, wink, wink) my friend and her calm and somewhat routine life.  I wish that I could change my mantra of 'don't get too attached' to 'let's plan something for next summer' and then be able to stick to the plan.