It's official. I've turned into my mother. Something I swore at the age of 16 would never happen. There were several good reasons I could never act like her, but the most important one was that I am a Sagittarian and she's a Virgo. Anyone who knows even a little about astrology understands the importance of that single fact in securing the impossibility of my ever turning into my mother.
There are also examples.
In 1987 or 88, the song It Takes Two by Rob Base was released. Simply hearing the first thumping beats of this song would raise my heart rate and make me gyrate. My mother and I would be riding along calmly in the car, that song would come on, and I would scream... "THAT'S MY JAM!" and crank up the volume. She would purse her lips, frown at me, and say, "Oh my Lord! Are you deaf, Child? Why does the volume have to be that loud for you to hear your song?" And she'd turn the volume so low I could only hear whispers of my jam. If I was lucky, I got to keep listening to the song, but on some days, it was WLOQ, the local jazz station, that she switched to. She always played her music so low you really didn't hear the smooth jazz until you were stopped at a light.
I'd never be like that.
In 1984, I started high school. I was involved in a lot of sports and clubs and activities and was invited to different social events. Sometimes, there would be activities on Friday and Saturday nights. When I would ask my mother to go to the events on both nights, she'd always complain and say I'd just gone out the night or weekend before. Hm. What does going out on Friday have to do with going out on Saturday if you don't have anything to do on Saturday? Why does the fact that I went out last weekend have any bearing on my desire to go out this weekend if I'm an A-student, good kid and all my chores are done?
I'd never be like that.
But the one that really got me. And I think I have a witness on this one from my younger brother and a few cousins that stayed with us from time to time. The clincher was... if I was ever caught sitting still watching television or talking on the phone or looking in the kitchen cabinet for something to eat, my mother would search, hunt, scavenge for something for me to do. It's almost as if my mere presence of relaxation annoyed her and she was determined to alter my status. She'd walk in from the garage and see me flipping through a magazine at the kitchen table and start looking around. "Althea get up and put these things away," she'd say, gesturing to boxes of food on the counter. Or, "Althea, put these dishes away," as she would open the dishwasher to see clean dishes resting on the racks. "Althea, why is your room so messy? Make your bed and put these clothes away."
I'd never be like that.
Or would I?
"I refuse to be like Mom," I say silently when I catch myself about to do it. But most times (and I hate to admit it), I can't help myself. Something about those boys sitting in front of the big screen playing Call of Duty - Black Ops when there's folded clothes to be put away, and dirty dishes on the counter, and an overflowing trashcan...
"Un Unh! Turn it off. I know ya'll aren't in here playing that game when this place looks a hot mess."
I see the knowing looks pass between them. I hear the sigh that little one hasn't learned how to stifle yet. And, yes, he got more work because he sighed out loud. And yes, I also did that thing my parents used to do if we acted ungrateful. I went through the full list of how grateful they should be to have me as a parent.
"I know you didn't just roll your eyes. Look around. You have a nice house to live in, clean clothes and dinner on the stove. I take you where you want to go and let your friends come over and play. You have every video game known to man in here. I wish you would sigh again!"
Not only have I turned into my mother, I've gone beyond where she was. I admit it. And I'm not sure how I feel about it. Perspective changes as we get older. Perspective changes as we have children. Perspective changes as our children get older.
I am not completely like Mom - I let the kids play their music loud with me in the car (except for that one song by Soldier Boy, Hey You There - what a stupid song); and I let them go to as many social activities as they want as long as they do well in school, do their chores and have good manners at all times.
And today, when my son was leaning on the door of the kitchen pantry, looking for something to snack on, I stopped myself from glancing around to find something for him to do. I resisted the strong, strong, strong urge to tell him to do the dishes, take out the recycling and get started on his homework. I allowed him to eat, text and sing a song before I asked him to do all that.
Showing posts with label kids. Show all posts
Showing posts with label kids. Show all posts
Tuesday, December 14, 2010
Wednesday, October 6, 2010
The Clutter Monster - Part II
The Big CM - otherwise known as the Clutter Monster - is still lurking on tables and ottomans and beneath my bed and around bureaus and next to chairs and sofas. And I'm still irritated by its simple existence.
As I explained to you in full detail in my previous blog, "stuff" - a.k.a. the Clutter Monster a.k.a. CM - is affecting my sleep, work and peace.
I know the simple solution is to just handle it - clean it up, throw stuff away, shred paper, give away never-worn clothing. But there's one thing necessary to make it happen that is in short supply most recently - time.
I am the queen of time management. So much so that I lecture on it... yep, that's right. I have a full multi-slide presentation with bullet points and fantastic graphics and hilarious photos to illustrate the simple steps to being successful in the daily juggle of managing life. Time management.
One of the key points that I not only stress in my workshop, but live by, is the realistic to-do list. It's on my computer, in my cell phone and constantly running through my mind - in order of priority. Seriously.
But what does any of this have to do with CM all over my house? Everything.
When I wake up in the morning, I start hustling kids. I roll out the door with them and step right into the front of a class. I step out of class and put out at least 1-2 fires before I jump in the car and head to the next class or meeting. I get back in the car - nibble on a banana or grape or (more likely) a few gummi bears - and drive back to the office to attack items 1-3 on the priority list and head back home to meet child #1 and give him my undivided attention for 40 minutes before child #2 comes home and they begin to fight and argue and wrestle and break things. While they fight, I cook dinner and assist with homework simultaneously before packing them in the car/van to drop someone off somewhere and drive quickly back to the studio to teach one or more classes or workshops. There are two alternatives at this point. I either drive back home to break up a fight between the children, check homework, write checks for this trip or that year book, become a nurse practitioner in order to sew up the gash on the ankle of some child, and listen with rapt attention to husband on phone in another time zone about something work-related; OR I dial in to catch the end of a conference call for some organization I'm an officer for, or run to an evening meeting in Yoga-attire (apologizing simultaneously for being late and being inappropriately attired), or do a quick shower and change to make it to a business networking event or charity event to promote my business. Regardless of the choice, by 10:00pm I am finally sitting still and I relish the silence. I just want to lie down. The last thing I want to do is tackle the clutter surrounding me as I sit like a zombie.
In fact, the reality that I am constantly in my car, changing clothes and shoes and accessories and bringing props and music and mats and blocks and belts and oils to and from one destination to another means the CM has followed me out of the house and into my car. My husband calls our minivan the Disaster Recovery Vehicle because it's full of food and bottled waters and mats and blankets and... stuff.
I think that all I need is a day or two without interruption and appointments, and I think I can tackle the CM. I really do.
So as fate would have it, I got just that. Last weekend. The fairy godmother of women-who-do-too-much waved her dainty wand over my dredloc'd head and POOF... kids and husband gone (sort of) and only 1 appointment at the studio. I had a whole afternoon and evening, two days in a row, to clean my house! Yay!
Uh, no. What actually happened was... I laid on the sofa in my most comfy yoga attire and watched movies and ate oatmeal cream pies and doughnuts. For real. I'm not lying. And I had a great time, too. In fact, I didn't really see the CM all around me. All I saw was the sun shining through the window, warming my bare toes as they wiggled off the end of the couch above a stack of utility bills and credit card statements lying on the floor where I left them next to the shredder. Bliss.
As I explained to you in full detail in my previous blog, "stuff" - a.k.a. the Clutter Monster a.k.a. CM - is affecting my sleep, work and peace.
I know the simple solution is to just handle it - clean it up, throw stuff away, shred paper, give away never-worn clothing. But there's one thing necessary to make it happen that is in short supply most recently - time.
I am the queen of time management. So much so that I lecture on it... yep, that's right. I have a full multi-slide presentation with bullet points and fantastic graphics and hilarious photos to illustrate the simple steps to being successful in the daily juggle of managing life. Time management.
One of the key points that I not only stress in my workshop, but live by, is the realistic to-do list. It's on my computer, in my cell phone and constantly running through my mind - in order of priority. Seriously.
- A form with a past-due deadline for the IRS related to my business's sales and use tax: top priority, gotta happen today, no matter what.
- Need to find a substitute teacher for our most popular class which starts in 2 hours because the teacher just sprained her ankle and I am teaching another class at the same time: top priority, gotta happen in the next 1 hour and 45 minutes, no matter what.
- 500 word magazine article that's both humorous and informational about acupuncture for seniors due yesterday because it's going to print at 5:00pm today: top priority, gotta happen today, no matter what.
- Water is leaking from the ceiling onto the hardwood floors of our studio in the middle of the youth jazz and hip hop class from three different pipes: top priority, gotta handle it NOW, no matter what.
But what does any of this have to do with CM all over my house? Everything.
When I wake up in the morning, I start hustling kids. I roll out the door with them and step right into the front of a class. I step out of class and put out at least 1-2 fires before I jump in the car and head to the next class or meeting. I get back in the car - nibble on a banana or grape or (more likely) a few gummi bears - and drive back to the office to attack items 1-3 on the priority list and head back home to meet child #1 and give him my undivided attention for 40 minutes before child #2 comes home and they begin to fight and argue and wrestle and break things. While they fight, I cook dinner and assist with homework simultaneously before packing them in the car/van to drop someone off somewhere and drive quickly back to the studio to teach one or more classes or workshops. There are two alternatives at this point. I either drive back home to break up a fight between the children, check homework, write checks for this trip or that year book, become a nurse practitioner in order to sew up the gash on the ankle of some child, and listen with rapt attention to husband on phone in another time zone about something work-related; OR I dial in to catch the end of a conference call for some organization I'm an officer for, or run to an evening meeting in Yoga-attire (apologizing simultaneously for being late and being inappropriately attired), or do a quick shower and change to make it to a business networking event or charity event to promote my business. Regardless of the choice, by 10:00pm I am finally sitting still and I relish the silence. I just want to lie down. The last thing I want to do is tackle the clutter surrounding me as I sit like a zombie.
In fact, the reality that I am constantly in my car, changing clothes and shoes and accessories and bringing props and music and mats and blocks and belts and oils to and from one destination to another means the CM has followed me out of the house and into my car. My husband calls our minivan the Disaster Recovery Vehicle because it's full of food and bottled waters and mats and blankets and... stuff.
I think that all I need is a day or two without interruption and appointments, and I think I can tackle the CM. I really do.
So as fate would have it, I got just that. Last weekend. The fairy godmother of women-who-do-too-much waved her dainty wand over my dredloc'd head and POOF... kids and husband gone (sort of) and only 1 appointment at the studio. I had a whole afternoon and evening, two days in a row, to clean my house! Yay!
Uh, no. What actually happened was... I laid on the sofa in my most comfy yoga attire and watched movies and ate oatmeal cream pies and doughnuts. For real. I'm not lying. And I had a great time, too. In fact, I didn't really see the CM all around me. All I saw was the sun shining through the window, warming my bare toes as they wiggled off the end of the couch above a stack of utility bills and credit card statements lying on the floor where I left them next to the shredder. Bliss.
The Clutter Monster
This is gonna be a two-part blog. I can't fully impart the reasons why I'm being attacked by the Clutter Monster (hereinafter referred to as CM) without taking time to explain why CM continually exists. So, there will be a Part II to this blog.
CM has been a part of my life forever. It's a part of my personality and dynamic. There are some people (typically Virgos) who are very ordered and neat and organized. Files neatly labeled and color-coded, or storage bins neatly filled with cherished personal momentos are a natural part of some people's lives (Virgos). Well, to a degree, that's me too. As I indicated in an earlier blog, I have a little OCD regarding folding clothes and having a neat closet and drawers. Therefore, the only storage bins I have neatly ordered are those related to seasonal clothing and shoes for my children and me. Outside of that, clutter is taking over my world.
Yes, clutter. It's gotten so out of control, I have changed the general term of clutter to the living, breathing object of... The Clutter Monster.
When I was a teenager, CM was stacks of journals and notepads and stationary and office supplies scattered in careless piles around my bedroom desk and bed. Every few months, I would spend a couple of hours carefully going through everything, discard what I didn't need, neatly stack the books and journals and file away the papers. But I was just as busy in high school as I am as an adult - I went from school to track or swim team practice to FBLA meetings to Charmettes events (don't ask what Charmettes is - that's another blog) to church activities to hanging out with my friends. I would rush in the house, quick change my wardrobe, throw my bags of books and papers on the bed or the desk and grab what I needed for the next activity.
As a young adult in college, not much changed. Instead of FBLA and Charmettes, it was Student Senate and my sorority activities after classes. Instead of cluttering up my bedroom at home, now I had a whole apartment to house my papers and journals and school books and applications and stuff.
Then I graduated from college and moved into various apartments in several different cities and I had to box up my "stuff" and take it with me. Instead of stacks of papers and books and journals and crap, I had boxes of papers and books and journals and crap. Some boxes I never unpacked - I used them for tables and stands to put my plants on, or to drape my clothing over.
I would have continued in this fashion for the rest of my life if I didn't decide to get engaged and had to co-mingle my "stuff" with my fiancee's "stuff". Suddenly, I enjoyed giving things away, throwing things away. I had to. Two people with 20 years worth of "stuff" can't fit in a one-bedroom apartment without some drama, and I don't do drama.
Purging things I didn't need or use from my personal space was uplifting. I felt like I could hear angels singing in the heavens and the sun seemed to shine brighter in the apartment. It looked larger and I enjoyed sitting on our couch and simply looking around the living room or out the window. Why didn't someone tell me earlier about the de-cluttering thing?
Fiancee turned into husband and one-bedroom apartment turned into a 1940s cottage nestled in a wildlife reserve. We turned the master bedroom into a party suite with a big-screen television and a huge sectional sofa so we could entertain guests all over the house. Our hard wood floors gleamed and the minimalist styling was airy and fresh. No clutter and life was good.
Baby number one ended it all. Party room - gone. Clutter-free zones - gone. Airy, minimalist styling - gone. In its place - stuff. I won't even take the time to explain what some of the stuff was - it just existed and grew and I couldn't purge fast enough. In the end, I gave up - literally. We sold the house and moved away from CM.
So now, here we are in a beautiful spacious home. A room for every person and thing. An empty basement housing some of the "stuff" we couldn't part with in the move from the cottage to here. A garage housing more "stuff" we couldn't part with in the move from the cottage to here. In fact, I was okay with "stuff" in areas of the house where I couldn't see it on a daily basis, but slowly CM started to creep back in.
It started with the living room table where the boys do their homework. Pencils, pens, notebooks, gaming magazines, sneakers, backpacks - they just seem to gather on, next to, under, and around the living room table. It doesn't matter how many times I clean it up or ask them to clean it up, the living room table and the surrounding area always look like a 3rd grade classroom.
It moved to the dining room table where I would drop the mail and magazines and newspapers and things to be signed and returned. Anything important would end up on the dining room table.
Then "stuff" started accumulating on the kitchen table, because that's where we would sit to eat and discuss field trips and class pictures and new insurance and the new schedule for the studio and test results from the doctor for a childs' fractured foot.
Then "stuff" started growing in the family room around the gaming storage unit, because GameCube became a Wii which became a PS3. There are different controllers and games for each system and manuals explaining how to get to the next level of each game and chargers for cordless PS3 controllers and chargers for batteries for the Wii controllers and a BluRay Disc thing and an Apple home unit that syncs all of this technology together so we can watch movies and family pictures all in one spot. Yeah, okay.
Finally, "stuff" attacked me in my only sanctuary - my bedroom. And I can't blame anyone except me for it. It's the only place for my books and journals and pens and pencils and booklets from conferences and scraps of paper with email addresses on it and thoughtful cards from family and friends and Christmas gifts from the last three christmases which I haven't gotten around to using yet and important papers I have to attend to at some point. It's where I go as soon as I get home from a class and quickly shower and change to go to a meeting or an event. Shoes are all around my side of the bed - flip flops and sneakers and high heels - because I will wear three different shoes to go with three different outfits every day. Every day.
Like the monster children are afraid of under the bed, my "stuff" attacks me in my sleep. I can see the mounds of "stuff" around me in shadow form as I try to doze off and it bothers me. When I wake up in the morning, it's surrounding me. When I try to work on the computer in the bed, it's staring at me and calling to me to clean it up, put it away... DECLUTTER DAMNIT!
So easy, so simple. Just clean it up.
I tried. But I got frustrated and distracted and I couldn't stick to one room or one pile or one area. The entire first floor of my beautiful home is covered by the CM, and I can't seem to get myself together to tackle it. When I do get around to cleaning off one table, the kids come home and a week passes and it's covered again by our lives.
I hired a house cleaner. They can't clean clutter. Only the owner of clutter can de-clutter. So I have shiny floors and well-made beds amid mounds of crap. Depressing.
So here I am at 5:00 in the morning blogging about my clutter because I can't sleep with it looking at me, haunting me, teasing me, daring me to do something about it. When I'm done, I'll spend a few minutes and put a couple of things away. Maybe by Christmas I will have gone through the items from last Christmas and put them away to make room for the new "stuff". I'll let you know how that goes.
CM has been a part of my life forever. It's a part of my personality and dynamic. There are some people (typically Virgos) who are very ordered and neat and organized. Files neatly labeled and color-coded, or storage bins neatly filled with cherished personal momentos are a natural part of some people's lives (Virgos). Well, to a degree, that's me too. As I indicated in an earlier blog, I have a little OCD regarding folding clothes and having a neat closet and drawers. Therefore, the only storage bins I have neatly ordered are those related to seasonal clothing and shoes for my children and me. Outside of that, clutter is taking over my world.
Yes, clutter. It's gotten so out of control, I have changed the general term of clutter to the living, breathing object of... The Clutter Monster.
When I was a teenager, CM was stacks of journals and notepads and stationary and office supplies scattered in careless piles around my bedroom desk and bed. Every few months, I would spend a couple of hours carefully going through everything, discard what I didn't need, neatly stack the books and journals and file away the papers. But I was just as busy in high school as I am as an adult - I went from school to track or swim team practice to FBLA meetings to Charmettes events (don't ask what Charmettes is - that's another blog) to church activities to hanging out with my friends. I would rush in the house, quick change my wardrobe, throw my bags of books and papers on the bed or the desk and grab what I needed for the next activity.
As a young adult in college, not much changed. Instead of FBLA and Charmettes, it was Student Senate and my sorority activities after classes. Instead of cluttering up my bedroom at home, now I had a whole apartment to house my papers and journals and school books and applications and stuff.
Then I graduated from college and moved into various apartments in several different cities and I had to box up my "stuff" and take it with me. Instead of stacks of papers and books and journals and crap, I had boxes of papers and books and journals and crap. Some boxes I never unpacked - I used them for tables and stands to put my plants on, or to drape my clothing over.
I would have continued in this fashion for the rest of my life if I didn't decide to get engaged and had to co-mingle my "stuff" with my fiancee's "stuff". Suddenly, I enjoyed giving things away, throwing things away. I had to. Two people with 20 years worth of "stuff" can't fit in a one-bedroom apartment without some drama, and I don't do drama.
Purging things I didn't need or use from my personal space was uplifting. I felt like I could hear angels singing in the heavens and the sun seemed to shine brighter in the apartment. It looked larger and I enjoyed sitting on our couch and simply looking around the living room or out the window. Why didn't someone tell me earlier about the de-cluttering thing?
Fiancee turned into husband and one-bedroom apartment turned into a 1940s cottage nestled in a wildlife reserve. We turned the master bedroom into a party suite with a big-screen television and a huge sectional sofa so we could entertain guests all over the house. Our hard wood floors gleamed and the minimalist styling was airy and fresh. No clutter and life was good.
Baby number one ended it all. Party room - gone. Clutter-free zones - gone. Airy, minimalist styling - gone. In its place - stuff. I won't even take the time to explain what some of the stuff was - it just existed and grew and I couldn't purge fast enough. In the end, I gave up - literally. We sold the house and moved away from CM.
So now, here we are in a beautiful spacious home. A room for every person and thing. An empty basement housing some of the "stuff" we couldn't part with in the move from the cottage to here. A garage housing more "stuff" we couldn't part with in the move from the cottage to here. In fact, I was okay with "stuff" in areas of the house where I couldn't see it on a daily basis, but slowly CM started to creep back in.
It started with the living room table where the boys do their homework. Pencils, pens, notebooks, gaming magazines, sneakers, backpacks - they just seem to gather on, next to, under, and around the living room table. It doesn't matter how many times I clean it up or ask them to clean it up, the living room table and the surrounding area always look like a 3rd grade classroom.
It moved to the dining room table where I would drop the mail and magazines and newspapers and things to be signed and returned. Anything important would end up on the dining room table.
Then "stuff" started accumulating on the kitchen table, because that's where we would sit to eat and discuss field trips and class pictures and new insurance and the new schedule for the studio and test results from the doctor for a childs' fractured foot.
Then "stuff" started growing in the family room around the gaming storage unit, because GameCube became a Wii which became a PS3. There are different controllers and games for each system and manuals explaining how to get to the next level of each game and chargers for cordless PS3 controllers and chargers for batteries for the Wii controllers and a BluRay Disc thing and an Apple home unit that syncs all of this technology together so we can watch movies and family pictures all in one spot. Yeah, okay.
Finally, "stuff" attacked me in my only sanctuary - my bedroom. And I can't blame anyone except me for it. It's the only place for my books and journals and pens and pencils and booklets from conferences and scraps of paper with email addresses on it and thoughtful cards from family and friends and Christmas gifts from the last three christmases which I haven't gotten around to using yet and important papers I have to attend to at some point. It's where I go as soon as I get home from a class and quickly shower and change to go to a meeting or an event. Shoes are all around my side of the bed - flip flops and sneakers and high heels - because I will wear three different shoes to go with three different outfits every day. Every day.
Like the monster children are afraid of under the bed, my "stuff" attacks me in my sleep. I can see the mounds of "stuff" around me in shadow form as I try to doze off and it bothers me. When I wake up in the morning, it's surrounding me. When I try to work on the computer in the bed, it's staring at me and calling to me to clean it up, put it away... DECLUTTER DAMNIT!
So easy, so simple. Just clean it up.
I tried. But I got frustrated and distracted and I couldn't stick to one room or one pile or one area. The entire first floor of my beautiful home is covered by the CM, and I can't seem to get myself together to tackle it. When I do get around to cleaning off one table, the kids come home and a week passes and it's covered again by our lives.
I hired a house cleaner. They can't clean clutter. Only the owner of clutter can de-clutter. So I have shiny floors and well-made beds amid mounds of crap. Depressing.
So here I am at 5:00 in the morning blogging about my clutter because I can't sleep with it looking at me, haunting me, teasing me, daring me to do something about it. When I'm done, I'll spend a few minutes and put a couple of things away. Maybe by Christmas I will have gone through the items from last Christmas and put them away to make room for the new "stuff". I'll let you know how that goes.
Wednesday, June 23, 2010
The Big Secret Surprise
I love surprises. I love keeping secrets about surprises for other people, and I love to be surprised. I'm always disappointed when a surprise for me is spoiled.
For instance, when I got married, I told my husband to keep where we were going for the honeymoon a secret.
"Just take me to the airport blind-folded. Don't tell me a thing!"
But days before the trip, the travel agent called me to confirm our trip to Trinidad & Tobago. Sigh...
Or what about the time my husband (then boyfriend) tried to throw a surprise birthday party for me when we were in college. I decided at the last minute to throw my own party and called the DJ to see if he was free.
"Yeah, I already discussed it with Maurice last week. I planned to get there around 9:00 to set up," he said, without thinking that I may not have known about the party to begin with. Sigh...
Anyway. This is isn't about me, it's about the biggest surprise EVER for my kids. A secret surprise that almost killed several people in its enormity. A secret surprise that got out a little too soon.
When the world starting getting exciting about the World Cup soccer tournament taking place in South Africa, I remember talking with my husband and saying... "wouldn't it be cool to go there and take the kids?" A year later, my husband announces that he's in the pool to get tickets to a match in Johannesburg. Huh?
For months, he had secretly been working on flights and hotels and travel between South African cities for the kids and us. When he explained the whole thing, I thought to myself... what a fantastic secret surprise. I didn't tell anyone. I started strategizing with him on how to make the trip well worth the expense, time and energy. By April, everything was finalized and we told our parents and my brother. First mistake.
Despite our telling my mother this was a secret surprise for the kids, she announced the trip to her brother and his children who promptly sent me a Facebook post exclaiming... "World Cup?! When are you leaving?"
Since my older son and all of his friends are my Facebook "friends", I had to quickly delete the post, and send the first of several messages alerting the family that this was a secret surprise. Sigh...
Next, my brother, who has adult attention deficit and a very poor memory, asked the kids... "Are you excited about going to South Africa?" They stood there looking at him dumbfounded. My husband gave my brother the "shut up" face and the two of them made up some silly story to cover up my brother's faux pas.
My husband later reported that one of the kids asked my older son, "what's your uncle talkin' about? Are you guys going to the World Cup?"
My older son responded with a shrug and a, "I don't know what he's talking about." And they proceeded to play a game of soccer in the middle of the street.
As damage control, I waited until weeks later and, while we were watching an opening match on television, I nonchalantly said, "Hey, I talked to your uncle yesterday. Can you believe he thought we were going to the World Cup?!"
"Yeah! I know. He said something to me too!"
"Your uncle's crazy..."
Sigh...
As we got closer to the actual trip, it became important for me to share the secret with those I worked with and the babysitter and the neighbors. Imagine trying to get all of those people to keep such a huge secret from my kids when they see them every day. There were several close calls, and I grew at least 4 more gray hairs in the the 2 weeks before the trip.
Four days away and now I have to figure out how to pack for winter in Africa when it's 90 degrees in Atlanta. More importantly, I had to get the older child to actually try on jeans and sweatpants because he has outgrown all of his clothes and keeps getter taller every month. He hates trying on clothes. He hates shopping for clothes. His brother hates waiting for him to shop and try on clothes. Long story short - shopping was not fun. 2 more gray hairs. Secret still safe. (chalked it up to school shopping while winter clothes were on sale - yeah, I'm good)
Three days away - my family are at dinner with my girlfriend and her family. She gets excited and loudly exclaims to her aunt and uncles, "They're leaving for Africa on Wednesday!"
I punch her firmly in the arm, the table goes deathly silent, she drops her head, and my husband turns to stone. My older son narrows his eyes and surveys the scene. My younger son continues to play his DSi, completely oblivious to everything taking place. Sigh...
Deny, deny, deny. That's my husband and my motto for this whole fiasco of the secret surprise. We pretend like nothing happened at dinner and go about our business without comment.
The Monday night before the trip, I'm doing laundry and folding clothes when my older son nonchalantly asks me, "Why does everyone think we're going to South Africa?"
This time I literally sighed out loud and sofly said, "Oh, Maurice."
He knows how much I love secrets and surprises. He knew I was sad that the secret was out. He knows me so well, he didn't ask me anything else and completely changed the subject. I love that kid.
Last night, my mother - who is going on the trip with us - arrived from Miami with her car loaded down. And when my older son heard that my husband was picking up my father-in-law from the airport, the inquisition began. I received a sad phone call from my husband as he was driving home from the airport, "We have to tell them."
My husband checked to make sure the video camera was charged, then he nodded to me. We went into the kitchen, gathered our parents and the kids and made the formal announcement. My older son had the decency to look somewhat incredulous. However, our younger son really had no clue. He was truly surprised and the look on his face made it all worth it.
My older son began going through all of South Africa tourist books my father-in-law had brought with him and my younger son began interrogating me about flight time, accommodations, the language barrier, and his selective eating habits.
Even though we were unable to keep the secret, our children are just as excited as they would have been if they hadn't found out until we arrived at the airport. This trip is an adventure and memory that will last all of our lifetimes. What we experience as individuals and a group will be shared with family, friends and those who don't even exist today.
My motto has always been to live without regrets and do everything I can while I'm able. This trip has meaning on so many levels, I cannot begin to put it into words. All I can say is I appreciate my husband and the spirit that allowed this to be, and I can't wait to blog about the experience...
For instance, when I got married, I told my husband to keep where we were going for the honeymoon a secret.
"Just take me to the airport blind-folded. Don't tell me a thing!"
But days before the trip, the travel agent called me to confirm our trip to Trinidad & Tobago. Sigh...
Or what about the time my husband (then boyfriend) tried to throw a surprise birthday party for me when we were in college. I decided at the last minute to throw my own party and called the DJ to see if he was free.
"Yeah, I already discussed it with Maurice last week. I planned to get there around 9:00 to set up," he said, without thinking that I may not have known about the party to begin with. Sigh...
Anyway. This is isn't about me, it's about the biggest surprise EVER for my kids. A secret surprise that almost killed several people in its enormity. A secret surprise that got out a little too soon.
When the world starting getting exciting about the World Cup soccer tournament taking place in South Africa, I remember talking with my husband and saying... "wouldn't it be cool to go there and take the kids?" A year later, my husband announces that he's in the pool to get tickets to a match in Johannesburg. Huh?
For months, he had secretly been working on flights and hotels and travel between South African cities for the kids and us. When he explained the whole thing, I thought to myself... what a fantastic secret surprise. I didn't tell anyone. I started strategizing with him on how to make the trip well worth the expense, time and energy. By April, everything was finalized and we told our parents and my brother. First mistake.
Despite our telling my mother this was a secret surprise for the kids, she announced the trip to her brother and his children who promptly sent me a Facebook post exclaiming... "World Cup?! When are you leaving?"
Since my older son and all of his friends are my Facebook "friends", I had to quickly delete the post, and send the first of several messages alerting the family that this was a secret surprise. Sigh...
Next, my brother, who has adult attention deficit and a very poor memory, asked the kids... "Are you excited about going to South Africa?" They stood there looking at him dumbfounded. My husband gave my brother the "shut up" face and the two of them made up some silly story to cover up my brother's faux pas.
My husband later reported that one of the kids asked my older son, "what's your uncle talkin' about? Are you guys going to the World Cup?"
My older son responded with a shrug and a, "I don't know what he's talking about." And they proceeded to play a game of soccer in the middle of the street.
As damage control, I waited until weeks later and, while we were watching an opening match on television, I nonchalantly said, "Hey, I talked to your uncle yesterday. Can you believe he thought we were going to the World Cup?!"
"Yeah! I know. He said something to me too!"
"Your uncle's crazy..."
Sigh...
As we got closer to the actual trip, it became important for me to share the secret with those I worked with and the babysitter and the neighbors. Imagine trying to get all of those people to keep such a huge secret from my kids when they see them every day. There were several close calls, and I grew at least 4 more gray hairs in the the 2 weeks before the trip.
Four days away and now I have to figure out how to pack for winter in Africa when it's 90 degrees in Atlanta. More importantly, I had to get the older child to actually try on jeans and sweatpants because he has outgrown all of his clothes and keeps getter taller every month. He hates trying on clothes. He hates shopping for clothes. His brother hates waiting for him to shop and try on clothes. Long story short - shopping was not fun. 2 more gray hairs. Secret still safe. (chalked it up to school shopping while winter clothes were on sale - yeah, I'm good)
Three days away - my family are at dinner with my girlfriend and her family. She gets excited and loudly exclaims to her aunt and uncles, "They're leaving for Africa on Wednesday!"
I punch her firmly in the arm, the table goes deathly silent, she drops her head, and my husband turns to stone. My older son narrows his eyes and surveys the scene. My younger son continues to play his DSi, completely oblivious to everything taking place. Sigh...
Deny, deny, deny. That's my husband and my motto for this whole fiasco of the secret surprise. We pretend like nothing happened at dinner and go about our business without comment.
The Monday night before the trip, I'm doing laundry and folding clothes when my older son nonchalantly asks me, "Why does everyone think we're going to South Africa?"
This time I literally sighed out loud and sofly said, "Oh, Maurice."
He knows how much I love secrets and surprises. He knew I was sad that the secret was out. He knows me so well, he didn't ask me anything else and completely changed the subject. I love that kid.
Last night, my mother - who is going on the trip with us - arrived from Miami with her car loaded down. And when my older son heard that my husband was picking up my father-in-law from the airport, the inquisition began. I received a sad phone call from my husband as he was driving home from the airport, "We have to tell them."
My husband checked to make sure the video camera was charged, then he nodded to me. We went into the kitchen, gathered our parents and the kids and made the formal announcement. My older son had the decency to look somewhat incredulous. However, our younger son really had no clue. He was truly surprised and the look on his face made it all worth it.
My older son began going through all of South Africa tourist books my father-in-law had brought with him and my younger son began interrogating me about flight time, accommodations, the language barrier, and his selective eating habits.
Even though we were unable to keep the secret, our children are just as excited as they would have been if they hadn't found out until we arrived at the airport. This trip is an adventure and memory that will last all of our lifetimes. What we experience as individuals and a group will be shared with family, friends and those who don't even exist today.
My motto has always been to live without regrets and do everything I can while I'm able. This trip has meaning on so many levels, I cannot begin to put it into words. All I can say is I appreciate my husband and the spirit that allowed this to be, and I can't wait to blog about the experience...
Thursday, April 22, 2010
The Trampoline
My mother’s 2007 Christmas gift to the children sat in our garage until April 2009. If I told you why, that would lead to another story, and I want to stay focused today. It was a trampoline for my sons. It was the largest, most industrial, safest trampoline my mother could find, because… “I don’t want my grandbabies getting hurt out there.”
I remember the day my husband and brother put the trampoline up. It was so large, we couldn’t find a space in our back yard – which is a wooded forest – to put it. When we tried putting it in a clearing between our house and the neighbor’s, we received “feedback” from the neighbor. So, several tree cuttings later, the trampoline sat squarely in the middle of our back yard… in direct view of my bedroom windows.
When you were a kid, do you remember the house where all of the kids from the neighborhood hung out? Well somehow, that house became my house. When the trampoline first went up, there were no more than 3 kids allowed on it at any one time, and the older kids directed which children, based on weight and height, could participate at the same time. It was very systematic and I proudly watched from my bedroom window as they fairly managed equal amounts of jump time.
In the beginning, there were only 5 or 6 boys gathered in my backyard after school. But as the school year ended and summer rolled around, the number grew to 10, then 12, then more – girls too. And eventually, the restrictions lessened so that about 6 - 8 kids of various sizes were jumping at once. One day, as I watched with concern, two children aimed balls at the jumpers and they began a dangerous game of Jump-Away-Dodge-Ball. Instead of running outside and putting an end to the risky business, I watched, mesmerized, as the kids were actually able to dodge the balls and flip and fall and get back up. They laughed and high-fived each other as the ones that were hit were replaced by the ones aiming balls into the pit.
Winter soon rolled around, and I was sure the trampoline would be forgotten as the weather turned cold. But the creativity of children is amazing. They found that jumping and falling and bumping into each other with thick, fat coats on was even more fun than jumping without the extra padding. A new game of Bumper-Bodies was created and whoever fell off, was out. Now this may sound unsafe, and it probably was. But as I watched from my bedroom window, ready to spring and run to save a hurt child, they would bump someone off the edge and, he or she would roll softly onto the bed of dead pine needles and leaves. Unscathed, they’d get up, dust off, and get back on.
In January, it snowed, and this brought on a new game of See-Who-Can-Make-The-Snow-Bounce-Highest. That game was combined with Bumper-Bodies and Jump-Away-Dodge-Ball (note: balls were replaced with snowballs that week). And the kids never stopped coming.
One day last month, I noticed there were no kids jumping in my backyard. For the previous 12 months, there had been kids moving vertically in my backyard every non-rainy day. So the absence of bouncing children was a bit strange. Upon closer inspection, I noticed there was a strange dip in the normally taut material in the center of the trampoline. Hm. Eventually, my sons and 4 of their partners in crime trooped into the kitchen with serious faces. “Uh, Mom…”
I’ll spare you the lengthy details of 6 boys trying to explain how they broke the trampoline, but I will tell you that it involved a highly complicated game of heaviest, largest children on one end all jumping as hard as they could at once while small children lifted the rim on the opposite end. Don’t ask… I still don’t understand the concept.
I knew this would be the end of the trampoline and my backyard as the clubhouse. And I have to admit, I was actually a little sad. I would miss seeing how the kids communicated and interacted. I would miss watching them argue and then figure out solutions to their disagreements. I would miss watching new children become part of the Trampoline Family. But most, I would miss watching how innovative they were as they created fresh new ideas for games and activities on the trampoline.
So, you can imagine my surprise when the next afternoon, there were at least 7 kids in my backyard. I stopped what I was doing and sat, mesmerized again, as they worked like little ants to carefully take apart the trampoline. Over the next week, they pulled, pushed, propped, and pitched the poles and metal from the rim of the trampoline. Then they stretched the fabric and netting over the corners of the poles and rim. By the next weekend, they had a covered clubhouse. The twins from up the block brought chairs, and another child from across the street brought an old wooden crate his parents had thrown out to be a makeshift table. Children from everywhere brought books, and toys, and stuff, and things. (I’m not sure how I feel about all that stuff in my backyard, but we’ll discuss that at another time.)
There is a lot to learn from observing children. My sons and their neighborhood friends clearly demonstrated three important facts:
- When you get tired of playing the game, create a new one. It can be just as much fun as the old one – maybe better.
- There’s room for everyone to get in the game if you take turns and follow the rules. You don’t have to turn anyone away.
- When the game becomes obsolete, reinvent it.
Wednesday, April 7, 2010
Woman vs. Wasp
I know better than to think that 15 minutes is more than enough time to gather my notes, computer, fix myself up, check on the kids home from spring break, and drive to the studio for my private training client. I'm right.
3:40 pm
That's what the glowing red numbers indicate on the digital clock beside my bed. I had come home from work since the boys were home for spring break. They were doing their usual thing - picking on each other, screaming names at each other, throwing pillows and sharp objects across the landing and down the stairs at each other. Nothing special. So I had holed up in my bedroom, spread stacks of papers, receipts, invoices and contracts around me on the bed, and propped my cute little MacBook on the lap desk my mother gave me for Christmas.
(Note: I LOVE my lap desk. My mother loves holidays and preparing gifts - especially for holidays (see my blog "Vacation"). What makes her even more special is that she knows her targets well and always gives gifts her recipients will use and cherish. Hence my appreciation for the lap desk - she knows I love to sit in my bed and she knows I love to work on my laptop. Now I do it on my lap desk.)
As I finish paying the last invoice online and noting it in one of my many black cash books, I glance at the clock and see the time. 20 minutes before my next client.
3:45 pm
I file and repack all the stacks and zip my precious Apple notebook into my computer bag. I (reluctantly) climb down from the bed and go to inspect myself in the bathroom mirror. Everything looks good, so I smooth down my shirt, blot a little shine from my face with a hand towel, and exit my private sanctuary grabbing my computer bag as I go.
3:48 pm
"Mommmmm, my eyes are BURNING," my preteen says as he rubs his red, puffy, allergy eyes. Tears leak out of the corner of his left eye as he tries to see through his swollen lids.
Sigh... I run back to my bathroom, dig through my makeup case until I find the bottle of Allergy eyedrops. As I run back out and tilt his head back, my cell phone rings. I prop the phone between my shoulder and ear and start whisper/pointing directions to the preteen who really hates getting drops in his eyes.
Soccer coach wants him to play a tournament in Charlotte, NC next weekend. Can he make it? Hm, can he drive himself up there? Sigh... I'm holding my computer bag, two purses (one black, one brown - I have to match and I haven't had a chance to switch them yet), a cell phone to my ear, squeezing a bottle of eyedrops into a squirming preteen's eye and trying to think of my husband and my work/travel schedule for the next weekend. "Uh, can I check with my husband and get back to you by 5:00 today?"
3:55 pm
I put the bottle of drops on the table, ask the boys not to fight until I get back home (yeah, right), snatch my keys off the counter and run out the door. I have exactly 5 minutes to drive 6 miles through stop lights to my 4:00 client. I can do it!
3:58 pm
I am cruising through the 1st of 3 stop lights and talking to my husband on the cell about the soccer tournament when I notice a huge gold and black wasp as big as my pinky finger sitting calmly on my leg.
"AAAAAAAAHHHHHHHGGGGGGRRRRRRHHHHHHHAAAA!"
I beat, slap and pound on my leg with the cell phone. The wasp and my cell phone go flying across the car. As the protective case around my cell phone smashes apart (thank goodness for those hard plastic cases), my mind registers that I am driving 45 mph down a two-lane street. I look up and notice I am careening into the other lane and swerve back into mine. Then I hear my husband's tiny voice somewhere in space - "Thea, Thea, Thea!"
I grope around on the floor of the passenger side with one eye on the wasp climbing the passenger-side door and the other on the street. I calmly smile into the phone, "Oh, hi Maurice. Sorry about that. A wasp was on my lap." Out of the corner of my eye, I see the wasp climbing to the level of the window. "Uh, I have to go now. I'll call you back, okay?" I drop the phone on the seat next to me and check the time on the dashboard.
4:01
Normally my being a minute or two late wouldn't be a problem. But our studio isn't open until 5:00pm in the evenings. That means my client will be waiting outside of a locked, dark studio in the heat and pollen. We don't treat our clients like that.
So... I start to calculate. I am now 2 miles from the studio and the wasp is resting peacefully on the ledge between the door handle and window of the passenger side. I figure I can make it. I keep driving and hoping...
4:02
The wasp gets caught in a breeze coming through the window and flies across the car toward me. I scream again - louder and longer than last time - and start flailing my arms around my head. Yes, I'm still driving - without hands. My good sense gets the best of me, and I grab the steering wheel with one hand and grab a bunch of my long dredlocks with the other. I start swinging my hair like a weapon, not knowing where the wasp is or caring - all I know is that I can hear it buzzing so it's too close to my head for comfort and it MUST GO.
My mind starts to work again and I see a driveway into a neighborhood. I slow down, pull in and stop right in the middle of the lane. Too bad if someone is trying to come home, I can't move right now. Shaking, I scan the car with laser-like vision and listen acutely for the buzzing I know so well. Nothing. Then I start itching. I feel like the wasp is climbing up my arms and down my back and across my neck. Ew.
4:03
I pull cautiously out into the street and finish the commute into the parking lot of my studio. I see my client peering through the front door window and I imagine her wondering if I've forgotten our appointment or whether she has the right time. I take a second to glance at myself in the rear-view mirror, tuck a stray loc, smooth down my eyebrows (they always stick up anyway), and pick up all three of my bags and parts of my cell phone.
4:05
"Hi Patti!" I say brightly, like nothing has happened. "Sorry I'm late - come on in and let's get to work."
3:40 pm
That's what the glowing red numbers indicate on the digital clock beside my bed. I had come home from work since the boys were home for spring break. They were doing their usual thing - picking on each other, screaming names at each other, throwing pillows and sharp objects across the landing and down the stairs at each other. Nothing special. So I had holed up in my bedroom, spread stacks of papers, receipts, invoices and contracts around me on the bed, and propped my cute little MacBook on the lap desk my mother gave me for Christmas.
(Note: I LOVE my lap desk. My mother loves holidays and preparing gifts - especially for holidays (see my blog "Vacation"). What makes her even more special is that she knows her targets well and always gives gifts her recipients will use and cherish. Hence my appreciation for the lap desk - she knows I love to sit in my bed and she knows I love to work on my laptop. Now I do it on my lap desk.)
As I finish paying the last invoice online and noting it in one of my many black cash books, I glance at the clock and see the time. 20 minutes before my next client.
3:45 pm
I file and repack all the stacks and zip my precious Apple notebook into my computer bag. I (reluctantly) climb down from the bed and go to inspect myself in the bathroom mirror. Everything looks good, so I smooth down my shirt, blot a little shine from my face with a hand towel, and exit my private sanctuary grabbing my computer bag as I go.
3:48 pm
"Mommmmm, my eyes are BURNING," my preteen says as he rubs his red, puffy, allergy eyes. Tears leak out of the corner of his left eye as he tries to see through his swollen lids.
Sigh... I run back to my bathroom, dig through my makeup case until I find the bottle of Allergy eyedrops. As I run back out and tilt his head back, my cell phone rings. I prop the phone between my shoulder and ear and start whisper/pointing directions to the preteen who really hates getting drops in his eyes.
Soccer coach wants him to play a tournament in Charlotte, NC next weekend. Can he make it? Hm, can he drive himself up there? Sigh... I'm holding my computer bag, two purses (one black, one brown - I have to match and I haven't had a chance to switch them yet), a cell phone to my ear, squeezing a bottle of eyedrops into a squirming preteen's eye and trying to think of my husband and my work/travel schedule for the next weekend. "Uh, can I check with my husband and get back to you by 5:00 today?"
3:55 pm
I put the bottle of drops on the table, ask the boys not to fight until I get back home (yeah, right), snatch my keys off the counter and run out the door. I have exactly 5 minutes to drive 6 miles through stop lights to my 4:00 client. I can do it!
3:58 pm
I am cruising through the 1st of 3 stop lights and talking to my husband on the cell about the soccer tournament when I notice a huge gold and black wasp as big as my pinky finger sitting calmly on my leg.
"AAAAAAAAHHHHHHHGGGGGGRRRRRRHHHHHHHAAAA!"
I beat, slap and pound on my leg with the cell phone. The wasp and my cell phone go flying across the car. As the protective case around my cell phone smashes apart (thank goodness for those hard plastic cases), my mind registers that I am driving 45 mph down a two-lane street. I look up and notice I am careening into the other lane and swerve back into mine. Then I hear my husband's tiny voice somewhere in space - "Thea, Thea, Thea!"
I grope around on the floor of the passenger side with one eye on the wasp climbing the passenger-side door and the other on the street. I calmly smile into the phone, "Oh, hi Maurice. Sorry about that. A wasp was on my lap." Out of the corner of my eye, I see the wasp climbing to the level of the window. "Uh, I have to go now. I'll call you back, okay?" I drop the phone on the seat next to me and check the time on the dashboard.
4:01
Normally my being a minute or two late wouldn't be a problem. But our studio isn't open until 5:00pm in the evenings. That means my client will be waiting outside of a locked, dark studio in the heat and pollen. We don't treat our clients like that.
So... I start to calculate. I am now 2 miles from the studio and the wasp is resting peacefully on the ledge between the door handle and window of the passenger side. I figure I can make it. I keep driving and hoping...
4:02
The wasp gets caught in a breeze coming through the window and flies across the car toward me. I scream again - louder and longer than last time - and start flailing my arms around my head. Yes, I'm still driving - without hands. My good sense gets the best of me, and I grab the steering wheel with one hand and grab a bunch of my long dredlocks with the other. I start swinging my hair like a weapon, not knowing where the wasp is or caring - all I know is that I can hear it buzzing so it's too close to my head for comfort and it MUST GO.
My mind starts to work again and I see a driveway into a neighborhood. I slow down, pull in and stop right in the middle of the lane. Too bad if someone is trying to come home, I can't move right now. Shaking, I scan the car with laser-like vision and listen acutely for the buzzing I know so well. Nothing. Then I start itching. I feel like the wasp is climbing up my arms and down my back and across my neck. Ew.
4:03
I pull cautiously out into the street and finish the commute into the parking lot of my studio. I see my client peering through the front door window and I imagine her wondering if I've forgotten our appointment or whether she has the right time. I take a second to glance at myself in the rear-view mirror, tuck a stray loc, smooth down my eyebrows (they always stick up anyway), and pick up all three of my bags and parts of my cell phone.
4:05
"Hi Patti!" I say brightly, like nothing has happened. "Sorry I'm late - come on in and let's get to work."
Friday, March 26, 2010
Vacation
My husband and I have never been traditional holiday people. We may not put up our Christmas tree until Christmas Eve - not because it's a ritual or anything... more likely because we are so busy, we just don't get around to it until the last minute. We don't celebrate Valentine's day or exchange gifts on our birthdays or go out for our anniversary - not because we're making a statement or anything... we are literally so busy traveling around the world, running multiple businesses, volunteering with organizations, doing stuff with our kids and extended family, that the event creeps up on us and we just don't have time to prepare.
To make up for our lack of gift giving and scheduled celebrations, we party and gift-give for no reason at all, any time we feel like it. The thought of a unique gift my husband picks up for me in a Yoga Studio in Japan during his travels has real meaning and becomes that more special.
It wasn't until our first child became old enough to understand and experience Christmas that we actually had to spend time advance-planning gift purchases and making an elaborate display of putting up a tree. That first year didn't go so well. I remember stressing over what to get for him and our tree was a naked, hot mess. My brother, mother, and father-in-law had to come to town to help us hippy, rogue parents get our #%*! together. We've come a long way since then, but only with the children.
We started planning vacations 2x a year for places and activities the kids would love. Skiing with their god-brothers in the mountains of Virginia, flying in a helicopter over the Grand Canyon, swimming in the ocean waves of St. Kitts & Nevis with their cousins, throwing slime on each other at the Nickelodeon Hotel in Orlando. They've seen and experienced more in 11 and 7 years than most adults do their whole lives. And my husband and I love creating the adventure.
But there comes a time when Mom and Dad need to get away... alone... with each other. We've had plenty of opportunities over the years. When we drop the kids off in Miami to stay with my mom for a few weeks in the summer, we could fly down to the Caribbean for a few days of R&R, but we never do. When my father-in-law comes to visit for a week during the winter, we could drive a couple of hours away to a bed-and-breakfast in the mountains, but we never do. In fact, I started thinking about all the times my husband and I have enjoyed a trip alone since our first son was born in 1998. I came up with 3x - Montego Bay in 1999, Negril in 2003, and San Diego in 2004.
FACT: My husband and I are work-a-holics. We know this. Others know this about us.
My husband's job requires him to fly to far-reaching destinations like Hong Kong, Barcelona, and Tai Pei on a regular, weekly basis. I own and run a Yoga & Fitness studio and manage my fitness outsourcing company keeping me on my toes about 12 hours a day, 6 days a week. In between our hectic work schedules, we are the parents you see on the soccer field every weekend and volunteering in the classroom once a week. Additionally, we both hold leadership positions with organizations unrelated to work and our kids.
We need a vacation at least once a year.
Two weeks ago, I decided I needed to get away and shut it all down. The meetings, the classes, the presentations, the clients, the laundry, the homework (that's getting harder and harder for me to remember), the fights to break up between the kids, the grocery shopping... I had to get away. My husband has been in three different time zones in the last 10 days. He's been presenting, meeting, and networking with 3 different cultures for more than 4 weeks straight. He needs to take a break. His last conference for the month was scheduled to be in Las Vegas ending on Thursday 3/25, and we decided on whim that I would come and hang out on Thursday and we'd vacation with each other until Monday.
Las Vegas. The last time we'd been there as a couple was in 1995 when we played hooky from our respective jobs and he drove in from LA and I flew in from Baltimore. We finagled our way into a suite at the MGM Grand, scored free tickets (which we sold on the street) to the Jackson Family Reunion concert, and my husband was interviewed by MTV on the strip. (It aired that night, his co-workers saw him, he got in trouble... but it was fun).
15 years later, I'm sitting in the picture window of a suite on the 28th floor of The Palazzo Hotel on the Las Vegas strip. Yesterday, I slept about 10 hours straight, ordered room service, then slept another 2 hours. Today I am scheduled for 3 hours of spa treatments at the Canyon Ranch spa located in our hotel, and my husband is going to enjoy a couple of the treatments with me.
We've dined at fabulous restaurants without fighting with a child about eating his vegetables and reminding the other to chew with his mouth closed. We've partied until 4:00 am without stressing over a babysitter. We've shopped in stores that don't have video games and toys. We've slept until 10:00 am without being awakened by Spongebob Squarepants on the television and a wrestling match in the bed next to ours. We're actually vacationing like two grown adults without a care in the world.
While I do feel completely relaxed and stress-free, I have to admit that I miss my babies. Everything I see makes me think of them, and a little part of me wishes they could be here, too. But, for once, I'm practicing what I preach to my clients and workshop participants all the time: Take a little time for yourself so you can be a better wife, mother, daughter, sister, friend to those around you.
I'm doing me (and my husband, too;).
To make up for our lack of gift giving and scheduled celebrations, we party and gift-give for no reason at all, any time we feel like it. The thought of a unique gift my husband picks up for me in a Yoga Studio in Japan during his travels has real meaning and becomes that more special.
It wasn't until our first child became old enough to understand and experience Christmas that we actually had to spend time advance-planning gift purchases and making an elaborate display of putting up a tree. That first year didn't go so well. I remember stressing over what to get for him and our tree was a naked, hot mess. My brother, mother, and father-in-law had to come to town to help us hippy, rogue parents get our #%*! together. We've come a long way since then, but only with the children.
We started planning vacations 2x a year for places and activities the kids would love. Skiing with their god-brothers in the mountains of Virginia, flying in a helicopter over the Grand Canyon, swimming in the ocean waves of St. Kitts & Nevis with their cousins, throwing slime on each other at the Nickelodeon Hotel in Orlando. They've seen and experienced more in 11 and 7 years than most adults do their whole lives. And my husband and I love creating the adventure.
But there comes a time when Mom and Dad need to get away... alone... with each other. We've had plenty of opportunities over the years. When we drop the kids off in Miami to stay with my mom for a few weeks in the summer, we could fly down to the Caribbean for a few days of R&R, but we never do. When my father-in-law comes to visit for a week during the winter, we could drive a couple of hours away to a bed-and-breakfast in the mountains, but we never do. In fact, I started thinking about all the times my husband and I have enjoyed a trip alone since our first son was born in 1998. I came up with 3x - Montego Bay in 1999, Negril in 2003, and San Diego in 2004.
FACT: My husband and I are work-a-holics. We know this. Others know this about us.
My husband's job requires him to fly to far-reaching destinations like Hong Kong, Barcelona, and Tai Pei on a regular, weekly basis. I own and run a Yoga & Fitness studio and manage my fitness outsourcing company keeping me on my toes about 12 hours a day, 6 days a week. In between our hectic work schedules, we are the parents you see on the soccer field every weekend and volunteering in the classroom once a week. Additionally, we both hold leadership positions with organizations unrelated to work and our kids.
We need a vacation at least once a year.
Two weeks ago, I decided I needed to get away and shut it all down. The meetings, the classes, the presentations, the clients, the laundry, the homework (that's getting harder and harder for me to remember), the fights to break up between the kids, the grocery shopping... I had to get away. My husband has been in three different time zones in the last 10 days. He's been presenting, meeting, and networking with 3 different cultures for more than 4 weeks straight. He needs to take a break. His last conference for the month was scheduled to be in Las Vegas ending on Thursday 3/25, and we decided on whim that I would come and hang out on Thursday and we'd vacation with each other until Monday.
Las Vegas. The last time we'd been there as a couple was in 1995 when we played hooky from our respective jobs and he drove in from LA and I flew in from Baltimore. We finagled our way into a suite at the MGM Grand, scored free tickets (which we sold on the street) to the Jackson Family Reunion concert, and my husband was interviewed by MTV on the strip. (It aired that night, his co-workers saw him, he got in trouble... but it was fun).
15 years later, I'm sitting in the picture window of a suite on the 28th floor of The Palazzo Hotel on the Las Vegas strip. Yesterday, I slept about 10 hours straight, ordered room service, then slept another 2 hours. Today I am scheduled for 3 hours of spa treatments at the Canyon Ranch spa located in our hotel, and my husband is going to enjoy a couple of the treatments with me.
We've dined at fabulous restaurants without fighting with a child about eating his vegetables and reminding the other to chew with his mouth closed. We've partied until 4:00 am without stressing over a babysitter. We've shopped in stores that don't have video games and toys. We've slept until 10:00 am without being awakened by Spongebob Squarepants on the television and a wrestling match in the bed next to ours. We're actually vacationing like two grown adults without a care in the world.
While I do feel completely relaxed and stress-free, I have to admit that I miss my babies. Everything I see makes me think of them, and a little part of me wishes they could be here, too. But, for once, I'm practicing what I preach to my clients and workshop participants all the time: Take a little time for yourself so you can be a better wife, mother, daughter, sister, friend to those around you.
I'm doing me (and my husband, too;).
Thursday, February 18, 2010
Business Meeting @ Chuck E. Cheese
I recently had a flashback to Fall 2002. I was living in Baltimore and my fitness outsourcing business was just beginning to grow. I had 2 corporate contracts and new companies were calling me to hire teachers for their fitness centers. There was a fantastic Pilates and dance instructor I'd been dying to bring on board, but we could never seem to get our schedules to mesh.
"Can you do 11:30 on Monday?"
"Uh, let me see... nope, my oldest has a playdate. What about 5:30?"
"Nope, soccer practice at the Y. How about Tuesday at noon?"
"Can't. The 2-year-old has TumbleTina class. Can you do earlier at 9:30?"
"Uh-uh. Sesame Street 9-10." (sigh)
Finally, we agreed that the only way we would be able to meet was to schedule a business playdate at the local Chuck E. Cheese. I don't like to use the word "hate", so I'll say, I truly dislike attending functions at Chuck E. Cheese.
Anyway, Chuck E. Cheese it was on a weekday around 11:45 am. Our 4-year olds chased each other in the jungle gym, while her 2-year old tossed colored balls into the mesh netting enclosing the ball bath. We each held a child, nursing, to our breast as we wrote quickly into our Franklin Planners and notebooks (yes, I was still doing Franklin Planner in 2002. I'd had a bad experience in 2000 when my Palm Pilot died unexpectedly and I didn't know when or where I was going and couldn't find numbers to call anyone to find out. It was 3 years of fear and mourning before I could return to electronic scheduling).
An hour and a half later, our meeting was done, the kids had all been fed, and a playdate had been knocked out all at once. Triumph.
Fast forward to 2010. A contact from the Chamber of Commerce called me and indicated we needed to meet immediately. Both of our schedules were booked solid with meetings, luncheons, and presentations. We both sounded fatigued and stressed as we scanned our Blackberry and Outlook calendars, trying to find any open 2-hour slot in the next few days.
Suddenly an idea came to me. Jeju Spa. The Korean bath house located only minutes from both our homes. Jeju is not your typical American spa. Yes, it has saunas, whirlpools, steam rooms and massage. But it also has wifi, CNN on plasmas, and computer work stations tucked quietly behind gigantic saunas Jeju refers to as "igloos."
"Can you meet me at Jeju tomorrow morning? I have a window of time between kids leaving for school and my first presentation at 11:45am."
"Perfect. If we meet at 8:30, I can fit in accupressure and still make my 11:00 meeting at the Chamber."
When I combine relaxing barefoot on a heated marble floor with closing a business deal as the scent of jasmine and sage float in the air... bliss is the only word that comes to mind. The spa is my golf course, and it's definitely a step up from Chuck E. Cheese.
"Can you do 11:30 on Monday?"
"Uh, let me see... nope, my oldest has a playdate. What about 5:30?"
"Nope, soccer practice at the Y. How about Tuesday at noon?"
"Can't. The 2-year-old has TumbleTina class. Can you do earlier at 9:30?"
"Uh-uh. Sesame Street 9-10." (sigh)
Finally, we agreed that the only way we would be able to meet was to schedule a business playdate at the local Chuck E. Cheese. I don't like to use the word "hate", so I'll say, I truly dislike attending functions at Chuck E. Cheese.
Anyway, Chuck E. Cheese it was on a weekday around 11:45 am. Our 4-year olds chased each other in the jungle gym, while her 2-year old tossed colored balls into the mesh netting enclosing the ball bath. We each held a child, nursing, to our breast as we wrote quickly into our Franklin Planners and notebooks (yes, I was still doing Franklin Planner in 2002. I'd had a bad experience in 2000 when my Palm Pilot died unexpectedly and I didn't know when or where I was going and couldn't find numbers to call anyone to find out. It was 3 years of fear and mourning before I could return to electronic scheduling).
An hour and a half later, our meeting was done, the kids had all been fed, and a playdate had been knocked out all at once. Triumph.
Fast forward to 2010. A contact from the Chamber of Commerce called me and indicated we needed to meet immediately. Both of our schedules were booked solid with meetings, luncheons, and presentations. We both sounded fatigued and stressed as we scanned our Blackberry and Outlook calendars, trying to find any open 2-hour slot in the next few days.
Suddenly an idea came to me. Jeju Spa. The Korean bath house located only minutes from both our homes. Jeju is not your typical American spa. Yes, it has saunas, whirlpools, steam rooms and massage. But it also has wifi, CNN on plasmas, and computer work stations tucked quietly behind gigantic saunas Jeju refers to as "igloos."
"Can you meet me at Jeju tomorrow morning? I have a window of time between kids leaving for school and my first presentation at 11:45am."
"Perfect. If we meet at 8:30, I can fit in accupressure and still make my 11:00 meeting at the Chamber."
When I combine relaxing barefoot on a heated marble floor with closing a business deal as the scent of jasmine and sage float in the air... bliss is the only word that comes to mind. The spa is my golf course, and it's definitely a step up from Chuck E. Cheese.
Sunday, February 14, 2010
Pit Stop
Each and every one of my days is scheduled from waking to sleep. Not like my husband's schedule in which he is constantly in fear of a flight cancellation between Amsterdam and Barcelona or Tai Pei and Hong Kong. His scheduling concerns are bit more lofty than mine, but not nearly as complicated. Why not? Because he only has to worry about his own schedule.
Not one of my days looks anything like the next day or yesterday. And I like that. Being a Sagittarian that craves variety and freedom and excitement and hustle, I love planning my days with the anticipation of something new and different coming up in a day or a week. But anything I schedule for myself also involves some major arranging (and rearranging) for my sons and their activities.There's that one time I was called by the casting director of Tyler Perry studios to be an extra on a taping of The House of Payne and I spent the majority of my day on set in makeup and wardrobe. And that time I decided to teach for a week once a month in Jamaica. It took 4 months before I grew bored and stopped going.
The point is, I need variety in my mommypreneur lifestyle. For me, but not for my kids. My older son is a lot like I am - he's a free spirit, always ready to go anywhere, for any reason, with anyone. My younger son... not so much. He craves routine and schedule and order. And as a responsible mom, I provide it for my kids even though it goes against my natural character.
Each and every day of the week and weekend has a routine. Tuesday for instance is 3:45 - younger son home for snacks, homework and mom time. 4:20 - older son home for snacks, attacking younger brother, and talking non-stop, while I multi-task clean-up, dinner, and prepare to leave for classes at the studio. 5:30 - babysitter arrives. 5:45 - I leave for work. 6:30 - older son leaves for soccer. 7:00 younger son and babysitter interact. 8:00 older son home from soccer. 8:30 we all eat dinner, kids shower and get ready for bed. 9:30 I start yelling to the kids to stop talking and playing and "go to sleep." 10:00 I repeat yelling to the kids. 10:30 I may possibly still be yelling to the kids to "GO TO SLEEP! I MEAN IT THIS TIME!" Every Tuesday looks just like that without fail. It bores me to tears to have that much routine, but it's perfect for the boys.
Last week, I decided the kids (and I) needed change and fun and excitement in our schedule. We needed to rekindle our relationship as mommy and boys just like a married couple needs variety to keep the relationship interesting and fresh. I struggled to remember the last time the boys and I had been on a road trip together or racing each other in go-carts or doing any of the things we used to do on a whim. Not in a long time.
Last Wednesday, my night class at the studio didn't start until 7:45 and neither child had practice or something scheduled to do. So, at 5:30 I announced... "Hey guys, grab your coats and wallets. Let's go the mall." Now I know the mall is not really a big deal to most people. However, getting to spend an hour or two just walking through the mall for no good reason is not something I ever do and definitely not with my kids since they grew out of the stroller.
By 5:50, we were at the mall and the boys were excited as they punched each other through the sliding glass doors. We started with the indoor skate park where teens were skateboarding and blading over smooth hills and high-fiving on ramps high above the ground. Then we went to the book store (my boys and I are all book worms. I could have stayed in the bookstore for the rest of the visit, but alas it only lasted 15 minutes) where the boys discussed the latest release of Diary of a Wimpy Kid and the new book and movie series that looks just like Harry Potter to me. My older son wanted to spend all of his money on 3 books in the new like-Harry-Potter series, while my younger son discussed the merits of saving your money and checking in the library first as he resolutely returned his book to the shelf (at least I got one to carry on my genes for spending wisely). We then spent the next 5 minutes at the register as I turned my older son's POS into an extended math word problem. I apologized to the people standing in line behind us, but if you don't teach them early about money, tax calculations and change, they'll be fools as men, and this momma is not raising any irresponsible fools.
We eventually left the bookstore to walk and window shop. Our next stops included the Lego Store, the Japanese import store (they carry real swords and Japanese comic books which were both of major interest to my sons), and the candy store (where I refused to allow them to buy handfuls of sugar). As we stood at a kiosk purchasing a new wallet for my older son who recently lost his wallet full of money and gift cards (sigh), the younger one saw a trampoline and trapeze at the end of the hall. His little face lit up and he started to dance.
"Oh Mom, can I jump on that thing?" he asked excitedly pointing to a little child jumping barely 2 feet of the trampoline.
I thought about it. Normally, I would say no and we'd rush out of the mall to the next scheduled appointment. Looking at my watch, I quickly calculated the time we had left. There was time. So why not?
"Sure, Honey. Let me finish working with your brother on this wallet thing, okay?"
He started to dance and spin and hum, which he does when he's really happy. We made our way to the booth and saw that there were two activities that could be purchased for one price. The boys calculated the per person fee, put their money on the counter and raced into the kiosk kicking of coats and shoes as they went.
After 5-10 minutes of back-flipping, jumping to the ceiling of the mall, and sliding through elastic bands, we were finally able to pack up and leave - right on time to put me back on schedule for my class at 7:45.
On the way home, the boys talked about how much fun they'd had and tried to remember the last time we'd done something fun for no reason in the middle of the week. They couldn't. Neither could I.
Not one of my days looks anything like the next day or yesterday. And I like that. Being a Sagittarian that craves variety and freedom and excitement and hustle, I love planning my days with the anticipation of something new and different coming up in a day or a week. But anything I schedule for myself also involves some major arranging (and rearranging) for my sons and their activities.There's that one time I was called by the casting director of Tyler Perry studios to be an extra on a taping of The House of Payne and I spent the majority of my day on set in makeup and wardrobe. And that time I decided to teach for a week once a month in Jamaica. It took 4 months before I grew bored and stopped going.
The point is, I need variety in my mommypreneur lifestyle. For me, but not for my kids. My older son is a lot like I am - he's a free spirit, always ready to go anywhere, for any reason, with anyone. My younger son... not so much. He craves routine and schedule and order. And as a responsible mom, I provide it for my kids even though it goes against my natural character.
Each and every day of the week and weekend has a routine. Tuesday for instance is 3:45 - younger son home for snacks, homework and mom time. 4:20 - older son home for snacks, attacking younger brother, and talking non-stop, while I multi-task clean-up, dinner, and prepare to leave for classes at the studio. 5:30 - babysitter arrives. 5:45 - I leave for work. 6:30 - older son leaves for soccer. 7:00 younger son and babysitter interact. 8:00 older son home from soccer. 8:30 we all eat dinner, kids shower and get ready for bed. 9:30 I start yelling to the kids to stop talking and playing and "go to sleep." 10:00 I repeat yelling to the kids. 10:30 I may possibly still be yelling to the kids to "GO TO SLEEP! I MEAN IT THIS TIME!" Every Tuesday looks just like that without fail. It bores me to tears to have that much routine, but it's perfect for the boys.
Last week, I decided the kids (and I) needed change and fun and excitement in our schedule. We needed to rekindle our relationship as mommy and boys just like a married couple needs variety to keep the relationship interesting and fresh. I struggled to remember the last time the boys and I had been on a road trip together or racing each other in go-carts or doing any of the things we used to do on a whim. Not in a long time.
Last Wednesday, my night class at the studio didn't start until 7:45 and neither child had practice or something scheduled to do. So, at 5:30 I announced... "Hey guys, grab your coats and wallets. Let's go the mall." Now I know the mall is not really a big deal to most people. However, getting to spend an hour or two just walking through the mall for no good reason is not something I ever do and definitely not with my kids since they grew out of the stroller.
By 5:50, we were at the mall and the boys were excited as they punched each other through the sliding glass doors. We started with the indoor skate park where teens were skateboarding and blading over smooth hills and high-fiving on ramps high above the ground. Then we went to the book store (my boys and I are all book worms. I could have stayed in the bookstore for the rest of the visit, but alas it only lasted 15 minutes) where the boys discussed the latest release of Diary of a Wimpy Kid and the new book and movie series that looks just like Harry Potter to me. My older son wanted to spend all of his money on 3 books in the new like-Harry-Potter series, while my younger son discussed the merits of saving your money and checking in the library first as he resolutely returned his book to the shelf (at least I got one to carry on my genes for spending wisely). We then spent the next 5 minutes at the register as I turned my older son's POS into an extended math word problem. I apologized to the people standing in line behind us, but if you don't teach them early about money, tax calculations and change, they'll be fools as men, and this momma is not raising any irresponsible fools.
We eventually left the bookstore to walk and window shop. Our next stops included the Lego Store, the Japanese import store (they carry real swords and Japanese comic books which were both of major interest to my sons), and the candy store (where I refused to allow them to buy handfuls of sugar). As we stood at a kiosk purchasing a new wallet for my older son who recently lost his wallet full of money and gift cards (sigh), the younger one saw a trampoline and trapeze at the end of the hall. His little face lit up and he started to dance.
"Oh Mom, can I jump on that thing?" he asked excitedly pointing to a little child jumping barely 2 feet of the trampoline.
I thought about it. Normally, I would say no and we'd rush out of the mall to the next scheduled appointment. Looking at my watch, I quickly calculated the time we had left. There was time. So why not?
"Sure, Honey. Let me finish working with your brother on this wallet thing, okay?"
He started to dance and spin and hum, which he does when he's really happy. We made our way to the booth and saw that there were two activities that could be purchased for one price. The boys calculated the per person fee, put their money on the counter and raced into the kiosk kicking of coats and shoes as they went.
After 5-10 minutes of back-flipping, jumping to the ceiling of the mall, and sliding through elastic bands, we were finally able to pack up and leave - right on time to put me back on schedule for my class at 7:45.On the way home, the boys talked about how much fun they'd had and tried to remember the last time we'd done something fun for no reason in the middle of the week. They couldn't. Neither could I.
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