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Last night I dreamed that my sister lived in Arizona and wrecked my truck. No more snacks before bed for me.
I'm grateful that I've been journalling for my whole life. I don't know how I would deal with all the thoughts that run around in my head, otherwise.
It's going to be impossible to transfer all my projects to this new person. He doesn't know my area, he doesn't know the job, he's new to AcronymCo, AND he isn't familiar with manufacturing. I'm going to have to train him on theory and basics before I can even begin giving him projects. Gah.
Sarah's happy bunnies. "You smell like butt." (refresh) "You suck and that's sad." (refresh) "I think I gave you crabs." (refresh...)
"satellite in my eyes
like a diamond in the sky
how i wonder why
satellite strung from the moon
and the world your balloon
peeping tom for the mother station
winter's cold spring erases
and the calm away by the storm is chasen
everything good needs replacing
look up, look down all around, hey satellite"
Dave Matthews - "Satellite"
2003 - No entry
2002 - Getting ready to get married
2001 - Letters from Michael
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June 16, 2004
Ten things I've learned.
A WordGoddess Collab
This month's WordGoddess topic is "ten". So, since I've been reflecting a lot about my life as a grown-up lately, I thought I'd write about the things that I've learned since I was a teenager. Coincidentally, this entry also qualifies as "L" for AlphaBytes. Handy.
One - It is much, much better to ask a horse than to tell a horse. Even in the beginning, when the horse is testing you and "ask" doesn't work, keep asking. Firmly, but ask. Don't make or force. If you do that, right from the beginning, the horse will never like you enough to do what you "ask". Horses are generally willing to please, but the smart ones always test you. They test you to see how mean you're going to be, and they test you to see how worthy you are. If you are mean, they'll keep working against you. If you're patient, and kind, they'll consider you a friend and work with you. Remember, there's no reason why they let you up on their backs and allow you to ride them around and put them through various paces and against various obstacles. Always remember to respect the fact that they are letting you. Because you'll never be a good rider if you just consider your horse to be your vehicle. It doesn't work that way, they're not a machine. That's the beauty of the relationship between a horse and its rider. And it's funny how many other things you can apply this theory to, other than horses.
When I first started riding, I didn't know the difference between "make" and "ask". My first horse was a very biddable creature, so there weren't very many contests of wills. But my last horse taught me some valuable lessons. Like, you can think you've won the argument, but the horse can still go on a bucking and rearing spree just when he judges that you're least expecting it. And I don't care what anyone says, a horse can laugh at you when you're butt-down on the ground with a surprised look on your face, still holding the reigns.
Two - Patience is not easy. Losing your temper in front of people is embarrassing. Losing your temper when you're alone is foolish. Throwing things or hitting things should be reserved for sports. And patience takes practice. Realizing that you've got a temper is the first step. Recognizing when you're in the midst of a tantrum is the second step. Stopping yourself mid-tirade is the next step. Heading your temper off at the pass before it's obvious is a milestone. Once you've reached the point where you can think before you react, and analyze the reason why something angers you, you've mastered your temper.
I've come a long way in this one, but I still have to control my temper. When I was young, I freely vented anger. I stomped and I slammed and I hollered. I'd throw myself face-down into my pillow and scream as hard and as loud as I could. I'd be quick with the insults and slow to see my part in things. There was a lot of reacting and very little thinking going on. Nowadays, I actually literally count to ten. Deep breathing with my eyes closed is a sure sign that I'm mastering my temper before I open my mouth. I'll end the conversation or leave the room, even if I don't feel like I've made my point, even if the other person I'm arguing with will feel like they "won". I let people "win", now. My thoughts are my own, and it doesn't matter to me as much if people see my side of things or not.
Three - Things don't do themselves. Laziness holds no place in my life. No one will come along and do the things I don't want to do, for me. And it does absolutely no good to complain about it. Oh, and those things you don't want to do? Will never be completely done.
I struggle with this. I hate folding laundry, that's the biggest thing I procrastinate about. Which in the grand scheme of things isn't such a major thing to be lazy about. There are so many other things that need getting done. The grocery shopping, the bills, the checkbook balancing... oh yeah, and WORK. When I was young, I didn't realize or appreciate all the things I didn't have to do. My life was school, homework, and my horse. My Grandmother didn't even make me do chores around the house, except for just keeping my room clean. I babysat, I did filing for a guy down the road that had a home-based business, and I worked at the barn to reduce the cost of my board. None of those things were things I didn't "feel like" doing, if only for the fact that they were novel tasks, or fun to do. Now? My life is FULL of crap I don't want to do. And there's no getting around it, and no use complaining. Even though I do that anyway.
Four - Some people will like you for who you are, and some people will dislike you for who you are. The trick is not to alter who you are based on what other people think of you. At the same time, introspection is key in order to evolve yourself into the best example of you that you can achieve. Because you weren't born a great person, and sometimes you do need to make changes.
I didn't like who I was as a child and teenager. I do like who I am now. When I was young, I didn't feel like I was pretty enough, smart enough, funny enough, talented enough, or cool enough. That "enough" I measured against other people's standards. My classmates, my teachers, my family, the rich girls at the barn who could afford lessons and expensive gear. I used to apologize a lot for my perceived shortcomings, and I could never EVER take a compliment. I never considered who I should be according to me. That introspection really didn't start until I was nineteen or twenty. And I'm not done yet. But at this point in time, I have a whole new level of confidence that I didn't have just ten years ago. I haven't gotten to "cocky" yet, and I don't think I will, but I LOVE the absence of the insecurity I used to feel. Love it. And I make no apologies for who I am, because I don't need to.
Five - Swearing is very satisfying. But it has its place. It should be used sparingly, like a strong spice. Enough to bring the flavor out, but not so overpowering that it's all you taste. Likewise, a well-placed "fuck" or "shit" assists in driving your point home. But use them as every other word, and you just come across as a cocksucker.
Calvin will probably be surprised at this, but I know for a fact that I didn't use the "F" word until I was nineteen or twenty. Seriously. And I didn't swear at ALL all the way up to seventeen (except for that one time when I was six, and my cousin picked me up by my ankles and started spinning me around, and I said, "Oh, shit!" It was completely unconscious, and all my aunt did was say, "Yep, she's one of ours!"). I was brought up in a religious household in the formidable years during which one normally becomes comfortable with swearing. My grandmother would say "hell" or "damn" sometimes, but not I. And no, not even around my friends. Imagine. The day did come, however, when I started becoming comfortable with this marvellous and expressive part of our language. I felt guilty about it at first, and always lowered my voice to drop the F-bomb. At some point, though, the words dropped freely into my conversation. I believe it directly coincided with the time that a) I moved away from home; and b) my first husband started becoming a real tool. And now, well, let's just say that Michael and Marie have a full and complete understanding of the definition and correct application of all of the swear words the English language has to offer.
Six - Cooking is not a hard or alien concept. Cookbooks are useful, but sooner or later you start to get a "feel" for how things should be prepared. Experimentation is not a bad thing, as long as you have the ability to toss whatever it was that you worked so hard on, with no remorse or insult felt toward the family members who take a taste and make a face, and head to Taco Bell. And you will learn to enjoy a wider variety of foods as an adult than you allowed to pass your lips as a child.
Good Lord. When I first got married, I was an AWFUL cook. Of course, I don't know too many seventeen-year-olds who are good at cooking, and thusly I excuse myself. I had to ask my Grandmother how to do everything from boil an egg ("How long?") to bake a chicken ("You want me to remove what from where?"). Heh. I remember the first time I used fresh garlic in a recipe, and it called for two cloves. I didn't know what a "clove" was, and ended up peeling half the bulb before I figured out that it was the little segments, and not the entire bulb. That was a tasty dish, let me tell you. Now, I think the general opinion of my family is that I'm a decent cook, and I enjoy a certain amount of confidence in my skills. But as any good cook knows, experimentation will sometimes result in failure. I'm learning to take those failures in stride, now. The first couple of times that I cooked for Calvin and the kids and it didn't come out right, I dissolved into tears. Now I just announce, "It's a Taco Bell night!" We haven't had a failure in a while, though... I think the last time was some cornish game hens that just weren't coming out right, about two years ago. Oh, and the time I was making tuna casserole, opened the tuna cans, walked away for a second, then came back to discover the cat eating from the cans on the counter. But that wasn't my fault.
Seven - Your satellite family (Mom, Dad, Sis, Bro, Aunt, Uncle, Cuz) is never going to be perfect, and you're never going to have ideal relationships with any of your family members. No matter how much you want everyone to be best friends, how much you want to keep each other involved, or how much you try to make things work. This is not "Seventh Heaven", and at best you'll keep your distance. At worst you'll bicker and fight and stop speaking to each other. But if you ever get a yearning for someone to mock you, judge you, downplay your successes, or remind you of embarrassing childhood stories, by all means, call up a family member.
My father has no contact with me to speak of. Neither does my mother's younger brother. My mother's older brother is the "Uncle F" I've spoken of here, which pretty much describes my opinion of him. Uncle F's daughter and I do not keep in touch, though we used to spend summers together as children. And that's the sum total of my biological family. We're so *not* close that we need another way to describe it. I sometimes refer to myself as an orphan. The relationship we have with Calvin's family is much better, though even then we don't spend a lot of time with each other. But there's respect and very little fighting, which is saying a LOT compared to a lot of people's families.
Eight - It's okay to keep your own identity while in a relationship. You don't have to agree on everything, you don't have to do everything together, and it's still okay to want your own alone time. You still need to be concerned about the other person's wants, needs, and desires, but not at the absolute and utter sacrifice of your own.
I can say all of that comfortably now, because I'm in a relationship that enables all of those things. I wasn't, before. With my first husband, I didn't even have my own identity. All my opinions came from him, all my interests came from him. I was young, and as Calvin is fond of stating, my ex and I were "a we" before I was "a me". My ex was abusive and played mind games, and it took me a long, long time to find my self-worthiness again. Now, I understand how that happened to me. Now, I'm my own person. Now, I have a partner who says I am his puzzle-piece simply by virtue of being me. My ex "got me young so he could bring me up right" - and those are his words exactly. So, defining my identity was a BIG lesson to learn over the last ten years or so. Even when Calvin and I first got together, any hint of an argument sent me in a PANIC to fix things and take total responsibility onto myself. Now, I take responsibility when I actually own it. We can argue (though as close as we ever really get to arguing is "passionate discussion" at worst) and I don't feel like it's the end of the world. I can allow him to be upset at me without it making me feel like I'm the lowest person on the planet. A distinct improvement, though I'm sure Calvin wouldn't mind the ass-kissing once in a while. Heh.
Nine - Parenting is rewarding, and hard. And, I think, parenting children that are not yours biologically is harder than parenting biological children. The parenting you would perform with immunity toward biological children doesn't always apply toward step-children. Step-parenting is based on mutual respect, trust, and friendship. Biological parenting, by its very nature, is based on biology. You don't have to make friends with your baby before you begin to parent it. It's just brought up with you firmly ensconced in the parental role in their lives. If you parent well, as the child grows older, they'll develop the respect, trust, and friendship with you. But with step-parenting, there are concerns that are present that most bio-parents don't have to consider. Like taking queues from the "real" parent of the couple. Enforcing rules that you may or may not agree with, because you can't change the way they've been brought up mid-stream. Not venting anger or frustration because you have to be very, very careful of the delicate health of your step-parent/child relationship. Knowing that any poor feelings between yourself and the step-child will be a strain on your relationship with your spouse. Trying not to supplant their "real" mother. Being Switzerland, with no opinion, no agenda. Being more selfless than what might actually be called for, because of the persistent feeling that you need to compensate for the broken nature of the child's nuclear family. Absolutely and unequivocally, though, is the FACT that a step-parent cares about and loves their step-kids every bit as much as if they had given birth to the children themselves. So don't give me the old, "You'll never know what it really feels like to be a mother if you don't have one of your own," crap.
All this stuff, to some degree or another, I've gone through with Calvin and the kids. The respect, trust, and friendship have always been there, thank God. But there have been times that I've thought that I would parent them differently, were they my kids. Just because I was brought up differently than Calvin, and have different theories. Mostly surrounding earning things versus being given things, knowing it won't kill them if they have an unfulfilled "want" or two, and actually being stricter on them about homework, chores, going out, how they speak to their parents (Calvin lets more attitude slide than I would), etc. It was a surprise to me to discover that I would actually be more strict on the kids than Calvin is. But from the very beginning, it was made very clear that my role as his significant other and step-parent to the kids was to absolutely support his decisions on things. Which was entirely appropriate, since he'd been their parent all along, and I was "getting them" as adolescents. And really, there have been very few times that I've disagreed with things - Marie and Michael have been easy to parent, for all intents and purposes. The eggshell-walking stopped after the first couple of years, and now I hardly ever have to stop and think about what I should or shouldn't say, and there's less "check with your Dad" when they (well, just Marie, now) ask permission for something. I would say that the hardest thing I've had to deal with is the feeling that I'd like to be just a little bit selfish sometimes, but I feel guilty if I don't put the kids' needs and wants ahead of my own at all times. For instance, there are times when I want to take a vacation with just Calvin and I, but since Marie's childhood is nearing the end, we should have as many shared experiences as possible. And I always feel guilty for spending money on myself. There's a ton of other things I've learned, about myself and about being a parent, that really belongs in an entry of its own.
Ten - There's no place like home.
And I'm not even trying to be trite. I was unwilling to leave Maine in the first place, but the longer I spend away, the more I realize how much that place defined what is "home" to me. A HUGE part of who I am is directly related to where I come from - that's the same for most people, I think. I used to think that being homesick was just something experienced by little kids away at summer camp. What I've come to realize is that it's a constant, deep, and abiding ache that I carry with me constantly. It's almost like grief, with the dull ache and the constant reminder and the way it gets hard to breathe sometimes. Calvin and I have batted around the possibility of moving back, but it's more likely that we'll just settle on yearly trips instead of out-and-out moving. As wonderful as Maine is, it's hard to make a living there. But it's hard for me to wrap my mind around the thought that I'll never have the home that I envisioned growing up - a farm house and acreage, proximity to the ocean, horses and a garden, and access to italian sandwiches any time I want 'em.
This entry also brought to you by the letter "L".
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