Not Much More I Can Say About That...

When you find the perfect words expressed in the perfect way, sometimes you just have to let them stand on their own.

I could liken you to a werewolf,

the way you left me for dead

But I admit that I provided a full moon

And I could liken you to a shark

the way you bit off my head

But then again,

I was waving around a bleeding, open wound

But you were such a super guy

Till the second you get a whiff of me

We are like a wishing well

And a bolt of electricity

But we can still support each other

All we gotta do's avoid each other

Nothing wrong when a song ends in a minor key

Nothing wrong when a song ends in a minor key

The lava of the volcano

shot up hot from under the sea

One thing leads to another

and you made an island of me

And I could liken you to a chemical,

the way you made me compound a compound

But I'm a chemical too

Inevitable you and me would mix

And I could liken you to a lot of things

But I always come around

'Cause in the end, I'm a sensible girl

I know the fiction of the fix

But you were such a super guy

Till the second you get a whiff of me

We are like a wishing well

And a bolt of electricity

But we can still support each other

All we gotta do's avoid each other

Nothing wrong when a song ends in a minor key

Nothing wrong when a song ends in a minor key

Nothing wrong when a song ends in a minor key

Nothing wrong when a song ends in a minor key

Read more: Fiona Apple - Werewolf Lyrics | MetroLyrics

Strong(er) Swimmer

January 25, 2015

There is a reason why I don't send these thoughts directly to you. It's not out of prudence or propriety or even fear.  It's because these ramblings only tell one side of the story. To read just these, one might think I'm sad, lonely, pining away in my little corner of the world. Waiting for the day when the winds will shift and the world will be made right again.

That's not quite true.

Yes, I do think of you almost every day. And yes, I do miss you. Your absence is palpable.  But please don't think that I am unhappy because of it.

I feel stronger than I ever have before. Some of that strength comes because I have this outlet - I can channel the darkness into a creative pursuit, so it doesn't consume me. This outlet allows me to drain away some of it when the water level gets too high. so I am not in danger of drowning.

I'm not sinking.
Not at all.
I'm learning to swim.

And every day, I get stronger, faster, with more endurance, more stamina.

So if the day comes when you and I find ourselves in the pool together again, I won't be looking to you to keep me afloat.  I will be moving by my own strength through the water with strong strokes. Agile, lithe, and purposeful.

I hope you will be able to keep up.

Lost and Found

February 1, 2015

I've have always been the finder of misplaced items: keys, socks, notebooks, bills. I'm the girl they go to when something important disappears. I close my eyes, and I can see exactly where it is. If it goes amiss, I bring it back again.

I'm very good at this, and I offer the service to others.  However, somewhere along the way, I lost something important. I lost myself.

Sadly, I had no idea it was even gone.

When I found you, I got lost in you so easily, that it didn't seem to matter. But you showed me, reminded me that something essential was missing. Initially, instead of searching for it, I just enjoyed being lost. And then, for a while, I looked to you to loan me that which I was missing.

That was kind of a disaster.

Turns out, you had lost yourself too. I - the finder of lost things - tried to help you locate it.  Unfortunately, that is a search you had to do yourself. So we started searching.  While the two of us were groping around, looking for what was missing, I lost you.

That was kind of devastating.

But something amazing has happened. While I was scratching around, trying to find a path back to you, I found something even better. I found myself. My strength. My direction. I found my voice. And my worth. And my courage. And my path.

What was lost now is found.

I hope you find what it is you were seeking. Even more, I hope somehow you find your way back to me. Because the best thing I can think of, besides finding myself, of course, is to find myself next to you again.

Silent Witnesses

January 24, 2015

Most days, I'm fine. I'm functional. I wake up. Get myself dressed. Go to work and do my job. I shop for groceries. Prepare meals. Tidy my house. I even go for runs. I meet my friends for walks. I can talk about other things.

In fact, I barely speak of you at all.

But I can't lie.

There are moments when the tears overwhelm me. When I have to just put my pen down and let it wash over me. These are the moments when I feel like I will die if I don't reach out to you. When I can't think of anything but you.

Those moments, I find myself just holding on. I cling to the artifacts of our time together. The bottles of water you love so much, still residing in my refrigerator. The sad little used-up tube of toothpaste you picked up for me. The sweatshirt that I cannot bear to launder because it smells like your apartment.

To let them go is to let you go.
And I can't.

Since I do not speak aloud of the loss I feel, these items become my silent witnesses. They bear testimony to the love we shared. They are the witnesses who prove I didn't imagine it all.

The moments of distress pass - eventually.

When they do, I pick up my pen again, and I write it down.
To remember. To bear witness. To honor.

Because this testimony is not for nothing.

This is for everything.

Haunting

Now that all has been said and done, I have to decide what to do with all these remnants of memory. When I was with you, I was convinced that you were my forever, so every place we went, every thing we did had a sense of importance. It all went into the memory banks. Everything was significant.

There's not a place I can go that is untainted by your memory. So what to do? Do I avoid those places? If so, I'm going to have to leave town. I let you into every special place I had. To avoid them would mean not to go anywhere.

Since avoidance isn't an option, I've been consciously seeking them out. Going to those places on purpose, as if my presence will chase your ghost away.

Sometimes, it works. There are places I can go that are mine once again.

That makes me feel a little better when I come upon those spots that will always be yours. Those locations are so thoroughly haunted that I have no choice but to let the ghosts have them. They are the ones that I pass by with a chill in my heart and the sting of tears. [Tears? Seriously?! After all this, still the tears?]

You will always be there in my memory. So rather than fight it, I let my own past self go there too - just for a moment. It's then that I remember that for a while, there was joy and there was love. And I take that moment to be grateful for the sting of tears. They remind me that I am still here. Still alive. Still aware. They are the gift from my past me.

Without "then" there is no "now." And with that realization, those ghosts are a little less scary.

Revisionist History

Now that all is clear, I have to fight the urge to go back and revise my history. Would I have been so tender if I had known that the "time" and "space" you were taking was in another woman's bed?
Would I have wept so hard for you if I had known the truth of your duplicity?

Maybe. Maybe not.

I like to think my feelings were mine, and not dependent on the situation or context. Though, I admit it stings to know I cried for a man who only existed in my imagination.  That is who I mourn for now: the man I thought I knew. The man worthy of the love and tears I spent.

He's the one I long for, and the knowledge that he never existed is both blessing and curse.

So I feel foolish. But I also feel free.  I can now cut ties without guilt or regret. The time I spent wasn't wasted, because it was invested in me.

How's that for revision?

Crazy Cat Lady

I'm not quite there yet, but I see the allure.

Soft, silky, warm and purring
These creatures bring me so much solace.

The one - affectionate.  In my lap constantly
Demanding a chin rub and then
So grateful to get it.

The other - more reserved, more selective.
When she deigns to approach
It is with bright eyes and sweet face
And I feel I've really earned something.

Both keep me tethered with their physicality
Their need to be fed, watered, scooped, adored.

Each is unapologetically herself.
Uncompromising.

You can learn much about boundaries
Watching a cat.

How to warn the encroacher with a low growl.
How to escape the interloper with a hiss and a scamper.
How to enforce the limits with tooth or claw if necessary.

And once balance is restored,
All is forgiven.

"You may pet me again."

Sleepwalker

February 2, 2015

I was asleep when you came into my life. Not like Sleeping Beauty - who docilely waited for her prince. No. I was a sleepwalker - moving constantly forward, but without purpose. Going through the motions, but completely unaware.

See, a sleepwalker just accepts what's put in front of her. She doesn't question. Doesn't make demands. A sleepwalker can't make decisions about the direction she goes in. She goes one way until she bumps into something, and then shuffles off in another direction. Sleepwalkers are aimless wanderers.

I was asleep when you found me, and you awakened me - but not with a kiss.

It was with cold water and a shake that you pulled me out of my slumber. And I loved you for it. So happy to have my eyes open, I forgave the manner.

But you didn't have to be so rough.
I was a light sleeper and was ready to be awakened.
And once I was roused, I didn't need to be doused with that frigid water continually.


I'm fully awake now. You can stop shaking me.

A Snag... A Painful One!

If there was ever a week where I needed to get some miles in, it was this one.  This week had been a rough one.  From Ken's eye surgery to the death of The Boy's new puppy, from the hectic pace of getting ready for the start of a new school year to the complex feelings I've been sifting through - this week was an A-Z tour of emotion: from Angst-filled to Zapped.  

My runs are a form of therapy for me.  Getting out on the trail allows me time to sort through what's going on in my head.  Working out those feelings of frustration is such a wonderful thing.  I'm fortunate to have found an activity that is both good for me physically and mentally.  I've come to crave the time and the exertion.

I was prepared - I'd downloaded the audio version of The Great Gatsby a few weeks ago, and was ready to immerse myself in Nick Carraway's world.  The weather was perfect - cool and a bit overcast with no threat of rain.  I was feeling good and so ready to work it out.

I got about 2.5 miles into the 10 mile course when I was seized with an overwhelming pain on the outer side of my right knee.  Every time I lifted my foot to take a step, it hurt. 

I was at first worried I'd done some kind of permanent damage.  (That's the curse of the novice runner - every tiny twinge of anything amiss is cause for worry.)  I had been reading an article about common running injuries, and this seemed to be consistent with an irritated IT band.  But at that moment in time, I wasn't concerned with the cause or the treatment.  As I walked the 2.5 miles back to my car, all I could think about about was missing my run.  

I was bereft. 

The tears started as I pulled away from the trail head.  They didn't stop until almost 45 minutes later.  (Read the bio - I can be prone to mild histrionics occasionally.  That's what would-be Drama Queens do!)  How was I going to survive without my outlet?  How could I process all that had happened this week without my run?  I needed the miles to sort through everything that was knocking around in my head!  

After a while, I pulled myself together.  (Turns out, bawling your eyes out is another effective way to deal with excess emotion.)  I got online and started to do some research.  A short email to the expert at www.digitalrunning.com - a great resource that all you running types should be checking out - and my suspicions were confirmed.  IT band inflammation.  

So it's rest for this girl.  One week of total rest, one week of stretching and strengthening, and then back to collecting the miles.  It feels good to have a plan to get back on track, but I don't know what I'm going to do with myself in the meantime.  I didn't fully realize how important this is to - now that I can't have it, I fear I'm going to go into withdrawal.  

However, I am intent on making this merely a temporary setback.  Too many times in the past, a snag like this would completely derail me.  Not this time.  It may be a pain - but it's not going to stop me.  

I've got way too much angst, and I need my therapy!

I'm Not Lazy - I Just Get Bored Easily

So, have I mentioned I'm training for a half-marathon?  I know, I know - I talk about it a lot.  It's a big deal in my universe.  I'm trying to be less obnoxious about it.  Operative word: trying.

In my training, I've been running some pretty long distances.  My personal best is 12 miles, which I've done twice.  Most of my training runs are now between 8 and 10 miles, gradually working up to a 14 miler in the weeks before the big race.  Now, when you run as slowly as I am, it takes a long time to cover that kind of distance.  Most of my big runs have been with other people: either the Galloway group or my various running buddies.  This weekend, I attempted to go it alone.

It was a beautiful morning - a bit misty from rains the night before.  The temperature was reasonable for mid-August.  The trail was completely deserted.  I could hear the chirp of the birds and the rustling of the squirrels in the brush.  There was a creek babbling under me for part of the time.  The world was peaceful, silent, tranquil.

It was torture.

As the miles went by, I found myself fighting to stay focused and in the moment.  Usually when I'm running, I get kind of a zen state where the issues I'd been turning over in my mind are cast in a different light and suddenly seem manageable.  When I run with a partner or group, there is just enough chit-chat to keep me energized and present.  When we lapse into silence, I do some serious thinking.  But it's always a pleasure to pull my head out of the clouds, shake it like an etch-a-sketch and dive back into conversation.   There's something invigorating about being able to bat around ideas and observations.  It keeps me from getting bored.

Now, I realize that running is supposed to be a deeply transformative experience that brings me to a higher plane of awareness.  (Wait, maybe that's meditation.  Yoga?  Shopping?  I get confused.)  But when I'm out there alone, the main emotion I'm feeling is...boredom.

Having music helps, but for some reason, the shuffle function was not operating for my playlist - so I was stuck with the same old tunes.  Predictability is my enemy when it comes to the long run.

So Sunday, I ended up cutting my run short.  I did 5 miles instead of the planned 10.  I started to beat myself up about it.  You know the drill, Jeez, why are you so lazy?  Don't you want to be successful?  You're not trying hard enough.  (I'm really starting to feel that that voice in my head is a mean bitch.) 

So I asked myself, Why are you doing this?  Why are you out here at 6am on a Sunday morning when you could be asleep and dreaming happily?  The answer?  Because I need to be.  I need to feel the pounding of my heart and the straining of my legs.  I need to breathe the fresh air and feel the sun on my skin.  If I don't run, I don't function properly.  I'm not running to prove anything to anyone.  I'm not running because I'm out to break any records or set a standard.  I'm doing it because it feels good.  Because I enjoy it.  Because it's fun.

And so cutting off my run a bit early because it wasn't fun seemed perfectly reasonable.  Will I pay for it later?  Maybe, but who will I be paying?  In this instance, cutting it short helped me to silence that bitchy inner voice and helped me to remember exactly why I'm pounding away on this path.

Rhonda Needs a Hobby

Since my major life change, my life has (duh!) changed quite a bit.  There are the obvious changes: I'm not eating much, and I've lost almost 50 pounds; my clothes are getting much looser, and I'm looking much healthier; my stats are really good: blood pressure has normalized, sleep apnea is pretty much gone...  All good things.

Then there are the less obvious, but still radical changes.  First of all, I've lost a major hobby.  I wasn't aware of it, but I apparently spent a TREMENDOUS amount of time thinking about food: what I was going to eat, where I was going to eat, how much I was going to eat, etc. etc. etc.  Shopping, planning, cooking, eating, snacking... All those things took up a lot of time.  Now my food needs are small, and Pouchie doesn't like many things.  My palate is pretty limited these days, which means I don't have to spend time on that.

But the worst part about not having my food friend is that eating (and food) was a MAJOR outlet for me.  I was (am?) an emotional eater.  When I felt frustrated, lonely, bored, elated, angry, sad, neglected... you name it, eating would make me feel better.  (At least temporarily... But that's another blog post altogether.)  Simply put, food was comfort.  And now, that source of comfort is unavailable.  The problem is that my life is still just as complicated!  I still feel frustrated, lonely, bored, elated, angry, sad and neglected, but my outlet - my source of comfort is no longer available.  To say I'm at a loss is a serious understatement.

So what's a girl to do?  I'm working on the healthy option - feel my feelings, let them run their course, and move on.  However, that's flipping hard!  I want to be numbed!  Most days, I feel like a raging lunatic - fluctuating from searing anger to deep despair to crushing apathy.  I've always been a basically happy person, but now, it's hard work to put on a happy face.

And so I am in search of an outlet.  Here's one of them - writing about what's bouncing around in my head is therapeutic.  It makes me feel a little less like a lunatic.  I wonder if it's not egotistical to think that anyone cares about my random ramblings.  But I guess that's kind of the point of the outlet.  I'm not writing for you (though, I appreciate that you care enough to read :-); I'm writing for me.

Still, I need a hobby.  Any suggestions?  It needs to be something that is relatively cheap, can be done mostly at home because I don't want to leave my babies home alone with their dad, and mentally stimulating because I get bored easily. (Case in point: I tried coloring Mandalas, but seriously, it just made me want to stab myself in the eye.)  Beyond that, I'm open to suggestions!

Loving the Walk

Perfect walk today.  It was about 70 degrees, sunny with a nice breeze.  I got a new hat yesterday, so the sun was off my face, and I just cruised.  The playlist for today was also just perfect, and eclectic; just the way I like it.

1. Lose Yourself - Eminem
2. Teardrops on My Guitar - Taylor Swift (Before you judge, remember, I teach 8th graders.  Sometimes they bring in stuff that I like.  And I'm not ashamed to say I love this song.  I totally could have written it when I was an 8th grader, so put that in your pipe and smoke it. :-p)
3. You're My Best Friend - Queen
4. Tangled Up In Blue (Live) - Indigo Girls
5. Safe and Sound - Sheryl Crow

Got on the scale this morning and - wonder of wonders - I'm down 35 pounds!  In a little less than a month.  Unbelievable.  The best part is I'm not hungry all the time.  I can drive through town and not feel compelled at every fast food joint and restaurant I pass.  I feel like I'm finally breaking free from hold that food held over me.  And that, my friends, is worth every ounce of that horrible protein stuff I've had to drink over the last 3 weeks.

"Good Enough" is Good Enough for Me!

I am now one week away from "my new birthday," as some of my OH buddies have dubbed surgery day.  In an effort to get ready for the monumental change that is about to occur, I have been scrambling to clear my plate of all the extra jobs, duties, tasks and favors I have picked up over the years.  Turns out there are a bunch of them. I didn't realize I was such a joiner until I started resigning from the committees I'd been serving on.  There were about 12 of them, it seemed.  Turns out I wear many different hats!

The hat that's been taking over most of my time the last few weeks is that of yearbook advisor.  Me and my trusty editor have been hacking away at placing photos, editing copy and basically trying to produce a yearbook that doesn't suck.  Will we be successful?  Your guess is a good as mine.  As the year has worn on, I've let the kids have more control over the design and layout of the book.  While it makes it look less professional, it does allow the kids a bit more investment in the final product.  And amazingly, I have not died.  Could it be that I do not have to control every last detail???

As I'm whittling down my time commitments, I'm beginning to realize the beauty and value of "good enough."  I am a chronic overachiever.  Up until now, everything has had to be exactly perfect.  Why?  I guess because I wanted to be impressive.  I've preached the evils of "good enough" in the past.  But, suddenly, "good enough" seems pretty darned ok with me.  As long as my kids are fed, groomed, tended to and loved and my students at school are not running wild in the hallways, I think I can be ok with "good enough."  I've spent the better part of almost 15 years killing myself to be perfect, and I suspect that I'd be in exactly the same place if I'd just striven for "good enough."

So as I enter this new phase in my life, I'm looking forward to paying more attention to what makes me happy, what makes my kids feel more special, what makes my family function better.  They are going to get my absolute best.  The rest of the world is going to have to settle for "good enough."

Cheeseburger in a Blender

I'm coming to terms with a liquid diet.  Apparently, when you have surgery, you have two weeks of a liquid diet to prepare your internal organs for surgery.  I am not excited about this prospect.  Unless a liquid diet consists of Starbucks, beer and Chick-fil-A milkshakes, I'm not interested.

Ok, ok.  Don't get yourself into a tizzy.  I know that the purpose of surgery is a overhaul my eating habits and to put myself on a path to better health.  I just can't help but be a little reluctant to give up the foods that have been my friends for so long.

I've mentioned in previous posts that I am an emotional eater.  That basically means that when I'm stressed, I eat.  When I'm sad, I eat.  When I'm bored, I eat.  So in many ways, these foods have been like the best girlfriend who you call every time you need a little support.  In some ways, they are even better than a friend:  they don't get mad that you always focus on YOUR feelings and YOUR problems,  you don't have to feel guilty for only calling them when you need something, and  there is no flak for not keeping in touch.  They are always there, always ready to welcome you back when you need them.  Asking nothing in return, and giving themselves.

But now these friends have started to offer less comfort.  They are hanging out with the wrong crowd and trying to drag me down into it.  It's time to let them go.  But alas.  Like the end of any relationship, there are some wistful feelings.  That's when you have to remind yourself of all the awful, crazy and annoying things the person did.  Recalling all the bad stuff makes you happy to be rid of them.  So to make saying goodbye, I think I'll stick that cheeseburger in the blender.   That way I can see what it's really made of, and will make saying goodbye that much easier.

Who am I and How did I get here?

So I'm having Bariatric surgery.  I've told a few friends and co-workers about my choice, but on the whole I've kept the decision to myself.  My reasoning for this is multi-faceted.  Most of the reactions I've gotten are along the lines of "Wow, I didn't think you were big enough for that."  I guess I should be thankful for that.  After all, I'm tall with a long torso, so I carry my weight well. But the truth is I am 5' 8.5" tall and as of today, I weigh 300 pounds.  For those of you keeping track, that's a BMI of 45.6 - Extremely Obese.

Putting those numbers down and publishing them is probably one of the hardest things I've ever done.  My weight has been a subject of guilt and shame for as long as I can remember.  My overeating has been done mostly in secret - alone or at least out of view.  Those closest to me have seen some indication of these secret binges, but on the whole I have been very careful about hiding.  Like any good addict, I always found a way to feel the need inside.

But lately I've been probing into the reasons why I've behaved like this for so long.  I'm no slouch.  I'm a bright and competent person.  I intellectually understand what it takes to reach and maintain a healthy weight.  And I've been successful in the past, losing about 35-40 pounds on several occasions.  But every time I reach a certain point - usually my first major goal - I completely lose it.  It is as if I fear success, and getting too close to it is cause for panic.

Instead of taking a good hard look at the issues that were developing under the surface, I buried myself in other responsibilities.  I chose a career that is completely absorbing, got married young, started a family, took on extra responsibilities in my work and faith communities, and pursued every advanced degree, certification and course of study I could.  Anything to keep myself too busy to ponder why I never seemed to be able to control my eating habits.  This way, when I failed (as I inevitably do) I can say it's because I was too busy.  I didn't really put all my energy into it because I had so much else going on.  Blah, blah, blah.

So this year, I am vowing that my health and well being will be my top priority.  I have resigned from my additional duties; I am going to keep my work commitments to those that can only be completed during work hours.  I am vowing to set up boundaries and stick to them.  I am putting myself first.  This is going to take some practice, but if I don't get a handle on this RIGHT NOW, I am going to end up at 600 pounds and unable to leave my house.  No thank you.

Now, I just have to devise a plan.  That's next.

Will You Be My Friend?

Remember when you were a little kid and all you had to do to make a friend was to walk up to a kid that you liked the looks of or who had a toy you liked and ask, "You wanna play?"   Done.   It was so easy then. You had built in friends in your neighborhood, your class at school, your church or temple.  It seemed that everywhere you looked there were potential pals all over the place!   Even in college, you had dorm life, clubs and classes to force you into friendships with your fellow students.

Fast forward to adulthood.  Things are much more complicated now.  First of all, most childhood friendships seems to revolve around the basic premise of Hey, I've got nothing to do, and you have nothing to do.  Why don't we do nothing together?  I honestly cannot recall the last time I had nothing to do!  Seems like I'm always rushing from work to home and back again.  And so are most of the other adults in the working world. So where does one manage to find friends?

I've been fortunate in my line of work to have stumbled across several colleagues who have become forever-friends.  I don't know if it's the stress of the job or the fact that you put so much of yourself into it, but the friendships that I have forged in this job have been deep and long lasting ones.  I've always said you have to be a little deranged to do the job that I do.  I guess the deranged nature of us all binds us together!  What ever it may be, I'm truly grateful for the friends that I have made.

The more I think about it though, the more I'm convinced that our difficulty in making connections and finding friends comes not from our lack of opportunity.  I think it's because we as adults are much more guarded that our childhood selves.  As kids, there's not a whole lot to hold back.  As adults, we have years of living that insulate us from those around us.  It's not easy to open up and bare all those scars.  Plus, we've been around long enough to have felt the sting of rejection and disappointment.  No one wants to open themselves up to that, so we don't.

I'm of the mindset that one can never have too many friends.  It's nice to have a wide variety of opinions and points of view.  Plus, with a large number of friends, you get to spread your crazy around, so it doesn't get too concentrated in any one place.  I think we should all pledge to make the time to make a new connection.  Put yourself out there; and who knows?  The person you connect with may become your new best buddy!

The Limit Does Not Exist

I've been thinking a lot this week about parenting.  It's probably the toughest job there is, and there are so many varied ways to mess it up! With my kids, I find I'm always asking myself: Am I being too harsh?  Do I expect too much?  Working with middle school kids has skewed my perception of "normal behavior."  (For the record, the most "normal" behavior for an adolescent is completely abnormal to the rest of humanity...)  How much of the bad behavior I see in my children can be chalked up to "kids will be kids" and how much of it is just plain brattiness?  I want my kids to be good people, you see.  To realize they are not the center of the universe, and to consider the needs of others as well as themselves.  But what happens when you go the other way?  When you have a child who you are convinced can do no wrong?  Isn't that just as bad as being too strict?

 In my line of work, I meet many, many different kinds of parents.  The most perplexing breed of parent for me is the enabler.  Those are the parents who will defend their child's every action, explain away every incident as the fault of someone else.  And I can't help but wonder about the motivation of these parents.  Do they really, honestly think that people are coming together to conspire against their precious little one?  Do they not see trends and patterns and stop to ask themselves What is the common denominator in all of this?  


As I struggle to understand where these parents are coming from, I take a long hard look at my own parenting style.  When someone (usually in a school setting) informs me of my child's inappropriate behavior, I'm inclined to believe it because I have met my child!  I know he (and she) are capable of some pretty mischievous behavior.  And I seriously doubt any of the people in my children's lives have the extra time to spend concocting schemes to get my children in trouble.  However, I wonder if I don't scold too quickly, and don't take the time to hear my child's side of the story.  I guess that's because having known my fair share of kids, I know that they tend to enhance and edit the truth.  I usually assume that the adults are going to be honest about events.

But what about the kids who grow up with parents like this?  What kinds of lessons are they learning?  I can't imagine they are good ones about taking responsibility for one's actions or treating others the way you want to be treated.  And what happens when little Johnny gets himself into a situation that Mama and Daddy can't talk him out of?  What happens then?  I worry for those kids.  Won't growing up without limits give the wrong impression about the world?  Can't getting away with murder as a kid can lead one to believe that one is above the law as an adult?  It seems to me that when a kid pushes and test, he needs to find boundaries.  I think those things make a child feel safe and secure, and help him know what is expected of him.  So when the limit does not exist, isn't it the child who suffers?

I want to understand the motivation here.  Anyone out there have any words of wisdom?

No Day But Today?

The husband and I were watching RENT last night for the 15th time, and as I was watching, I found myself having a new reaction to the characters. For those of you unfamiliar with RENT, it's a great Rock Musical written by Jonathan Larson and loosely based on Puccini's opera La Boheme. The characters are a group of 20-somethings living the lives of starving artists in New York's Alphabet City in the '90s. They struggle with HIV, drug addiction, homophobia and questions about the importance of art.

Now I admit that for several years now, I have sung along at the top of my lungs the lyrics to the Act 1 song Another Day:

There's only us,

There's only this.
Forget regret
Or life is yours to miss.
No other road,
No other way.
No day but today.

But as I was watching last night, I started to really think about that notion. Live for the moment at the expense of tomorrow. Don't think about the ramifications or the consequences. There's only one path, and one way. And maybe it's just me getting stodgy in my old age, but it seems that that attitude: No day but today can cause one to - oh, I don't know - end up with HIV or as a heroin addict!

Now don't get me wrong. I'm all for making the most of the time you are given, seizing opportunity and making every day count. But if you are living each day as if it were your last, that opens the door for a ton of irresponsible and self-centered behavior.

I guess this brings me to my biggest gripe about my generation: we are so wrapped up in ourselves - our misery, our identity crises, our angst about life - that we neglect to look at the bigger picture. Where is the focus on service to society at large? Where is the drive to make a contribution to the world, or someone other than ourselves? It seems to me that if we focused less on our own misery, and more on the world outside our doors, then might realize that - hey! My life is not nearly as bad as that kid's. A broader view can help us focus less on the minor imperfections of our lives and more on fixing the major ones outside ourselves. We are small pieces to a much larger puzzle, and finding a place in the world at large can help us to define ourselves.

What does that look like? How the heck should I know?! I do it through my work - teaching (an often thankless, exhausting and never-ending job) and through my family. I figure by trying to raise (and shape) kids as service minded, independent, polite children, I can add more soldiers in that battle to heal the world.

So the next time Another Day comes on, you better believe I will be belting it out. But it will be tempered with the understanding that there is a day besides today. And though it's not guaranteed, that's no excuse not to plan for it.

It's All Good

So 8 months ago, I wrote a post that said I was closing the book on the strange chapter of my life. I actually just turned the page. The chapter is still going on, though I'm just working on the footnotes now. I'm wrestling with the knowledge that I'm not the person I thought I was. I'm much more complicated, more high maintenance and more capable. And that's ok.

I'm a girl who has struggled with my weight and my emotional connection to food since I was 4 years old. And that is ok.

I have gained and lost pound after pound. Started exercising and stopped. Joined Weight Watchers and quit several times. And that is ok.

I am a woman who wants to be liked by everyone, and who is really detested by a few. And that's ok.

I'm a person who takes on too many projects because I like to be busy; I like to be involved. And down deep I think I like to feel important.

I'm overly critical of myself and most of the people around me. I struggle to feel compassionate toward myself, and I really seldom cut the people around me slack. And that's NOT ok.

This journey I am taking is hopefully going to teach me to patient, compassionate, and understanding toward myself and the people in my life. Whether it's health, weight, habits, deeds or disposition, I will strive to look beyond what's obvious, and dig deep to find the real motivation of actions. I will try to understand the whys of the action and not focus on what I expect to be.

And by doing that, it will be ok.

Waking Up Again

Well, I'm finally waking up from my 4 month coma... With the stress of getting National Boards completed, multiple Grad school projects, and the death of my grandfather, I have been decidedly not myself these past 4 months. That ends today. Or maybe tomorrow. I have a few loose ends to tie up and then...

It's a little scary how quickly the good habits I had established can vanish when I get out of my routine. One minute I am logging all my WW Points faithfully and walking every afternoon, the next I'm scarfing Oreos and spending yet another night sitting in front of the computer! However, I find solace in knowing that my "bad" days now would have been a "good" day two years ago. It's all about forward motion, right?

So as I close the book on this particularly odd chapter of the story of my life, I reflect on the things I learned, the experiences I had and the changes they both inspired. While it's a big bunch of no fun to be in limbo, the lessons learned can be valuable. At least, that is what I have decided to tell myself. Onward and upward!