Trust Yourself

10

In the past 3 years, my family and therefore, I, have taken up skiing. Outside of a short group lesson the first time I went back, I haven’t had any teaching. Being my usual obsessive self, although I prefer the term “lifelong learner” I have studied videos online about skiing, read up on skis and boots and how they are supposed to fit, and bought some boots and a helmet. Skiing is stupid expensive, and lessons even more so. There’s a really good reason season passes exists- it makes your cost per visit about half.

The decision not to further pursue lessons has caused a bit of a mental problem for me. I like being coached. I like someone telling me what I can fix to become better at something. I have been coached in all my athletic endeavors for as long as I’ve been doing athletic things (which is my life, minus the 10 years I didn’t between age 25 and 35).

There have been a few times where I’ve lifted weights and recorded myself using my phone. When I was playing roller derby, there were always recordings of bouts to watch and obsess over afterwards. You just can’t do that when you’re skiing.

The other really awkward thing about skiing is the forced break that you have to take when there isn’t any snow. Every year I go back to feeling like Bambi on ice.

This year, we moved to Colorado and my husband bought us season passes to the nearest ski area without even asking. We went skiing for the first time in the Rocky Mountains on New Year’s Eve. This ski area is so much bigger than anything I’ve ever been on- and apparently it’s one of the smallest around.

There are 3 peaks.

 

Aside to Virginia and Michigan friends who have not been west for skiing: this is considered a small resort. This is definitely one of the best reasons to come to Colorado. 

See the series of runs to the left? The far left? That’s the one I stuck to for 3 full visits. Finally, I got up the courage to get on one of the middle slopes.

My 13 year old daredevil son went with me. It doesn’t help that the lift up to those middle runs takes about 10 minutes. 10 minutes of pondering your mortality. Sometimes longer because it stops every now and then.

I was a nervous wreck. I was sweaty- not because I was working hard, but because I was FREAKING OUT! I was going to break something. Or fall and not be able to get back up. Or fall in front of someone and cause them to break something. Or hit the trees. Probably that. And break something at the same time. And maybe hit someone at the same time.

I stopped about half way down. Not because there was a logical place to stop. Because I needed to talk myself into finishing it. I mean, there was no other way but down. I had to go there. I got all the way down, in one piece, and I didn’t hurt anyone else. But I went back to the beginner slopes and I stayed there.

The next time we went, I did the same thing. Same run. One time. Then went back to my comfort zone.

The next time we went (5th visit), the 13 year old directed me to a new run on the middle slopes. It was a little easier. Still difficult. Still a little stressful. But halting, I began to flow like a tiny stream after a light rain shower.

 

6th visit- I tried a few more runs. Still avoided the ones that looked scary, even if they were intermediate. Went on the ones I knew. Mostly stayed to the hill on the left. But the stream grew stronger.

7th visit- I spent most of the morning with the 9 year old. He sticks to that hill on the left, too. But he wanted to try some more advanced runs, so we went on the harder but shorter ones on that mountain. I was feeling pretty good. Things were going well. We ate lunch and I decided to hit the bigger mountain.

First run, so smooth. Second time I went on a harder run- still smooth. Third time I chose a run that I had been avoiding because it “looked hard.” Instead of flowing like water, I said “trust yourself.” If someone was next to me they would think I was crazy because I was saying over and over “trust yourself trust yourself trust yourself trust yourself.”

Then I went on another run. Another one. I lost count. I was skiing. I trusted my body to do the right thing. I didn’t wait for someone to tell me how to fix it. I didn’t think about if I was doing it right. I responded to obstacles at the right time and in the right way because I knew what to do. It was exhilarating. It was one of the best feelings I ever had. I wondered why I had never done it before. How much more fun could I have if I wasn’t nervous about technique or mechanics but instead just trusted myself to respond appropriately?

And then I wondered about how much this applies to my non-mountain life. How many times have I waited for feedback instead of trusting myself to know what to do? Or I listened to the feedback- and I didn’t trust myself and I made what ended up not being the best decision for me.

There are no expectations of me on the mountain except that I can handle myself on whatever slope I have chosen. There are no real expectations of me in life except that I can handle myself in whatever task I have chosen. And so I need to trust myself.

Higher Education for Every American

In his last State of the Union address, President Obama said,

And we have to make college affordable for every American.

And what most people heard was affordable. What I heard was every American.

Every American?

I’m totally for affordability. I will be paying my student loan until I’m 60 at the rate I’m currently going. Hopefully it will be faster since I’m trying to get as much toward it as I can on a regular basis. I have 2 kids- I’ve been saving for the possibility of higher education for each of them since before the first one was born. Most parents hope their kids get scholarships so that they won’t have to pay for college. I hope that my kids get scholarships so I can use that money I’ve saved to pay off my loans. (PS: if you are reading this and think that funding the 19 year old loans of a good teacher is worthwhile, email me posthaste.)

Let’s get back to every American.

1. Trade school is IMPORTANT. I have paid loads of money to men (mostly) and women who do some form of labor to help me with things that I can’t do myself. Electricians, plumbers, mechanics, movers, HAIR STYLISTS, the list goes on and on. These people are essential to my life. Please, for the love of all that is holy, do not tell those people to stop what they are doing and go to college. It takes serious education and *talent* to do those jobs and do them well. Can we just stop for a minute and appreciate what they do? They are not any less of a person for not going to college.
2. As an economics teacher, I have to address the economics of this proposal. And I’m not talking about the cost of everyone going to college. But the cost of everyone having a college degree. Think about the things that are economically most valuable in the world. Gold. Specific super fancy cars. Birkin bags – which were recently determined to be a better investment than gold or the S&P 500. Do you know why they’re special? Scarcity.

   

   This is an Hermes Birkin. They have waitlists of up to 15 years. They appreciate faster than gold. One can dream.

   Going to Harvard is special because it’s scarce. Not everyone can go there. And while that will remain 100% true about the Ivies, that state university degree you hold just plummeted in value.

3. Europe- people, especially my own people, those damn liberals, like to talk about how education in European countries is free. And yes, that is true and it is AWESOME! But what people don’t like to talk about is tracking. America is supposed to be a land of opportunity. You can be whatever you want- or what’s what we’re told. In the majority of European countries, you can be whatever you want, as long as you pass a test demonstrating that you have a fairly high aptitude in that area. So while we talk about high stakes testing here in the US, Europeans have been dealing with it for years. So in the US, if you think your kid should be a doctor, you can send them to college on a pre-med track if you want to. In other countries, if they don’t pass the test, they don’t go. They don’t get that chance. There are some pros and cons to this situation, but I’m honestly not educated enough on the topic to do a blog post about it.

Should college be more affordable? Yes, definitely. But before we even discuss the money involved in making this a reality, we need to understand that a psychological overhaul of the entire US is necessary to make this happen.

I Don’t Love Me.

Let’s start by saying I was raised in an overly modest environment.
this isn’t personal, mom, it’s just true.

And then I had the awesome (and by awesome, I mean crap) luck to develop boobs at age 10.

Crap luck.

No cleavage, ever. No legs. My school made girls wear skirts until December 1, and we had to start again March 1. Apparently God didn’t care if we wore pants in Michigan in the winter, but himself forbid if we wore them when it was vaguely above 20 degrees. And the skirts had to be knee length. I have short legs, so this wasn’t a problem. #smallblessings

And looking back, I had an unbelievable body. I had a glorious hourglass shape. I was made to wear formal dresses.

But my whole life, I was told to cover it. It was my fault if a male was attracted to me because I tempted him.

Let me repeat that- it was my fault because I tempted him. All the males, ever. Every him.

Before you get pissed, this isn’t a feminist rant about slut shaming or anything else. Keep reading, foo.

When I went to college, I ate crap food and drank beer. This will not surprise any of you who have been to college, because that’s what you do. But the ‘freshman 15’ was actually the freshman 30. Still looked pretty good. And the sophomore 15. Looked slightly less good. And the junior 10. Didn’t look good at all. And then I stayed stable, because I was fucking broke and I’m pretty sure my body had enough.

And suddenly, I wasn’t tempting him any more. Any him. Ever. I had covered up my body with the most indelible suit- the fat suit.

AND IT WAS WONDERFUL. IT WAS LIBERATING. IT WAS AMAZING. If a dude looked at me with lust in his heart, there must have been something wrong with him. It was actually my personality. And it worked. I had boyfriends. I got engaged. I got married. And I was a big girl. And it was great. I ate what I wanted. I didn’t diet, because diets are stupid.

I had to shop at Lane Bryant. This was prior to the current movement where you can get some bigger clothes that look like they belong to someone less than 50 years old. The clothes were not at all cool. In the back of my mind, I wanted to be “regular sized.” But evidently not enough to work at it. Sometimes I would walk. But nah.

I had a baby. Then I had another one. At the same time, I got really good at my job, which takes some hours of commitment, and no time to exercise. Or that’s what I told myself.

And then I weighed 100 pounds more than I did in high school.

I decided I would lose weight. I didn’t tell anyone except my husband. Because I was pretty sure I would fail, and if I failed, everyone would know. I joined Weight Watchers on January 1, 2010. On February 1, one of the teachers at my school said, “Are you losing weight?”

My response, “Maybe a little.” (it was 12 pounds at that point)

I was obsessive. I measured everything. I didn’t touch anything that wasn’t on plan.

I started doing the game “Dance, Dance Revolution” every night for 15 minutes. It was like aerobics, but fun. I got sweaty. I started just marching up and down on an aerobic step. It was the most athletic thing I had done in years.

I turned 35 in March and I was 23 pounds lighter. I was almost less than 200 pounds. A number I had not seen since 2002. My clothes started getting too big. Another teacher told me I needed new pants. I kept going. Weight Watchers helped me reach 50 lbs. lighter by the end of May. I was so hungry. I started running a little. Not much. I wasn’t eating nearly enough to run.

We moved to Virginia. I made a plan to make friends. It turned out that joining the local roller derby team was part of that plan.

I was reminded that sometimes I liked to move my body. I liked team sports. I liked the feeling of accomplishment. And although my weight stayed stable, I busted ass and got stronger. Because you really can’t eat 1200 calories a day and then go to practice and burn about 900 of those calories. Your body will decide that is not happening and you will not perform.

After a few years of derby, though, I was reminded that although I like team sports, I’m also super independent, and I left derby and started lifting weights. Lifting weights is amazing. Want to feel like you can do anything? Do some deadlifts. (watch your form, don’t get hurt.) And then keep doing them so you get better, and you’ll see what’s up. Suddenly, you feel like you can crush the world.

Aside: if you want to get into lifting weights, pick up the book New Rules of Lifting for Women – it’s an awesome starter program.

After a couple of years, I was moving from program to program, because after I finished New Rules, I hadn’t found anything that really moved me. Moved me. See what I did there?

Enter baseball season for the little one, and I met the mom of a kid on the team- she does CrossFit. A mutual friend told her I used to do derby. She told me about CrossFit. I told her I was worried about getting hurt. She reassured me. I told her it was too expensive. She acknowledged that. I gave her excuses. She ignored them.

Baseball season ended. I complained on Facebook how the tiny gym in my apartment complex was not great. She took the opportunity to invite me to a class. So I went. And then I went again. And then I joined. CrossFit Harrisonburg has the greatest group of coaches who truly care about your fitness- they care about your form, your health, and your progress. Because, as one told me, “if you get hurt, you can’t come back, and I want you to keep coming back.”

Here’s the thing I realized about CrossFit- if you’re not elite, and the vast majority of people are not, then you’re only competing with yourself. It’s you vs. you every day of the week. Did you go? You just won. Did you work as hard as you could? You won again. Did you do better than you did last week? You’re still winning. Did you do worse? Ok, fine, try again.

CrossFit has changed my life. Please note: I said the same thing about derby. I might have said it about running, but I doubt it because running sucks.

I mean.

I couldn’t have gotten to CrossFit without derby. I couldn’t have gotten to derby without a tiny bit of running. That’s my journey. You probably have different plans, and that’s cool. Everyone’s journey is different.

CrossFit has brought me to a new place in my life. I am- at the same time- stronger and weaker than I think.

• I am strong- I go to class even when I know that I’ll be the last to finish. I have run some of the fastest times of my life in CF. I am always the last runner in.
• I am weak- I had to give up 30 lbs. on my back squat in favor of improving my form.
• I am strong- I am learning about new lifts that I have never done- and keep working at them.
• I am weak- I am so bad at squat cleans that when I went online to watch videos about form, I saw little kids cleaning more than I can.
• I am strong- I have reached personal records in the bench press and front squat.
• I am weak- I still get so frustrated when I can’t lift as much as I thought I could.
• I am strong- I am really freaking good at rowing.

I have also found a wonderful community of people on the internet. Eat to Perform is a program that encourages you to do exactly what it says. Eat to fuel your performance. I have thought for the past 5 years that food is something you earn. That way lies an eating disorder. Food is necessary for life. Food is fuel. A month starting CrossFit, I spent 2 weeks cutting back on my calories. I thought I was doing great. And then, I had a workout that I struggled through. And I struggled through the next one. And the one after that. And I wanted to give up- to eat whatever I wanted- to binge the shit out of that carton of ice cream. And then I did some research, and found the ETP site. And thought about it. And thought about it more. And eventually, decided to try it out. And found a lot of science-based research on building muscle and physical performance. And I feel great. I’m not hangry. I’m not stuffed. I’m feeding my performance. People who are part of ETP don’t shame you for feeling hungry. They don’t suggest you eat a carrot stick after you did a 30 minute EMOM (every minute on the minute). They don’t promote stupid challenges that say you should do 10 burpees for every Christmas cookie you eat. Because food is fuel, and exercise isn’t punishment.

For the first time IN MY ENTIRE LIFE I am proud of myself. I am growing to accept myself. I am working toward being stronger and more capable. I am not worried- for the first time ever- about getting smaller or taking up less space. I want to grow. I want my thighs to grow so I can squat more. I want my shoulders to grow so I can lift more. I do not want my stomach to grow, but if it doesn’t shrink, I’m kind of ok with that. It is what it is, and I don’t think I can change it outside of an $11,000 operation. I want to be as strong as I can be. I don’t hang out with T and feel embarrassed about my thighs. I don’t see S and worry about covering my arms. They are them. I am me. What they have is nice, but it’s theirs. I can only have what’s mine.

Gifts are nice, but when you earn something, it’s so valuable. My life is a gift, but I’ve earned the abilities of this body. I’ve earned the space I consume. I’ve earned my scars. I’ve earned the ability to appreciate who I am and what I can do with this body, as imperfectly perfect as it is. When so many things in life are outside of our control, being able to look at myself in the mirror and for the first time ever not hate what I see is the most amazing thing that’s happened to me in a long, long time. For the first time I’m not scared of how you see me. Of how anyone sees me. Because I’ve learned that how I see me is what counts.

A Lettter to My Sons

Dear Boys-

When you pouted because I had to go to work the other night, my heart broke a little. It does every time. But I need to share something important with you.

You don’t remember this, but when you were very small, I left for work before you woke up. After you spent the day at school or in daycare, I would pick you up around 5. We would go home and eat dinner, you would get a bath and go to bed. We would spend about two hours a day together. 30 minutes of those two hours were always the best part of my day because it’s the time I get to read to you and rub your back before you sleep.

Four years ago, I started a new job. Now I am either there when you go to school in the morning, or I am there when you get home depending on when I go lift weights. If I am not there, your dad is. I am there when you go to bed 5 nights a week, and those 30 minutes when we read are still the best 30 minutes of my day. Now I spend about 5 hours with you every day. That’s 3 more than we spent together before.

But you still complain when I have to go to work at night. So I want to tell you something.

I have an awesome job. As an online teacher, I’m bringing a class to students that wouldn’t otherwise fit into their day. This requires me to be available two nights a week- and during some weeks, I’m busy for the entire 2 1/2 hours of my nighttime office hours.

I love my job. It’s challenging and interesting and wonderful. I am pretty good at it, if you are to believe my enrollment numbers and the pass rates on the Advanced Placement exam.

As your mom, I’m also being a good role model to you. I am smart and I work hard. Women can do that, you know.

I also go and lift weights 5 days a week. Women can do that, too. That’s also being a good role model to you. Both of you boys are strong. But I can still do more push ups than you. You might be able to do more pull ups, but not for long. I can run further than you can. This might sound silly to you, but it wasn’t long ago that I couldn’t do that. You don’t remember, but I can show you pictures of what that looked like.

Tomorrow night, when you pout about how I’m going to work, remember this. I love you. I’m doing this for you. Because education makes the world a better place. Because I like my job, and I made a commitment to do it at a certain time and honoring commitments is part of being a good member of society. And when I’m not there when you go to school in the morning, consider how much you love to run and play. Lifting weights is playtime for me. I need some time to play, too. It makes me a better mama- and I’ve always wanted to be a better mama.  I am showing you through my actions that women can do anything. It doesn’t seem to matter that this is 2015 and we should all know this. So I’m showing you every day how strong I can be and why working hard – even if you fail –  is important.

Lastly, you are learning independence. It’s hard as a mom to let you do that. Think about your friends with mamas that don’t let them do anything. You need to be able to do things for yourself. It’s an important skill and not everyone has it.

You’re not going to understand this now. But that’s ok. I get to spend more time with you than I used to, and I remember how much harder it used to be. And no matter how much time we spend together, either a lot or a little,
I love you a million,
The Best Mom You Ever Had

My Values Are Being Tested

Value 1: If you want your kid to go to a good school, be a good part of the school community.

We sold our house in a good school zone. We may have jumped the gun, as now my husband doesn’t have another job and we’re not moving anywhere, well, we are, to another residence in the same area.

Except that we didn’t jump the gun because our savings is now the money we made off of the house, which we may need if my husband can’t find another job. My teacher’s salary only goes so far- especially when you have 2 boys who have decided to grow out of their clothes and shoes and need the food to sustain that growth.

Currently we’re in a short-term rental and the school zone we are in isn’t very good. Instead of staying there and not going through the hassle of moving, we’re moving. So I’m not upholding this value of working toward making a mediocre school a better school. In fact, we are going to move to an excessively tiny apartment in order to keep our oldest at his middle school and our youngest at a neighboring school. Which are good schools, even if I’m not involved in them.

Value 2: experiences are more important than things.

Last night, I cried many tears over the fact that we didn’t even have to move furniture in order to put up the Christmas tree in our old house. In the apartment that appears to be the place we’re moving, we won’t even have room for a Christmas tree.

A Christmas tree brings a new paradox to the experience/things value. It’s both. I mean, you can celebrate Christmas without it, but I love a good tree. It’s part of the experience.

This apartment is like living in New York at a quarter of the price but without the good restaurants, shopping, and culture. The front door opens to the sidewalk, 3 feet from the street. There is no porch. It is small. I feel confident that when I get out of our queen size bed in the morning, my knees will hit the wall.

It’s so small, we’re looking into building lofts. For everyone. Luckily, we like to do woodworking stuff and we like it more the more that we do it. There’s such an awesome feeling of accomplishment when you build something.

I’ve always wanted to have one of these!

So this value, experiences, not things- is being tested. But I think I’m coming out on top. We’ve chosen a small apartment in the school area we prefer for the boys. It’s about $350 less per month than all other rentals we have looked at. And we’ve discussed going on vacation over Christmas so we don’t have the sad lack of tree hanging around. But this apartment is smaller than the finished basement at our old house. And I’m struggling with that.

Experiences: better schools, vacation together… instead of a bigger house/apartment for our things.

Right now, I’m 1 and 1. Every win counts. Can’t let the haters- and by haters, I mean myself – get me down.

I have a mental illness.

When I was 20, I was diagnosed with Generalized Anxiety Disorder. I was in college. The psychiatrist I saw put me on prozac- the first of many, many pharmaceuticals that would help me act reasonably normal around humanity.

I remember as a kid hearing how my great-grandma was a worrier.She was worried I wouldn’t remember her. She died when I was 13- I remember her very, very clearly. She wouldn’t come watch my sister and I figure skate because she was worried we would get hurt. I don’t know what else her worries held her back from, but 120 years after she was born I can say with confidence that my great-grandma had an anxiety problem. And now, I have that same problem.

If you know me well, I may have made some joke about being medicated. I don’t ever go into why. And as a rule, I don’t tell anyone about any of this. This is my telling you, right now.

This is what my anxiety looks like: in my head, there is no safe place. There is no time where I can relax and be at peace.

Unless I am alone. When I am alone, no one will get mad at me. No one will be offended by the things I say, or don’t say, the things I do, or don’t do. In truth, I despise myself, but when I’m with myself, I know where I stand. When I’m alone, I’m reminded of how many times I’ve said or done terrible things. But I know it’s coming. When I’m with others, I don’t know where I stand and that’s the worst thing ever. My favorite people on earth are open and honest with me whether angry or happy. I love that more than anything. “Protecting” me from your anger is the least helpful thing ever. When I am with people, there is always the chance they are going to get mad at me. Even though I don’t want to be protected, I am still scared of it.

Anxiety also looks like the person who seriously worries about something they did forever ago. For example, when I was in college, I worked at a gas station with a woman who had moved to the US from Japan. I once made a sarcastic joke. She didn’t get it. She got mad at me and quit. I called our boss, sobbing, and begged her to talk her out of it. She did, but I still feel AWFUL about it to this day. So, Mieko, if you’re out there reading this, I’m still so very sorry.

(that’s anxiety.)

There is never a time where my body is not in a fight or flight mode. It’s usually flight.

Fight or Flight? Usually flight.

I have always made the most dedicated effort to have people not really know how I’m feeling about things. I tend to make sarcastic remarks. People say I’m cynical. Yes, I’m both sarcastic & cynical. Mainly because I’m convinced the world is going to disappoint me in the most astounding ways that I’ve learned to wear an armor of skepticism.

Right now, I don’t trust you. If you know me in real life, you’re probably going to message a mutual friend and say, “I knew she was crazy.” Or maybe you’re not, but I won’t know either way.

Maybe you’re going to think that it’s time for you to come out about your mental illness. A friend of mine is very open about her depression and that’s part of the inspiration for this. The only way people will learn how to talk about mental illness is to talk about it more.

Credit to Beatrice the Biologist

Sources, if you want to read them:
http://www.nimh.nih.gov/health/topics/generalized-anxiety-disorder-gad/index.shtml
http://ideas.ted.com/how-should-we-talk-about-mental-health/

Don’t Be An Asshole. Or, Why the Social Contract SHOULD Still Mean Something.

Back in 1762, Jean Jaques Rousseau wrote a book called The Social Contract, or Principles of Political Right (spark notes summary linked for those of us who haven’t read it since college).

Rousseau said some crazy shit (like that there should be a state religion), but the bottom line of the Social Contract is that people give up some of their rights to live in harmony with each other. You know this is true. If you have ever lived in an apartment, you’ve probably given up your right to play your music as loud as you can. Or to have an epic screamer with your significant other- instead you just angrily snapped passive aggressive things at each other. Or is that just me? Nah, I know it’s not.

Generally, you take up one parking spot in a crowded lot. You use a normal speaking voice to have a conversation in a restaurant. You wait in line peacefully.

People who don’t do these things get shamed. Especially in the age of the internet. We post pictures of crap parking jobs.

Note to self: put chalk in car.

We leave people notes. Some people even have them printed up for ease of use.

We write entire article on the Huffington Post about how to wait in line properly.

A famously misattributed quote, “Your right to swing your fist ends just where the other man’s nose begins,” (good luck finding a correct source for this quote) is a really clear illustration of this idea.

You can misbehave ALL YOU WANT until you infringe on someone else’s rights.

Which is where we get to the kid screaming in the restaurant in Maine.

When you go to the restaurant, you’re expected to abide by the social contract. You’re in a relatively small space with other people around you. Behave yourself. If you are the parent of a child, you are required to both behave yourself, and teach them how to behave themselves.

The problem with that is that kids can’t always behave themselves. Maybe they’re tired, or hungry, or overstimulated, or whatever- and they lose their minds. When that happens, parents, BEHAVE YOURSELF. Your child’s right to be in that space has now violated the social contract. They are infringing on the ability of others to have a meal in a relatively normal environment.

So take your kid out. Get your butt outside- get your dining partners to ask for your meal to go.  Many a parent has taken their kid out of a restaurant due to the child’s behavior. I have done this. My husband has done this. Or we have realized – before ordering, but after sitting- that our child (or children) will NOT abide this meal. And we’ve peaced out.

Parents, you also need to understand that not every place in the world is for your child. If you take your kid into a bar and the woman next to you is talking about how her boss is a complete asshat hamster kicker , don’t bitch her out for using inappropriate language. Your kid is in an adult space. This is a good opportunity to teach your kids about adult words. On the other hand, if she’s hanging out at Chuck E. Cheese and loudly talking about how her boss is a fuckwit douchecanoe, go ahead and give her a chat about appropriate language usage.

AT THE SAME TIME, fellow diners who are without children, either for the night or forever- you’re going to have to chill the fuck out. You were once a kid. If you’re at a restaurant that welcomes kids, there’s going to be a certain amount of kid ambient noise. Even at an early morning or late night hour. It happens. If the kid makes some noise, let it fucking go. How do you think they learn appropriate behavior? How did you learn appropriate behavior? Here’s a hint: it wasn’t by being kept in a cage at home and being fed triscuits. If it was, you have some issues so much bigger than this blog post. Why are you still reading this? Go find a therapist.

Once, my family was at a Mexican restaurant with my dad & his wife, my sister, brother-in-law, and their (now oldest) son. My oldest nephew WORSHIPS my youngest son. When they are together, it is awesomeness- giggling, playing, and hilarity. We’re at this restaurant, and my youngest son decides to go to the bathroom. He gets up to go, and oldest nephew- age 3 at the time- shouts out “WAIT WHERE ARE YOU GOING?”

Because, you know, he was concerned that his BFF was leaving and he wanted to know why. My sister immediately shushed him- it wasn’t like this was totally acceptable behavior and she was explaining to him why that was.

Asshole middle-aged dude a few tables over yells out “SHIT!”

Entire restaurant looks at him like what the actual fuck, dude?

My sister, who has ovaries of titanium, stood up and asked the dude what he was thinking. He said, “I thought we were yelling things.” She bitched him out in a way that I still hold in the highest regard. This was also very good thing since if she didn’t, I feel confident we would have had to bail my dad out of jail as he would have bloodied his nose.

Friends, this dude was being an asshole. It’s not like oldest nephew was yelling constantly. His misbehavior- short-lived and relatively unoffensive- was being addressed by his adult-in-charge. And we were in a Mexican restaurant, for the love of all things chips & salsa. They’re not traditionally known for being serious, white linen type joints. And this one followed tradition.

The bottom line is that parents (regardless of the age of the kid) and non-parents- y’all need to behave yourselves. Appropriate behavior is dictated by the situation at hand. Consider the remainder of humanity when you are in public and how your behavior impacts those around you. Treat people the way you want to be treated. Be polite. Follow the rules for courteous behavior.

I can’t even believe I just blogged about this. Behave yourselves, people.

Here are some things I will not argue with you about:

• Global warming
• Vaccinations
• Why you are #soblessed
• Homeschooling
• Evolution
• Science
• Your religion or lack thereof
• Your (or my) political party of choice

However, I will point out when you’re wrong, and I will cite my sources.

The First Rule of House Club…

Selling your house sucks seventy times seven. A lot. Here are some things you should know about selling your house in the modern era, in the event that you want to do such things…

1. The first rule of House Club is never talk about House Club. I love social media. I’m pretty sure if I didn’t log in to Facebook tomorrow Mark Zuckerberg would send someone to find me and ask what’s wrong. The day before our house went on the market, I got a talking to by my realtor. Don’t post anything, she said. You can share that you’re selling it in case you have friends who are interested, or even friends of friends. Once you post that you’re selling it, that’s it. Never speak of it again. She doesn’t even know how I roll online.  But what that means is that I can’t post that there are showings. Lots of damn showings. Every day. Sometimes I can’t go home for 6-7 hours. This sucks, especially when one works at home. +10 for having 2 dogs that have to go with me. Luckily they are crate trained and relatively chill little beasties. But I can’t post about that. Because if there are lots of showings and no offers, are people going to assume that something is wrong with it? What if you get an offer and it falls through? So NO POSTING. That being said, you’re reading this because we’ve closed and the house is officially sold. As I’m writing this (April 24) we haven’t yet had an offer. As I’m updating it (April 26) we have, we countered, it was accepted! But you’re not reading this until June when we’re closing.
2. Don’t take things personally. If your realtor is like mine, she’s going to share with you almost everything any of the other agents share about the house. When you were looking for a house, did you buy the first one you saw? (If you did, and you love it, good for you.) You probably didn’t. And when you didn’t make an offer on a house, you weren’t rejecting the owners or the style- it just wasn’t the right fit for you. That’s true of people looking at your house. It’s just not the right fit for them. It can be really frustrating when they say things like “don’t like the floors” when you spent 2 weeks putting in new flooring, or “too many updates to make” when you’ve spent the last 4 years updating the house. But don’t take it personally if your house shows 18 times and you don’t get an offer. It might be the 19th that wins them over. We showed ours 21 times in 9 days. It was showing #18 that made an offer.
3. You need a go bag. Find a tote bag that you like, because you’re going to carry it everywhere for a while. In my go bag right now: a Kind bar, my knitting project, a power cord for my computer, one for my phone, work papers, iPad, lip balm, head phones and my purse. (please note: I have not done anything on the knitting project because who has the time? Showing your house is a full time job.) Keep it relatively neat, because you’re going to want to find those things in a hurry when you need them. The bag is big enough to fit my purse because who needs 1 more thing to carry?
4. If you have kids, pets, or both, they need a go bag, too. Snacks, a book, things to do for the kids. For dogs, treats, poop baggies, and things for them to chew on while they’re stuck in your car waiting for the potential buyers to go away.
5. If you have kids, find all the places where kids eat free on certain nights. You will never eat at home again. I could probably eat pizza every night, but occasionally one needs vegetables. In the past 10 nights we have eaten at home exactly 1 time.
6. Speaking of restaurants, find one that has free WiFi and doesn’t mind if you camp out for a while. Some places get busy at lunch and want you to GTFO. Panera is good in the morning, but their WiFi slows to a crawl around 11:30. And then they kick you off after a half hour. Chick Fil A very specifically tells you not to work there at lunch time via a little card they leave on the table. Local bagel shop lets me stay and they have good sandwiches. Take all my money, Mr. J’s.
7. Go room by room when you’re getting ready to leave. It’s a lot easier to walk into a room, make sure it’s clean, dusted, curtains open, bed made, lights on  and then move on to the next room. If you try to make all the beds first, then open all the curtains, and whatever- it’s just maddening. Don’t do it.
8. Opposite of the go bag: have a stay basket. The stay basket should have your fresh towels to hang up, plates & cloth napkins if you’re doing the table setting thing, swiffer duster for the last minute sweep, packet of cleaning wipes to give the counters a once over. That way you’re not running around frantically looking for those things. Like I’ve done many, many times.
9. Plan to spend more money than you expect. You had to leave to show the house. You packed everything for yourself and dogs. You’ve even been packing lunches. But today it’s raining and you’re not sitting outside under a picnic shelter in the rain. You have to buy lunch somewhere. Or maybe you go to workout when the house is showing and realize you have no ponytail holders. So you can either stress yourself out and never make a mistake, or you can throw money at it and make it go away.
10. Have a pre-planned pick up spot if your kids ride the bus. Sometimes showings are scheduled when your kids get off the bus. Tell them to look for your car just down the street. We also have a “sign” – if the garage door is closed, that means you should try to find mom or dad in the car.

Those  are my tricks that helped me keep my sanity for the 10 days that we showed our house. Now it’s sold, hooray!

Stop saying, “I know how you feel.”

When someone shares difficult information with you, there are 2 things you can say that will immediately stab them in the heart:

1. Everything happens for a reason.

2. I know how you feel.

The person who has shared something with you has demonstrated through their words that you are close to them, they respect and feel accepted by you.You have shown them through your words that you don’t actually care. Saying I know how you feel says that their situation is not unique to them and that they should suck it up.

But you’re a decent person and that’s probably not what you meant. You really do care about them. You want them to know that you sympathize with them and their situation.

We live in a culture that glorifies independence and persistence. When someone tells you that they’re struggling with something, they’re telling you that it’s too heavy for them and they need you to share the load. But they’re not saying that specifically, because generally it’s not ok to say that.

The other thing you can’t say… “what can I do to help?” Because can you really do anything that they ask of you? Probably not- you have a job, a family, a life. And when asked in the open ended manner, the person who is already feeling overwhelmed by their situation is not going to say, “oh, sure, can you deal with this problem for me?”  They are probably going to say, “Everything is under control, thanks.”

You really want to help! What can you say?

• Would you like to talk about it?
• Can I take out out to/bring you a coffee?
• Do you need someone to pick up the kids after school on Tuesday?  (or walk the dog/feed the cat)
• I’d like to bring you dinner tomorrow, is (food) ok?

All of these make it easier on you:  you have a specific, time constrained way to help.

More importantly, it makes it easier on the person you want to help. If they’re struggling, the last thing they want to do is think of a way that you can help that’s within your budget and time constraints.

Whatever it is you do to help them, make sure your focus is on them. They’re busy being concerned about the situation, whatever it is, and they’re probably letting their self-care go. Demonstrating that you care for them is a good way to show them that they are valuable.