anonymommy

Confidence to the Core

An Open Post to My Boys

I like that you're confident. I do. It's important to believe in yourself and your abilities. But what I see in your world bothers me a lot. There's a huge difference between confidence and braggadocio. Overconfidence is annoying and can frequently backfire.

There's a reason all the smack talk on any playing field is called "trash talk." Because it's garbage, regardless of whether or not you can back up all the "bragging" (a good way to remember the SAT word, braggadocio, above.) It's just an obnoxious, schmucky way to behave.

If I had my way, I'd want you to be confident in the traditional, wonderful ways of your grandfather: Don't tell them, show them. Poppy wouldn't tell everyone he was fast, he would just win the race. And then, because he was that good, he would always be gracious and congratulate the other runners.

Coming of age in upper Manhattan in the 1950's and 1960's, Poppy had to be tough, yet he was always a consummate gentleman. But here's the beauty of his confidence: Poppy wouldn't tell everyone he would beat them to a pulp if they messed with him, he just carried himself well, so people knew he was no pushover. One of my favorite Poppy lines when confronted was "I'm not looking for a fight, but if you are, you found one." Some would walk away, and those who stayed to fight quickly found that his quiet confidence belied a fierce strength. Fortunately, that ferocious strength extended to his character. 

And that, my boys, is confidence to the core.

My Latest "Thing"

In my never-ending attempt to bring order out of the chaos that is my life, I tend to cobble together a thousand different pointers for "Organizing Your Life!" from Real Simple, Oprah, Martha Stewart, Redbook and any other countless blogs and articles. I throw everything against the wall and see what sticks. MomAgenda? I have two -- and they're both empty. Google Calendars to share with the family? Would be brilliant if we all actually updated it.

So this past Sunday night I wrote out our week on the calendar that goes on the fridge. A little peek as to how I did this: "BOYS!! Who has a game this week!? Who has a test!? Any plays or study groups?! Papers or projects due?!" It was remarkably effective. (Hat tip to Bruce Feiler. I'm really, really trying to institute the weekly "Family Meeting." Baby steps, my friend, baby steps.)

Based on that calendar, I tried to plan our weekly meals. Monday -- disaster. I got pulled into two unscheduled meetings so we ended up eating out. Today, however, I decided to prep early. (What a novel idea! Thanks Every-Other-Edition-of-Real Simple. I'm finally paying attention. See "Baby Steps" above.)

The best thing I did was rack up two TEDTalks and listened to them while I chopped, diced and marinated the pork loin. "Two birds with one stone" much? Holla! (This is a variation on a Joy Bauer theme of listening to music while prepping.)

Success. Dinner's in the fridge ready to be heated up later today AND I feel super informed.

Now you can use my unsolicited advice to "Organize Your Life!" This one will stick, though. No, really.

Here are links to both TEDTalks. They were great.

The aforementioned Bruce Feiler: Agile Programming For Your Family. Yes, I'm still searching for the silver bullet that will solve all those family conundrums. And

Amanda Palmer: The Art of Asking. It's nothing to do with families or homemaking, just a provocative talk about asking people for ... stuff... and creating a community therein.

Whip out your cutting boards or just upload it onto your phone or iPod and enjoy. 

The Story of How My Oldest Entered The World

Too long, too long there’s something wrong. That rhyme keeps running through my head as doctors, nurses, people, people, people just stream in and out of my Zen Birthing Room. The beep of the damn machine behind me somewhere starts to slow down. Another higher pitched beep picks up and starts speeding along. Don’t worry, that’s just mommy’s heart one of the people, people, people says to the rest. Don’t call me mommy till that baby’s out of my body and breathing on his own. Don't jinx me.

The high-pitched beep gets faster and my breathing is racing to match it. Relax mommy, she dares to tell me. I’ve miscarried before! I scream in my head. It was awful and bloody and tragic and I’m terrified! I hate, hate, hate this. It’s so messy and so awful and so not Zen.

Too long, too long there’s something wrong.

“How’s the baby?” I ask all the people, people, people.

 Just relax mommy.

Shut up, shut up, shut up just tell me something real, something true. Fundal pressure one of them whispers to another and he runs out of the room. Shit, shit, shit. Think. Think. Fundal pressure, fundal pressure. A new member of the sincere people tribe walks in and I’m scared again. She’s enormous -- a caricature of a bear in a nurse’s uniform. A flurry of activity around me as she leans on my chest and puts all her weight below my heart. It feels like it’s my heart and it’s breaking. It’s breaking. They try to tug the baby out. The slow-beeping machine just stops. Oh Jesus please. Please Jesus, please. Anything. I’ll give you anything you want just don’t take this baby. The room goes completely silent. All those people, people, people are finally quiet in my Zen Birthing Room. Then, ever so gently, someone says Fetal distress. Let’s go. Suddenly I’m moving. The whole bed is moving. The whole room is moving. My arm goes cold and I lean over and throw up violently as we’re moving. One of the people is holding a bowl under me and stroking my hair. He has green eyes. We’re moving, no longer faux Zen. Industrial lights above me in the operating room and just the low buzz of all the anonymous people. They pull the baby out and he breathes on his own.

You did a beautiful job mommy.

Thank you Jesus, Thank you Jesus, Thank you Jesus.

Specific is Terrific and Other Birthday Lessons

Last week I'd gone on an unusual shopping spree and told my husband not to get me anything for my birthday. And he took me at my word. (X. Bad idea.) Actually, that's not entirely fair: He's away on a business trip so he had his assistant send me flowers and ... wait for it ... peanut brittle... because apparently I'd mentioned in passing recently that I like peanut brittle. Um, ok. The real gift here is that at least he's listening. (And yeah, half the box is already gone.) But this was kind of a milestone. After 30 years old, all the 5s are milestones, right?

Anyway...ungrateful wretch that I am... I will tell one more birthday story (for which I do shoulder much of the blame.) I told my boys that I wanted, expected, no DEMANDED breakfast in bed for my birthday and to their credit, they were all for it.

Super early on birthday morning they all troop in and hand me a white Starbucks baggie with a spinach feta wrap inside and a cup of Starbucks coffee. Huh. Ok. I'll take the hit for that. I said "breakfast in bed" which to me means "homemade beignets with fresh coffee on a tray with a single flower. And maybe a napkin." Clearly they interpreted it differently. But specific is terrific and I wasn't, so that's on me. I mean, the spinach feta is my absolute fave, and I didn't really want to run out in twenty degree weather to get my own coffee... Yet I informed them this morning that they get to do a do-over on Saturday when daddy gets back. YAY!

(Now I anticipate some angry comments about how I am, in fact, a truly awful, ungrateful human being. That said, I like to think of this as helping my boys to be better, more considerate young men. Trust me young ladies, specifically to the four of you who will be lucky enough to snag my guys, you're going to appreciate my efforts immensely.)

Lighter Lenten Reflection

So in typical Latin (or is it just Catholic?) fashion, I gave up alcohol for Lent. Let me backpeddle for just a second: I originally gave up cursing, chocolate and alcohol, but after a particularly trying day, I came home, and instead of reaching for a bottle of wine, I grabbed the box of Valentine chocolates and said, "Damn, I need a hit." I hoovered half a pound of dark and milk deliciousness before coming up for air, realizing that I'd struck two promises from my list. And then there was one.

I'm starting to understand  the whole Friend of Bill W., "One day at at a time" thing. Honestly, there have been long, tough days where all I wanted to do was kick back, relax and have a glass of wine, if not an all out grown up cocktail.  (Speaking of which, my brother once dated a girl in college whose parents gave up Manhattans for Lent. They simply switched to Martinis which they were much less fond of... Ah, sacrifice. And yet some days I think they were wise rather than just deeply troubled.)

One reason I manage to tick off each day is to show my four kids that while we may stumble -- I'm still trying to curb the cursing and chocolate intake -- it's important to pick ourselves up and try again. Discipline is vital to success on so many different levels: spiritual, emotional, practical.

But for one minor dispensation (it was my 45th birthday after all) I will try to soldier on,  take it one day at a time, and remember why I'm giving something up in the first place: to become a bit less self centered and leave a little room to focus, reflect and prepare myself for the coming of the Christ in a few weeks.  Lord, give me strength. And keep me away from the bordeaux.

 

One of My Not So Guilty Pleasures

Game of Thrones. Can't. Wait.

 

 

You Know You're Getting Older When...

This morning while driving my kids to school my oldest turned to me and gasped, "What happened to your face?!"

Totally freaked out, I looked in the rear view mirror and saw that I had pillow/sheet indentations hollowing out the entire right side of my cheek. I mean, I'd seen it in the morning when I was brushing my teeth, TWO HOURS EARLIER but never thought it'd last that long.

Holy Loss-of-Elasticity Batman! I'm going to have to start pushing those morning meetings waaaay back.

Four hours later, finally gone.

Do As I Say, Not As I Do

Definitely one of those moments today as I sneak into the back of church wearing my 'neat' workout clothes after insisting that my kids change for church. We took separate cars. Oy, am I going to hear it from them. #ChurchClothes #DoAsISayNotAsIDo #Church

afb

Scotch

Scotch, especially neat, tastes like winter to me. #Scotch #Musings

Guilty Mommy?

The other day I felt awful because I missed my son's game. I could have made the last quarter, and it would have been a "big effort" as my family likes to say, but I decided against it, and then suffered brutal regret. And then the next day ... I went to the local organic supermarket where I saw a woman pushing a cart while a nanny carried her child, and she asked the nanny in broken Spanish: "Do I need yoghurt? Do I need bread?" The toddler was hugging the nanny and giving her smooches while the mother looked... bored. Don't know the mom; don't know the circumstances; trying not to judge but in that moment, I felt ok that I'd missed one of about 20 games this season, for one of my four boys.