Grateful

Almost a year ago around this time, I wrote a blog post surrounding the question I was receiving most often at the time: “How’s married life treating you?” You can read the post here: https://dancingdissidentdaughters.blogspot.com/b/post-preview?token=yr7i7lQBAAA.bX-Ds7G0iYETi01P2jI43KzWgHk1gvIsDLaBxrq7mQKI-kuR5mPYW7JS3KshiqOhJGjAvjjOHZQd83ESvPM7Xw.2wORIMW0IhTND2byC9l-YA&postId=3610647231355431445&type=POST but to sum up the blog, I kept responding to people with “It’s good. Not a lot has changed but it’s good.” I elaborate in the post and go on to say why that was a piss poor answer but the moral of the story was that I was in fact, really just HAPPY and didn’t feel the need to effuse too much.

Anyway, here we are, a year later. Again, there is a single question that is dominating my interactions with friends and family. That is:

“How are you feeling?”

I suppose that question dominates a lot of people’s interactions but in my case, they are referring to how I am feeling toward the end of my pregnancy (I’m due in 2 days!). And here we are, once again, with me giving piss poor answers to that question. Most of the times I say, “I’m good. I’m just tired but otherwise I feel really great.” Don’t get me wrong, that’s not a lie. I am tired all the time and in general both physically and emotionally I feel really great. However, I don’t really feel like it’s a genuine answer.

I don’t know why it’s so difficult to answer the question authentically. Maybe it’s partially due to me thinking that people really don’t listen to your response anyway (#Aleschproblem?). But I think the greater issue is one that affects everyone in our society today. So many times we are almost scared of expressing our feelings of joy or happiness because right along with that joy and happiness we have this fear that it will be suddenly taken away. Brene Brown has some great lectures and books surrounding this topic and we could probably write endless blogs on this topic alone. However, she recommends expressing gratitude as a way of holding on to that joy and happiness that we may be fearful of losing. She says, “For it is not joy that makes us grateful; it is gratitude that makes us joyful.”

So to answer ALL of the “How are you feeling?” questions I have received over the past weeks and months….

“I am feeling extremely GRATEFUL.”

I could fill up three pages of stuff that I am grateful for and I’ll surely miss something or someone but I do feel like I need to mention a couple of items for when I go back and read this years later….

First and foremost, I am grateful to have been blessed with this healthy pregnancy. Second, I am grateful to be experiencing this special 10 months with my over-the-top supportive, loving husband. If you read my blog from last year that I referenced above, you’ll know I’m not one to gush about the details of our relationship. Suffice it to say he is as “dependable as the moon and sure as the stars”. Third, I am extremely grateful for all of the support from our family and friends…..

My immediate Iowa family preparing to take time off from work and booking expensive flights to be able to spend time with me and help after the baby is born, my in-laws throwing me the most beautiful baby shower, my sister Jill flying all the way out just to attend my baby shower, my mother-in-law making me food on the weekends, my girlfriends celebrating me with a brunch and giving me gifts to pamper myself (everyone gives the baby gifts but can often forget about mama!), my girlfriends who have visited me at the house in order to still have “girl time” but while I’m in my pajamas, friends and family sending notes of encouragement from all over the country (one of my biggest supporters lives all the way in Seattle!), my coworkers throwing me an unexpected and very thoughtful baby shower at work (I always say support in the workplace is invaluable!), etc, etc, etc.

And of course, all of the advice I have received. That’s right. Whether solicited or unsolicited, I have been grateful for it all. It’s funny because I have glanced at so many articles and feeds on the internet about how to politely reject unsolicited advice when one is pregnant. I guess I don’t feel the need to do that. In the end, people aren’t trying to tell you how to do things. They are just trying to be helpful. I bank the information that I think will be useful and just listen to the rest knowing that they are just trying to connect with you and your experience. After all, as I’ve said many times in my posts, that is what life is all about. Human connection….and lots of gratitude! J

Silence is Golden

Sunday, May 15, 2015. Wake up at 6 a.m. Help husband get things packed for his competition. Let him steal my name tape from one of my uniforms. Must remember to get that back when he returns. Send husband off to week-long Army competition at 7 a.m. Watch five minutes of news and down one cup of coffee before eight-year-old Energizer Bunny on steroids wakes up jumping down the stairs three at a time. Two year old calls for Mommy shortly after. Run up stairs, grab two-year old and run downstairs because she has to potty. Throw Dora the Explorer adapter plate on toilet and put two-year-old on the toilet. Eight year old wants a movie on. Two year old wants breakfast. Put movie on and get two-year old breakfast, grab something for eight-year-old as well in anticipation of the, "Mom, I'm hungry" call that comes in five minutes. Shower while kids are eating, get kids ready for the day, finish watching movie. Meltdown No. 1 comes when I announce we have to leave for church. Throw three different snacks in purse and get kids in car. Two of the three snacks get eaten en route to church making stash dangerously low. Ponder how long the orange has been in my purse and whether it is a viable option in case of emergency. Laugh out loud at the prospect of peeling an orange during mass and dismiss it as an option even it were fresh. Arrive at church 2 minutes late which turned into ten minutes late because eight-year-old decided to climb on some rocks and two-year-old had Meltdown No. 2 when I tried to carry her. Double as a referee in church, anxiety skyrocketing as I realize we are attending both graduation mass and a baptism. Two-year-old burns through snack no. 3 - fruit snacks--and drops one on floor. Meltdown No. 3 occurs  when I won't let her eat it which is ridiculous because had we not been in church I would have let her eat it off the floor. Promised to take kids mini-golfing after church so hurry to the car until the eight-year-old decides to climb on the rocks again. Ten minutes later we are on the way to mini-golf. Play mini-golf where meltdown 4 (two-year-old hits head on something) and 5 (eight-year-old couldnt get the ball to go through some stupid ass glowing spaceship) take place. Meltdown 6 happens in car because two-year-old is hungry. Eight-year-old demands mac and cheese and specifies the elbow kind of noodle so make panic decision to eat at Noodles and Company. Pay for two mac and cheeses and chocolate no white no chocolate no white milk for the kids and a pad thai for myself. Return to car and drive to library because they each got to pick an activity and the eight-year-old picked golf and the two-year-old picked the library. Eight-year-old decides to climb on top of car. Two-year-old wants to climb too so both kids end up on car. Finally arrive in the library and meet Moe and Sherba the hamsters. After playing with Legos and puppets, kids go to computer games. The two-year-old wants to type and when I try to help her she looks at me and says, "What the fuck." Heads turn except mine which looks down at my eight-year-old's shoes which he has decided to take off for some reason. Remind self I need to watch my mouth more and that I need to discuss with eight-year-old  his habit of taking his shoes off wherever we go. Play games and then check out movies. Meltdown No. 7 happens because two-year-old pokes self in her eye. Meltdown 8 follows because the eight-year-old can't take the two-year-old crying and he runs out of the car. Get eight-year-old under control and soothe two-year-old who is still holding her eye and crying.  Start the car and begin to drive thinking two-year-old will stop crying if we leave. Have to stop five minutes later because eight-year-old alleges he is going to puke because of all the crying which has not stopped. Decide to bribe kids with ice cream and stop at DQ where two-year-old falls asleep. Return home and watch My Little Pony and Peppa the Pig. Get supper for the kids and begin to put on movie. Movie doesn't work because the remote for the DVD player got reprogrammed somehow. Meltdown 10 comes in like a lion because I can't figure out the programming in two minutes. Twenty minutes and three Google searches later, the remote is back in business. I begin getting my lunch and dinner ready for tomorrow. Eight-year-old has soccer practice tomorrow night so I have to cook for tomorrow in advance. Two-year-old informs me she is going to pee her pants so stop what I'm doing to put on Dora adapter plate. Meltdown 9 happens when the two-year-old bawls me out for not wiping her good enough. Two-year-old rips off pants and throws self on floor. Return to packing lunch and making supper for tomorrow. Eight-year-old decides he wants chocolate milk so I throw some Nesquick in a cup and pour milk over top of it. Realize milk is at the critical stage of not having enough to make Cocoa Puffs in a.m. Anticipate meltdown in the morning as a result. Note to self that we are low on milk. Need to get to store tomorrow. Lunch packed, supper for tomorrow made, clean kitchen, vacuum floor, and eight-year-old wants to play catch. Play catch, finish movie, pick up house, put laundry away, help kids brush teeth and put them both to bed. Meltdown 11 happens at bed time because the two-year-old thinks the eight-year-old doesn't have to go to bed. Sing Old McDonald for the millionth time and finally get two-year-old to bed. Tuck eight-year-old in and hear two-year-old crying. She wants her bunny and kitties which I find. I head downstairs, turn off the lights and turn on the TV. It is my favorite  show Dateline but as I settle into my recliner I remember I need to take the garbage out. Go upstairs and change trash liners. Go downstairs and repeat. Walk outside and pull trash bin to curb. Come inside and make coffee for the morning. Sit down for the last half of Dateline.

Which brings me to the current. The house is so quiet. I'm here all by myself in the peace and quiet. The silence is delicious and it rushes around me. The bathrooms could be cleaned, the rest of the house vacuumed, homework for my masters could be read, and yet...I do none of these things. I don't feel badly about it. I take pleasure in not having to share the remote, not having to do anything except what I want to do, which at this moment is to watch Dateline and relax in a recliner. I don't have to make small talk or worry if I fall asleep on the couch or feel bad for looking at my phone. No one is asking me for anything or trying to keep me up late or even speaking to me and I love it. I absolutely love the solitude. These times are rare right now but I know it will not always be this way. I wonder if the noise makes me appreciate the silence more.  Sort of like when you turn off the static from a radio or a TV, the silence sounds so much nicer. I find myself dozing off and remember I need to write the blog for this week. In reflecting on how content I am right now, I know exactly what to write about. It won't be poetic, it won't be earth shattering. But it will be real, authentic, and this asshole wouldn't change a single thing....except maybe to have another Dateline on after the one I'm watching is over. I'm amazed at how much I can handle. I have grown as a parent who couldn't deal with one meltdown to one who can take on double digit tantrums with two kids in one day. I'm not perfect but I'm getting better at this parenting thing. So i  have a two-year-old that knows how to correctly use, "What the fuck!" I overlook that right now and focus on what I have done - I have learned how to parent without completing losing it. I smile. I will take that win today. I have grown to appreciate these moments of madness. These moments are where we spend the great majority of our days. If these moments can be appreciated and treasured, then our hours will be good, our years will be great and our lives will be lived to the fullest. Real life doesn't happen when we are at our best or when we are achieving sterotypical greatness. No, life is lived in these moments of chaos, when things are their messiest. It is these moments that allow me to bask in the beauty of the silence that now envelopes me as I head up to sleep and get ready to do the same thing tomorrow.

Stop to Smell the...Dandelions

Me: "Oh, wow!!! That's such a beautiful plant! Do you know what it's called?"

Colleague:  "Yeah...it's creeping Charlie and it's actually considered a weed."

I was left wondering how something so beautiful could be labeled with what has become a dirty word in our culture...weed. What was a seemingly innocuous conversation came to be another one of those defining moments that I distinctly remember. First, a little background...although I was born and raised in Iowa and have lived in this state for all but five years of my life, until I was in the Sustainable Agriculture PhD program at Iowa State, I knew little to nothing about Iowa's landscape and agriculture and clearly had paid no attention to lawns and the menacing creeping Charlie. However, I was aware of the homeowner's constant seasonal battle with the other plague on the "perfect" lawn, the dreaded dandelion.

Who decided dandelions and creeping Charlie were unacceptable inhabitants of Midwestern lawns? What child hasn't picked dandelions and presented them lovingly to their mothers and nurtured them (usually for less than 24 hours, ha ha) in a glass of water? As children, we think they are beautiful flowers. As adults in charge of meticulously cared for grass that isn't even native to the state we live in, what was once beautiful becomes the bane of an acceptable lawn's existence. I still think they are both beautiful. I think dandelions smell beautiful-on those summer days that are just warm enough to elicit the dandelions' smell and carry it on the breeze, I love breathing in the smell that reminds me of the joys of summer and evokes a feeling of nostalgia. I even think seeding dandelions are pretty (an unforgivable offense, I'm aware).

Until the point of the incident described above, I had been involved in conversations regarding the perception and definition of beings, beliefs and conclusions in our world. In one of the courses I took, I was made aware of the ridiculousness of our lawns and I could write and entire blog or book (people have) on that concept. I hadn't experienced the shock that accompanied living such a vivid contrast...I'm not trying to sound dramatic but imagine being so captivated and made happy by a thing of beauty only to be told it is defined as something that our society deems ugly and invaluable. For me, luckily this occurred with something I had little personal investment in. Let me clarify, although the larger idea of definitions and labels and judgments is a passionate one for me and one that I AM personally invested in, creeping Charlie wasn't a physical, emotional or spiritual feature I personally owned.

But what if it was? What if my "creeping Charlie moment" was the idea that light skin is prettier than dark skin or that big boobs are preferable to small ones or that women who keep their mouths shut and play nice all of the time and play a little dumb so as not to be intimidating are preferred over women who actually have a personality and opinions and have the audacity to voice them? Or that men have to be macho and not show emotion and bro friendships are based on discussing sports and women and hair is a necessity to be an attractive male and pink is okay if you wear it as a shirt now but not if you buy a pink bike or order a drink with an umbrella in it? In truth, I have had many of those moments, I just wasn't aware of what they were until I was older and exposed to enough ideas and experiences to know and understand. We are inundated with these concepts on a daily basis and many of these messages are subtle. Many of these messages are passed on by well-meaning people we look up to who haven't actually thought about the larger message they are sending.

Who decides what we are taught to see when we look at something? Who decides what judgment is made as to whether an innocuous trait, presence or belief is good or bad? What are the repercussions for living beings? What is the history of the decision making process in question? Who benefits from the definition and the judgment? Do these definitions and judgments still make sense and what are we teaching our children? One of the questions that is helpful in beginning to answer many of these other questions...who are the ubiquitous "they" usually credited with saying and doing most things we don't care to dig into deeper?

I cannot imagine my two year old niece, Brooklyn, picking dandelions or  creeping Charlie for her mom and dad or grandparents and being told they are just "weeds". I can't bear to think of her receiving the message that straight hair is preferred to the beautiful, wild curls she is blessed with. I can't bear to think of her being told that she's crazy because she's a woman and she's angry about something and she dared to express it (angry while female). It makes me sick to think that my sweet, sensitive nephew Trevor, with his old soul, might be given the message that his long hair he is so proud of isn't "manly" or that he's a "girl" (the fact that this is still an insult...to be called a girl...wtf) if he wears it in a pony tail. It breaks my heart to imagine him being told he's a girl or gay or less than because he likes the color pink and chose pink soccer cleat accents (a real concern voiced by his mother) (and less than what? why is someone better because they are male and don't use the color pink? have most people actually ever questioned the ridiculousness of these ideas?). Many of these determinations differ from place to place and culture to culture and history to history. This in and of itself should tell us everything we see in front of us hasn't always been that way and the things we have been taught haven't always been believed. At the very least, as thinking beings, I would hope this would prompt us to examine what we accept and own in our own lives and belief systems.

As for me, I'm going to keep enjoying the smell and sight of "weeds" where I live...when I have a lawn I care for, it's going native, which is better for our environment and ecology and health and which I think is aesthetically more beautiful than the uniform, high maintenance short grass lawns that have become the norm in the Midwest. And I will continue to question and examine things "they" tell us and determine who benefits and who has a voice in the designations and judgments. I will continue to challenge the people I encounter to do the same and I hope that I have the fortitude to address inaccuracies, misinformation and falsehoods when I am confronted with them. In the meantime, I'm going to stop to smell the dandelions.

Show and No Tell

Hey ya'll! It's my week for the blog and unfortunately I have zero time to crank out an 8 paragraph blog post this week. I will however show you some of the pretty cool things I've been up to this month!

College Reflections

This week is a crazy week for me. I’m writing this blog post while my students take their final exam for “Intro to Christian Thought.”(Yaaay multitasking). I literally just finished grading their final papers, and now I will have to grade their exams and submit final grades. In case that pretext wasn’t enough, I am teaching a course for Simpson College this semester. Thankfully, I have the best full-time job in the world with UnityPoint Hospice, and they gave me their blessing to do both.

I’ve taught classes for Simpson before, but this is the first semester where I taught at the Indianola Campus. (Usually, I teach at their Ankeny satellite location). Actually working on campus- the place where I completed my own undergraduate degree 8 years ago- has caused me to reflect upon the distance that I feel from my own college experience.

I always received the implicit message that college was going to be the best years of my life. For whatever reason, it seemed as though people consistently told me that college would basically be the climax of living. High school would be fun, for sure, but college was where things would really come together. You would have so much freedom…you would learn so many new things…you would meet the best friends of your life…you would have fun all the time…it seemed as though college was described as this amazing utopia. And then, the other underlying message was that life kind of…sucked…after college. After college, you had to have responsibilities. Life would be dull. Your job would suck your soul. You wouldn’t have much of a social life. As a result of this message, I was terrified to graduate college. 

However…here’s the thing. I DID love my time at Simpson- I loved the people that I met and the experiences that I had. But I actually think that I am more content NOW in my life than I was in college! I’m sure there are some people that would disagree with this sentiment, but I also know of MANY others that agree that life actually gets better the OLDER we get. Which is a stark contradiction to the mainstream narrative that idolizes youth.

I LIKE being older and out of college for multiple reasons. First of all, I have a MUCH stronger sense of self. Although I didn’t realize it at the time, I was still so impressionable in college, and I needed other people’s affirmation so badly. I constantly wondered if I was doing “enough.” Was I studying ENOUGH? Was I having ENOUGH fun? Was I working ENOUGH? Was I exercising ENOUGH? I wanted so badly to embody every ideal college experience, and I could never live up to that impossible standard.  Additionally, college was so...overstimulating and extreme…all the time. I was either having the time of my life and feeling incredibly alive, or else I would be down in the dumps worrying about life. There wasn’t much of a stable middle ground.

I really love where I’m at now in life. I like my professional career- I’m running an entire hospice bereavement program, and I also teach a couple of classes per year for Simpson. I like having more downtime- I don’t like being stimulated ALL.THE.TIME. I like being able to read…do DIY projects around my house…and other solitary activities. I like having more time to pursue my hobbies- to pursue circus fitness, take art classes, go to sporting events, and cook actual meals. I like being able to more carefully choose my friends and how I spend my time socially.

 

To summarize my thoughts…As I’ve grown older, I think I've been able to find more meaning in life, and I am more confident in how I obtain this meaning. Additionally, I’m more balanced in how I spend my time and invest my energy. This doesn’t mean that I don’t appreciate my college years or miss certain aspects of them; however, I feel very much relieved to be where I’m at right now.

I recognize that I’m still relatively young, and so I can’t necessarily speak to aging during other decades. Nevertheless, my encouragement to others is to value every phase of your life and to recognize that each phase is going to have its own unique benefits and challenges. When you are a little kid, there is value in having time to play and explore the world for the first time. However, that doesn’t mean that being a kid doesn’t have its own challenges- your freedom is consistently limited, you have to deal with social pressures, etc. Or, maybe you are 40 years old and raising children. I have no doubt that it’s likely very beautiful to participate in the creation and growth of another human being. Nevertheless, I also imagine that it’s frustrating to have so many responsibilities and to consistently negate your needs for the sake of another.

I write this blog post because I want it to serve as an anecdote that counters the dominant cultural narrative. We idolize youth, and the negative message against age is rampant. Anti-aging materials have completely saturated the consumer market. The people that we see in advertisements, movies, etc. tend to be young (less than 30). I also witness people try to live vicariously through someone that is in their college years/their 20’s, or else they speak wistfully of their own time in those decades. Instead of idolizing youth, my wish is that we would have a more nuanced perspective on ALL generations. Recognize the benefits and challenges of each phase of life, because believe me, they are there. I believe this perspective helps us simultaneously live in the past, present, AND future. We recognize the beauty of where we have been, we appreciate where we are, and we have confidence in knowing where we are going. 

Graceland

One thing I really dislike doing is talking or writing about myself. Therefore, I’m not going to do it and instead I’ll write about someone else! Because it’s easier and more fun! For this blog I’d like to write about my younger sister, Kristen – partly because I’d like to document a special time that I recently enjoyed with her and partly because I am really proud of her.

As you might know from following the blog or Kristen on Facebook, she moved to Tennessee shortly after she graduated last summer. She was accepted into Teach For America (TFA) and received her assignment teaching in an inner city school in Memphis. Her acceptance alone was something to be celebrated as the program only accepts roughly 10% of all applicants. Anyway, while many of her peers were probably moving back in with mom and dad or planning their party plans for the entire summer until they either went to graduate school or decided to look for a “real” job, Kristen packed up her shoddy car that she bought from our father and drove down to Memphis all by herself.

Fast forward about 6-7 months when I decided that I should visit my younger sister before I give birth to our first little bambino and circumstances make it just a wee bit harder to travel. I had been keeping up with Kristen and the struggles and joys she had experienced during her first 6 months of teaching through her daily snapchats, texts, and phone calls. I’d also been able to learn a little bit about the culture and history surrounding Memphis through her weekend adventures exploring the city or the way in which she started incorporating the local lingo into her own vocabulary. But, I wanted to experience some of all of this first hand so over President’s Day Weekend 2016 I, along with my best friend Naomi, made my first trip to the city of blues and barbeque.

Of course, any time that I spend with my sisters is going to be a good time. We could travel to one of the worst cities in the US for a vacation together and still have a good time exploring. However, I really enjoyed the city of Memphis. I’d been to Nashville numerous times as my first duty station was only 40 minutes from there and always enjoyed that city as well but Memphis was just different. I think its personality just fit me better. It seemed a bit more raw, more vulnerable, more genuine, and less touristy, less star struck. As I said above, part of the reason I wanted to write this blog was to document our time together in Memphis so here’s a quick recap of our adventures.

Naomi and I got there late on Thursday evening. Kristen picked us up from the airport and we didn’t really do much that night besides check out her apartment, meet her kitty named Libby, and hit the hay. Kristen had to work on Friday and Naomi and I were tired from traveling. Friday morning Kristen headed to work while we slept in, drank coffee, and took our time getting ready. After Naomi and I were ready for the day, we walked from Kristen’s apartment to downtown Memphis for breakfast. We found this cute little coffee shop called Tamp and Tap where I got a peanut butter and banana toast (in honor of Elvis!) and Naomi got a yummy spinach salad. After we finished, we called an Uber to take us to visit Kristen at her school.

Seeing Ms. Alesch at school was probably the highlight of my trip. From when we first entered the cafeteria at Fairly High School, it was extremely evident that her students respected and loved her. We couldn’t walk two steps in the lunch room without hearing, “Ms. Alesch!” And it was the same in her classroom. It also happened to be Valentine’s Day weekend so Ms. Alesch’s Spanish class was learning words related to love. One of the students wrote on the board, “Te amo (or yo quiero, I can’t remember) Ms. Alesch.” Naomi and I sat and observed in the back of the classroom while I admired my baby sister as she led the classroom with her genuine love for the students.

After school, Kristen gave us a quick driving tour of Memphis and then we went back to her apartment for a little while to philosophize about her students before we went to dinner that evening. For dinner, we had to try a BBQ place seeing as we were in the city of BBQ so we went to one of Kristen’s favorite places – Central BBQ. It was quite delicious and laid back. It was one of those places where you ordered at the counter and they brought your food out to your table. The food was really great but Kristen definitely picked the best thing off the menu when she ordered the BBQ nachos. I think we had big plans to go out after that but we were too tired so we just went home and decided to save Beale Street for the next night.

On Saturday morning, Kristen and I went to her Crossfit gym and squeezed in a pretty good partner workout. Much to Rocko’s chagrin, we completed a kickass amount of wall balls and other exercises while Naomi cheered. After showering, we then got breakfast at another cute joint downtown – Atomic Slim’s. Naomi and Kristen had plenty of mimosas and the food was delightful. Kristen and I split a plate of some of the best pancakes (again, peanut butter and banana in honor of Elvis) I have ever had.

With our bellies full, we proceeded to our next event of the day which was the Backbeat Mojo Tour! I had read about this tour in the New York Times and it was definitely worth it. The tour guide not only told you about the history of the city (much better history than Nashville in my opinion!) as you rode around in a bus, but he also sang songs and played his guitar to aid with the story telling. If you ever go to Memphis, I would highly recommend this tour! After the tour, we stopped in at the Peabody Hotel to view the ducks on parade. I’ll let you do the research but it’s basically a 90 year tradition that occurs daily at one of the nicest hotels in Memphis. While we waited we had coffee, tea, and cookies.

After the ducks on parade, we stopped for a drink on Beale Street. Obviously, a pregnant lady probably wasn’t the best guest to be taking to wild and crazy Beale Street but we went at 5pm and only had one drink and fried pickles. It was enough to experience some of the atmosphere and live music anyway. Maybe next time I visit Memphis, I’ll make more of a night of it. We then went to eat at the Memphis Pizza Café where I think we each ate an entire pizza because it was so good and we were hungry from touring all day.

Sunday was our last full day there. We started off the day at Graceland where I quickly fell in love with Elvis (Naomi and Kristen were already in love before the trip). I promptly understood the world’s fascination with the King and by the end of the tour found myself hoping the rumors of him still being alive were true. This is definitely a MUST SEE if you venture to Memphis. After Graceland we toured the National Civil Rights Museum, also a MUST SEE. During the tour, you get to see the exact room where Martin Luther King Jr. was staying at the Lorraine Motel when he was shot. It was a very humbling, somber experience and I shed some tears as I walked by his room. For dinner that night we went to one of Kristen’s favorite places, Babalu, for tapas and tacos. I could have eaten the tableside guacamole there for days but instead opted to get ice cream after dinner at a cute, local place called Sweet Noshings.

And that was it. Before we knew it, it was Monday morning and Kristen was dropping us off at the airport at 5am. We were sad to leave but left feeling content with our dose of Memphis culture and our hearts and memory banks were full of plenty of laughs and stories that I didn’t even get into for this blog.

Now for my second reason for writing this blog. As I said above, I’m extremely proud of Kristen and the woman that she has become. Without going into politics and regardless of your political views you’ve no doubt heard rhetoric this campaign season about electing a candidate who will work to decrease student loan debt, improve the economy so that college kids can get a job right after school instead of moving back in with mom and dad, or revamp the health care system in some way that would benefit you as the constituent. Again, I’m not going to get into politics here. I DO agree that there are flaws with all of the aforementioned systems. However, what I admire in Kristen and one of the reasons that I am so proud of her is that she has never expected anybody to fix her particular life situation for her. She has, for the most part, done it all herself. I think all of the Dissident Daughters will acknowledge that we are all certainly privileged in some ways and have been beyond blessed with the way we were raised and the gifts with which we were born. So I guess Kristen has not done it ALL by herself. But what I’m trying to acknowledge for this part is that she has had to overcome plenty despite her privilege and blessings. I thought about this each night that I stayed with her in her tiny, albeit adultish, definitely not a college dorm or bachelor pad, Memphis apartment.

Here was a young girl who could have just thrown her hands up after college about finding a job in “today’s economy”. Instead, she spent hours researching, applying, and interviewing for TFA. Here was a young girl who could have been too scared to move down to Memphis alone and instead moved back home with her mom. Instead, she packed up her lemon of a car, looked at a map, and just started driving. Here was a young girl who could have complained about repaying her student loan debt. Instead, she constantly asked for my advice and we worked on making her a budget. Here was a young girl who could have complained about being kicked off her parents’ health insurance at age 19. Instead, she worked her ass off to be able to join the military so that she could pay for their more affordable insurance on her own. Like I said, I am definitely not overlooking Kristen’s raw talent, blessings, and a little bit of privilege to be able to do all of this, nor am I saying that overcoming these things alone makes one “successful.” All I am saying is that she is one strong, young woman. I am proud of her and grateful to be experiencing her life journey with her.

Soccer Mom

Hi, everyone. Here I am kicking off Year 3 of the blog and I find myself stymied. I could regale you with the tale of how it took 5 hours to get our taxes done by a woman who knew less about taxes than I did. I could talk to you about my husband's statistics class that has dominated his time lately and has caused him to be able to only say, "This is awful," over and over and over. Or, perhaps the tantalizing topic of  how I couldn't find anchovy paste at Wal-Mart today. Yes, this is my life, at least this weekend it was.  And while i suspect you may have already stopped reading after that all-star line up, I will instead delight you with the tale of being the world's shittiest soccer mom.

My son, Trevor, is 7 (soon to be 8 on April 17). He started his spring soccer season this weekend. Prior to playing, however, we had to certify that we had completed an online tutorial called Alliance for All. It was eye opening for a few reasons. First, I was irritated that this sort of training for parents was even required. Basically, it was a module about sportsmanship and how parents could better support their children in sports instead of acting like spoiled entitled pricks. Okay, so it was said much nicer than my little summation but you get the gist. Despite my initial incredulity, this training is actually imperative because 70 percent of kids quit organized sports by the age of 14.  The reasons for this mass exit vary but some of the reasons given were it was too much about winning, they were embarrassed of their parents behavior and it just stopped being fun. This made me sad. It made me sad because the adults were guilty, at least in part, of ruining the kids' experience. 

Why would people choose to engage in such detrimental behavior I wondered.  What is it about our kids winning that drives otherwise normal people to turn into douches on the sidelines at a U8 soccer game? Honestly, a child's talent or lack thereof really does not reflect on the skill of the parenting he or she has had. Yet, parents act like if their kid is good at sports it somehow means they are good parents. Is that the reason? Because we are all looking for affirmative evidence that we aren't shitty parents? Yet in seeking that out, we cause ourselves to become the antithesis to what we wanted in the first place? 

Or is it because we have allowed our own lives to become so barren that the most important activity we have on out calenders is a U8 soccer game? I, for one, do not have a problem telling you that despite feeling guilty about it, I have tried to allow myself to keep some semblance of a life outside of my kids. It's not easy especially for an antisocial asshole like myself but I don't want to wake up one day and realize I lost completely lost myself while raising my kids.

These are both okay theories but something is missing. Is it human pride or greed? I can't out my finger on it but I experienced it this weekend. Maybe writing about it will help me figure out this craziness. I had to work the concession stand for two hours on the day of Trev's first game. If i had to work the place by myself, no problem. However, I had to work it with....wait for it.....THREE OTHER WOMEN. I know you would think that should be pretty inconsequential but I have a really hard time relating to other women, especially other mothers. Even though I'm a parent, endless talk of children bores me. So walking into a fully staffed concession stand at 10:50 in the morning took a shit ton of courage. It was here, in the grime-ridden confines of a particle board building, that I learned about "The Academy." 

What is The Academy, you ask? Well, I wondered that, too. Apparently, I was way behind the soccer times when kids just played soccer.  I guess if your child is deemed good enough, The Academy swoops in and recruits your child from the club league level. This means only the really crappy players remain in the club. It might as well be called Mediocre Madness or something. Getting called up to The Academy is a big deal apparently because one mom was super proud that her son got the call up at age 9 but she added she wasn't surprised because her son had been dribbling a size 1 soccer ball since he could walk. Trevor, in comparison, was still throwing himself down on the floor bawling like a siren at age 1. 

And that's when it happened. There it was. I was irritated Trevor wasn't Academy material. And if he wasn't Academy material then why should he play? And in that instant I understood that I could easily be a douche on the sidelines with this attitude. I could easily be a parent whose kid leaves sports at age 13 because of me. It wasn't sparked by feeling I would be a good parent if he was good at soccer. It wasn't sparked by the fact I don't have anything else going on. It was sparked by fear. Fear that my child won't be good enough because I'm not good enough. Fear that my child won't make it becase I'm not good enough. Fear that he will be a failure because, yep, you guessed it.... I'm not good enough. All because of the Academy nonsense that I didn't even know or care about until my stint in the concessions booth. But it wasn't really about Trevor being mediocre. It was about me and my fear that I am inadequate and not good enough. And I don't want that for my child. I want him to know he is good enough. He isn't like me. But I'm afraid he will be.

Our world has gotten so complicated and fear riddled. I'm guilty of succumbing to this mentality on occasion and particularly susceptible when I'm in a concessions booth apparently.  I'm guilty of worrying that deep down I'm not good enough and therefore my son won't be either. I think a lot of people feel this way although they may not be able or aware enough to admit it. The quicker the denial, the greater the truth I have always found. Anyway, because of this underlying fear of not being good enough,  we attribute anything we can as "evidence" our kids will grow up okay and be successful adults. Even ridiculous things like being called by the Academy at age 9.  I can't say the fear is ludicrous because the world is a competitive and unforgiving place at times. But it's also a beautiful and loving place at times too. And we have to fight against giving in to the former. Keep it in mind, be cognizant so it doesn't cut your legs out from under you, but don't choose it for your life or your kids' lives. Don't let your own insecurities dictate your kids' experience or life view. Rise above. Or at least keep it to yourself so your kids can make their own choices about life and what it is and what it looks like.

So in the end, I think that the fear of not being good enough is what is behind the truly atrocious behavior that is exhibited by parents during sporting events. How dare you think my kid isn't good enough? Because if they aren't good enough, maybe I'm not good enough and maybe we aren't going to make it.  And so we fight, we argue, we blame, we name call because we are trying to preserve the false sense of self we have hidden behind. Or, hell, maybe it's because we are just a bunch of assholes and I over thought this whole thing. But I really don't think so. Do you?