April 25, 2010

I’m starting to feel like a rerun. No matter how much I try to mix those navy blue slacks and sophisticated white blouse with a different blazer, sweater or scarf, it all feels the same.

On the other hand, I hate unloading my shopping bags to place them in the closet only to find I have an exact replica of my new pieces hanging at the back of my closet.
My tight closet is part of the problem. It is a walk-in. It is also a walk backwards out because there is no room to turn around. This is a problem, along with the fact that I share it with my husband.
So I spoke to my contractor who is going to come up and build another closet in a corner of our bedroom. My husband’s clothes will be moved there, and I will have twice the closet space. I’m looking forward to being able to see all the clothes in my closet without having to squeeze everything into one corner and then slide each piece an inch to view. It reminds me of squeezing myself into those skinny jeans so many years ago. If I have to lay down on the bed to accomplish my goal, it’s time to size up.
I think I may still have those skinny jeans in my closet. Maybe that’s why my closet is so full, my inability to accept I will never fit into those jeans again.
A friend this week explained that he has three wardrobes: “I’m in shape,” “I’m slipping,” and “What happened?” I have several wardrobes too. “It’s the weekend,” “I’m staying at home,” and “I need to impress.” Unfortunately, I also have all three of these wardrobes in various sizes. So I guess I have six wardrobes, or more depending on how you label them.
So, though I am feeling like I need to go purchase some new pieces for my wardrobe, I’m wondering what exactly I will find in my closet once I’m able to spread everything out, and if I will be able to part with those skinny jeans that I would never wear again anyway (unless I get to be in the next Disney Movie when I come back as a youngster who has the body for those jeans) or if I’ll hang onto them for nostalgic reasons. I can hold them up to my grand children someday and they will be amazed that their grandma ever wore skinny jeans.
Actually, I’m amazed I ever wore skinny jeans. My tolerance for being uncomfortable was much higher way back when…
Which brings me back to my closet. I’m sick of not knowing what’s in there. It makes me uncomfortable knowing that the only reason I’m a rerun in the wardrobe department is because I am unable to see all those gorgeous clothes I have and hanging forlornly waiting for me to rediscover them.

This week I will refresh my wardrobe by going through the clothes I have, besides I have no money for new clothes with how much that new closet is going to cost.

April 18, 2010

I believe in the Buddhist (not Booty) proverb, “When the student is ready, the teacher will appear.”

I also believe in the Norwegian proverb, “Experience is the best teacher, but the tuition is high.”

So, I’ve been reflecting on my experiences over the past few weeks and think there might, just might be something there for me to learn.
Lately, I’ve been surrounded by people who think they are smarter than they are. Seriously.
Like the woman in my spin class who wants to tell me how to breath to maximize my oxygen intake so I can increase my oxygen to … blah, blah, blah ratio. Okay, I might already be a bit irritated with this woman because she is talking during the workout instead of breathing hard. I just wish spin cycles had a speedometer on them so I could very discreetly make sure I am pedaling faster than her and that is why she is able to blab away during the workout instead of just pedaling to the music like the rest of us. Besides, doesn’t all that talking screw up her oxygen to … blah, blah, blah ratio. I know it’s bring her some bad mojo. Yes, from me.
And there’s the nice enough seeming gentleman who smiles at me at the library. Yes, I smiled back, but just to be polite, not as an invitation to get all up in my business. Then he’s asking me which books I’m checking out so he can school me on how the authors I’ve chosen aren’t really worth my time and here, he’ll get me a few books that are well worth my time. Luckily, I ditched him in the stacks, threw my books on a desk and ran out of there with my dignity still in tact.
Or the childless coworker who wants to give me parenting advice. Really? So, that works with your lhaso apso when he refuses to eat his vegetables. Yeah, I’ll try that with my seventeen year old, or I’ll let him eat cake.
After one too many experiences of this nature, I started to wonder … maybe I’m not as smart as I think I am. Perhaps, just perhaps, I’m walking around spouting off about stuff I think I know a lot about when really I know very little.
Of course, I preface all manner of spouting off with these words, “I read a report that said…” That gives me some credibility, right. Or, if I’m quite sure of myself, I demurely state, “In my experience…” because I know your experience might be vastly different. I’m sensitive like that.
Still, I wondered. Are people rolling their eyes at me when I turn my back?
I found a trusted friend and confided that I thought maybe I’m not as smart as I think I am. He reassured me that I am very smart and have nothing to worry about. He even gave me some good examples of exactly how smart I am which I’m much too humble to share with you now.
I felt much better, until a few hours later when I wondered, maybe my friend is as smart as I think he is, but a bad judge of character.

So experience has taught me, schooled me really, and the tuition has been my bruised self-esteem.

This week I will be patient with all the smart people around me and remember I’m just mostly a smart aleck and no one appreciates a smart aleck when they are imparting the gods’ genuis to mere mortals.

April 11, 2010

A few days ago, my seventeen year old cherub asked his dad to go check to see if he left his running watch in his car. It would be a strange request, unless you know my cherub.

This is the boy who went away to camp and called four days later to announce that someone had stolen his wallet. He was at camp with his teammates, so my husband and I were a bit disbelieving that any of my son’s roommates would have stolen his wallet.
“Are you sure it’s stolen?” was our first question.

“Did you check in your back pocket?” was our next. We went down the list from there. My son informed us that even Coach had helped him look for it and couldn’t find it, so it must be stolen. I instructed him to not accuse anyone and just assume that whoever took it needed it more than him and to not worry, we’d get him all new stuff when he got home – a new wallet and license and even new spending money.

Then he got home and after I cleaned out his duffel bag, guess what was found, his wallet.

So, my husband went out to my son’s car, last Tuesday night, and looked for the watch. This is one of those watches with GPS so my son can track his running mileage. Then it has a program which tells him what his average mile time was, or his pace, how far he went and what his mileage so far for the week is. It is a major part of his training routine, to be sure he is running far enough and fast enough. Why else would we spend over $200 on a watch?

The watch was not in the car. I checked his backpack. It was not there. We asked for a retelling of exactly what had happened that his watch was missing.

“I put it on the hood of my car, got distracted by everyone else, then drove away with it still on my hood.”

I guess he thought the watch was David Blaine and could jump through glass and metal on its own. It wasn’t.

My husband drove to the high school, hoping the watch was sitting in the parking lot. He figured forty minutes out of his Tuesday night was worth $200. He’s a gambler that way. Too bad he lost that night.

When we broke the news to the cherub, he was eerily calm. “That’s okay. I need a new watch anyway.”

Before I tell you my reaction, I need to do some back story here. The cherub does not have a job and that new watch was going to be paid for by… right, you got it.

I laughed. Not the jolly, belly laugh you might have expected. More the high-pitched, my head suddenly hurts laugh.

“But Mom,” he responded. “That’s how we upgrade in our family.”

Really? What family is he spending his time with when I think he’s in school or in bed asleep.

“Think about our boat.”

And I did. We had a perfectly good 18 foot ski boat for 15 years. Sure the upholstery was ripped and the gel coat was a bit faded, but it ran fine, well, except for the occasional smoke coming from the engine episodes, but that usually happened right when you were ready to jump in to cool off anyway. We kept that boat, until it was put to pasture in the middle of the Mojave Desert, flying free from its trailer to deposit itself where we would no longer insist it keep up with our friends’ new boats. Then we bought a new boat.

I sighed. So, the cherub had learned that if you have something that works perfectly good, you do not replace it, no matter how much you want the new, shiny  whatever. You wait until the thing is no longer functioning, or it’s destroyed… or lost.

Luckily, when we had bought him that new fangled watch, I took his old watch. I wore it once and was so depressed by the honest facts, I haven’t worn it again.

I went to my bedroom and pulled out that old watch and handed it to the cherub.

“That’s okay, I’ll run without a watch for awhile.”

This week, I will be a good consumer and shop, but only for those things I really need.