August 30, 2010

“The Secret” reminds us that whatever you give your attention to, that is what you manifest. What it fails to tell us is whatever we ignore is given permission to do as it likes.

So, when you ignore those pesky credit card bills, they have a tendency to grow, what with added interest and late fees. It’s amazing how quickly those balances grow. If only our bank accounts would grow like that when we ignored them. Just think how great it would be to find an extra $35 in your account because the bank was late paying you your interest. Sure, the interest was only $2.35, but that late fee was $35!

That’s why I try very hard to not carry credit card debt. Try, try, try again.

So, I’ve been quite busy for the last eight months taking classes to get my K-12 credential back up to speed, and I knew when I began the coursework that other things were going to have to give. A friend called to invite me to run a half marathon with her and I was “balanced” in my decision making and told her I didn’t have time to train. My yard has been neglected for the last eight months. There is a new planter area which has been weeded six times now, and is full of weeds as we speak. No, new plants yet, because I had my priorities straight and knew that a few weeds wouldn’t kill me.

What I didn’t count on was looking down last week and noticing that my waistline has been throwing parties and gaining momentum while I failed to keep it in check.  I’ve been ignoring my body. Seriously ignoring it, and last week when we got reacquainted after several visits to the chiropractor so I could move my neck and several visits to the massage therapist so the chiropractor could crack my neck and back, I then looked down to several rolls of fat hanging over my pants.

Sure, I noticed my pants weren’t that comfortable, but I told myself that it was from sitting all day long. Pants are bound to creep up when all you do is sit. I did not think about all that stress eating I’ve been doing.

French fries are wonderful when it’s 2:30 and you still have three hours of work, then a drive home and three hours of homework, not to mention family obligations.

Ice cream is wonderful when you’ve just finished an hour drive home and you still have three hours of homework staring you in the face, not to mention a cherub complaining he has no clean underwear for school the next day. (Of course I bought more underwear. I’m not killing myself doing laundry when there is a Kmart around the corner!)

And chocolate cookies and a glass of milk are just the thing to fill up your tummy for a fitful night of sleep.

Then you look down and notice, that while you were manifesting a brighter future full of opportunities, your body was manifesting a wider future full of computer time.

So, now I am making friends with hunger. I am paying attention to eating only every three hours and then only eating what is good for my body. I am paying attention to exercise. I am paying attention to looser clothes.

Well, at least until I can distract myself with a new venture, anything to take my mind off unpleasant things like tight pants and flabby body parts.

This week I will eat on schedule, work out on schedule and pay attention to how hungry I am all the time, I mean pay attention to how fabulous I will look by Christmas.

August 22, 2010

This weekend Bill and I traveled to Sacramento. I travel quite a bit for work, and have been properly coached on traveling smart by my co-workers.

Like when I was told in no uncertain words, “Purchase an overnight bag, because we are not checking baggage.” God knows that when you are traveling for work, waiting the extra ten minutes for your bag at baggage claim is time wasted. That or the fact that the person I traveled with always got there at the last minute and there was no way we would be able to check bags so late. One of those.

Or the wisdom I gained just from experience. Like how you want to wear slip on shoes and no belts on the days you go through security. Unstringing your belt from self is so unseemly and trodding over to the benches with your sweater half on, your bag tucked under your arm precariously and your shoes in your hands just feels a bit too much like answering the door in your terry cloth robe. 

So naturally I wanted to share this well-earned wisdom with the hubby.

First I looked at his shoes. Nice hiking boots laced up to the middle of his shins. “You want to wear slip-ons when traveling,” I told him in a very kind voice, while tapping my foot and watching everyone else glide to their gate. He strung up his boots very carefully without a word.

He kept asking me what our meal choices were going to be. “If you’re lucky, you’ll get a choice between pretzels and peanuts.” Then I added, “If you order your drink with no ice, you get more than a swallow.”

“Yeah, but won’t it be hot?” 

I shrugged my shoulders. I prefer a satiated state of being, but maybe he’d prefer a big chunk of ice in the middle of his two-ounce plastic cup. To each his own.

When we got to the car rental place, we stood in line because, though I am a priority member, I was too lazy to complete the information on the website, thinking, “It will be late Thursday night. How many people will be there?”

It wasn’t so much how many people were there, but how few clerks were there that caused the problem. And, this is when hubby decided to get all scholarly on me and ask lots of questions.

“If you had taken the time, which would have been, what, about two minutes, to do this on-line, I wonder how much time we would have saved. Let’s time it and figure it out. Right now it’s …”

“So for five dollars more, we could be driving a convertible, but instead you signed us up for the cheapest car. I wonder how much fun would be worth five dollars. Let’s see what tour we can take for five dollars this weekend and then compare it to the fun we would have had driving a convertible and decide if it’s worth it.”

“We have to pay for our own gas? From all the choices, I wonder which car gets the best gas mileage?”

I smiled politely at each of these thoughtful ideas, even though it was well past my bedtime, like 10:30 at night, and we still had to find our way to the hotel.

When we got to the car we were assigned, P27, I walked around the car looking for damage. Of course, I had to explain to my eager student that you check for damage so the rental people don’t try to pin the damage on you. I held up the paper where I dutifully circled above the passenger door where there were scratches in the paint. I explained that we had to turn the paper in as we drove out. Then we drove out without turning the paper in.

“That’s weird,” I said out loud so my pupil would know that despite the odd circumstances, all of my instructions had been correct. I put the paperwork in the glove compartment and explained we needed it when we returned the car.

When we finally got to our hotel, I pulled out the lighter of the two suitcases, no it was not mine, but still, I do believe in equal rights and equal work, sort of,  and waited for hubby to get my suitcase out. When he drug it out of the trunk, directly across the back bumper I screamed.

“We’ll be charged for that!”

“No we won’t, just circle it on the paper they never collected from you. How will they know?”

Alas, there is always the point at which the pupil teaches the teacher.

I shrugged my agreement, but then he went too far. 

“As a matter of fact, since they didn’t collect that paper, which was very irresponsible, I’m going to see just exactly how much damage we can do this weekend. How many circles can we add to that paper!”

Wow, now that’s what I call fun!

I am happy to report that on the flight home, hubby wore flip flops, which he dragged around the airport while he yawned loudly and obnoxiously, but still, I didn’t have to wait for him to lace up his shoes.

Count my blessings. No really, could you and then fill me in because I need some perspective.

This week I will be happy that at home hubby and I each have our defined roles and there is no need to educate one another.

August 15, 2010

I read recently in In the Realm of Hungry Ghostsby Gabor Mate`, MD, that the “…emphasis on genetic causation in medical literature… is astonishing given the shaky logic on which supporting studies are based.” This struck a chord with me because I’m adopted, and have more in common with my adopted family than I care to admit while sober.

I love staying home on the couch watching cable rather than socializing, much like my dad. I share an angry, mean streak with my sister, though we both hide it with the pronouncement that “It’s for their own good.” And we all share a love for mashed potatoes. I’m pretty sure nurture had lots to do with all of these.

So, I had decided that my mind was made up, especially after listening to a speaker at CCARTA sum up that genes only give us a predisposition for illnesses and behaviors, that there has to be a trigger to bring the illness or behavior to life.

But God loves to keep me guessing.

And once I had made up my mind, my son began acting in strangely familiar ways.

He likes to keep his room dark. There are barely curtains on any windows in our home, and they are only closed when we need privacy, which, living on seven acres, is rarely. Except for my son’s room, which is a cave despite my best efforts to open curtains and windows each time he leaves the room. But, he only returns to close everything up again.

Then I remembered that when I met my husband, I thought he was a bear, as in he lived in a cave! His house was dark with heavy drapes closed throughout the house. Once we got married, well, he changed his ways. What married man worth his weight in gold doesn’t give up home decorating to the wife? Especially when his wife is convinced she is cold blooded and will die without sunlight to keep her blood flowing.

Wes has been raised by me, not overbearing me, just very persuasive and I-purchase-the-home-decor me. So how did this happen?

Then Wes came home this week complaining that his car stalled several times on the way home and was sitting in the middle of the driveway. He drives an older car, so we thought it was just old car problems. Bill went out to check on it  and returned to announce that Wes was out of gas.

De ja vue?

When Bill and I first got married we took my Chrysler to a nearby city. I mentioned he should probably stop to get gas, which he scoffed at and away we went. When we got close to our destination, the car kept stalling and finally died.

Bill spent several minutes cursing my piece of junk car, called our friend who showed up to help, help put gas in the car.

It has to be genetic!

I’m so confused. Just when I think I have it all figured out, I don’t. There is one thing though that I am sure of, I have a type of neurosis from trying to get a grip on this whole debate. I hope someone does a study soon of the neurosis created in mothers trying to outnurture dad’s genes in their sons.

This week I will avoid my neurosis by not worrying about whether things are nurture or nature, but instead worrying about whether there is gas in my son’s car and sunlight in his room.

August 8, 2010

If familiarity breeds contempt, where does that leave me after 25 years of marriage? Pretty contemptible?

So, I strive to keep things fresh, to behave in unexpected ways, to be as unfamiliar as possible.

Take for instance the time I shaved my head. We were on a cruise. I knew it would grow back. I left the top long to cover the shaved part. I was hot, as in hot weather hot, as a physical education teacher. Okay, so Bill wasn’t that surprised. I had been talking about it for quite awhile and when I left for my hair appointment, he did say to me, “Don’t you dare!”

“Surprise!” How’s that for unfamiliar?

And there was the time I quit my job out of the blue. It was great timing, because he had just returned from a trip and the same day I quit my job, I also had a lovely visit from the local sheriff about my on-going feud with the neighbor. Despite Bill telling me to take the high road and to just last until the end of my contract…

“Surprise!”

I know when you read those magazines with advice about how to spice up your romance, I’m supposed to wear a new nightie or buy a new perfume and greet him at the door… well, I’m sure you’ve read those articles. Instead, I like to greet him on my cell phone, “What’s up Mother F *#@$%#$?” It’s cheaper and there’s no worry about the neighbors wondering if I have a new boyfriend.

So recently, while we were buying me a new cell phone, I surprised Bill by picking, get this, not the black one, but the purple one.

He gave me a look, like he wasn’t sure he knew me as well as he thought he knew me. I gave him a look back that said, “Yeah, watch out. You never know what crazy thing I might do next.”

So, here’s to keepin’ it fresh on a budget. This week I think I’ll surprise Bill by cooking dinner. I know, I’m wild. He’s so lucky!

This week I will keep my marriage fresh by acting in unexpected ways.

August 1, 2010

One of the pleasures of having children is lying to them to see their reactions. Of course we call it, “pulling your leg,” but really, it’s taking advantage of their naivete, helping them lose it to be exact.

So when our cherub was seven years old, we told him that before we had children, his dad and I were spies. He believed us for awhile, and now it’s a running joke in the family.

I fall down in the middle of the street because I’m digging through my wallet and slip off the curb and Wes says, “Nice spy skills.”

Wes tries to lie to me about exactly what happened at school and I say, “Don’t try it, mister, remember, I’m a trained spy.”

Wes asks for more gas money and Bill tells him, “There is no way you need more gas money. You’re spending it on other stuff and I’ll find out what that stuff is with my spy skills.”

Or, Wes can’t keep a secret and we both tell him, “You’ll never make a good spy!”

So this weekend, our spy skills were put to the test.

Over a month ago, my wedding ring was stolen from my bedroom dresser. Right before my 25 wedding anniversary. I was bummed. Bill was bummed. We tried not to be bummed together because that would have been too much bumming.

There were several suspects. We had had a new bed delivered. There were workers building a new closet in the bedroom. The gardener was over. Our house cleaner and her helper were there that week. And various guests in and out of the house. We were so bummed that now we suspected all of them.

So, yesterday, we decided to hit the pawn shops in town. I figured no one would be stupid enough to sell it at a pawn shop in the same town the ring was stolen from. Bill did not think so highly of our thief. Besides, I thought I might get some new jewelry out of the trip.

The first pawn shop we hit, there it was like the gleaming the sword in the stone and if we could just get it out of the jewelry case, we’d be kings. Bill called a worker over and said, “Can we look at that one, oh,” he ever so slyly added, “and that one there too.”

I tried both rings on and pretended to be deciding on which one I liked best. I played it off so well, that the second ring actually fit me better than my own ring, which has nothing to do with the fact that I am now 30 pounds heavier than when I first received the ring – no, it was part of the decoy plan.

I feigned interest in my ring and Bill discreetly put a deposit on it, telling the worker we would be back with the other $850 for our ring. He was so discreet, he asked questions like, “No one else can get that ring now, right?” and “Where on the receipt does it prove I put a deposit on that ring – could you take a picture of it and attach it please?”

Then we got outside and called anyone we thought would have some good advice for us, ex-cops, current cops, co-workers, friends, and the detective who took the first police report Bill filed.

Having spy nerves, we lasted about three hours before we returned to the pawn shop and asked to see the ring again. I pretended I wasn’t sure if it was the ring I wanted and perused the other rings in the case, but never once asked to try on another ring. Finally, defeated, I handed the ring back to the boy helping me and sat outside on the bench. I didn’t want any other ring, really.

Eventually, the sheriff arrived and announced that the ring in question was stolen and the pawn shop worker apologized and told us that he would be happy to give it back to us, for the price he paid for it.

That’s the law. You would know that if you were a spy!

So now we have to wait for our detective to confirm that it is our ring, then pay $200 for it. We will get to find out who sold it to the pawn shop.  We can get our $200 from that person. Good luck!

Bill plans to also sue for pain and suffering. He’s going to claim that having the ring stolen ruined our 25th wedding anniversary party because I was grumpy, grumpier than normal, and he has witnesses. He plans to call them all to testify to the fact that I was a total biotch at the party. He’s sure he will win.

Of course, that was all part of my spy plan. Sometimes you have double cross even your partner, because I got a second ring out of the deal, which brightened my spirits… for awhile.

So, having spy skills in our past has really helped us this weekend. We can’t wait for the trial to come around so we can draw on our skills from our past lives as professional juror tamperers.

This week I am thankful that there is Salt in my blood, even if it’s Veruca Salt.