This Says it All.

http://www.onefitwidow.com/being-the-white-elephant/

Idealism and Expectation.

I've been reflecting on these two words for the last several months.  I'm not sure I can even successfully convey the thoughts and feelings I've concluded on the matter.  I don't know if I've even completely figured out how these play into my life.  But this place is where I write stuff down so I guess I'll have a go at explaining myself.

Idealism:  the practice of forming or pursuing ideals, especially unrealistically.  Want a few synonyms?  Dreamer.  Perfectionist.  Optimist.  Romantic.  Escapist.

OK, now how about a few antonyms:  Pragmatic.  Realist.  Definitive.

I am unashamed to admit that I have always attempted to live my life as an idealist.  A perfectionist of sorts, really.  And it totally worked.........

It worked while my life was existing on a tidy, narrow, unsullied path.

Then the earth opened up and swallowed my path and set in its place an unmarked swamp filled with snakes and poison ivy vines and hungry bears.  AND this particular location is under attack by snipers and airplanes dropping bombs.  And did I mention that I was also barefoot and hungry whilst navigating the trail?

That is precisely where my idealism has gotten me.

During our life together, Bill and I had high expectations (see, this is where that other word comes into play) for ourselves and each other.  We were very compatible in this way.  We both agreed on the "way" we should live, how our kids should be raised, the types of activities we involved our family in, and the types of people we would associate with.  We were particular to a fault and most likely a little bit uppity because of this.  (insert clearing of my throat here)  None of that negative stuff mattered to us because in our little world, the one we so carefully created and tended, we were happy and felt like we were thriving.  But just as a beautiful flower garden dies away when the first frost touches its blossoms, so have I found myself with the remnants of our life.  When the first, albeit major storm hit, then WHAM, all those carefully laid plans fell apart too.

Now as I look backwards, I can see how our idealism was the complete opposite of what we were striving for.  It didn't help me, instead it has impeded me.  I am unprepared for "real" life stuff.  The rules we had don't apply to the rest of the world and I'm kind of old to be relearning this basic truth.  It's frustrating to be so immature and inexperienced when I really am quite the reverse. In reality I'm marginally intelligent, creative, honest, and hardworking but completely illiterate and blind when faced with the realities of life.  Trust me when I say that the irony is not lost on me.

I can run a household with my eyes closed but I can't recognize when I'm being taken advantage of or being lied to?  I am really good at being a wife and mother and taking care of others but I'm unable to navigate my own life by myself?  I am independent and crave solitude but being alone is too isolating and desolate for me now?

What the hell is wrong with me?

Now let's talk about expectations.  Hopes.  Ambitions.  Dreams.  Aspirations.  Beliefs.  The expectations that we hold are what create the idealism.  By adding all the expectations we possess together we create the ideal.  See how that works?

There is nothing wrong with having high expectations for oneself.  In fact I believe the reverse idea, having little expectations of oneself, is a more detrimental notion.  Having low expectations might make us feel as if we're doing well when we're actually existing at a sub par level.  I've always felt that having high(er) expectations can help us achieve our greatest potential.  There's nothing wrong with working hard or at least trying hard and then reaping the benefits of those successes.  But when those expectations cause the correct priorities in life to go awry, well then, that is how we fall into the snare of idealism.

For example, is striving to have a magazine-worthy house more important than having a comfortable home where people and their detritus are emphasized and embraced?  Is working long hours or going into debt in order to have the latest and greatest more important than freeing up precious time in order to nurture and create lasting relationships?  Are we forcing relationships that are not healthy in order to appear fulfilled and connected to another instead of concentrating on the real, messy, honest ones?

Certain choices may look great from the outside but in the end, only our pride is satisfied.  Our souls hunger for the real stuff.

So I guess the conclusion of sorts that I have come to is that life is not a well-rehearsed movie set.  Life is not about blindly ignoring the ugliness and imperfections that exist around us, pretending our way is the best and only way.   Life is about accepting the raw and unbeautiful.  It is about humility and openness.  It is brutal honesty and uncomfortability.

Life cannot be lived in a sterilized fortress.  Even one that is carefully and thoughtfully constructed with no ill intent directed towards others.  Indeed, my idealism did not originate from a place of viciousness.  I never wanted to make another person envious or feel badly about themselves (which I do believe is a common byproduct of idealism) when observing my life.  If anything I suppose I was hoping to inspire or encourage people who I might come in contact with.  How silly that seems now.

The world is big.  Almost inconceivably big.  And I am just one more person trying to find happiness, create something beautiful, and give love and acceptance to those I may encounter.  Over-zealous and unrealistic ideals and expectations just give us a false sense of control and interrupt the true process of living.  That is, after all, what life is--a process.  A process we must not try to manipulate but instead, allow to unveil whatever is ours to possess in the moments.  Sometimes it will be amazing and sometimes it will be raw and ugly.  We must be willing to take it all and trust the process.

Let There Be Peace.

I am neither political or religious.  Not to say that I don't have strong beliefs for either topic.  Indeed I do.  I do not, however, embrace any kind of division between people.  Any and all people.

I am ignorant to the particulars of politics.  I care not to align myself with any singular ideology or person.  I care only about kindness and generosity and compassion.

There is so much rage and selfish behavior today.  Probably tomorrow too.  The cries against (the fears of) divisiveness seem to have multiplied overnight.  Everywhere I look there is hard, unyielding idealism relentlessly pummeling against opposition.  That constant striking will surely cause things to crack or maybe even shatter?  Or could it just wear the sharp edges off and create something softer and smooth in its place?

Evil or saintly, right or wrong, left or right:  none of it matters because I choose my own way.  And that way is love.  I will love my family and send them out into the world with hearts full of compassion and unselfishness.  I will strive to be a loyal and loving example to my friends.  I will hope to give generously to those in need in my community.

There is where our power exists.

The sun will rise today and tomorrow and the next day.  And I will decide how to live on my own terms.  Election results are only a singular piece of the world.  Keep it in perspective.

Ultimately, the only way to triumph in this life is through love.

I Can't Decide on a Title.....

This is a post dedicated to all the single parents I've ever encountered.  Or even the ones I haven't actually met.  Or the people who have been single parents at one time but aren't any longer.  OK, so this post is a shout out to single parents everywhere.  Yeah.  That should do it.

I am a single parent.  Not by choice, mind you, but that's not really the point of this post.  I am parenting solo.  By myself.  Alone.

And it really sucks.

Parenting in any situation is a thankless job.  Kids are selfish little punks by nature and looking for recognition and thanks from them is like looking for the proverbial needle in a haystack.  It ain't gonna happen!  Day and night, year after year, we nurture, feed, teach, shelter, and love those brats and get nothing in return.  We drive them to their activities, sit in the (hard) bleachers for hours on end, bake cookies at midnight for last minute parties, and stay up all night watching over fevers and barfers.  And let's not even start with the incredible amount of worrying we do.  All parents, single or not, spend crazy amounts of time worrying about their kids.  And the ingrates don't even care.  It's a thankless job, I tell you, truly thankless.

But to take on the responsibilities of this job by yourself, well, that's just a whole 'nother story.

Take my Tuesday for example:  I got up at 5:30, made coffee, packed lunches, got myself ready for work, started a load of laundry, started the fire, fed the cats and dog, fed the chickens, and got something out of the freezer thawing for tonight's dinner.  Then I got the kids up, fed them, oversaw backpacks and lunches and football/dance bags, and was out the door at 7:15.  Then I worked all day.  Took #4 to dance in Stayton, went for a run whilst waiting for dance to end, stopped at #3's parent/teacher conference, fielded 4 phone calls along the way, and finally made it home for dinner (the dinner that I thawed out this morning) around 7:30.  Dishes, laundry, homework, fed animals, hunted for missing chicken, packed lunches for tomorrow, and did a general tidy up of the house.  Practiced spelling words with #4, braided #4's hair to keep it tangle-free to prevent morning tears, checked with #3's homework which then yielded the request for a load of laundry to be washed in time for a football game tomorrow, listened to #1's activities for the day, found #2 and heard about his day and his plans for tomorrow, and then took a shower.  Transferred the laundry, hauled in wood, folded laundry, and then got into bed.  Remembered that I forgot to sign some school papers and pay the VISA bill.  And then remembered that I forgot to call about an insurance issue and an IRA issue.  Which then made me panic about money.  Naturally I was unable to sleep and my stomach started hurting in response to my anxiety.  And then my alarm went off and it all started over again.

Single parenting is definitely NOT for the faint-hearted or weak.

So I just want to say to all single parents that I appreciate your hard work and understand the unique struggles and pressures that you face.  Holding the responsibilities of a family on singular shoulders is very hard and thankless.  There is no one to share both the difficulties and joys of life with.  Constantly making decisions, big or small, is exhausting and confusing.  Opportunities for fun and leisure are few and far between.  There is always, always something on the sidelines waiting to be dealt with.  There is no break.

But know that I see your efforts and feel your exhaustion.  Know that you can call on me anytime and I will help you however I can.  Many hands make for light work.  Don't forget that.

On Being Scared.

I'm not afraid of very many things.  I'm not afraid of making a fool of myself in public (just ask my friends) and I'm not afraid of physical pain (I've had a goodly amount of children).  Death does not scare me.  I am not afraid of clowns, spiders, or the dark either.  Airplanes and boats do not make me afraid but they do make me sick.

But tonight, tonight I feel scared.

I don't like the idea of being by myself in this storm.  Not just this storm, but any storm really.  Where I used to love falling asleep to the sound of the wind and the rain through an open window, now it just makes me scared.  What if a tree falls on my roof?  What if my roof leaks?  What if the power goes out and I can't start the generator?  What if the pump quits working and I have no water?  What if the road gets blocked and one of my kids gets hurt and I can't get through?

I guess when I hear that a storm is coming I get scared because I feel the burden of responsibility pressing down heavily on my shoulders.  My shoulders alone.  No one else can help to carry this responsibility.  It is mine alone.

And that scares me.

So I'm Going to Rant For a Minute.

I've lived a quiet life.  At least up until the last few years.  It was quiet, simple, and probably a little boring to an outsider.  So boring, in fact, that no one would ever want to waste their time discussing any part of it.  Hell, there probably wasn't anything even worth talking about.

And now, now everyone has something to say about me and my life.

So here comes the rant.....

How did I end up back in 7th grade again?!  That was 30 years ago and lately I feel like I've been dropped back into the cafeteria at SMS.  Now I just have better clothes, gray hairs, and I can't get in trouble for swearing at someone.  But seriously, where does all this preteen drama come from at my age?

"Who's talking about who?"  "She said what?"  "I saw them walking together!"  "Do you know what I heard?"  Blah, blah, blah.  (Make sure you're reading this in a dramatic 13 year old girl voice, OK?  That really gets the point across.)  And so many of these stories come from people who are unknown to me.  Really.  If you're not one of the three people I talk to on a regular basis, it's safe to assume no juicy information is coming from my mouth.  I WISH my life was so exciting and scandalous.

It's also safe to assume that unless the subject matter is:
1.  my declining eyesight
2.  why am I so tired?
3.  do you have homework tonight?
4.  why is there so much laundry again?
5.  get me the fu*&ing vacuum.
6.  crock pot recipes
7.  where am I working tomorrow?
8.  who's turn is it to do the dishes?
9.  why AM I so tired?
or
10.  what are your plans tonight?

then I'm probably not too interested in whatever it is I'm allegedly discussing with others.  Make sense?

Here's the thing to remember.  I am busy.  Really busy.  I work two jobs, have 4 kids with lots of activities they're involved in, a household to run, animals to take care of, stuff to do.  All.  Of.  The.  Time.  By myself.  There is not enough time in my day to compete in the gossip Olympics of the greater Mill City/Gates area.  And really, who would want to?!

Come talk to me if you want my chocolate chip cookie recipe.  Or if you want to talk about knitting or quilting or canning.  Or bees or gardens. Or tell me about your family or your dreams or your fears.  Let's discuss world events or what we ate for dinner.  Tell me every funny story you can remember.  Let's play cribbage and have a drink.  Let's laugh until beer comes out our noses or cry until all the tears have fallen. Let's just be kind and supportive.  Most of all let's just have fun.

Just don't misrepresent me or the words that come out of my mouth.

My world is small and I like it that way right now.  What words I do speak are spoken quietly and you have to really listen to understand their meaning.  

Are You Ever Too Old?

That's kind of an open ended question.  Of course there are things in life that you can definitely get too old for.  Breastfeeding, maybe?  Birthing children, of course.  Gosh, I can't think of anything else off the top of my head right now though.  Weird.

So that brings me to the title of this post.  Are you ever actually too old for anything?  A friend once told me that he was too old and set in his ways to ever start over again.  And he spoke these words like the idea was something he wasn't exactly happy about but rather something he had resigned himself into believing.  I think I might have stared incredulously in response to this statement because here I was, in the middle of the process of "starting over again."  Now, I did not purposefully make the decision to change but instead had it thrown at me.  Mine was a response rather than a choice.  

But still.....

I was doing it and trying to make the best of it.

So what is it that makes us cringe when change presents itself in our lives?  I'm pretty sure the answer is simple:  F.  E.  A.  R.  Yep, it's nothing more than fear.  Fear of failure, fear of giving up control, fear of ridicule, fear of feeling uncomfortable.  Fear of the unknown.  I think that's the answer.  We are afraid.  Afraid of the change.  It's not that we are controlled by our age it's that we are controlled by our fears.

Think on that for a moment.

I've been pondering this truth for a while now and trying to be mindful of it while making decisions about my own life.  Change can be good for us.  Even when we aren't looking for it or prepared for it.
Trust the process.  That's my mantra.

I hope that I continue to learn new things for the rest of my life.  Even hard things.  I hope I can embrace my fears (notice I did not say conquer them--that's a whole other story) and still allow myself to be open to the new.  New ideas, new people, new activities, new places.

The older I get the more I firmly believe that happiness and contentment come with letting go and allowing the process(es) of life to usher us to where we need to be.  Uncomfortable?  Yes, sometimes.  Scary?  Heck yeah.  Confusing?  Probably.  But we must quit fighting against it and allow the process to unfold and present the next beautiful opportunity for us to embrace.

Let That Sh%t Go.

Someone (well intentioned) asked me the other day what was the hardest part, thus far, about trying to navigate through this new life that I had been unceremoniously dropped into.

(So maybe I should explain briefly what happened to me, you know, just in case there is one person reading this who doesn't know me or my story.  Really?!?  Surely only people who actually know me read this stuff?  Anyway, to catch you unknowing reader(s) up on my life:  My husband died unexpectedly--like totally unexpectedly--in January of 2015.  After nearly 20 years of marriage--and an excellent one too, I might add--I was left alone, with 4 kids, no job, and no idea what to do or where to go.  No idea at all.  There now.  You're caught up.)

Hmmm.  It got me to thinking.  What was the hardest part?  Was it being alone for the first time in my  adult life?  Was it trying to raise children by myself?  Was it having to find a way to support my family after being "just" a wife and mother for 20 years?  Was it the complete lack of security and stability that I now encountered daily?  Maybe it was the suffocating sadness and grief that was always my companion?  Could it be losing my best friend and thinking I'd never find someone who understood me and valued me as much as Bill?

Oh yeah, those things all suck for sure.  Trust me when I say that they REALLY suck.  But none of those examples represent the hardest thing I've had to face.

The hardest thing has been learning to let go.  Obviously letting go of my husband is the very hardest thing.  I kinda loved him a lot.  But it's all the other things I had to learn to let go of as well.  I'm still learning!  Nearly every day I confront a new reason to let something go.  It's hard and exhausting and confusing.

I have let go of the need to keep a spotless house.  I have had to let go of some ideals for living that no longer can be prioritized.  I have let go of the ban on Gatorade, Gogurt, and Fritos.  I've had to liberate certain emotions, pull up my big girl panties, and just plow on through some stuff.  I've had to let go of a few grudges.  There are even people I've had to let go of.  Now THAT is hard.  I've had to let go of my pride and ask for help at times.  I've let go of the idea of having that traditional family, white picket fence and all.  I've given up home schooling and enrolled my kids in public school.  I haven't baked bread in months.  My garden looks like a weed (not THAT kind of weed) patch.  I'm pretty sure we've had ice cream for breakfast and dinner and I've drunk whiskey before noon.

But the worst thing to let go of?  That's easy.  It's the idea in my head of how my life was supposed to turn out.  Not all the little details, but just the general story of how things should have unfolded.  It's something I struggle with every single day, this letting loose of the vision.  I am reminded with each event or experience I encounter what could have or should have been.  And each time I have to just let it go.  I suppose it's becoming more like a mirage now.  Something vague and not completely formed that I can just glimpse from a distance, all the while knowing that the existence is not real.

I have to let go of that vision because even though things have changed I'm still here, the kids are still here, the picket fence is still here.  But now I'm just waiting on a new vision to form.  And I'm finding that I'm not so good at it.

The BAS

Let's change directions on the blog for a moment, shall we?  Let's take a vacation from sad and lonely content (trust me, it's not going anywhere) and focus on something different and fun.  Let's talk about the BAS.  That's short for Big Ass Sofa.  Here's a picture of it:

It's like an island really.  An oasis of comfort and snuggliness.  The BAS begs to have the multitudes relax against its down-filled, cozy cushions.  I have always wanted a giant sofa that invites you to sit down and spend hours watching bad TV.  I've actually never owned a comfortable sofa so I think that's why I've never spent time watching TV.  That's all going to change now.

Here is the BAS today:

See all of those kids sprawled out on it?  And I'm not even sitting on it in this picture, though my computer is indicating my chosen spot--the chaise lounge.    I'm afraid the extreme comfort of the BAS is encouraging sloth-like behavior in all of us.  I'm also afraid a mini fridge will be the next addition to this area.  The only time we would need to leave is to use the bathroom.

I can see it unfold now:  Computer?  Check.  Phone?  Check.  Gummy bears and assorted snacks?  Check.  Beverages,  both adult and child types?  Check.  Extra blankets?  Check.  Extra pillows?  Check.  Stack of books?  Check.  TV remotes?  Check.

All set then.  Just think of the pillow forts this thing could create.  Or the intense games of "Hot Lava" that could be played on it.  Slumber parties will be incredible!  So if you come to my house and I'm not in the kitchen (which is where I usually hang out) be sure to check the BAS.  I'm sure it's where we'll be.

Alone.

It begins to wear on a person, this constantly being alone.

 I was reminded of it rather painfully tonight while putting the kitchen in order after dinner.  I feel the emptiness when I set the table and that one plate is missing.  And I feel the void when I wash the dishes, again,  by myself.  Used to be when I filled the sink with warm, sudsy water Bill would turn on some music (more often than not it was his play list not mine--ugh), reheat a cup of coffee, and then just sit and talk to me while I washed.  Sometimes he'd sweep the remnants of dinner off the floor and sometimes he'd field the requests from a kid in another part of the house.  Sometimes he'd dry.  But we always spent that time cleaning up the detritus of the day together.  And it was time filled with conversation, love, and contentment.

I'm reminded of how lonely I am now when I've just spent 4 hours mowing the yard or trying to figure out how to repair a leaky bathroom faucet.  When I go to pick up the phone and make that lunchtime phone call to share the happenings of my day, I am hit with the sadness that there is no one on the other end of the line.  I feel especially alone when I'm faced with the dailiness of parenting all of these kids.  Bad attitudes and behaviors, knowing how to help and encourage their choices as they mature, or even wrangling those who insist on making bedtime difficult, all rest on my shoulders.  There is no one else to share these burdens with and the loneliness is just intensified with each day.  Attending any sort of event by myself is just plain depressing.  I'm always the third wheel.  There is no one to tell my fears to.  No one to listen to my dreams even.  No one who's world exists in the exact same place as mine.

Yes, yes, I know I'm not the only single parent in the world.  Please, I'm not so insensitive or irrational to insinuate that I am the only person who lives with this plight.   But my reality remains different because my situation is different.  Hell, just look at some statistics on becoming a single parent via divorce vs. by a spouse dying.  You'll see then that my situation is dramatically different.  You see, I was happy in my marriage and was not craving any "alone time" or an escape from anything.  I actually liked to be with my husband way more than I wanted to be by myself.  And suddenly I was forced into creating a new life where I was always by myself.  I'm not so good at it.

I'm not really complaining.  I know that I have so many things to be grateful for.  My kids are all healthy and happy.  I have family and friends who I can ask for help and who provide me with excellent love and support.  I have opportunities to spend time with amazing people doing the things I love to do most:  fishing, drinking coffee (ok, or beer), Goodwill shopping, watching baseball, sharing a meal, running, playing cribbage, or just spending time laughing together.  It's all good and I am thankful for that.

But there is one thing that is missing and I cannot shake the feeling of it.  It's like there is always this shadow following me around, peeking around the corners at me and leering over my shoulder.  Some heavy feeling of dread (sadness? loss?  anger?) that settles itself in and around my heart that keeps me from feeling like I'm really living.

And there is no cure or escape.

Do you suppose you can ever get used to it?  And would you even want to?

A New Space.

A deep breath......

I believe it was time to make a change.  As much as I love my old blog and will forever cherish the memories and ideas and images I captured within its space, I think that particular platform is no longer in step with my life.  Unfortunately.  Unfairly?  Realistically.

Can't keep trying to fit the round peg into the square hole, right?

So I'm trying to figure out what I'm going to share here now.  I'm a pretty transparent person--never been good at hiding anything--so I guess what I write about will just be what's going on in my head, my life, or my imagination.  Funny because sometimes they're all the same!  Maybe it will be more like a journal that I'm writing things down in with the hope of gaining some clarity into the frightening mess that is my over thinking mind.  Will I find patterns or hidden agendas or unresolved issues?  Who the hell knows?!

This is a space, my space, to share.  Like it or don't.  Be inspired or not.  Think I'm an idiot or that I'm brilliant.  Decide to learn to knit or not.  Feel like growing beets or spray Roundup on your grass (don't really do that).  Go for a run or decide to sit in front of your computer all day.  That's all up to you.  But this is my space.  I'll do what I want here.