Stepiphany

I’ll live, probably.

It started out as a twinge in my lower back while I was alternating housework with the 3rd season of LOST yesterday.  I was concerned, because my twinges have a tendency to grow into giant life sucking monsters, so I immediately tried to stretch it out.  I laid myself down and curled my knees to my chest, twisted from side to side, did several cat-cow rotations, and sunk into child’s pose.  It seemed a smidge better.

I popped a couple of muscle relaxants and went back to cleaning up the toy room.  I knew I was a goner when I moved my leg to better reach a toy box and observed the bleeding stump there on the floor.  I know, I’m exaggerating, but that’s the last time this post.  The stupid limb was still attached, but the white hot pain wanted to debate that fact.

So I gave up on industry and considered a hot bath. By the time I made it to the bathroom, I was in tears. (Here is where I mention that I had four children sans epidural, the last two at home with ZERO pain medication, before or after. It’s contextual information. It speaks to my normal pain tolerance. Thank you, come again.)  I ran a hot bath, dumped in a load of epsom salts and dissolved into tears.

Because it hurt. Because Paul might have cared more, might have taken a break from leveling his 37th consecutive WOW character, had I not instigated a “therapeutic conversation” 36 hrs prior.  But unfortunately, he didn’t care. I would be punished for my honesty, you can be sure. When I asked for his pain meds, he cavalierly tossed the empty bottle into the air as if he’d imagined a time when I might need them and intentionally let the prescription run out.  How does he do that?

He walked in and asked if I was ok. Because when a woman is curled up naked in the bath tub bawling like an infant, the situation is a little unclear. I shook my head. “HUH?” he said? “Nuh-uh-no” I stammered. “Ok, let me know if you need anything”, he replied. “Oh, Here, let me turn that water off. It’s already up to the overflow.” Yeah, thanks for the help. He doesn’t take baths, so he doesn’t know that it’s ok to let the hot water keep running to keep the tub warm when you’re in agonizing pain. I resumed the hysterical sobbing until the water was too cold to carry on.

I somehow got myself out of the tub and dressed myself by holding onto one wall while leaning against another. It’s a lovely picture, I realize that.  Paul may have felt I was being melodramatic. That’s only because he was unaware of the invisible giant who mistook me for a Thanksgiving turkey and was trying to twist my leg off to feed to his kids.

The best part of all this is that I had time to crochet my son a scarf while I sat medicated on top of the heating pad watching the rest of Season 3.  It took a lot of distraction and a moderate dose of vodka to make it throught the day, but I made it out with my leg. I’m limping, but I’ll live.

I do this to myself 2-3 times a year. If I knew how, I’d quit.

I haven’t been writing much because I’ve placed some restrictions on myself based on present priorities. Priority one: eat healthy and exercise; Priority two: devote the month of January 2010 to getting my house in order. That’s literal and figurative, because they are linked.

So…eating well and exercising takes some planning and time commitment, and until it becomes natural, it will stay at the top of my list above all others. I’m down 30 lbs since August, which isn’t bad and is definitely progress. The declutter thing is a huge time committment. I’m neglecting my favorite tv shows, blogs, and facebook, and I haven’t logged into World of Warcraft in a month. Amazing how someone with no hobbies manages to fill her time, huh?

The first week of January, I cleaned out my closet, reorganized and decluttered my living room and bathroom, set up chore lists, meal plans, and a functional calendar.  Week two, I cleaned my desk, decluttered the kids’ bathroom, sorted through my files, and organized my bills. Week three I painted my kitchen cabinets and then wussed out for the rest of the week. This is week four. So far I have declutterd my bedroom dresser and scanned all of my outstanding bills so that I can shred the originals. I need to tackle the kids’ room, but I keep procrastinating. It doesn’t help that by the time I am done with my workout and dinner, it’s their bedtime. It’s looking like this project may start to bleed into February.

That’s ok because it feels pretty good to get my life in order.

While I’ve been painting my kitchen for the last three days, I was lucky enough to get featured on a local website. Please check it out: http://918moms.com/pages/webpage/?wpid=1

I’m in the middle of a 30 day declutter/home improvement spree to kick off my new year, but I will start posting updates as soon as I can sit still for longer than five minutes!

So…now that the holiday season is officially over, I’ve got a few things to say about this supposed War on Christmas everyone is talking about.

For instance, it’s bogus. At first I thought that it was just the same kind of silliness that we had in the seventies when people got all up in arms about writing Xmas..People were screaming “don’t take the Christ out of Christmas!” back then, too. And I was with them then. Until I learned that X is a symbol of the cross, which is a symbol for Christ, making it a perfectly acceptable abbreviation.

But this is much bigger than that. At least it’s trying to be. At least the people freaking out about it are trying to stir it up to be something much, much bigger. One mentally challenged elected official has gone so far as to propose a law mandating the use of the actual phrase, “Merry Christmas” and making it illegal to use the phrase “Happy Holidays”. Apparently, this asshat is completely and blissfully unaware that 1) We have a constitutional right to freedom of religion and 2) that same article promises us the separation of church and state. I’d like to help him, but he probably doesn’t know what any of those words mean.

Beyond that, how the hell is anyone offended by the phrase “Happy Holidays”? Ok, so maybe if you’re Jehovah’s Witness and don’t celebrate ANY holidays. I’ll give you that. But even still, wouldn’t it still be ok to wish someone happiness, even on a holiday they don’t celebrate? I will accept that I may be missing something though, and that it could still be offensive for those who don’t believe in holidays at all. For everyone else though, seriously. Chill out.

When I was a kid, I interpreted the phrase “Happy Holidays” as an all-encompassing greeting to include all festivities between Thanksgiving and New Year’s Day. It seemed like a shorthand for wishing someone good tidings during the entire holiday season. It wasn’t until I was an adult that I realized that it was also a nice, generic way to greet someone of unknown faith or traditions. It’s condescending, annoying, and offensive to assume that you know which holiday, if any at all, that random stranger (or even coworker) might celebrate. This scenario was expounded upon a few days ago by The Mother. It’s just ridiculous to assume that everyone celebrates the same as you do.

Happy Holidays is a perfectly nice way to greet someone, and acting as if it’s a terrorist act against your deeply cherished beliefs mocks our hard-fought freedom and scores of victims of actual religious persecution. Seriously, the audacity astounds me. Oh and by the way, have any of these people stopped to consider that the orginal meaning of the word ‘holiday’ is “holy-day“?

The other side of this story is that Christmas itself is a co-opted pagan celebration that got religion and then became predominantly secular again. I personally celebrate a secular Christmas, drawing on traditions from ancient times (evergreens and lights) as well as delightful icons of more recent origin (Charlie Brown, George Bailey, and Elf). I have just as much right to my celebration and traditions as observers of Christ’s birth (which, btw, probably occurred in Springtime) have to theirs.

So if the only choice is between celebrating your way or not celebrating at all, then I’ll find something else to do in December. I doubt I’m the only one who feels this way. If all of us pagans and secular observers stop celebrating Christmas, then there will be a decreased demand for decorations and holiday movies and tv specials. Restaurants, stores, and movie theatres will be open. Other businesses will be open, and people will no longer have the day off at all. Christmas will fade into a sweet little church service once a year for the faithful. And it won’t be Happy Holidays that killed Christmas as we know it, it will be your petty, pious, asshattery.

Fortunately, there is a third option. I, and others like me, will continue to sing Christmas tunes, watch Christmas movies, feast with our families, and wish each other Happy Holidays. Adapt or perish.

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Here’s what happens when I’m snowed in:

chrismakkuh3

Originally uploaded by stephanelynn

I’ve been as lazy as possible this holiday season, which means I’ve only made forty new festive dishes. I only have five major events to cook for, and we’re limiting our festivities to observing only three world religious celebrations and the high holy day of eldest son’s birth. In addition, my mother is moving this weekend and I’m not real confident her new place is a sure thing for Christmas Eve. That woman is resourceful though, so I’ve got no choice but to believe her that it will be until proven otherwise.

Sometimes I tend to get very quiet when I am dealing with personal challenges. I’ve got a lot of that going on right now.  In the last few months, a couple of people in my life have walked away from me.  I’m a hard person to love at times. I get that.  In addition to that, I’ve had to focus on my and my family’s health more intensely than has ever been necessary.  Some of it has been scary, and just so you know, it’s pretty challenging to be a supportive, giving person when you’re scared to death. 

I’ve been through it before, when my grandma was sick.  It’s a fine line between supportive and helpful and overbearing and controlling.  I don’t always do a great job of staying on the right side of that line.  I just hope the people in my life will understand my motivation and forgive me.  If they don’t, well…I’m just trying to live a truthful and genuine life.  It’s the best I can do.

So we’ll see your lost friendships, tense family relations, and health crises; and we’ll raise you crippling financial insecurity.  This is what the universe gives me. I don’t like to talk about financial stuff.  It is just a topic that is too personal to be understood by those on the outside. There’s always judgement, because no matter how lucky or unlucky a person is, there were choices made along the way. And a lucky person will always believe that their choices were inherently better than an unlucky person’s, even if those choices initially had equal value.

Knowing this has helped me be less smug about my kids’ fortunate immune systems.  Suffice it to say that we are surviving.  We are not alone in this, most of the country is in survival mode.  I am not worried about Christmas. My kids have had scarce Christmases before. I’m not worried about losing our home. So I know I’m lucky. I’ve got shelter and my family.  It’s a storm that we can weather.  I’m just saying that I’m stressed about my 1995 van that has been neglected and is now demanding a lot of attention and buckets of cash.  I’m stressed about trying to afford both my health insurance premiums AND healthy food.  I’m stressed about the people I love getting the healthcare they need. Above all, I’m scared of depression sweeping in and making me hide under my bed away from it all. I’m scared of losing ground emotionally and physically. 

That’s why I am breaking my own rules and putting this post up for maybe five people to read.  I need to get some of this toxic stuff out of my head. I need to stop internalizing it all. I need to share. I am brave, but what I’m facing is not unique to me.  Many people have survived much worse.  Hell, I’ve survived much worse.

…the only thing we have to fear is fear itself—nameless, unreasoning, unjustified terror which paralyzes needed efforts to convert retreat into advance. ~ FDR

A few months ago, I noticed something about myself that I didn’t like.  I noticed a very strange reaction whenever someone in my family said “I love you”. I stiffened. I cringed a little. Obviously, I was alarmed at this response and concerned for my own emotional well being.  What sort of horrible, unresolved issues could I possibly have to invoke such a response to affection from those I love? I might be sicker than I think. I tried to pretend it wasn’t happening, and then when that didn’t work, I got pretty worried. After analyzing it and making some observations though, I think I’ve got it figured out.

See if you can spot the pattern too.

“I love you beautiful…you wouldn’t want to make me some popcorn, would you?”

“Mama, you’re dabestindaworld….and….can we go out to dinner?”

“I love you mama, will you make me some toast?”

“You look pretty, Mommy. Can I get on my computer?”

“That’s a nice shirt Mom. Can I go to the movies with Jenny?”

“I love you SO MUCH mama! What’s for dinner?”

Are you seeing it? My family seems to be extremely skilled in behavioral psychology and positive reinforcement, don’t they?

But here’s the deal. When the reinforcement comes before the action, then the reinforcement becomes the action, and the reinforcement becomes negative. As in, everysingleflippingtimesomeonetellsmetheyloveme, it means they WANT something. So I stiffen and cringe. Ick.

It was really hammered home for me yesterday morning when I was gingerly climbing over my four-year old to get out of bed at 5:00 am and the voice from the other side of the bed, the one who had another lovely few hours of sleep ahead of it, said “I love you baby, will you bring me my phone?” Ick.

I don’t mind doing any of these things, and I know my family loves me unconditionally. But whatever biological mechanism it is that responds to behavioral conditioning does not. What would Pavlov prescribe for this conundrum?

We headed back to the Pumpkin Patch on Sunday so the kids could feed the animals. The running commentary in this video, from almost every member of my family, is typical of every day of my life.