Damn You, Pinterest

Be grateful for what you have. A bird in the hand. Don't get your hopes up. Don’t expect too much. 

These words – and like variations - were spoken often in my childhood home.  Expressions and idioms that helped shape the person I am today.  These phrases have often shifted the focus from the monetary (or lack thereof, to be more accurate) and directed me to appreciate my true riches, such as family, health, love, safety and security.  These words have kept me humble.  These words have kept me appreciative. 

   

These words, quite frankly, have left me in the dust.

It wasn’t long ago that I was sailing through life, totally unaware that I needed more.  Yet, in this age of social media dependence, every time I log onto Facebook or Pinterest or Twitter, Instagram or - pick your addiction – I’m bombarded with inspirational and motivating quotes, e-cards and posters just begging me to get off my ass and do more with my life!  

Source - Pinterest

I've got what "what" takes?  And now I have to give it all I got?  Am I giving anything all I got?  Don’t be ridiculous – how exhausting.

Look, I have a happy, healthy family who loves me unconditionally and supports my every effort.  I have friends who would fight a Kraken for me, (I'd have to get 'em drunk first - but they'd fight it.)  a home that’s warm in the winter and cool in the summer, a car that gets me where I need to go, a secure job that affords me the luxury of paying my bills and a midsection that assures the masses I ain’t missing any meals.  I have enough. 

I do, right? (Good Lord, if that isn't codependency in overdrive.)

Be grateful for what you have. A bird in the hand. Don't get your hopes up. Don’t expect too much.

These words, as well meaning as they are intended to be, hold me back.  It’s as if simply wanting more will set off some karma alarm and cause my true riches to fall out of balance.  And thinking I deserve more?  People, that’s terrifying for me to even type.

In the 7th grade I tried out for cheerleader never dreaming I would actually make it.  The day of the results, I remember saying to myself, "Don't get your hopes up, don't expect too much."  So when they called my name for the 7th grade squad, my friend had to nudge me and say, "Uh, like for sure, they just totally called your name."  I was floored.  I had no idea what they saw in me. 

This way of thinking - this slighting of my abilities - has followed me into adulthood. (Heaven forbid it be youthful, taut skin or the ability to stay up past 10 pm.)  It also fuels the other two shackles - A bird in the hand and Be grateful for what you have.  I mean, why reach for more when you doubt your ability to attain more, besides...you already have a bird in the hand.  Be grateful for that.   

Is it just me or does your head hurt, too?

I think this boils down to a generational thing.  When my parents were growing up, these phrases fit their reality.  Their parents had just emerged from the Great Depression.  Housing and paying jobs were scarce.  Food, clothing - everything - was rationed.  Be grateful for what you have and A bird in the hand weren't just words that were said, but actions that were demonstrated daily.   

With the Gen-Xers and the Gen-Yers dominating the the social media show, it's no wonder I can't check Facebook or Pinterest without feeling like my life needs a major face-lift.  This group of individuals are the poster children of "what have you done for me lately?"  If they don't like it, they move along.  Boss piss you off?  Find another job.  Don't like your house?  Move.  Don't like your car?  Buy a new one.  Don't like your relationship?  Go out and get yourself another one.  There's always something bigger and better just around the corner for these guys. 

We Gen-Xers on the older end of the spectrum - we're caught somewhere in the middle.  

When is it okay to want more?

Those of you who have read me for a while know I had a therapist who I assume was high during most of my sessions.  I remember asking him, "Is that okay?" to any decision I "made." He would always respond with, "I don't know, is it?"  I just thought he was being lazy from hitting the chronic, but now I know that the answer to, "Is that okay?" is up to me.  I make the decision as to what is right for me.  I don't need validation from anyone else.

So my decision is yes.  Yes, I do have enough.

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Source - Pinterest

Well shit.

Male Noodles and Halloween Angst

What’s the Halloween equivalent of Scrooge?  Well, whatever it is, that’s me.  Why?  Because Halloween speaks to the creative.  And I, well, I’m the antithesis of creative.  I don’t sew, I can’t draw and my imagination yanks the emergency brake when it feels such intense pressure to perform – like Halloween impotence, if you will.  I’m just not that mom.

Every year my son asks, “What should I be for Halloween?”   And every year, my heart rate increases and my hands get clammy as I struggle to think of something unique and creative.  I can actually feel the right side of my brain cramp as it shuts down in defiance.  It’s not like I don’t have any imagination.  In fact, just recently I realized that my imagination is actually alive and well. (Well, maybe not well - but alive, anyway.)

For example:

Yesterday, I was driving down the highway with my window down, enjoying the beautiful fall weather.  Then, as if I was enjoying life too much or getting cocky in my contentedness, this thought popped into my head - What if a lug nut flies off of the truck’s wheel next to me and strikes me in the head?  Then I answer myself, That wouldn’t happen.  I’m 42 years old and have never heard of that happening.  But then I think, It’s had to have happened somewhere at some time in this world we live in.  And the fact that it hasn’t happened to anyone that I know actually increases the odds of it happening to me.  Then I’m certain it’s going to happen, so I speed up to get ahead of the truck and thank God for the foresight necessary to avoid that catastrophic scenario.

Still not convinced?

How about a little something I like to call Lonely Noodle Syndrome or LNS?  This occurs when I’m making Kraft Macaroni and Cheese.  If one of the noodles is stuck to the bottom of the box, I really have to think about what that noodle wants.  After all, it’s been in that box with the rest of its noodle family all its life.  My thoughts go something like this, I have to release that noodle from the bottom of the box so he can join the rest of his pasta family in the pot of boiling water.  But then I argue, What if his noodle parents sought out that glue for their little noodle, ensuring he would stick to the bottom of the box, thereby evading an untimely noodle death?  

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By the bye, I do a similar thing with toilet paper when the squares don’t tear evenly, but that’s more of a romantic tale, so not fitting for this blog entry at all.

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Sidebar - I’m aware that writing this down for all to see might start a grass roots (or not-so grass roots) movement to have me heavily medicated.  But I have to believe I’m not alone in having these ridiculous introspective battles.   I’m not, right?  (focus on the punctuation)

As you can see, my imagination’s got chops.  I just need to learn how to harness its power and use it for my Supermom good.

I don’t even know why I care.  I mean, throw a sheet over my son’s head and call it a day.  But then I think of that mom and the guilt sets in.  You know the mom.  The one with 5 children who does Krav Maga on her lunch break, volunteers at the soup kitchen on Sundays after church, doesn’t even own a pair of sweat pants, remembers every birthday, and always makes the cutest (and most creative) gifts for teacher appreciation week.  (What would I do without gift cards?)  I bet her kids’ favorite food is broccoli, too.  What a hooker….

She’s like the MacGyver of Halloween costumes.  Give her a stick of gum, a paperclip, 5 marbles and a purple magic marker and *BAM!* The Temptations.  It’s unbelievable. 

How do I compete with that?  Why do I feel the need to compete with that?  Because that’s what moms do.  We don't ever want to feel like we're not giving our all or under-performing when it comes to motherhood.  We don’t all compete with Halloween costumes, granted – that’s just my shallow attempt at attaining motherhood greatness.  Sad, really. 

I’ve come to realize that there are two types of moms in this world: moms who populate Pinterest and moms who scream, Dammit! Why didn’t I think of that!?

And I’m cool with being the latter.  I'm just not the girl who looks at a raisin and thinks, “This would make the most precious reindeer poop for my edible Christmas centerpiece, like, EVER!” 

That is so that mom.