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mamakaren's posterous


If Mama ain't happy, nobody's happy

Filed under: NaBloPoMo

"Give a man a fish, he eats for a day..." and all that

I was reading some posts on the BlogHer NaBloPoMo page, and this one was particularly poignant to me. I make no secret that my children have things going on in their lives that are much larger than my capacity to fix them. I spend way too much time being either concerned about the solutions I don't have or the possiblity that I am to blame for their issues. (Hubby's answer of "There's nothing diagnosed at all on my side of the family" in response to a question from the doctor about any genetic predisposition to mental illness still rings in my ears and makes me kind of queasy. He says he never meant it to be an accusation about my own depression and anxiety, but the leap from "it sure didn't come from my gene pool" to "Karen's the one with documented problems" is a short one.)

I realized recently, maybe within the past three months or so, that trying to fix things may be counterproductive. Maybe the best thing I can do for my children, Princess most specifically because she is the one most like me, is to help them fix themselves and let them know what can go away without being fixed. I've seen a difference in her since I stopped saying "here is what I recommend you do," and started saying "Gosh, that stinks. Let me know if you want to talk more about it." She's already heard what I think she should do to combat the things that make her angry or sad or anxious. Sometimes now she just needs reassurance that it's OK to just feel bad about things for a day, then move on. Because sometimes it's OK to have a bad day. I want so badly for my children not to get hurt, not to fail, not to face crappy moments in life. But I can't make that be true, and I shouldn't want to. If I fix everything, if I never let them learn to face the hard spots, they can't survive, And that would be a much bigger problem than any of those I tried to fix along the way.

Hair today...

I got a haircut last night, which I badly needed in order to avoid my Cousin Itt look. Because I am cheap and I wear a basic layered cut that anyone with a cosmetology license could do in his or her sleep, I went to Hair Cuttery (affectionately known in my family as "Hair Butchery" after the overly enthusiastic cut my sister got before her senior year of high school- I think she lasted through all of her undergrad before cutting her hair again). My stylist kept trying to convince me to get my brows done. "No, thanks, just the haircut," I said. She kept telling me that it's look so good, I'd be so happy with the results. Now don't get me wrong- I have no issue with anyone deciding to wax whatever needs work, but it is just not my thing. I got a bikini wax once and, while it really didn't hurt as much as I feared it would, I was perfectly happy to stick with at-home hair removal methods. I'm not exactly Frida Kahlo, so I figure that tweezing is enough for me. But now I've gotten all self-conscious about whether my face looks like I'm emulating Bert from Sesame Street. Apparently I am the last of the civilized woman in the DC/Baltimore metro area without a waxer or laser hair removal provider on speed dial. Sent via BlackBerry by AT

A little research would go a long way

On Wednesday there is an open house at the parish school. Hoss was enrolled in the school through the beginning of second grade before the administration requested that I withdraw him. Princess was enrolled from kindergarten through the beginning of seventh grade, but her continued hospitalization issues last fall caused them to erect many hurdles to her re-enrollment and we found better services through the public school.  When we took Little Joe for testing prior to kindergarten, the school did not accept him.

Imagine my surprise when I got an email inviting me to come to the open house, so I could see all of the wonderful programs available to me as a parishoner (provided I want to write a check from $600+ per child per month)! Come meet the charming faculty and staff! Bask in the community where, as their tagline says "spirit and mind rejoice."

I am not happy that no one cross checked the email list that the school staff pulled from (I would assume) the religious education registrations to make sure that they were not targeting anyone who'd been pushed away from the school already.

Weekend thievery

Normally my weekend is decently split among specific committments, loose committments and optional activities. By that I mean that there are some things I have to do on the weekend at a designated time (e.g., teach religion class from 9:00-10:30 on Saturday), things I need to do at some point before the weekend ends, but I can set the schedule (most notable is the dreaded grocery trip) and the stuff I just do because I want to. This weekend, optional activities are getting the short shrift.

My quarterly meeting is tomorrow and Monday, which means my "specific committments" category expanded by almost a full day. I have to be at the office no later than 10:15, since my meetings start at 11, although I'll probably be there closer to 9:30 just to deal with any early birds whose flights got them to DC in advance of their report time. After committee meetings until 4:45 (with no lunch break, so my meeting planner promised to have a meal that was easy to nibble on whilst taking notes), a full group discussion from 5-6, I'll herd the cats to the shuttle for our dinner reservation.

My Sunday typically consists of getting some knitting done or catching up on some DVR'd shows from the previous week (often both at once!), then grocery shopping mid-day and an afternoon spent ensuring that all of the homework and projects that the kids ignored all weekend actually get accomplished. This weekend, however, I crammed all of my weekend responsibilities (which included an additional "specific committment" in serving 4:00 church tonight) into one day. I did foist the homework oversight to Hubby, once he gets home from golfing, and I put the planning of how he was going to handle childcare during said tee time in his hands.

The kids were off school on Friday because of a countywide professional day for the end of the grading period, so they got to enjoy a three-day weekend. I told Hoss earlier than he got an extra day and that I lost one, which only means one thing- My children are weekend theives! Call the parental time police!

The lost and found art of writing

I am participating in NaBloPoMo on BlogHer this month. This you know, because it's only been four days since I started and you are all capable of reading my previous post informing you of such. I may not have a plethora of readers, but the ones I have are smart.

I decided to use the prompts provided by the folks in charge. So, I give you...

When you are writing, do you prefer to use a pen or a computer?

That is actually a good question, and I plan to do that annoying thing where I answer with another question- what do you mean by "writing"? Although I don't usually refer to myself as a writer, I am one in various forms.

I am a professional secretary, basically. (My title is much fancier, but the bulk of my work is administrative support and project management for our board, so "executive secretary" is what I say to people who want a short answer to "What do you do for a living?") When I am working, I prefer my computer. I take notes at my meetings on a laptop, not a pad, and I compose background documents for the meetings electronically. I edit electronically most of the time, too, although I sometimes print out long documents for a final proof because I sometimes catch things that I don't when I look at them on a screen.

I like email and texting and social networking for personal communication, but I sort of regret the decline in note and letter writing. When I started college, my mom used to sometimes send me cards to randomly cheer me up. Getting mail was fun. People don't write many letters anymore. I write a note in my kids' lunches every day, a habit that started with Princess when she needed some extra encouragement from me during the school day. The boys asked me to give them notes, too, and I complied. When my Nanna moved out of her house into an assisted living facility last year, I got a bunch of boxes of stationery from her that she had accumulated over the years- one with fish along the border, one with a little drawing of a cafe table in the corner of each sheet, one that looked like a knitted fabric. I ran out of paper last week, and after hitting three stores, I was only able to find one set of actual stationery. There were plenty of note card sets, anywhere from 10 to 20 per box, but very little in the way of sets with sheets of paper. Now, my notes are not so extensive that they can't fit on a notecard, but sometimes it's nice to have that extra space to write a bit more or draw a silly picture or something. There is something appealing about putting my pen to paper and having a message in my own loopy writing. I still write "thank-you" notes and my kids do them as well (many family members get TY emails from the kids, but I still make them do handwritten notes to some people).

I've long since given up on writing poetry (the teen angst I put to paper all those years ago is best left to the recycle bin) and never got into writing stories. I keep notebooks around for jotting down knitting patterns as I create them in my head, but if the pattern is ever meant to be reproduced, I eventually put it into an electronic format. 

The only problem with the decline in my "pen to paper" writing is a decline in my need for pens. I am absolutely addicted to office supplies, and could spend a fortune on different colors and thicknesses and ink types. But that is a post for another day, I suppose... 

Just another day in paradise

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It's Thursday and I'm tired.

Thursday and tired are not related. Tired is my default, and Thursday is just what happens a few days after the workweek starts and a few days before it ends.

I had fully intended to blog last night about the flotsam and jetsam of my Wednesday, but I just...didn't. I cooked dinner and I did some knitting and watched some TV and tried to put my head into a place where I could write something worth reading. That didn't quite pan out. There is nothing particularly earth-shattering going on, either positive or negative. It's just more of the same. Princess is thirteen, so rebellion in the form of refusing to do school work (and thus bringing home grades well below what she is capable of) is to be expected. Also to be expected is Hoss bouncing off the walls and being a smart ass at dinner last night. And Little Joe refusing to eat anything from the soup except for the pieces of bow tie pasta. The quarterly board meeting is coming up this weekend, so while the kids get an extra day of rest (school is closed tomorrow for a professional day), I lose one of mine. I told Hoss that he was a weekend thief- I am missing a day and he's got an extra, so he must have stolen it from me. It was meant to be funny, but I don't think he appreciated the humor. Yesterday's note in his lunch ("Mom, write something funny today!") included my Goodfellas impresonation- Am I clown?! Do I amuse you?! He didn't appreciate that that humor either, I don't think.

Many of my friends are doing those "30 days of thankful" things on FB and Twitter. I am thankful for many things, but I wonder how many people I would alienate with my list?
  • I am thankful for my DVR, otherwise I'd never have anything to talk to my cubemate about
  • I am thankful for my Tassimo, because I'd go broke if I bought all those coffee drinks at coffee shop prices
  • I'm thankful for SSRIs, stimulant ADHD remedies and anti-psychotic meds, because 13 and 10 are hard enough ages on their own without the addition of mood disorders
  • I'm thankful for pizza, because it's one thing all three of my kids will eat without complaining or trying to negotiate ("If I eat a whole green bean, can I have another biscuit?")
  • I'm thankful for food trucks, because a cupcake in the middle of the work day makes me smile
  • I'm thankful for control top pantyhose, because I like cupcakes a bit too much
  • I'm thankful for the master bathroom being situated far enough away from the rec room that the shower drowns out any arguements over whose turn it is to be on the computer
  • I'm thankful that Mark Harmon has aged well. There was a long stretch between St. Elsewhere and NCIS, but he is still looking good.
  • I'm thankful for pinor noir, because...seriously, do you even need to ask why?
My life does not suck. I know people who have sucky lives, and I know I am nowhere close to having one. This week, though, the stuff is kind of piling on.

So what kind of blogger are you, anyway?

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I sometimes hesitate to tell people that I have a blog, because altogether too often I get the follow-up question. And I don't know how to answer.

What kind of blogger am I?

Some bloggers are funny, but I fail at my attempts at humor fairly often. Some are inspirational, but I can't claim that title, either. Some are smart and thought-provoking, but I spend a bit too much time watching competitive reality TV to fall into that category.

I post about my family, but I don't consider this (or my previous blog, which I've been decidedly unsuccessful at importing) a parenting blog. Lately I've posted a lot of knitting pictures, but anyone looking for a knitting blog to help them improve their craft will be sorely disappointed. I've contributed periodically to a couple mental health/support sites, but that's only a part of who I am as a blogger. I write about work and about family and about hobbies and sometimes about nothing in particular- I write just to get words on a screen and out of my head.

As I jump into another year of NaBloPoMo (National Blog Posting Month), in which I attempt to write something every day for a full month- an endeavor at which I've tanked each time I've done it in the past, but hope springs eternal- I am trying to wrap my head around who and what I want to be as an online writer. Who or what do my readers want me to be? Do I even have readers? How can I get more readers? If a blogger puts words to screen and no one is reading, did she really write anything of worth?

Welcome to my blog life, which is just as disjointed and difficult to define as my actual life.
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