Reflections

Ordinary Days

A blog on Budapest is in development, but then there was this headache...

This pile of papers reminds me that every mountain top moment is preceded by an arduous climb and followed by a descent into the mundane, where foundational character is built and dirty floors are swept. 

This excessive collection of travel books, along with the opportunity to use them, signals that I am gradually shifting focus to spending more on experiences and less on things while a peek in my closet gently tells me there is still more work to do.

This unrelenting headache, though I wish it away, my real-time cue to remember that I get to choose my thought patterns, every moment of every day.

This unhurried cup of coffee reminds me that I have moved beyond the busy zone to a place where relationships have room to breathe and ideas to percolate, where journals are friends and clocks not masters.

This padded belly, which no longer responds to my crash demands, jests at the number of rice cakes I’ve been spared and softly urges me to drop and do a few crunches because ten minutes of exercise is better than none.

This unpredictable flicker of self-doubt in the steady stream of other people’s  greater intelligence/beauty/achievement/fill in the blank, where a quick scan of my rank only caves me in, is not a call to action to compare but a cause to celebrate for a world where gifts and talents are widely scattered. 

The magnitude of disquieting news around the world now piped into all our homes, an urgent invitation to move from the couch to our knees and to call the “me train” into the station for a moment. 

This modest ring on my finger compels me to count the years that I have been well cherished, and think of those who are in between seasons of being someone’s most prized gift.

This wrinkle, no these wrinkles, which carry the stories of my many sunny days lived.  The contrasting smoothness of my child’s skin a summons to drink up the beauty of being able to pass on those stories.

This reach for my phone to connect a flag that I have flesh and blood in the other room if not waiting at least open to a story-time interruption, eager to lavish on more than just a “like” for well-placed humor and drama.  

The recall of only yesterday, in all its unremarkable and yet unforeseen twists and halts, which shouts at me once again to stop fantasizing that future-proofing is possible.  It is not. 

It is today, and it’s an ordinary day.  Most of them are.  However, I’ve temporarily sidelined worry and spent time on the floor with crumbs, crunches and petitions.  With that, I’ve gotten some clearance to see that today’s harrumphs deserve a round of applause – headache and all.

Be the Be-Loved for Someone

I was on a bit of a rampage yesterday.  It was not a cleaning frenzy.  Instead, I was leaving notes around the house reminding a certain family member that he is loved.  Some Moms do this consistently with daily lunch notes or other methods.  I decided on the full court press.  I was feeling it and wanted him to know.

I left notes in his room, in his basketball shoes, in the pantry.  I co-opted every screen in the house with a selection of “You are Loved” wallpapers.  There was the note on the bathroom mirror near his Axe hair cream: “Did you know that God loves you so much that he knows the number of hairs on your head?  Axe Him!”   (I’m not too proud to say that I did a selfie LOL.)  The note near a window that he sometimes likes to escape out of when mad: “FYI.  Neither height nor depth, nor anything in all creation -- including this window – can separate you from the love of God.”  The note under his pillow with my string of pearls, “Guess what.  YOU are the pearl of greatest treasure.”

Oh my goodness, he is.  A pearl.  How does he not know that?  Some of us get that we are loveable without much convincing.  I’m like that.  Others of us are naturally more suspicious that we can be loveable without doing something to deserve it.  Some need to hear it over and over again until it penetrates.  I think I used to think he wasn’t listening.  Now I think some people just have a thin understanding of this and when they get bumped or bruised by life, it’s like starting over again. We all learn at different paces and have different thresholds for the reps we require.  Some of us need to hear the same message in several different ways.  Cheap flattery won’t get it done – the suspicious among us have radar for that – but it’s always appropriate to BE that someone who reminds the people we love that they are Beloved.

I’m not suggesting my full note assault is parenting to model.  It was a little over the top for one 24 hour period.  In fact I knew it was by the time we got to the written out mealtime prayer, which was opened belatedly.  By mid meal we were all in happy laughter, and the time for blessing our meal was passed.  One of the boys tried to humor me by reading though the noise, until the boy it was intended for asked if he could read it instead.  It was kind of too long for the moment, but we all tuned in for the punch line: “Love never fails.”

Someone you love needs to hear that today.  Remind them.   Then remind them again.  Get a singing telegram if you have to.  Every rep counts.

Let’s Talk About the Flu. My Flu.

This American Life aired a story in November 2013 called “The Seven Things You’re Not Supposed to Talk About.”  The show was about the things you’re not supposed to talk about not because they are controversial like politics and religion, but because no one cares.   The seven off-limit conversation topics according to this one French lady’s list include:  how you slept, your period, your health, your dreams, money, diet, and route talk (ie which road and how long it took.)  I might also add to this list:  your busyness.

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It’s a solid list, but one that I have every intention of transgressing right now.  I’ve been sick this week.  In bed kind of sick.  I’m calling it the flu though this has not been confirmed by a swab test.  I’ve wanted to sound Facebook alarms to let the world know my miserable status, but instead I’ve been saving up all the depressing details over the last 72 hours for this post.

I really don’t want to make this post all about me though.   You have had the flu before too.  (Although I’m sure mine is worse of course.)  I want to stay people focused and offer some general tips on what we all want when we have the flu:

Bulleted speech.   We need those around us to speak in short sentences allowing space in the conversation for us to whimper and you to say, “You sound awful.  Anything I can do?”

Why yes, read on.

  • First things first, please don’t ask us if we got the flu shot.   No is a complicated answer.

  • A thermometer that runs hot.  A temperature of 100.8 does not tell you how we really feel.  If anyone asks, I’m adding one degree.  That’s what our rectums would have said anyway.

  • With a well-supplied water heater and a shower stool, we’d really like to make the shower our primary place of rest.

  • A proxy to drink all this water that is being asked of us.  Please, please help us hydrate.

  • Your spouse to vacate the bed on first symptom onset, and then go clean the bathroom.   This will all go down easier if you have the bed to yourself and the toilet bowl rings gone in case you need to heave.  We don’t know when and if we will throw up (and YES we know that vomiting is not common with typical flu), but when your nose is discharging phlegm to your stomach signaling nausea– we need this contingency plan in place.

  • All the blankets in the house.  Every last one of them.

  • You know how when your body aches and you just wish someone could be there massaging exactly where it hurts without any direction –not too hard and not too soft and for very, very long.  We want that more than anything.

  • Honey Nut Cheerios in a snack bowl.

  • Advil.  Every 4 hours ON THE DOT.

  • Your forgiveness for only being able to like pictures, funny stuff, or things that don’t require an extra click on Facebook.

  • The VANITY bullet: Hair that lays down flat and naturally dark eye lashes. 

  • We understand the pounding headache, sore throat and dry cough but we need someone to explain why even our gums ache.  And then make it stop. Advil doesn’t seem to know about the gum situation.

  • Sick clothes – warm fleeces, elastic-waisted pants, house shoes and maybe a kitty to borrow.

  • A house delivery of chicken rice soup … which has just arrived thanks to Holly!

Turns out my community of friends are total rule breakers.  Feeling the love from friends near and far.  So ... Tell me your dreams!  Tell me your exercise plans! I’m all ears – they just happen to be a little stuffed up right now, but then again – you knew that.

Dear Dads of boys

I know this is a little unusual to share, but I share it in the hopes that it might be an encouragement to you Dads.  Guys: your sons need for you to be tender with them.  They need to know not just that you love them and are proud of them, but that you have their back when things aren't going so well.  They want your compassion just as much as they want your help problem solving.  Our 10 year old has had a rough week, and Brett is traveling.  Brett isn't a Perfect Dad.  He makes a lot of parenting mistakes like we all do, but he got this one right. 

Brett wrote this email to Colin during his busy work day today.  He asked me to print it out and give it to him when I shuttled him between basketball practices this afternoon.  I made banana nut muffins for the occasion. 

Colin,

I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you this morning.  I’m proud you found the strength to go to school.  Mom told me you were very sad.  I was very sad to hear that when I landed in London.  It made me wish I could be with you.  But, I’m so glad to hear you persisted.

I want to make sure you know a couple of important things.  You are not in trouble and no one is mad at you.  You know the whole – “he has bad form on his jump shot….” –“does that mean you don’t like him, Dad?” exchange we have on various topics?  We know you are having some challenges at school, but that does not make you a bad person or that we (or other people) like you any less.  I think it’s really important that you know you have a lot of pulling people for you.  Mom and I are trying very hard to help you with the confusing and frustrating things. That’s our job and we couldn’t be more committed to that job.  It doesn’t mean that we, or other adults, are always going to do or say exactly what you want.  But, we really are trying to do what’s best.  We are praying and working to find ways to help.

Remember when we talked about the sermon  where God doesn’t make mistakes and he always puts us exactly where he wants us to be.  Well, it’s probably not very fun working thru some of the things you are right now – but God made Colin Ballbach in a certain way and he has a plan for who you are going to become and right now – in 5th grade, in Luxembourg, in Mr. Fosters class, at ISL, playing basketball, playing Xbox, with 2 brothers, a Mom and Dad that love him, a passion for sports and stats, a warmth and kindness that he shows his family, a dislike for bad food, a brave boy, a courageous boy – that’s where God wants you to be.  I don’t expect you to understand now, but one of the things Mom and I have learned now that we are old (and, boy, are we old) is that the times we really grow and get better are when difficult things happen NOT good things.  We don’t really get better when things are easy.  So, you are learning a lot and we are here with you.  And, believe it or not you are growing.  We can see that.  I saw it in how you calmed down after the disappointment of going to Gabe’s and how you reacted at times on the Venice trip.

Here is all that we ask of you:

1) Do your best – do the very best that you can in every situation. 

2) Be Kind and Respectful

3) Trust – trust us, trust God.  Know that all of us want whats best for Colin.  It won’t always make sense or seem like that.  But we do.  Please trust us.

We love you very much Colin.  I hope you have a good Sparta practice, good evening and a GREAT day at school tomorrow and trip to Dusseldorf.  I can’t wait to hear about it and see you on Saturday.

Love,

Dad

And for the response?  Silent reading, hard fought sniffles, lots of muffins consumed, a call to Brett's mobile with a quiet greeting: "Is this a convenient time, Dad?" and then the watershed.  A big one. 

Dads, it doesn't matter your physical geography.  You can move the earth under your son's feet from a neighboring country when you let them in on the geography of your heart.   Not just your heartbeat, but the contours of your specific, totally unique love for them.  Don't wait for a celebratory moment.  If today was any indication, the valleys are good opportunities.  And Moms: banana nut muffins can only help.

What kind of Salt are you shaking?

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One of the advantages of living in Europe is access to affordable Fleur de Sel, the revered French finishing salt found off the coasts of Brittany.  Not only does it make everything it comes in contact with taste better, its name – unlike the ordinary Table Salt - encourages you to season with a flourish.  

Salt has often been used as a metaphor for words we speak.   It got me thinking about all the different types of salts and how they, like words, have the ability to enhance or bring out the best when used in the right context.   They say women speak close to 20,000 words in a day in contrast to a man’s 7,000.  I don’t know what they say about American women living in a French speaking country, but I do know that word count takes a massive hit.  Either I’m delivering fewer but more potent words, developing my masculine sensibilities or simply creating space in my head to think about things like Salt.  It’s still early in the day, and already I’ve launched some careless, gossipy and impatient words so the former can’t possibly be true. 

Yet, as I study and learn more about the many Salt options that line my counter – all of which flavor whatever it touches – like words, we can all use different salts for different purposes to create a salty pleasure or a salty disaster.  None of us want to intentionally ruin a dish because we weren't paying attention to our salt shaker.  

First, let’s just agree to table Table Salt.  It’s not interesting as a flavor enhancer, and because it’s laced with additives it conjures up the disingenuous words we parrot, or use to embellish or hide what we really want to say.  It’s the words we say for an audience, but would have a harder time saying to a mirror.  Sadly, it’s the blather we hear when most politicians speak.

Chunks of Rock Salt, while not suitable for cooking, serves a specific function in ice cream machines and as a chilly bed for oysters on the half shell.  It’s those words we use only in specific situations that demand it.  These are not words that enhance as much as they are words that help lower the temperature or preserve safety.   It’s the “Look Both Ways” command we give our children.

Kosher Salt is used in all kinds of cooking as it dissolves quickly; its coarse crystals applied in rough pinches rather than precise measurements.  It’s like small talk – the words without staying power, the ones that don’t have to be measured.  It's permissible gab that can be flung far and wide.  Kosher Salt is also used (in abundance) for curing meats, but then rinsed off before cookery begins much like the permeability of mindless chatter of talking too much or about nothing at all. 

Sea Salt, the dancing partner of caramel and chocolate and anything in need of a burst of flavor, is most often used not during cooking but after.  Like the words we speak - context matters.  A word said in haste, before the thought was fully baked, loses its impact for pungency.  Sea salt comes in various textures and irregular sizes depending on its mineral makeup.  Our words too can be coarsely delivered or spoken with fine precision, and what we say won’t always be consistent.   But the beauty of Sea Salt is that it’s naturally occurring impurities can add a subtlety to a dish that may not be repeatable just like the arcs of our words in unexpected conversations.

Then there are the infused Sea Salts.  Lemon Salt, Rosemary Salt, Truffle Salt and a hundred other combinations you didn’t think possible.  Perhaps those lovely embellishments of citrus and herbs are the gestures of attentiveness we do as we speak, or acts of kindness that follow up to what we say.  Or, maybe when a combination is unsavory or imbalanced it’s like body language that doesn’t match our words, or when a flavor like truffle overpowers everyone in a room.

Some salts, like Sea Salt Flakes, are best enjoyed when you release the flavor by crushing the crystals between your fingertips.  Likewise, some of our words need to be massaged first in order for them to add the right flavor note.  An uncrushed Sea Salt Flake might be rendered tasteless, or worse leave a bitter after taste, when a slight adjustment could have made the difference between a word falling on deaf ears, or hostile ones. 

Concentrated Pickling Salts, made of 100% sodium chloride and not fortified with iodine, release their flavor over time, turning cucumbers into pickles and radishes into something almost edible.  These are the words we speak with a bite because they are true; the unfiltered words that can sweeten or sour for months under a tightly capped lid.   These are the words whose trajectory we may never know.

Finally, Fleur de Sel, the special occasion salt fit for a beautiful jar, the Caviar of all salts which has spawned a new industry of Finishing Salts like it.   The unevenness of the crystals which are harvested by hand which "bloom" with just the right mix of sun and wind means it lingers in your mouth – the smaller crystals dissolving first, making way for the larger crystals to then melt and follow with a punch of their own.  The resulting bite tasty, multifaceted, yet wonderfully balanced.  It’s the words we say that linger because they were spoken with thought and care.  It’s about allowing our unique experiences of growth from the sun and tumult from the wind to shape what we say into something real, maybe even vulnerable.  It’s about leaving room for a pause.  It’s the words of genuine interest or well-timed encouragement that travel from ear to heart, lifting that which was ordinary into something special.   But it doesn’t have to only be a special occasion salt.  It could be our everyday salt - because a little bit can go a long way.

“Let your conversations be always full of grace, seasoned with salt.”

(Note: I got some info on the types and tips for using salts from this Real Simple article.) 

Bumbling Fool

Watching my happy-go-lucky six year old son at play recently, I asked him one of those ridiculous, impossible questions: “What’s the secret to your happiness?”   He did not have an answer for me.  I didn’t really expect he would, but I hoped.

It felt a lot less ridiculous of a question when my good friend Holly mentioned (unprompted) that she had JUST asked her six year old daughter the exact same question.   Word for word, in fact.   Either Holly is keeping the told secret to herself, or I’ll choose to believe that her charming daughter did in fact demure with “I don’t know.”

We must all want a little dose of that six year old carefreeness.

It got me thinking that if I were ever asked that question, I should think about how I might respond.   So far it’s not a question that has come up much.  We read books about it, but rarely do we ask each about it.   I’ve got a long way to go before one might ever mistake me for a beacon of carefreeness, but I’m pointed in that general direction and I do have my what's-up-with-her-Jim-Carey-happy-days.  And if ever someone asked ME what the secret to my (not) youthful skin was, I’d have to segue straight into my secret for happiness answer.

If I want to play it safe, my answer would be gratitude.  It’s definitely part of the answer, but it’s more a byproduct of the honest, braver answer.   No one is offended by gratitude which makes it safe, and most of us have experienced the altering impact that gratitude can have on one’s outlook.  I’m a total believer in the whole Gratitude movement.  But … it’s not “thank you” that I murmur under my breath countless times a day.  It’s “Jesus.”  He is the source of my happiness, and He’d really rather me not keep it a secret.

I’ve been a Christian for a long time, but I only started this bumbling of “Jesus” throughout the day in the last couple of years.  I’d like to call it a spiritual practice, but really it’s just my shorthand for wanting to stay in touch with the God of the Universe when I’m too lazy/tired/annoyed/angry to offer a real prayer.   As my pastor says, “Jesus didn’t say ‘Come to the Truth’ (like Socrates) or Come With It All Figured Out, he said ‘Come to Me.’” Right before that Jesus talked about how he was the Way to the God of the Universe.  And He specifically directed this open invitation to those that are weary and need a rest, which for most of us, happens about a dozen times a day. More if you have children.

The daily workings of our own life along with the myriad of relationships we simultaneously enjoy but have to work at, compounded by those few relationships that we can’t escape, is enough to make us all weary.  Then there is all the mess we can’t control, but also can’t ignore – another grim story about Syria and the 2 million refugees, a friend who’s gotten cancer.  And then there’s the stuff like wet towels on the bathroom floor we wish wouldn’t get under our skin but does.  These are the moments I offer my “Jesus” popcorn prayers.  The moments where thoughts of gratitude are maybe helpful, but completely inadequate.

Turns out that when “Jesus” is what your inside voice is saying, your outside voice naturally moderates.  My words soften, and my outlook shifts ever so slightly.   I never see the big picture, but I see more of it.  You can will yourself into a more hopeful mental state, but this is different.  This is taking Jesus up on his invitation to plug into my life – right where I am, trusting that He is the life source that He promised.  Jesus talked a lot about transformation, not obtained through intellectual pursuit, but rather realized through this radical idea of leaning our full weight into Him.  Popcorn Jesus prayers are exactly what I believed He had in mind.   They are the beginning of a chain reaction.  Of course, I sometimes muddle that chain reaction up later downstream giving me yet another reason to bring Jesus right back into the picture.

It’s harder to believe that my little Jesus prayers will have any bearing at all in places that are beyond my control, but better to put Jesus on the job there then shore up my own position on how I would fix it.  Most of the time I/we have no idea how best to help in these places of desperate need,  and when that’s the case – it seems best to invite Jesus to go into those places and situations and meet the people where they are. He knows and that's a lot more useful than me knowing.

I want you to know that I also still say “Shit” under my breath too.  It’s possible I may even say it out loud more than I say Jesus.   Jesus knows this and loves me just the same.

So even though you didn’t ask, “What is the secret to my happiness?”, now you know.   

15 kinds of Facebook Super-Heroes

I love Facebook and I'm not shy about it.

I read the “14 kinds of Facebook people you want to block, but you can’t because they’re sort of your friends” article.  It made me laugh, so I shared it on Facebook, and added some of my own.

  •  The non-discriminating photographer who shares all 40 of their photos, one post at a time.
  • The monthly Facebooker who posts that viral video two weeks after everyone has already seen it.
  • That guy who’s keeps taking a selfie photo with his shirt off.
  • The sports fan (and anyone out past 1am) who posts play by play action.
  • The person who doesn’t believe that you will click to read the article and so posts an overly large chunk of it in their status.
  • The MORE THAN THIS MANY ########## PEOPLE!!!!!
  • Another George Takei fan.
  • That person living abroad who’s posted one too many “Look where I am!” status updates (with photos included.)  That's me!

It also inspired me to write this list.  My list is 14 + 1 though, because there are way more awesome than annoying people on Facebook. #icanproveit #noicantreally #lifeisgood

  1. The women who look amazing not just in their own photos, but also the ones they’ve been tagged in and the women who are confident enough to keep all their tags on, no matter how unflattering.
  2. The guy who can’t help but tell the world how much he loves his spouse and children.
  3. The teenager who friends you.
  4. That person who has achieved just the right balance of posting/liking/sharing – who in conversation, you know or imagine would be a great listener.
  5. Those people who don’t mean to make us feel bad, they just have their sh** together – even at the end of the school year.
  6. The Goodreaders who finish and review books.
  7. The amazing photo caption writer followed by the person who knows how to make those nine image photo collages.
  8. That fascinating person who compelled you to click a link you’d normally not be interested in.
  9. That thoughtful soul who doesn’t miss a Facebook birthday, who in a previous FB life may have been a poker, but who now drives by you Wall to give you smooches just because.
  10. That courageous person who follows the narrow path, but who does it graciously enough that you’d take a step off the super highway to have a look.
  11. The artists who share their work with us.
  12. The routinely grateful person who causes us to pause when we feel a rant coming on.
  13. The funnyman and especially funnywomen who makes us belly laugh.
  14. The real people who tell enough of their small moments - and disclose a few of the messy ones - to make us cheer loudly when a big one comes along. 
  15. The people who are quietly doing important work at home, in the workplace, and in the world – who may not get as many likes or comments as their work deserves – or who are more likely too busy to tell us about it … to you: “WELL DONE REAL WORLD SUPERHERO!”

The Long View of Marriage

You can always tell when someone is newly in love on Facebook because they use words like Soul Mate and TLoML (“The Love of My Life” for those not in the know) in every reference to their significant other.  With those references come an abundance of couple photos with both people looking better and brighter than they ever have.  Naturally the first like and comment on all these photos if the other half of the Soul Mate – the virtual equivalent of hanging on every word.  I love every Facebook minute of it.

I do confess however that I sometimes want to say to those newly in love and especially those newly married, “That’s awesome but don’t forget The Long View.”  We all know that love ebbs and flows, and from time to time The Love of Your Life will become The Pain in Your Side.    And those occasions at least double once he has provided The Loins of Your Children.  One day your significant other may stop referring to you as Soul Mate or stop being the first to like your Facebook posts, or stop liking them all together because he figures you already know.  Don’t even be surprised if when you gently suggest that he post a picture of the two of you on a big event like an anniversary, he might say: “Nah, that’s not really my brand.”  The thing is:  You’ll already know that, and it will make you laugh.

Brand loyalty isn’t as much in vogue as it used to be.  We change brands all the time and dispose of relationships as soon as there’s a tear in the paper plate or the lease is up.  In order to be brand loyal, you have to have a high relative attitude toward the brand (marriage and commitment) and you must exhibit repurchase behavior (you must do the things that work, and do them repeatedly.)  Thank goodness there are lots of brands to choose from, because we all have different tastes -- but there are some good brand principles. Here then are some of my observations from a limited sample set on how to make it work. 

The great thing about the long view is that only shared history really helps you understand your significant other’s brand.  There’s no short cut to understanding how to correctly share a bed with someone when your nine months pregnant, or when you have a killer sunburn or the swine flu or when a futon is your only option.   We all come with different touch points – physically and emotionally – and there is no substitute for having someone know your good ones, the ones to stay clear of, and the ones you have trouble feeling.  Longevity also allows you to say, “Like you mean it” when the other person is giving you a back rub because you know when they can do better and when their heart’s not in it.  But you also accept that not every back rub is going to be sensational.  After all, if you were still keeping score, you’d be in the deficit column when it comes to giving back rubs.

It’s hard to keep score after a long time, and that’s a relief.  Once you have jobs and kids and a house, your brain is already overloaded with more than it can handle.  Keeping a tally on who last unloaded the dishwasher only adds to the chaos.  Tally sheets are especially dangerous when one person is working and one is at home raising the children you brought into the world together.  So having a spouse that comes home from work to see the children playing extra iPad time while TLoHL is busy writing means that it’s his turn to make dinner.  He’ll be even more appreciated if he doesn’t interrupt with dinner-related questions and if he pours her a glass of wine.  And while we won’t be keeping score, she may even choose to shave her legs later that evening.  Out of love, not obligation.

You’ve seen each other through bad haircuts, pudgy winters and fashion changes.  When he downsized from XL to L not because of weight change but because he finally believed you when you said that clothes that actually fit do look better.  When he agreed to retire a couple of ratty old college tee-shirts for the sake of the marriage and you agreed to let him keep the special one.  When you went through your suits phase, your unsuccessful bohemian phase, your scarf phase, you tights phase (still in), and he pretended to believe you when you demanded it wasn’t a phase.  When he traded in a baseball cap for a beret (not yet, not ever – it’s off brand.)  You’ve watched them expand their wardrobe to include crazy patterned shirts while you’ve added running gear.  They’ve watched you make 29 different purchases of a black dress -- none of which fit exactly right -- while you’ve watched them save their 19th pair of shoes for working outside.  It’s just not fashion hits and misses, it’s about making the boxes you came into the relationship with a little bit bigger.  It’s about a woman who used to be sure that she would die running a mile choosing to run a marathon.  It’s about a man who hates stuff but loves to buy his wife her 77th pair of earrings.

Even when you are past the point of hanging on each other’s every word, over time you start to feel like it’s hard to have a social interaction without them.  One person is the details, the other the color commentary -- the stories always better when jointly told.  Actually some stories stop making sense unless told together but there are key details you count on the other person knowing.  It feels like a limb missing when there isn’t the person across the room to make eye contact with to say “come here”, “let’s go”, “get me an adult beverage”, “you’re cute” and a million other things you learn to read with only your eyes. 

You learn how to prop each other up when falling asleep during a boring lecture, or how not to wake each other up for any reason even if you think it’s the “best movie you’ve ever seen.”  You learn how to shut up in Home Depot and assume he has it under control, but you also know the exact moment when it’s gone over his head and it’s time to bring in the help.  He knows to help in the kitchen, and you know to not move his piles on the desk.  You know to compliment him on his yard, he knows to compliment you any time you get dressed up and when you are dressing casually adorable.

She can even say, “I look old.” And he can say “Me too.”  At some point, truth telling is just easier.   Besides that, he was there twenty years ago telling her to apply the sun screen.  She didn’t listen then, she’s listening now.  And though he doesn’t look as old as she, she will let that slide because it feels better to be in it together.   He can even say when everyone else can’t, “YOU are good, but you’re screenplay isn’t good enough.  Yet.”   It’s about telling the truth, but doing it gently and adding in the “yet” at the end.  Long term couples also know where to layer in the benign white lies, like when after 20 years she is finally doing laundry because of abnormally long European wash cycles, they will still claim publicly “He does all the laundry.”  Not only it is part of their couple brand, it's also his short hand for saying, “You must know.  This woman is not just a housewife. We are IN IT together.”  The secret is not just being in it together, but both believing you got the better end of the deal.

TLoML will not be sending me flowers anytime soon.  He probably won’t even “like” this post, but he will be buying me a train ticket to Paris today.  Yesterday he sent me his schedule and asked me what day to block on his very full calendar for my May trip to Paris.   It feels extravagant (and it is) -- this going to Paris every month plan – there is stuff to do around here – he has a very busy calendar -- but he wants me to go.  Every month.  Knowing what feeds your Soul Mate’s soul and then pushing them towards it, that my friends is The Long View.   

What would it take to not be completely annoyed by discovering a soaking wet bath towel on the bathroom floor?

The easiest solution would be an overly sentimental declaration of love accompanied by the hug of a sweet-smelling, soft-skinned, cherub faced human at the exact moment of the towel discovery.   Knowing however that this conversion of events is unlikely to happen, one must find other means of coping with this annoyance “in the moment.”

It’s a real question.   Yesterday I found said soaking towel.  My “in the moment” was not filled with grace or peace or happiness.  More like grumble, argh the cherub!, grumble.

I didn’t swear, or really say anything out loud.  But it totally got under my skin.   Mindful of the disproportionate share Mothers do in picking up other people’s messes, I wondered if the responsible children I was charged with raising were learning anything at all.  Perhaps I was enabling.  Perhaps I was raising entitled little brats.  Without even meaning to, my imagination wandered off to sad daughter-in-laws picking up trails of my sons’ clothes. 

No doubt we had covered Towel Etiquette 101.  Wash before you use the towel.  Hang it up when you’re done.  Try not to use Mommy’s towel.  We may have skipped:  Don’t shower with your towel, but I thought this was implied with: Don’t shower with your clothes on.   Apparently not.

I considered pretending I didn’t see it.   I could have chosen not to pick it up, but my blood pressure had already been elevated.  Plus the thought of a stinky towel only upped the ante.  So I did would most of us would do (when the offender was out of the house.)  I picked it up.  I also wrung it out.

As I squeezed (too) hard making puddles in the tub, I asked myself the question I started with.  While not to excuse or fail to correct the towel behavior, I wondered what it would take for me to not react in the same way next time.  I really don’t want to get mad about towels.  I want to save it for the big stuff.

My first thought was very basic.  Show gratitude.  Be grateful that you have a towel and a warm shower.  The shower part's not hard for me to think about having been to Africa.  It’s probably not hard for those of you who overnight camp to think about (not so much me on this one.)  This approach actually works with just about anything that is seeking to annoy you, but it does require practice. Gratitude for sunshine is easy.  Gratitude for towels takes a little more association, but it too is possible.  What if bath towels never existed and a hand towel was as big as it got.

My second thought took it a bit further.  Celebrate the action taken.  I had failed to appreciate that my son had done the thing that was asked of him – take a shower.   Stopping to take a shower when you are 6 years old is hard.  It would be like someone asking you or me to put down our finds at an incredible one-day-only sample sale because it was time to go.  He’d done it willingly, albeit incompletely.  After all it was only two years ago when he screamed having to put his head under the shower head.   It made me think of how easy it is to catch people on what they missed instead of catching the fact that there were trying to do the right thing.  Not to mention the distance these people, especially the annoying ones we love, have come. 

The third thought came later.  After the 6 year old was back in the house and the issue of the towel was raised, I learned something.  The boy-who-took-the-towel into the shower with him wasn’t actually trying to pull my chain (I intellectually knew that part, but it did come back up for brief consideration.)  He was trying to find a wash cloth, but couldn’t.  He didn’t want to call for help, so he did the next best thing he could think of – he used his towel as a washcloth.    Which leads me to that third thought:  Don’t rush to judgment.  We don’t always know what problems people are trying to solve for.  People do dumb things, and not only are those dumb things usually not malicious or personally directed, but they often make more sense when the person is given the opportunity to explain.  There are excuses, but then there are thoughtful misfires.  The latter category is big for 6 year olds, and perhaps ... men.  Did I just throw the entire gender under the bus?  Yes, I think I did.  Misfire ... but thoughtfully done.

The last thought was one that I often have to come back around to as a parent.  Assume a smiggin of personal responsibility.   Had I really ever explained what’s so bad about wet towels? Probably not.   Yes, we all need to follow basic house rules, but it wouldn’t hurt to explain why those rules are there in the first place.   Until you’ve paid for and then encountered a stinky towel, you don’t know what the big fuss is all about.  He too was dealing with incomplete information.  Could I have waited a few hours and let the towel sit there and let natural consequences -- smelly mold, little stocking feet in puddles – take their course?  Sure, but I confess it’s often easier to make problems go away more than it is to clean it up with another person.  That whole "working it out together" takes time and patience.  This is big for  .... okay, for all of us. 

Of course, no test is complete without a re-test.   Right now the 6 year old is eating potato chips without a bowl.  He is being followed by a trail of crumbs.   And so --- I am grateful for potato chips (especially these mustard potato chips) and vacuums.  And guess what – I’m eating them too – without a bowl.

 

Game of Thrones (a confession)

While you've been playing/watching Game of Thrones, I've been busy learning new pool rules.

While you've been playing/watching Game of Thrones, I've been busy learning new pool rules.

I have no idea what “Game of Thrones” is.   Literally no idea.  I don’t know if it’s a game, a TV show, a movie or all three.   I see and hear it referenced everywhere, but I simply haven’t engaged at any level.   I refuse to even Google it to see if I’m spelling it correctly.   I’m totally sitting this one out.

I hope it’s the right call.  I made a similar decision with “Homeland” for a while, and when I finally decided to watch Season 1 I was like “What? Why didn’t someone tell me loudly this was so good?”  But by that time, everyone except my friend Patti was done talking about it.   The Homeland Season 2 DVD is now available for pre-order on Amazon, but it will likely be Christmas before I can watch it online over here.   I might as well skip it because I haven’t had the same restraint in Googling spoilers for Season 2 and hearing the overwhelming chorus of meh.   On the bright side, I suppose I’ve saved a little time.

I’m of the age when I open up a “People” magazine and only have about 50% celebrity recognition.  This move to Europe is only going to set me further behind.   I can’t even count on hair salons here to have “People” magazine for my every two month pop culture trivia catch up.  They’re still playing Celine Dion music in hair salons as near as I can tell.  I do however know that Halle Barry is pregnant.   This caught my attention because I know who she is, and that she is in her forties.   You go girl – glad you kicked that sex addict second husband of yours and then that gorgeous but no-good model Gabriel (see I was doing good in earlyish 2000s) – but pregnant at 46?  Hearing that makes me tired, and so happy my husband has taken care of business.  I do know about the band “The Airborne Toxic Event.”  That’s only because I know a couple of really cool high school kids who I stalk for music and have some fortish friends like Jennifer who go and listen to live music and rightly report it on Facebook.

In the advent of unlimited access to so much news, you have to learn to sift.   When I was back home, if I’m being honest, I used to sift out most International News.  Now that I’m in Europe, I find I’m reading more International News and sifting out most US Entertainment News and US News of People Behaving Badly (ie “Ex-Partner at KPMG Under Scrutiny in Insider Trading.) Of course, people still behave badly, really badly, internationally - take Kim Jong-un or Bashar al-Assad for instance – but those stories are getting more of my mind share.    It seems to matter what those guys are up to a little bit more than who was on Letterman last night.  It’s not as if this kind of news wasn’t available before, I’m just choosing a little better. It’s easier for me to recognize how globally interdependent our world is becoming with a border only 50 kilometers away.  Not that I’m doing anything specific with that knowledge,  but it’s nice to fill my mind with other things or nothing at all, and to not feel caught off guard by not knowing about who is Throning who. 

Ok, Lindsay Lohan was on Letterman last night. 

I’m only slightly more disciplined.