Rather, why do I make it so hard?
I ask myself that very question almost every year.
It starts close to Christmas as I scramble to get my cards out. But wait....
No, I can't simply stuff some cards in an envelope. I know a few other people with this same pathological need. No, there is a newsletter we have to type up. But first I need an outline. And to revise it. Match it up to whatever stationary I have picked out in advance. Make sure I got the measurements perfectly to not cover up any illustrations on the stationary. Print them all out ever so carefully. Fold them just so. Stuff them inside the envelopes I have deemed to require a newsletter. Sort through holiday photos and class photos and put them in certain envelopes, careful not to cause any repeats. That's after photos are labeled, of course. Then I have all my address labels, both for the recipients as well as our address. And I only do that part because it saves my hands from writing them all out. Plus, it's an excuse to play in my massive font collection. There.are.just.so.many.
And after it is all said and done, I slap on holiday stamps I bought specifically for the purpose, drop them in the mailbox, sigh of relief, and ask myself, again, why I do this.
And last year, we received six cards in return. Six. And one of them didn't count, it was from our insurance agent. But regardless of how many we receive in return, we are sending out sixty this year. I can only imagine how many I will send out in thirty years from now. My husband is hoping less than sixty.
At this point, I haven't even started my newsletter, but this time last year, I barely had my cards ordered. (I already ordered my cards and have picked them up.) I'm taking my time this year. Because I can. That's right. I'm spreading out the tasks. After years of balancing this tedious, unnecessary process, along with a job, volunteer efforts, and other life events, I finally have the time people always said I had anyway. I can finally organize it how I always wish I could have. I'm not reserving one afternoon as I frantically look at the clock and freak out in between wetting envelopes with a paper towel. So far, I don't have pneumonia like I did last year. I shouldn't have to send them out so close to Christmas as I have the last two years, just because I had to work two plus weeks straight without a day off (while sick, mind you). And I'm not telling you this make myself sound superhuman. Hardly. I'm telling you this because I don't have to kill myself over cards this year. Unnecessarily kill myself over cards. Just like so many others before me. Unnecessarily put that much effort into something when I barely had the time or energy anyway. Which is fairly humorous when you think about it. Because why would anyone put that much effort into cards? Why do we put so much effort into these things? Whether you get six or six hundred in return, is it worth it? Is it worth all of that?
Well, if it wasn't worth it, I wouldn't do it, would I?
Wait...don't answer that. But let me answer the prior question. Yes, yes it is worth it. I just can't explain why.
But honestly, how can you not make fun of someone for going through all that? You can't.
So as I'm laughing at myself this evening, as well as questioning my process as I do every year, The Redhead asked me, "Is that hard? It looks hard. How do you know which envelopes to put which photos in? It just looks like a lot of work."
Nah, it's easy...and I could have made it easier.
Friday, November 22, 2013
You Should be Thankful for Your Teacher
You should be thankful for all of your child's teachers. I know I am. Including our prior teachers. And her crossing guard.
I also get angry when people say things like, "they have an easy job. They're off during the summers."
Rubbish.
However, while we're on that topic, briefly, let me say that it seems like my child has hardly been in school this month. They were off the 11th, the 15th, minimum days all this week (they have been getting out at 11:10!) and they're out all next week. And then The Redhead missed two days this week, sick with a stomach virus.
And today we had our teacher conference. It was supposed to be Tuesday, but The Redhead was ill. It went amazingly well. But I wasn't worried.
Don't forget the people who see your children almost as much as you do, sometimes even more. Even if it's just a card, or a bottle of soap, a candy bar. Maybe even bring them a drink. They're the ones staying behind in the classroom after the students go home. They're even there on the weekends. They wipe dirty faces. Hand them tissues. Make sure your kid remembers their manners. They're not just a teacher, they're a second parent.
I'm certainly thankful for them. And thankful I don't have their job.
Thursday, November 21, 2013
It Happened a Lifetime Ago, But Save Your Comparisons
I usually try to avoid ultra-personal posts on Facebook. I prefer to be vague, keep some mystery, reserve those personal details for people who matter, for people who actually want to know them, deserve to know them. No offense, really. But today, I put out a post that was deeply personal and necessary because many people fail to comprehend certain socially acceptable behaviors that I will get to in a minute.
The post:
________My Name________:
was a senior in high school exactly half her lifetime ago and on that Thursday, just as today, her life abruptly changed. From the morning her genetics teacher scrambled to her desk and without a word guided her out of the room, her life was severely altered. It took hours for anyone to tell her anything. She dealt with unwanted hugs. She listened to uncomfortable whimpers. They listened how all she could think about was the play she was going to be in that night and her journalism deadline for her sports column she was tweaking to perfection. And when someone did finally tell her, all she wanted to do was go back to school and continue with her day. And no one could understand why. To this very day, she still fully understands why. Over the years, she's had stupid questions asked, even an exact month after he died. "Does it still bother you?" Who would ask something so stupid to someone who had just lost their father? She realizes that at the time that coworker of hers probably had no idea how rude that was. Or the countless people over the years that have compared her father's passing to a pet dying (not kidding), an automobile (still not kidding), breakups (still serious), a neighbor (yes, really), various church members (uh, yeah), distant relatives, someone they knew almost getting shot, even grandparents. And although she's also lost all of her grandparents, half before she was born, it's not the same. There is nothing in life to prepare you for that loss, that sort of change. You can't compare anyone's loss to another. ANYONE. Certainly not to a car. Or a dog. Perhaps that's the greatest loss that has happened to those people. They just can't comprehend it. But here's the other thing, that change, that loss changed her from that very day. It changed her personality. Her habits. Her opinions. Her tastes. And it took her two years to absorb those differences as she listened to people around her tell her they missed "the old" her. She thought she did too. For a brief moment. But innocence dies. People die. People change. People grow. And all those stupid questions like "don't you wish he could meet your daughter?" and "do you still miss him?" only make her hope and pray that those people don't say anything that callous to someone who has lost a child. A loss she can't even fathom. Because here's something at 19 she settled on. Children are meant to outlive their parents. Regardless of our age. They die. It's a fact of life and what you do after that and with that knowledge is your life. It will change you. Forever. But she had it easier than some. She had a normal Thursday morning with her father, a week before Thanksgiving, they talked briefly about the play, she said goodbye, and headed off to school. There was no true sign that her life would be altered that day. She had a normal last moment with him. She said "goodbye." And that was exactly half her lifetime ago. On a Thursday just like today. And she turned out okay. And she's grateful for that, and she wouldn't change a thing. So don't pity her, because that's not what this post is about. Don't send her virtual hugs; still not what this post is about. One favor though....don't say stupid things to people and make random comparisons. Just....don't. If you don't know what to say, say nothing. They'll understand. They'll be okay. They'll probably even thank you for it. And if you compare a dead person to a dead automobile, you deserve the kick in the teeth.
My reasons for this post should be obvious. My father died on this day, also a Thursday, when I was seventeen. It has now been seventeen years since that very day, half of my lifetime. Throughout the years, people have made ill-conceived comparisons, just as I'm sure they've done to many people during their equally tragic situations. I don't think these people are bad people, they just haven't been through anything truly like this to know there isn't a protocol. (Or maybe they have been through this, but forgot how it felt.) They haven't realized that it's okay to be unable to identify with a person, to not know what they're going through, to have absolutely nothing to compare it to. They have no idea that sometimes, it's okay to remain quiet. That it is socially acceptable to just not know. They have no idea, but they need to.
They need to know that sometimes there isn't anything you can say. There isn't anything you can compare it to, and comparing someone losing their father to a misfired gun and saying you "know exactly what it's like" because one time your dad was cleaning a gun and it too misfired and put a hole in your wall and could have hit your mother, isn't exactly the right thing to say to that person. Because it's not the same. And while it probably was terrifying and somewhat life-changing for your family, adrenaline-racing, and such, it's probably not going to garner true empathy from the person you just shared it with. You weren't being empathetic, you only thought you were. And that's okay. Again, it's okay to not know what someone is going through, or has gone through. It's okay! You don't have to know. It's even a good thing that you don't know. Be grateful for that.
I'm grateful when I don't know what someone is going through during a tragic time. It makes me even more grateful for my life, for my circumstances. Even when they lose their job, I have no idea, because when my husband was once laid off, we got through it fine. Our situation isn't everyone's situation. It didn't stop someone from comparing it to almost quitting a job. I felt slightly slapped at the time, but I got over it. We survived the situation, because in the end, it wasn't that bad. It wasn't that scary, after it was all said and done. And for that person, maybe almost quitting that job was scarring.
I am admittedly socially awkward, but so many people who swear they are the opposite, they are the ones guilty of all the comparisons, all the competitive one-upping stories. Now perhaps I'm socially inept, but at least I realize that there's a time and place for a comparison and competition, and that time nor place is ever during a tragedy. Nor after it. Doesn't even involve it. Don't even think about it.
Your child being sick once isn't the same as someone losing a child. I've heard that comparison once. Or comparing it to someone's child having cancer. Someone being sick with a virus isn't the same as someone with cancer. Someone having a heart murmur isn't the same as someone else's child going through heart failure. Your child being born three weeks early isn't the same as someone's child who was born three months early. And while I'm sure it may have been traumatic, save that conversation for someone else.
And perhaps you have been through something similar. Perhaps you have experienced a similar loss. Perhaps you have dealt with the same disease. Maybe your father also died from a misfired shotgun in the middle of his kitchen. But just because the situations are similar, even familiar, doesn't mean you know. You can't know. They're not your feelings. You know what you're going through, what you've been through, what you're feeling. Maybe. I don't always know what I'm feeling, honestly. But no one ever really knows what someone else is going through or feeling, because we are all different. We all deal with tragedies differently. We deal with successes differently. We deal with change differently. We deal with loss differently.
Again, I implore people to leave out the comparisons. Leave out the stories. It's OKAY to not know what someone is going through. It's okay that your kid is healthy. It's okay your parents are still alive! Don't be ashamed. And perhaps some of those situations were traumatic for you, but take a minute to consider how traumatic what someone else has gone through is for them. And maybe they're not ready to have that trauma compared to yours. Ever.
Don't confuse empathy, sympathy, and apathy. Don't feign empathy, even unintentionally, because all you do is come across apathetic and insulting. It's okay your life has been potentially sheltered. It's okay the worst thing that has happened to your child thus far is a high fever. It's okay the worst health issue you've had was surgery. You don't need to compare it to anyone else. Don't allow your need to identify with someone else cloud your ability to be grateful that you haven't been in that situation. Accept that gratitude. Embrace it. Cherish it. Being grateful for your situation is a great way to help that person. Not having it be a competition is a great help. Just telling them, "I am so sorry, I can't imagine," is perfectly suitable. It's typically my default response, because I don't know what to say. And I'm truly sorry. And I truly can't imagine. I don't want to imagine. I don't want to know. You probably don't either. So, please, please, please, don't pretend you know. Don't compare. Don't compete. Even if you've been through what you believe to be worse, or as bad. Just don't. Please. We all beg of you. Just....don't.
My best friend at the time did the best thing for me that day. She was allowed to leave school because the school knew she knew me and she came and kidnapped me and we went swinging in the park. She didn't ask me to talk about it. She didn't tell me she knew what it was like. And although she had a tendency to be condescending at times, at that moment, she was exactly the person I needed her to be, the person I wouldn't have expected her to be. Another friend of ours, one I thought would have been more understanding, was the opposite. Exactly six months later, she had my rear hauled in to a grief counselor's office so we could talk about how awful of a friend I was and how I haven't been there for her more with her loss of my father, a man she met twice. Yes, twice. And the counselor asked me, "Terra, how does this make you feel? Don't you think you should apologize to her? Be there for her more? Do more for her?" And I was all, "I think I should go back to Psychology class right now, because the two of you are moronic." I was told I was out of line. That I was wrong. Eh, I still think it was moronic, and I'd say the same thing to them both now.
And I know Devil's Advocate would say that maybe it was hard on her. That maybe I shouldn't underestimate the impact. But some people have this unexplained need to find themselves in the same situation, some compulsive desire to share the pity, pity the other person probably doesn't want in the first place. And that doesn't help anyone, including themselves. And it certainly didn't help seventeen-year-old me. In fact, seventeen-year-old me stabbed her inside her head. Which really wasn't a nice thing to do, but seventeen-year-old me thought she had it coming. And our friendship remained tainted after that. Partially because of her trauma, and partially because of my imagined attempt on her life.
But regardless of what the version of myself from half a lifetime ago thinks, the adult version of myself has spent years settled and adjusted after my father's death. I've accepted it. I've moved on. I wouldn't change anything, because all of it has made me the person I am today and brought me to the life I have, including my beautiful daughter and sometimes understanding spouse. But the only part of it that has ever continued to irritate me is that when people ask about my father, they rarely leave it at that. They have to compare. They have to compete. And that, that is something I will never get over, never accept.
The post:
________My Name________:
was a senior in high school exactly half her lifetime ago and on that Thursday, just as today, her life abruptly changed. From the morning her genetics teacher scrambled to her desk and without a word guided her out of the room, her life was severely altered. It took hours for anyone to tell her anything. She dealt with unwanted hugs. She listened to uncomfortable whimpers. They listened how all she could think about was the play she was going to be in that night and her journalism deadline for her sports column she was tweaking to perfection. And when someone did finally tell her, all she wanted to do was go back to school and continue with her day. And no one could understand why. To this very day, she still fully understands why. Over the years, she's had stupid questions asked, even an exact month after he died. "Does it still bother you?" Who would ask something so stupid to someone who had just lost their father? She realizes that at the time that coworker of hers probably had no idea how rude that was. Or the countless people over the years that have compared her father's passing to a pet dying (not kidding), an automobile (still not kidding), breakups (still serious), a neighbor (yes, really), various church members (uh, yeah), distant relatives, someone they knew almost getting shot, even grandparents. And although she's also lost all of her grandparents, half before she was born, it's not the same. There is nothing in life to prepare you for that loss, that sort of change. You can't compare anyone's loss to another. ANYONE. Certainly not to a car. Or a dog. Perhaps that's the greatest loss that has happened to those people. They just can't comprehend it. But here's the other thing, that change, that loss changed her from that very day. It changed her personality. Her habits. Her opinions. Her tastes. And it took her two years to absorb those differences as she listened to people around her tell her they missed "the old" her. She thought she did too. For a brief moment. But innocence dies. People die. People change. People grow. And all those stupid questions like "don't you wish he could meet your daughter?" and "do you still miss him?" only make her hope and pray that those people don't say anything that callous to someone who has lost a child. A loss she can't even fathom. Because here's something at 19 she settled on. Children are meant to outlive their parents. Regardless of our age. They die. It's a fact of life and what you do after that and with that knowledge is your life. It will change you. Forever. But she had it easier than some. She had a normal Thursday morning with her father, a week before Thanksgiving, they talked briefly about the play, she said goodbye, and headed off to school. There was no true sign that her life would be altered that day. She had a normal last moment with him. She said "goodbye." And that was exactly half her lifetime ago. On a Thursday just like today. And she turned out okay. And she's grateful for that, and she wouldn't change a thing. So don't pity her, because that's not what this post is about. Don't send her virtual hugs; still not what this post is about. One favor though....don't say stupid things to people and make random comparisons. Just....don't. If you don't know what to say, say nothing. They'll understand. They'll be okay. They'll probably even thank you for it. And if you compare a dead person to a dead automobile, you deserve the kick in the teeth.
My reasons for this post should be obvious. My father died on this day, also a Thursday, when I was seventeen. It has now been seventeen years since that very day, half of my lifetime. Throughout the years, people have made ill-conceived comparisons, just as I'm sure they've done to many people during their equally tragic situations. I don't think these people are bad people, they just haven't been through anything truly like this to know there isn't a protocol. (Or maybe they have been through this, but forgot how it felt.) They haven't realized that it's okay to be unable to identify with a person, to not know what they're going through, to have absolutely nothing to compare it to. They have no idea that sometimes, it's okay to remain quiet. That it is socially acceptable to just not know. They have no idea, but they need to.
They need to know that sometimes there isn't anything you can say. There isn't anything you can compare it to, and comparing someone losing their father to a misfired gun and saying you "know exactly what it's like" because one time your dad was cleaning a gun and it too misfired and put a hole in your wall and could have hit your mother, isn't exactly the right thing to say to that person. Because it's not the same. And while it probably was terrifying and somewhat life-changing for your family, adrenaline-racing, and such, it's probably not going to garner true empathy from the person you just shared it with. You weren't being empathetic, you only thought you were. And that's okay. Again, it's okay to not know what someone is going through, or has gone through. It's okay! You don't have to know. It's even a good thing that you don't know. Be grateful for that.
I'm grateful when I don't know what someone is going through during a tragic time. It makes me even more grateful for my life, for my circumstances. Even when they lose their job, I have no idea, because when my husband was once laid off, we got through it fine. Our situation isn't everyone's situation. It didn't stop someone from comparing it to almost quitting a job. I felt slightly slapped at the time, but I got over it. We survived the situation, because in the end, it wasn't that bad. It wasn't that scary, after it was all said and done. And for that person, maybe almost quitting that job was scarring.
I am admittedly socially awkward, but so many people who swear they are the opposite, they are the ones guilty of all the comparisons, all the competitive one-upping stories. Now perhaps I'm socially inept, but at least I realize that there's a time and place for a comparison and competition, and that time nor place is ever during a tragedy. Nor after it. Doesn't even involve it. Don't even think about it.
Your child being sick once isn't the same as someone losing a child. I've heard that comparison once. Or comparing it to someone's child having cancer. Someone being sick with a virus isn't the same as someone with cancer. Someone having a heart murmur isn't the same as someone else's child going through heart failure. Your child being born three weeks early isn't the same as someone's child who was born three months early. And while I'm sure it may have been traumatic, save that conversation for someone else.
And perhaps you have been through something similar. Perhaps you have experienced a similar loss. Perhaps you have dealt with the same disease. Maybe your father also died from a misfired shotgun in the middle of his kitchen. But just because the situations are similar, even familiar, doesn't mean you know. You can't know. They're not your feelings. You know what you're going through, what you've been through, what you're feeling. Maybe. I don't always know what I'm feeling, honestly. But no one ever really knows what someone else is going through or feeling, because we are all different. We all deal with tragedies differently. We deal with successes differently. We deal with change differently. We deal with loss differently.
Again, I implore people to leave out the comparisons. Leave out the stories. It's OKAY to not know what someone is going through. It's okay that your kid is healthy. It's okay your parents are still alive! Don't be ashamed. And perhaps some of those situations were traumatic for you, but take a minute to consider how traumatic what someone else has gone through is for them. And maybe they're not ready to have that trauma compared to yours. Ever.
Don't confuse empathy, sympathy, and apathy. Don't feign empathy, even unintentionally, because all you do is come across apathetic and insulting. It's okay your life has been potentially sheltered. It's okay the worst thing that has happened to your child thus far is a high fever. It's okay the worst health issue you've had was surgery. You don't need to compare it to anyone else. Don't allow your need to identify with someone else cloud your ability to be grateful that you haven't been in that situation. Accept that gratitude. Embrace it. Cherish it. Being grateful for your situation is a great way to help that person. Not having it be a competition is a great help. Just telling them, "I am so sorry, I can't imagine," is perfectly suitable. It's typically my default response, because I don't know what to say. And I'm truly sorry. And I truly can't imagine. I don't want to imagine. I don't want to know. You probably don't either. So, please, please, please, don't pretend you know. Don't compare. Don't compete. Even if you've been through what you believe to be worse, or as bad. Just don't. Please. We all beg of you. Just....don't.
My best friend at the time did the best thing for me that day. She was allowed to leave school because the school knew she knew me and she came and kidnapped me and we went swinging in the park. She didn't ask me to talk about it. She didn't tell me she knew what it was like. And although she had a tendency to be condescending at times, at that moment, she was exactly the person I needed her to be, the person I wouldn't have expected her to be. Another friend of ours, one I thought would have been more understanding, was the opposite. Exactly six months later, she had my rear hauled in to a grief counselor's office so we could talk about how awful of a friend I was and how I haven't been there for her more with her loss of my father, a man she met twice. Yes, twice. And the counselor asked me, "Terra, how does this make you feel? Don't you think you should apologize to her? Be there for her more? Do more for her?" And I was all, "I think I should go back to Psychology class right now, because the two of you are moronic." I was told I was out of line. That I was wrong. Eh, I still think it was moronic, and I'd say the same thing to them both now.
And I know Devil's Advocate would say that maybe it was hard on her. That maybe I shouldn't underestimate the impact. But some people have this unexplained need to find themselves in the same situation, some compulsive desire to share the pity, pity the other person probably doesn't want in the first place. And that doesn't help anyone, including themselves. And it certainly didn't help seventeen-year-old me. In fact, seventeen-year-old me stabbed her inside her head. Which really wasn't a nice thing to do, but seventeen-year-old me thought she had it coming. And our friendship remained tainted after that. Partially because of her trauma, and partially because of my imagined attempt on her life.
But regardless of what the version of myself from half a lifetime ago thinks, the adult version of myself has spent years settled and adjusted after my father's death. I've accepted it. I've moved on. I wouldn't change anything, because all of it has made me the person I am today and brought me to the life I have, including my beautiful daughter and sometimes understanding spouse. But the only part of it that has ever continued to irritate me is that when people ask about my father, they rarely leave it at that. They have to compare. They have to compete. And that, that is something I will never get over, never accept.
Friday, November 15, 2013
Just last night...
The Redhead was putting on a fashion show with her plush friends.
And then today, she wanted to use her day off from school to go to Build a Bear and use the rest of her gift card she received for her birthday. Because obviously this kid doesn't have any stuffed animals.
Of any kind.
And now we'd like you to meet Sparkle McSmarty. Beauty and brains.
Thursday, November 14, 2013
Luckily, I opened the closet
Otherwise, I would have continued to forget about this.
The Redhead's Godmother had dropped off an array of packages before we moved. She had covered various holidays all at once and wanted us to distribute them appropriately. And well, oops.
Sorry, Julie.
I'm hoping I remember Thanksgiving on time. No promises though. I will say, I'm glad they even made it to the closet. I had them as a priority because I didn't want them lost in the chaos. Or forgot about.
Which, ahem, obviously.
There are so many things I still haven't even unpacked, but that's just between you and me.
Things I didn't forget about....
Buy one, get one free at Starbucks between 2 and 5.
Tuesday, November 12, 2013
I've been meaning to try this
And I've needed to try this. For a long time. I knew it'd help gain us room in her drawers since we have wayyyyyy too many clothes. It'd also help her see what all is in her drawers, so she doesn't have to make quite such a mess.
And what brought this to my attention was what Alexandra did over the weekend.
She vandalized the pants/jeans drawer. And when I went to fix the drawer, after organizing the shirts first, she was up to same antics.
I won in the end though.
Just as they should be.
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