ControverSunday: There’s No U in “Failer”

Posted on 1/2/2011 by cheesefairy

ControverSunday is a collaborative blog meme, whereby the goal is to share, discuss and hear out different perspectives on parenting, society and other stuff that matters. All those who participate bring to the table a unique perspective and approach others with mutual respect. Participating is a way to build community, to learn something and to reflect and evaluate our own choices.

(from the ControverSunday page at AMomentToThink)

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Resolutions. I don’t tend to make them. (flurried searching of my own archives to ensure that this is true)

At this time of year I kind of tune out the resolution talk, the same way I tune out the “how to drive in winter weather” that hits the news in November and “how to stay cool in the heat” that hits the news in July.

But since someone asked. I think the problem with resolutions is two-fold:

1. Traditional-style resolutions sound like someone bossy bossing us.

“I will swear less.” That was one of my resolutions when I was a kid.
“I will be nicer to my friend’s little sister.” That was another. I think I was 10.

I said those things not because I wanted to do them out of any sense of moral obligation but because I knew it was something that would get me more approval from the adults in my life. The changes I claimed I would make weren’t for me. And something that isn’t for you is probably not going to work out in the long run. I currently swear a lot, for example.

If you make resolutions that are about things you care about, and it works for you to start them at the beginning of the calendar year, go for it! I do believe in momentum. If other people are doing the same thing at the same time, the energy in the universe will support you, to a certain extent. (the flip side of this is that if everyone in the world abandons their resolutions at the same time, the energy will sag like a three year old nursing bra.)

But this little project I’m working on, here, this blogging every day thing? I am not calling it a resolution, to write every day. Because if I do, my anti-authority brain will rebel and trip me up. I know that.

2. Most resolutions aren’t quantifiable

Deliverables! Yes I am using business-speak! In the office, if someone gives you a project, and you are a beginner at that sort of project, they don’t just hand it to you and come back at deadline time. They evaluate you part way through, see how you’re doing, see if your path needs to be shifted a bit. They want you to succeed, after all. They want you to achieve.

I am speaking of course of the ever-illusive, supportive upper manager. I realize they are rare.

Resolutions have no deliverables, really. Unless it’s “lose 10 lbs by X” and then you either do or you don’t. But if you set yourself up to fail by making an unquantified request of yourself (“eat more vegetables”) (how many more? How many a day? what kind?) then your brain has your permission to cheat (I ate a carrot! That’s more than last week!) and at the end of the day you’ll be saying, I was going to eat more vegetables. But I didn’t really. Oh well. Eeyore Sigh.

AND! If you perceive yourself to have failed in any way, it will only cause a snowball effect and you will think you are a fail-URE, which of course you are not, you are just a fail-ER and not even, because you didn’t give yourself a realistic goal to meet. “There’s no U in Failer.”

Set yourself up to succeed! Every time you succeed, your brain gets a little jolt of joy and you think you are stronger. It’s like PacMan. Nom. Nom. Strength! Nom. Nom. Strength!

If I were to make resolutions, I would make them small and achievable. Then bigger. Then bigger! Until I would be eating an entire garden’s worth of vegetables every day and completely uninterested in chips. But I would be realistic about that process taking a year or two. And along the way I would set up little goal posts and give myself a prize for getting to each one. Pretend my brain is a Golden Retriever. It’s similar to my approach to to-do lists. I write “shower” on my to-do list every day. I always get to cross it off. That feels awesome.

You can make a resolution anytime. Just call it something else, because the word “resolution” is so loaded. Call it a promise. You can make one now. Make it small, make it significant, make it and keep it and bask in the glory of your achievement.

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Implement

Posted on 1/1/2011 by cheesefairy

I decided to keep blogging every day for the year, but I don’t have a cute name for the blogging every day. Blogging Every Day in 2011: BED11. BED11. Hahahahahaha. Maybe that name is cute enough. Or will it make me too tired?

I received a number of fabulous prompt suggestions. And I also went through my little dayplanner and wrote a word or several on each of the dates for the first few weeks of January. The prompts are loose and easy breezy so there is lots of wiggle room for interpretation. Things like “dog.” It is entirely possible that I will not have time or energy to go into five thousand words about my feelings every day so let’s just put it out there, sometimes there will be a rhyming poem instead. Or a chunk of random character development. Or a photo with a very clever caption. Don’t worry i intend to be as clever as I can. If at any point you feel like using a prompt at your own blog, DO IT! I support you!

Today’s prompt is Which Writing Implement is your Favourite and Why?

First, let me say how much I hate pencils. Hate them. Torture devices, pencils. Maybe it’s the reminder of school days or the smell of “math” in the lead or the squeaking noise they make if they’re not sharp / too sharp. Maybe it’s that they BREAK when you’re using them and then you have to stop using them and sharpen them, what a pain in the ass that is. But I do love pencil sharpeners, not as much as Amber, but a fair bit. Especially the wall-mounted kind.

I guess I don’t like pencils because I use a writing utensil for writing, not drawing or drafting or doing calculations, and pencils are not good for writing. They are too pale and capricious. If you press hard, they protest. Also, they are erasable, which is not useful when you are prone to fits of self doubt. You can cross out an entire paragraph written in pen, but it’s still there, underneath the strike. Erase pencil and it is gone.

So, PENS!

My preference is for black, roller-ball pens. 0.7 mm. I used to swear by the Pilot pens – all my old notebooks are coated in Pilot pen ink. But this summer I was at a random big box store and I bought some pens made by Pentel. They are called the Pentel EnerGel, they are also 0.7 mm and there is a little green blob on the side that says “recycology” which has got to be the most awkward word I have read in a while.

(If you say it out loud, it’s okay. It sounds like Re-Psychology. But when I read “recy” my brain wants to finish with “cle” and the “cology” is confusing. To me.)

From the website:

In our Recycologyâ„¢ products we ensure that all products meet strict environmental standards. We use both recycled content and post-consumer recycled content in these products. All products in this line are made from a minimum of 50% recycled content excluding consumable content and refills.

What I like about this particular pen is its smooth, even, dark flow. It doesn’t blotch, or run. It doesn’t make annoying scratchy noises on the paper. It doesn’t have a clicky top to distract me from what I should be doing. I will write in any colour, in a pinch, but black is my favourite. I think because in school we could only use blue pens. Apparently I have been quite damaged by school. A topic for another day.

What do you like to write things with?

PS: A respectful nod to my laptop, which allows me to write a lot of things. I don’t want to piss it off and make it stop working by ignoring it in favour of pens, because that would end this little year-long experiment real quick-like. I suppose I could write blog posts on index cards and leave them lying around on the ground but then I’d lose a lot of readers. I love you computer!

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Corestory

Posted on 12/31/2010 by cheesefairy

#reverb10 – day 31 – Core story. What central story is at the core of you, and how do you share it with the world? (Bonus: Consider your reflections from this month. Look through them to discover a thread you may not have noticed until today.)(Author: Molly O’Neill)

Me: So, Core. How are you?
Core: Flabby.
Me: Uh, I was talking to Emotional Core.
Core: Oh. Sorry.
***
Emotional Core: Oh hey! Looking for me?
Me: Hey, how are you?
EC: Good, good.
Me: I wanted to ask you something.
EC: Sure, shoot.
Me: OK, so I need to know what your STORY is.
EC: My —
Me: Your story. What drives you. What makes you hum.
EC: Hum. Empathy, definitely.
Me: Empathy? OK. That’s good, I like that…
EC: Oh, I wish I could just hug the world.
Me: What?
EC: People, you know, they are just so messed up. And it’s OK that they are. They’re the ones who think it’s not OK! Everyone needs a hug.
Me: Um. Really? “Everyone needs a hug?”
EC: You don’t think so?
Me: Well I guess sometimes. Maybe. What about people who don’t like hugs?
EC: Emotional hugs!
Me: How do you —
EC: You say, “I see you. You matter. You’re OK.”
Me: Ah.
EC: No matter how awful you think you are, you’re not. You’re just you. I embrace your freak flag.
Me: Embrace…the freak….flag
EC: If everyone thought they mattered, there would be no war. People would be nice to each other.
Me: Really? You think that?
EC: Think about it. Universal acceptance. No right or wrong body shape, brain capacity or ability to knit things. No judgment based on skin colour, eye colour or sex.
Me: OK. Yeah.
EC: Are you thinking about it? Doesn’t it make sense?
Me: No, I’m thinking about something else now. I’m thinking about dinner.
EC: Right, well, along with that, the other thing that makes me hum?
Me: Yes?
EC: Exposure.
Me: Like, naked?
EC: Sort of. More like peeling back the layers. Letting the skin fall away. We are onions! Finding the common ground between all of us. We all have hearts that pump blood. We all have a story. I want to hear everyone’s story.
Me: OK. Now, how did I get a core who is such a stinking hippy. That is my next question. How?
EC: That isn’t kind.
Me: You know what? Shut up. You sound like some kind of empathy bot. “We are onions”? Nothing is black and white. The world cannot be cured with hugs. For god’s sake. There is too much at stake. People’s lives are complicated.
EC: Hey, you asked. Would you like a hug?
Me: NO! I DON’T WANT A DAMN HUG!
EC: OK. You matter.
Me: Jesus! Shut up!
***
Core: So, wanna do some crunches now?
Me: NO! I DON’T WANT TO DO SOME DAMN CRUNCHES!
Core: OK. Sorry.

Oh mah gaw, that’s 31 days, thank you #reverb10, for all the work you did. It’s been a great month. Hugs.

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Gift

Posted on 12/30/2010 by cheesefairy

#reverb10 – Day 30 – Gift. This month, gifts and gift-giving can seem inescapable. What’s the most memorable gift, tangible or emotional, you received this year? (Author: Holly Root)

I have received a lot of gifts this year. The most important emotional gift has been the gift of time. Because you cannot, of course, save time in a bottle, nor can you wrap it. But you can take the children away for the morning so that I can breathe and you can make it plain that you will do it on a regular schedule so I can even breathe in between days, knowing when the next respite will begin.

And, in the past month, I’ve been given momentum, a giggling tumbleweed in a wind storm, putting the work out there, and out there, and out there.

As for tangible gifts.

A few weeks before Christmas, Trombone asked me what I wanted as a gift. We had been talking a lot about gifts. He wanted a medium sized drum kit (thank you preschool field trip to a recording studio) and had asked Santa for it. Twice. (spoiler alert: No. Way.) Fresco has been asking for a Real Buzz Lightyear since August and given his sustained dedication, we decided he probably would love it forever or at least until it broke. The kids and I had decided to get SA a calendar of pictures of outer space, because he loves outer space.

Put on the spot by Trombone, all I could say when he asked what I wanted was, ‘a pretty necklace.’

Which is kind of whack; I already have necklaces and I rarely wear them because I rarely wear anything but a t-shirt and jeans or, if it’s cold, a long sleeved t-shirt and jeans. But I really have trouble thinking of things I would like as gifts, other than ‘time.’ I like everything! Books, socks, pens, chocolate, wine. I am very not picky. You could buy me a gift at a gas station, five minutes before we are to have a seasonal cocktail, and I would be delighted with it.

The way I hear the story told, SA and the children went out on a morning (my gift of ‘time’ is ongoing) and looked at some necklaces in a store. Trombone really liked one with a jewel-crusted skull and crossbones, because pirates are a girl’s best friend, but SA decided a better option would be to make a necklace.

The following weekend, after buying ten pounds of apples at the Royal City Farmers Market, we wandered down to downtown New Westminster, where we got a coffee and snack at the cafe on the corner of 6th and Columbia that until that day had never once been open when I went by. Not the Starbucks, the other corner. As we walked down the street I spotted a shop called Moody Beads and pointed it out to SA. Then I went to Army & Navy and bought hilarious joke underwear for him and Star Wars underwear for Trombone, because even though they say not to give underwear for Christmas, if your recipient is a 4.5 year old boy, Star Wars underwear is more than appropriate, it will earn you a hug and a kiss and a “I LOVE MY NEW UNDERWEAR”. Very gratifying.

There was much hushing and shushing in the house whenever the necklace was mentioned. Fresco really wanted to tell me all about it. Trombone was figuring out how to keep a secret. While I got my toes painted in the comfort of Jen’s house, the necklace was being crafted. On Christmas Eve afternoon, it was meticulously wrapped. And on Christmas morning, fraught with excitement, Trombone made me open it.

And it’s beautiful. I mean, it would have been beautiful even if it was made of fossilized spiders, but it is truly beautiful.

It clicks against itself when I move. It is bright and shiny. It is soothing to the fingers.

Each bead was strung by someone I love. Each bead is love.

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Notes From Mother’s Journal: I Got Your Moments Right Here

Posted on 12/29/2010 by cheesefairy

#reverb10, Day 29 Defining moment. Describe a defining moment or series of events that has affected your life this year.(Author: Kathryn Fitzmaurice)

I concede +1 – her name is Kathryn.

Part of me, when I read the prompt this morning, actually said, “Well Clara, obviously there is something you are AVOIDING if you are so resistant to talking about your MOMENTS maybe it’s something you should TACKLE – ” and then the other part of me ate the first part. I tasted sour.

This morning, SA went back to work after five days of Christmas-related vacation. Predictably, it was like a Monday times twelve around here. The children woke up full of piss and vinegar. They are sick of the sight of each other. I hadn’t made any plans for today because I am an idiot who forgets how to live her life properly when she gets five days out of routine. I pondered taking the children to a mall to spend the gift cards they got for Christmas, not that we need more stuff in the house, but on the other hand, they would have something new to look at for five minutes while I drank my coffee. Then it started snowing.

While the children fought over whose turn it was to bean the other on the head with the amputee Buzz Lightyear (not the new one, the old one [yes we have two Buzz Lightyears]) AKA Pickle Gun Shooter (so named because of his absent hand and the hole it has left behind, just the right size for toy pickles, I guess) I told the Internet how sad I was and how it wasn’t supposed to be snowing and how I was basically the wussiest fool on the face of the earth. No one responded, which is telling and probably entirely appropriate. I decided we would just go out for a walk. In the snow. Which was dumping from the sky. Children! Snow! Perfect combination!

By the time I got the children up off the couch and into their pants, the snow had stopped. By the time we were in boots and coats (and I skipped a shower, I want you to know, and yes, that is the smell you smell) and ready to go, the ground was already clear of snow and it was drizzling. Because this is the West Coast.

It was 9 am.

I found mittens and hats and grabbed my purse and we went out to play! In the snow! Trombone found a small shovel that he used to dig sand in the summertime and commenced trying to dig slush. All two centimetres of it. It didn’t work. Fresco started crying because HE wanted the useless small shovel so that HE could also fail at shoveling slush.

We walked to the nearby school field, which had more than two centimetres of snow left, and made tracks with our feet and then discovered the snow was very good for packing. I made snowballs and threw them at the children and the children tried to make snowballs and throw them at me but they aren’t very good at it, so I won. They got mad that I won so they started pelting me with snow. I ran away. They got angrier. What, I said, I should just stand here and take it? You want me to stay still and get cold so you can pelt me with giant blobs of snow? NOT GONNA HAPPEN. Chase me.

Then Fresco, who was wearing non-waterproof mittens and who has a perpetual runny nose, which I mention only because he keeps wiping it on my coat, which is navy blue, started to cry that his hands were cold. I felt one hand. It was not cold. We argued about that for a while.

Let’s go to Safeway, I said. Crazy, I know. Crazy. But I woke up this morning craving a bacon mushroom burger and I have bacon but nothing else and even for me a bacon / bacon / bacon is not the same as a bacon mushroom burger. So we needed mushrooms and some kind of meat. And it takes so long to get these children out of the house I can’t do it more than once a day. I just can’t. We were steps from the Safeway so to Safeway we went.

I wedged the children in the plastic-car-attached-to-a-cart thing and that was a tight squeeze, lemme tell you. It was a tight squeeze and then they started shoving each other and pinching each other and I was trying to steer the damn thing and it steers like I’m in a semi truck on a highway covered in black ice. Whoops! The deli! Whoops! The cranky lady with the basket and the high heels!

By the time I got to the checkout, I had almost firmed up a deal with the store manager to store the kids in the dairy case until February.

Because I didn’t feel like chatting, I went through the self-checkout where thankfully that lady who likes to talk to me about the kids hasn’t been seen in months. I began to scan items and place them on the bagging platform.

All went well until Fresco, whose arm was just at the same height as the bagging platform, decided to reach out and grab the grapes. He loves grapes. Fresco touching an item on the bagging platform made the computer freak out and think I was trying to steal something so it refused to let me check out my other fifteen items, telling me I needed a cashier. The nice cashier at the front saw my issues and reset the computer for me and then Fresco grabbed for the grapes again and I said, STOP DOING THAT and everyone nearby gave me the Bad Mom Stinkeye and then Trombone decided to nuzzle Fresco’s neck or something and Fresco squealed his unique squeal and I decided to ignore them and just weigh the bag of onions, my last item, and the net bag broke and onions went everywhere.

Oh that’s just fantastic, I said.

What’s fantastic, said the kids. Hey is that pickles. Are we getting pickles. I like grapes. Can I have some grapes —

The lovely cashier brought me a plastic bag to collect my onions into and then said to the woman behind me, who was riding up my butt with her shopping cart, Ma’am there’s a free till right in front of this lady, you don’t have to wait. So I turn around and the woman kind of heaves a sigh at me, so I check, but she has lots of room to get around me with her cart, and she says, I don’t want to rush you.

Luckily I am Canadian and female so I said, no, that’s okay! No problem!

And then, she went to the till in front of me and checked out her stuff and I thought, wait, what? If you didn’t want to rush me then why are you cramming your cart up my butt when there’s lots of room to get around me and AND there are two free self-check stations open? I think you DO want to rush me, madam.

I wheeled the children back to where I had found the cart and then let them sit there for a minute while I collected myself and my groceries. And then they asked me for grapes and I said no because I wanted to take them home and wash them, the grapes, first, and then the children cried so I hauled them out of the store and dragged them down the street, home. Where I had a playdate invitation and a couple of really nice emails.

All those moments led to this 1,291 word blog post.

In conclusion, this is what I look like painted as a cat.

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