Getting Back to Basics

"Gonna get back to basics, guess I'll start it up again..."  

I've never been one to pay particular attention to the meaning of song lyrics, and certainly never been one of those people who thinks "omigod, he's singing to me!" but I've always been able to identify with songs by Counting Crows.  Maybe it's because I've enjoyed their music for over twenty years, perhaps it's because I identify with the emotions that Adam Duritz has experienced and written about.  So when "Recovering the Satellites" came on this morning, it seemed appropriate. 

Midway through the afternoon, all kinds of observations today:

• I never paid attention to the people who aren't at work during bankers' hours.  Short version - retired people go to the YMCA, unemployed people go to the grocery store, students go to the coffee shop.  Of course, students are always in the coffee shop.
• The library is a much better place to work than said coffee shop.  Better wifi, no noise, fewer students.
• Broke out the "I'm doing some consulting while I look for new opportunities" line today.  As much as I always joked about that line, it felt good.

Feeling better today, despite reading an article about experienced people languishing in unemployment.  I'm confident I'll find something that works, and I'm determined to make the most of the time I have, both now and after I find something.  After all, "we only stay in orbit for a moment of time."

When do I shave?

Unemployment day 4.  Granted, two of these have been weekend days, so I don't really think it's set in yet. 

I didn't know what to expect, but the things that have hit me the most were definitely not what I expected.  I didn't want to take off my suit on Thursday morning, I keep finding myself reaching towards the dresser where the work phone sat, feeling like I need to make sure no clients called or emailed.  Only, there isn't a work phone anymore. 

Of course, there have been nice surprises - I can consume articles, podcasts and radio shows with seemingly no limit, I can actually take time to cook meals, rather that trying to balance cooking with checking homework and making sure reading journals are completed, and I can shave (or not shave) whenever I want.  But that begs the question - when do I shave?  That's the downside of the job search being completely on-line - how do I get out of the house?  Though I've made a point to shower and dress in something more than track pants this week, I can see how people in this situation can get reclusive.  I shudder to think how I would have handled this five years ago.  But my attitude is positive and I'm excited for the challenge.

Goals for this week:
Job search everyday (obviously, this will remain the top priority);
Create an environment for success at home.  Last week I didn't even have music on during the day;
Continue to increase workout frequency.  I've got the time (and the extra pounds);
Begin knocking items off the house project list;
Write everyday.

Too much of a good thing?

Oh my gosh. Has anyone ever felt that the more you study all the "right" ways to do something, the more you feel you can do nothing but wrong? It's reminiscent of working on a golf swing. Form a triangle with your arms. Front foot in line with the ball. Pull down with your forward arm.  Turn wrist over as you swing through. Pause slightly at the top. Weight transfer. Hip rotate. Fuck it.
At some point in your swing session you are quite certain things are getting worse, not better. Correction, you actually are swinging worse. And it makes you want to cry. It makes you feel like the lesson is a total waste of time, that golf is a total waste of time and you have no business doing either.
But later, on the course, when you aren't thinking about 47 different tweaks during each swing, there is that Tiger-shot. It's gorgeous. And everything else falls away.
Tiger-shot. Ha. I hadn't thought of that in a long time. I'm glad I did.

Take it to the hoop

Today I am basketball mom schlepping jacket and snacks and water bottle and book (wishful thinking) from gym to gym to support our team in the end of season tournament.

The team isn't very successful and with my recent focus in family dynamics it's made me ponder...

The team is filled with sweet, gentle, spunky, scrappy, angels in 9-year-old boy bodies. They have all, at least to some extent, chosen to play basketball. As individuals, all so amazing, all so full of potential, all supremely gifted boys although the basketball court highlights the gifts of some more than others.

But as a team they don't score many points, they try for rebounds but loose grasp. Players for the other team reach in and aggressively take the ball away sprinting down the court for a (albeit ungraceful) fast break. Some of the players are quite good - but while a star can have an outstanding performance to carry the team, more often they are limited.   

And our talented angels get frustrated. They lose interest. They run the offensive play their coach shouts at them by going through the motions, but their heads are not in the game. They wish each possession away so the game can be over and they can beg a hot dog off their sympathetic parent.

And I'm on the sideline thinking FOCUS! It's such a short game. Now is the time! Pay attention, watch your guy, hands up, get open - let me see the passion in your eyes, don't be timid, let me see that you WANT to win this game. It will be over before you know it and then it will be too late. There won't be any going back and playing that game over.

 And so it is with family days too, isn't it. Except I'm not sitting on the sidelines, I'm in the game. I'm suited up.  Some degree of experience and maturity reminds me that every day counts. That the crazy dinner/homework/bedtime hour will be over so quickly and then that time will be gone. That day will be gone. No chance of doing it over, it's in the record books.

I guess this is a nudge to not be such a harsh judge on these little hoopsters - it's hard to be present every moment even when you do love the sport. And also a nudge to apply this sort of encouragement to myself when I think about executing the game plan here at home. The cheerleaders may not actually be sitting in folding chairs at the edge of my dining room (whew), but I can hear them if I listen. I can feel the presence of my coach too - if I allow myself. And as team mates we can encourage each other as well. As parents we are the team captains, the seniors, the leaders.  

Today's thought: Show up to play.

We're all just people, people.

I have tried, for my own sake, to be at least aware of conversations around blending families, since I am now part of one. I like to say we're a mashup rather than calling us blended though. Mashups feel more like stand alone good things that come together to create new awesome. Exhibit A: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XL0YWTPDMUI.  Blended is beets and kale and ice...which I'm told can maybe turn out alright...(?). But anyway, however you want to name it or spin it there's a common belief that there might be a thing or two to learn about being the female adult in one such cohabitation collaboration.   

First of all I need to start out by saying that the extent of my research on this subject is limited - because I'm pretty new at this and because I have a full time job. And I had a hair appointment last night and date night with LOML the night before. And that even makes it sound like I would have done a lot of research on this had I had the time, but I wouldn't have. I'm not really the researchy type. I just feel how I feel and I have to just speak it out into the world so I can look at it and tweak it. Sometimes the minute it comes out I can see the absurdity of it and I can almost instantly see other perspectives - perspectives that are more accepting, more peaceful, more true. And sometimes speaking it helps me to believe it more. It's like a commitment to anyone that heard, even if no one is there listening. The air has heard and the trees. And trees mean business, you know?

First let me summarize my findings to date:  I'm supposed to have a hard time connecting with his kids. They will hate me, I will resent them. My kids are supposed to get competitive about my time - divided now by another. They will act up, they will push buttons. He will panic - wonder what just happen, feel neglected, turn inward. I'm going to feel under appreciated (ha, oh is this when that's supposed to start? my bad.) The romance will disappear. The kids will gang up on each other. The kids will gang up on us. Sides will be taken. We'll catch flack from all directions as we try to craft a family. It will be awful. We will fail. 

So, um (tentative, awkward hand-raise)....How is this different from any other family?
I seriously don't want to underestimate these challenges. But were you not all worrying about this stuff BEFORE you came into a family mashup? Weren't you stressed about this in the nuclear family? Didn't you believe that failure to raise productive, respectful, happy, well-adjusted kids that would not need therapy was imminent? Didn't you wonder how on earth your spouse would ever be compelled to come home each night? I sure did.

I don't want to diminish the seriousness of these challenges. The stats validate the concern (I'd quote some numbers here, but we've all seen them. It's ugly. Plus that's a lot of work). But even so, it just feels like  a lot of drama to me. I think I've come to the decision to just nod in the direction of the societal hand wringing that's going on over blended families and then just get on with it.  We are all stand-alone, good-thing people that have come together - and this includes the exes - who really had no (no) choice in this matter and yet their names are on the roster too. The adult people are older than the kid people - and taller (for the time being). The adult people pay the bills and provide the shelter and make most of the rules that help give our family a structure that we all appreciate, to at least some degree. The kid people are kids - it's not their fault, they can't help it. They push boundaries, they are curious, they are passionate, they are funny, they get mad (over big things, over little things), they feel oppressed, they stretch, they need guidance, they teach. We all have the full spectrum of emotions. We are all illogical, unreasonable, untidy and incorrigible (at times). And we are all special, amazing, brilliant and kind. It's crazy and wonderful. It's motivating and exhausting. 

Isn't it the same in every type of family? OK then mashup families, you can do it. High five.

Mashup

I'm really feeling a push to write/talk about our blended family.

I ran into a FB post from one of my favorite mom-bloggers and it was an open request for blog recommendations for folks looking for a step-mom/step-family community. The responses were supportive, but the blog recommendations slim.
And I couldn't offer one myself.
I have read a couple, followed a couple, liked a few - but haven't really found anything that trips my trigger.
I guess I feel I need an angle.
I don't want to suck the life out of people with my typical attempts to make dark humor out of miseries.
And it's really not my style to be super positive and inspiring all the time. That would just be false.

Another thing holding me back is a traditional view of writing - that there needs to be a beginning middle and end to the story. I guess I should be excited that there seems to be a relatively definable beginning. I should capitalize on that before the beginning is in the past. But how will the middle be? And how will it end? Apparently that's not how blog writing goes. Ha! apparently that's not how life goes, note to self: duh. I need to reframe it so that really every post, every day, has a beginning middle and and end and learn to appreciate those little stories (days) in their own right. And have faith that what the story becomes will reveal itself. It might be good. Maybe it will be something people will like to read. Maybe it will be supportive. Maybe it will be funny. It might suck. It might be boring. Maybe it will be therapeutic for me and me alone. Who knows. After all these years why have I still not grown out of my resistance to diving into things that have an unpredictable outcome?  Sheez, I thought this was about writing and now I kind of feel like I need to go work this out with a therapist. Focus.

But I don't even know what to CALL our family. I'm not really a step mom yet. And I think blended sounds OK - makes sense to most people - but I read that blended is offensive to some people (?) reminiscent of melting pot perhaps, another workd that has developed a bit of a tarnish as we appreciate everyone's individuality.  
But mashup on the other hand - a totally trendy word, and one that I think implies a hybrid. It feels positive. Mashups are made purposely because the things that are being mashed up are going to enhance each other. Like overlaying a song over another.
A Dahlgren DesPlaines mashup.

One post a day from Feb. 20 - Mar. 20. Then I'll take a look. 

Give Ol' Morgan a Smile

I don't know how I even started reading this article, it's not like I make a regular habit of reading Nascar race recaps.  I guess it was because it was on Grantland, which is kind a mix of sports & pop culture, which makes me more apt to click on links.  Anyway, it took me back to my childhood, and memories I think I've shared with you in the past.

The story-within-the-story in this piece, about Morgan Shepherd becoming the oldest driver to compete in a Nascar race warmed my heart because in describing this old man (71!), Hickory Speedway is mentioned several times.  I can remember seeing this guy race at Hickory, I was Charlie's age, but my dad and I would go there every Saturday night, cooler with burgers wrapped in tin foil in hand, and take our seat in the bleachers near the entrance to turn one.  I think I learned to count in those bleachers; I knew every car, every number, & every driver. 

Some of the drivers there in the early '80s went on to be auto racing superstars.  Some of them were just locals that had a hobby.  But Morgan Shepherd was always memorable.  Every once in a while, it would rain, and they'd delay the race until they could get the track completely dry.  Morgan would put on roller skates and skate around the track to kill time.  One night, he came up in the stands, wearing his fireproof racing suit and sat down next to us.  The next think I know, he's putting me on his lap and saying "Come on up here and give ol' Morgan a smile."

Won't forget that night for as long as I live.