I Flunked

The church I attend had a series on anger last winter. There was so much information and insight I learned from the experience; i.e., imploders, exploders, and those who do both. I would say I do both.

I did not miss a Sunday during that series. I was riveted by the information I was learning. I am impaired in the arguing department. My style is to give the silent treatment until the other person “blinks”; and after enough anger builds up, well, look out for the tornado.

That’s why I was blown away by this series. Light bulbs turned on over my head. After completion, I was actually a little cocky – ok, not a little, I was cocky - in thinking, Hey, this girl’s got skills now for arguing. It’s too bad my husband didn’t learn this useful information, but he will really benefit from my new-found knowledge. We don’t argue THAT much, so I was almost looking forward to the next one to show off my new techniques.

I flunked. I became instantly defensive, bull-headed, indignant, self-righteous. It went south from the get-go. Think Linda Blair. I believe it’s the worst argument we’ve ever had – yes, my dearly beloved confirmed that’s the angriest he’s ever seen me. We don’t even remember what we were arguing about – just the anger.

What I’ve learned?
1. Listening to a series, while beneficial, is one thing; practicing new-found knowledge is another.
2. The last year and a half of counseling has been worth every minute of time and penny of money. My husband’s worth it; I’m worth it; our family is worth it. And after 17 years of marriage, we’re closer than ever.

I HAVE EVERYTHING!

I feel a bit sheepish as I glance over last week’s blog. After I hit "send" last week, it occurred to me my counselor would have asked me to think about what I do have. So here are just a few things that come to mind. Please understand they are addressing the complaints from last week. I am very grateful for my family, health, home, food – a very long list.

I have the opportunity to work with an organization I feel really passionate about: working with kids who would benefit from adult mentoring. Now that makes my heart sing. Kids make my heart sing.

I prayed for the chance to take on some change in my life. Boy, am I getting that opportunity. I’m seeing from this past week that I can succeed; that it’s okay to have failures (while not fun, it is progress in the perfectionist department); and that having the support of wizard techno people to help me with my Cra- – I mean Blackberry issues has saved my sanity.

I am still struggling with the crabby virus this week, but I am fortunate to have family and friends who are patient. I am hearing myself more in the midst of my crabbiness and apologizing quicker (at least I hope so – confirmation, dear?).

So to quote a wise sixth-grader from his first English paper of the year, “I’m not perfect, but I’m going to keep trying new things and having fun.” Thanks, buddy.

I HAVE NOTHING!

Over the last couple days I’ve tried to sit down to write my weekly blog and realize I’m stumped. I have nothing. I’m on information overload.

Throughout the last couple weeks I have: officially started my new volunteer position three days a week; started to learn Word and Excel; received an offer for a paid writing assignment and an opportunity to review a show at Indy Fringe Festival; my kid started school; and to top it off, I’ve switched over to the dark side – yes, a Blackberry. Have I mentioned before I am technologically inept? Email and court reporter software was the extent of my knowledge for over a decade.

I am 100 percent excited about all of these latest developments (except my kid starting school), but with these opportunities comes a high amount of stress with my learning curve. Add to that my perfectionist personality, phew. I’ve been snapping at my family, defensive, all-around crabby. Every bump in the road gets blown way out of proportion.

The one consistency through all of this is I stopped running before my summer trips due to a minor injury. Since the trips I’ve been making excuses as to why I haven’t started again – too busy, too hot out, feeling rundown. Well, not anymore! I started today. I was so frazzled, I threw on the shoes (screw the 80-degree weather) and ran. So it didn’t feel all that fabulous (lungs screaming – legs jelly), yet I am a little calmer, and I’m glad I’m finally back to doing something I love and makes me feel so much better.

Log Blog

I got stuck on a log. I was on my way to a meeting in the midst of a downpour, and there was sporadic road flooding. I saw something floating, but I thought I got through the “puddle” unscathed. Then I heard this dreaded “rrerrer,” a bit like the sound of a garbage disposal. The “rrerrer” was stuck under my car. Thankfully the usually busy road wasn't at that moment, so I had the chance to back up to try to break free. No such luck, “rrerrer” again. I pulled slowly to a right turn lane and looked under the car. Yes, a log.

The rule in my past profession was understood: if you're not 15 minutes early, you're late. This habit has carried over into my new position. My anxiety commenced.

Gratefully, a kind citizen stopped to assist. He jacked up the car just enough, and I pulled the log out. This log was about 4 feet long and about 7 inches in diameter. I picked that log up over my head and chucked it over the guardrail. The man turned to my son and said, “Wow, did you see what your mom just did?” To which I replied, “I am woman; hear me roar!” Okay, I didn't say that. But all my anxiety over being late went with said log. He had gotten some dirt on his light khaki work pants in the posterior area, which I politely informed him of while thanking him for helping me. He then pointed it at me for help, to which I politely replied, “Yeah, I can't help you with that, I'm married.” One good deed does not always warrant another.

My moral to this story is, one, when I'm nervous, find a log to chuck to release anxiety – physical exertion releases stress from my brain (duh!); and two, the ever-present not jumping to conclusions when someone is late. You never know, someone may have gotten stuck on a log on the way to a meeting.

Quid Pro Quo

What a sad state of affairs when your son presents you with a contract complete with lines for initials and signatures requiring family time each day. It's a game contract, and I won't go into all of the details. It is lengthy and filled with technical jargon, talks about penalties for missing days, and includes two grace days a week so long as they are made up in said week.

I don't know whether to be embarrassed that the kid had to write the darn thing or impressed at how well written it is and wondering if this is somehow related to a future career for him.

What I do know is he's turning 12 years old and is still asking to spend time with his parents, as my friends so insightfully pointed out; and that each time we honor his contract, he just glows. It reminds me of what I've read in some books: that we're depositing love into his emotional savings account from which I hope he will draw on in the roller-coaster teen years to come.