Shtopping: Day 49

Okay, I'll admit it:  there were a few days during this last stretch of the Shtopping experiment that I was a little pissed to be doing it.  I really, really wanted to go buy myself something sparkly and new. In particular there was a day where I spent literally the whole day wrapping presents for everyone else and then used a fairly stern voice to remind E. that there were not yet any presents under the tree for me and that this was not okay.  He correctly interpreted my tone, I think, and went out shopping immediately.

I was not particularly proud of this manifestation of the self-deprivation part of Shtopping, to be honest.  I'm supposed to be appreciating other parts of my life and discovering myself and everything, not demanding gifts from my loved ones.  I'm supposed to be finding other ways to satisfy my cravings.

Instead I just want some sparkly earrings.

In fact, the words "sparkly" and "glittery" and "light" kept running through my head over and over again these last few weeks.

Hmmm.

Lightbulb, meet the space over my head.

It occurred to me that 1) it has been dark and rainy here in Boise.  Like, super dark and rainy.  There were a few days this week where I actually walked out of the house and shook my fist at the clouds, Mr. Wilson-style.  It has been like living in Seattle, and while I know many of you adore Seattle, I have always said I could never ever live there because I would get the blues from all the damned rain all the time.  Living in Denver, on the other hand, was great because they had approximately 364 days of sunshine per year, so even though you might get four feet of snow in a six-hour period, it would be sunny the next day and you'd get enough Vitamin D while shoveling snow to float your boat for a while.

In Boise, though, while the sun peeked out a few times today, I really can't remember the last truly sunny day we had.  I miss it, the sun, on a deep cellular level.  Realization one.

2)  Maybe my desire for sparkly, glittery, lit-up new things is really some weird manifestation of some season-inspired blues?  Maybe I literally need some light, now that we live in the North?  I mean, I love sleeping nine or ten hours as much as the next guy, and it can be interesting to have fewer hours of daylight every day than I'm used to.  But feeling sleepy and a little blue and want-y is maybe not just about wanting to shop and more about needing some sun.

Also, as an aside, it is interesting to think about whether some of the grumpier feelings I have about my childhood can be connected to the long periods of darkness, which were alleviated when I moved to a) Southern France and then b) Southern California and then c) Denver.  Sorry, mom and dad.  I thought my childhood angst was all about you.  But maybe I just needed some sunlight!

3)  Even though E. and I felt sleepy and uninspired yesterday, we painted our dim, beige dining room a bright, yellowy cream.  I rearranged and cleared out some clutter and the room feels much brighter and happier.  We all want to be in there now.  Maybe if I wake up some time in the next week we might do another room!

Or I might take another nap.  Who knows.

So, all of this is a long way of explaining that I broke my Shtopping pact to purchase one thing:  a sun lamp from Amazon.  My brother told me when we moved here that he uses one in the winter months, and though I would have preferred not to make any major purchases until the experiment was over, the purpose of Shtopping is to not fill emotional needs unconsciously with purchasing.  The sun lamp purchase, instead, was a conscious choice to address some real feelings in a productive way, and since I can tend toward feeling a little sad sometimes, I figure it couldn't hurt to try.  I feel okay about breaking the rules in this way (just like I feel okay that I had to buy a new bra a few weeks back since the elastic went out on the old one.  Nobody needs my lady fruit roll-ups flapping in the breeze, right?).  But there weren't any extras in the cart, no piling on, no checking out, and I got it on sale.  And I guess that's the point--to buy things on purpose and while present.

I'll let you know next time how my sunning goes :).

I Believe in Santa

I love Christmas!  No seriously, I really, really love Christmas.  I love Christmas songs, goodwill to men, fireside chats, clove and cinnamon, giving gifts, ugly sweater parties, white elephants, Chevy Chase, baby Jesus, and the hope and magic the season brings.  (I promise not to get all "religousy", even though I believe all that, too.  I figure you know the story of Jesus, and you either believe it or you don't, but everyone can share in the magic and hope of the season.)

And I have done my best to foster a love of Christmas in my kids. We forbid anything "Christmasy" any other time of the year, then, after Thanksgiving dinner they make Gingerbread houses with my mom, and the day after Thanksgiving I let them pull out all the Christmas books, and movies to begin our months'  long celebrations.  We try to make it magical.

And it's worked, my kids love Christmas, too.  They understand, it's about peace and love and giving.

But they also like getting gifts, and when you love Christmas as much as I do, watching your kids open something they really wished for Christmas morning while snuggled up with your spouse drinking coffee in your jammies, can be the highlight of your year.

Which is why I'm always hoping that Santa can really pull through.

And it's touch and go sometimes.  There have been several Christmases when I'm not really sure he's going to make it, and this is why....

My kids ask for weird stuff.  No, like really, weird stuff.

Weird things my kids have asked Santa for:

1. Candy making robot
2. remote with one button on it that makes me invisible
3. suction cup shoes and gloves, so I can climb like spiderman
4. drone to scare bats out of my (non existent) butterfly garden
5. electric scooter (I know it doesn't seem that weird, but when you know the kid that asked for it, you quickly understand that it was off the table.)

It's important to me that Santa pull these things off, and there's a reason.  I want my kids to believe in magic, all their lives.

When Grace started questioning Santa's existence she was having a rough year.  Our dog of 15 years had passed away that spring.  She was devastated.  I was sad, and missed my dog, but after a few months of not picking up dog doo in the yard, or vacuuming up dog hair, I was pretty convinced that not only could our sweet Abbey dog not be replaced, but that she wouldn't be replaced.  Josh was so heartbroken, he told the kids that we would never have another dog.  Grace in a last ditch effort to believe in magic, wrote a letter to Santa asking for a dog.  She told me about it, and I told her, it was unlikely, that Santa only brought things parents approved of.  I saw the light of magic leave her eyes, and I wanted it back.  Long story short, Santa brought that dog.  In a letter, he explained that he got "Nicky baby", named for St. Nicholas, at the Humane Society and that she would be responsible for his care, and all of a sudden the magic was back.

Since that Christmas, I've learned that even Santa probably shouldn't give dogs for Christmas, see this article, but even so, I'm certainly glad Santa pulled through.

Grace is two years older now, and last year because I didn't want her to go through the pain and cynicism of finding out Santa's biggest secret, I took her aside, just before the season started, and said, "You've asked me if I believe in Santa, and I've always said that I do.  And I know you're getting older, and people are talking about Santa, and I want you to know that what I've always said is true.  I do believe in Santa, because I believe in the spirit of Christmas, and the magic of giving someone something special anonymously, and I want you to believe in Santa and magic.  That's why, today I'm asking you to become Santa with me, to help spread magic and joy to people at Christmas time."  She's a bright kid, and she understood what I was saying, and instead of the pain and cynicism I felt when I was her age, she was excited and joyful.  She couldn't wait to bring the light and magic she experienced the Christmas she got her Nicky baby, to someone else. 

And this year she did.  She read an article in the newspaper about a counseling center who's main clientele are refugee children who've been through traumatic events.  One year, the children, hearing about the tradition of stockings, hung their socks on Christmas Eve, and woke to find them empty. Grace read that article, and immediately asked if I would take her shopping.  With money she saved from doing house chores, she purchased, socks, underwear, toys, books, and art supplies, and donated them to this great cause.  She truly understands the hope and magic of the season, and she believes in Santa.

Oh, in case you were wondering about the list of weird stuff, in some way, however unexpected, Santa has filled those weird wish lists, and hopefully, he'll continue to do so with Grace's help.

Shtopping: Day 60. Breakthrough?: The Make

No way, really?  1/3 of the way through Shtopping?

Unreal.

If you're just stopping by, hopping about, or popping in, you can check out me bebopping my way through the Shtopping (Stopping Shopping) experiment here, here, here and here.

Okay, sorry.  I'm not a poet.  Geesh.

I know the Shtopping thing has been sort of uninteresting so far.  But I think I did have kind of a mini-breakthrough last night, so bear with me and my roundabout way of explaining this.

This summer, I took this "Psychology of Eating" group class over the phone with a couple of fitness life-coachy types.  Some of their suggested changes took, and some didn't, but let me say the one thing that has most stuck with me is the suggestion that we--meaning those of us who use food as a primary self-soother in ways that bum us out--could, potentially, find other ways of soothing or comforting ourselves.

Hmmm.

Part of me is all, nah.  Food is such a good self-soother.  It's such a part of our social lives, and it tastes good, and it feels good, and I don't want to give up a majorly awesome part of being a human American with enough money to purchase food.

BUT.  Bear with me.  I think what those coaches were saying is that we can really savor food, and enjoy the crap out of it, without stuffing ourselves with it when we feel sad or lonely.  I'm thinking right now about a meal I enjoyed in Chicago with my friends and co-authors where we waited an hour and a half to get in the restaurant, and split many small plates of food, and I could not sit still in my chair because it was all so amazing and delicious and I was with some of my favorite people in the world in an exciting city in a special restaurant eating quality food carefully prepared with love.  I didn't feel grossly full afterward.  I felt awesome.

Bottom line:  for some of us, stuffing ourselves over-full when we fill sad or lonely makes us feel even worse after a while.  Plus, not every meal can be at the Purple Pig in Chicago.  Still, the idea is that maybe if we're feeling sad or lonely, there are other things we can try to feel better besides eating a whole pizza (which I have done).

For me, the other thing I tried was shopping.  Ta da!  I so smart.

Except not.  Sorry, bank account.

The coaches actually suggested other forms of self-soothing, like having a nice glass of wine with a friend (instead of, say three bottles, which is my MO), or taking a hot bath, or going on a hike.

All of those things are great.  I love all of those things, and do them on a regular basis.  I also throw heavy, heavy weights around my Crossfit gym, do yoga, eat pretty healthy overall (minus an obscene quantity of desserts everyday), have friends, meditate, enjoy my work, and try to love on my family.

But honestly?  These things, as beneficial and essential as they are, do not scratch the itch in the same way that wolfing down a plate of nachos after a night class does, or the way pressing "Place Order" does, or the way receiving a package in the mail does.  I'm sorry, but they just don't.  I couldn't live without all these other things, but they don't set off the same physiological bells and whistles as chips and internet sales do.

And I don't want to give those things up permanently.  I love a good binge sometimes.  I just don't want to feel like it's the status quo.

Still, the idea of self-soothing kept nagging at me after that class.  I couldn't figure out how to do it without food or shopping, but the idea was intriguing.  It nagged at me.

Being a devoted habit-former, I kept eating nachos and shopping until Shtopping happened.  But now I just have nachos to deal with.  You would not believe how cheesy my keyboard is right now.  And I'm not saying I have Shtopping 100% to thank for this epiphany, but maybe I do.

Because last night.  Remember how I posted about how I was kind of freaking out about the state of my house and my stress levels at the end of the semester and then the puking flu?  I was making fun of myself for that post today in my own head (while vacuuming up dog hair, I'll have you know):  like, what the hell?  In the time it took you to write that blog post, you could have vacuumed up all the dog hair!

Then I was all: wait.

Because you know what?  I felt so much better after writing that blog post.  Like nachos and shopping better.  I felt so much better than I would have felt if I had not written about my disgusting toilet and instead had cleaned my disgusting toilet.

What?

Yes.

I don't totally know what to make of this yet, but here is what I think:  making something, often in the form of writing, makes me feel just as good as buying or eating something.

Could the make be my form of non-destructive, non-addictive, happy-place-forming self-soothing activity?

Post-Race Blues

I've been doing the professor thing long enough to recognize this particular pattern in myself:

September:  Excitement about the new school year!  Lots of plans and goals and accomplishments ahead!

October:  Whoa, nelly.  I'm kind of saying yes to a lot of things.  But yay!  Still pretty excited!  Doing okay over here.

November:  Oh.  Shit.  I thought I was running a 5k.  I trained for a 5k.  But this a marathon.  No, it's a sprint-marathon.  I signed up for a marathon, but I only have 25 minutes to run it.  Why do I always do this to myself?

December:  Exhausted, bitter, sick.  Take your race medallion and shove it where the sun don't shine, mister.

That's been the pattern since high school, pretty much.  I can almost guarantee you that I always lecture blithely about sagely managing my time and seeking "balance" in September, comment hilariously about my kids' Halloween hijinks and my stressed out response in October, and then I get some kind of high-level bronchial infection in November as a lead up to national conferences (for which I am perenially late writing promised papers).  But I get antibiotics and power through, eat and drink too much on Thanksgiving, and then get the stomach flu in December as I try to wrap up grading and live through epic and inhuman hiring committee meetings.

I refer to November as the "race to the bird," because I'm just trying to stay alive until Thanksgiving "break," and after that I'm half-assing it until Christmas because I've just puked up a lung and my body is giving me the old eff you.

It doesn't take much to set me off post-race, either.  Here are some examples:

Dog hair.  We have hardwood floors. This is awesome because Nolie and I have pet allergies, and we have two dogs.  So we can clean up the dog hair.  But it is not awesome if you don't have time to vacuum twice a week.  Tumbleweeds of dog hair are basically blowing through our house right now because I missed one day of vacuuming yesterday, because I had the stomach flu.

That's how important me and my vacuuming are, people.

The piles.  Piles of clothes.  Piles of shoes.  Piles of homework.  Piles of bills.  Piles.  Piles.  Piles.  I do not like the piles, but they like me.  I am a place-for-everything person.  Nobody else in my house is.  I am unlucky in this way, for many reasons.  I have never learned my zen lessons when it comes to the piles.  I have given up on myself ever learning to be at peace with the piles.  I hate the piles.

Post-sick sheets.  It's not like I puked on the sheets.  But the unmade bed, the rumpled, hot sheets, the sweat smell.  Just, no.  I have been known to pause between bouts of hurling to change them.  Or at least to change them as soon as I'm able to stand upright.  That's how I feel about sick sheets.

The post-sick bathroom.

I can't even.

Another pile (just because it's stacked horizontally doesn't mean it's not a pile).  The books I should have read for that new class I have to teach before placing my book order.  In my defense, I read some.  And some of some.  But not enough.  Never enough.  Which means someone is sure to find out about me and my actual preparation for teaching this fine class.  Perhaps I will even have my PhD revoked and be stripped of my fine office and skinny laptop.

That's what all this is, I guess, the fear that someone will see that I had too much going on there for a while and missed some deadlines and puked all over and had to spend 36 hours in a coma in a stinky bed while dog hair accumulated and Addie's pants all of a sudden ALL stopped fitting all at once and she has two music performances this week and who is this kid's mom anyway??? and the piles overtook us and then we had to come and be rescued from our house by some tv personality who really has it all together and probably gets her book orders in on time.

It's also a little scary how close we feel to unraveling every other minute, or at least how lame my vision of "unraveling" is.  I mean, nothing really bad happened.  We're going to be okay, the dog hair will get sucked up, the sheets changed, the toilets scrubbed, and the book orders canceled and remade.  It's all okay.  I just have the post-race blues and would hope at some point to just get out of the race altogether.

Shtopping Update: Day 69!

LOL!  I was supposed to do an update yesterday but Mondays are an all-out-race to prep for my evening class and I didn't think I had time to blog, PLUS if I waited until today I would get to make hilarious 69 jokes.

Okay.  That's all I've got.  Just saying "69" is my joke.

Plus, boring post, because here's the update:  still not much news on the Shtopping front.  I thought there would be much more gnashing of teeth, honestly.  Maybe some kind of middle-class drama to share.  My own little eco-stunt.  But no.

Still, in an attempt to find deeper meaning, here's what I've noticed:

I went shopping for a Secret Santa gift downtown this weekend and though they had Many Cute Things that I would have normally bought for myself in addition to the Secret Santa gifts, I was able to not purchase them.  It didn't feel so hard because 1) not having the stress of worrying about money this holiday season feels better than those fingerless mittens would have and 2) I'm getting better at remembering that fingerless mitts don't fix whatever I think they're going to fix.

Plus, I can make myself fingerless mittens.  Just saying.

I've also noticed that I've had to talk a little bit more about my feelings with people, namely poor Eric (proximity sucks, bud).  I had a pretty good bout of sadness and anxiety a few days ago, mostly having to do with existential FOMO on my part.  I choked some of this down by eating an obscene quantity of Thanksgiving leftovers and crying hard in the tub one night (it's possible both of those things happened at once, but we will neverspeakofthatagain).  Unfortunately, the talking about the feelings is the only thing that makes them roar a little quieter.

I'm also a little worried that as this experiment goes on it will get harder and rationalizing myself into purchases will get easier.  I'm worried I might mess up and buy something and let myself down and then have to figure out how to share it with you all.  I would guess this will happen at approximately day 53.  Just my intuition.

This is the perfectionism speaking, of course.  I mean, really.  Who cares if I buy socks with little penguins on them, in the grand scheme of things.  The world will not end.   But I thought I would just put that little bit of anxiety out there, and tell you my intention is for that not to happen, and please God do not let there be any penguin socks in my future.

I have plenty of anxiety to go around if you'd like some of those leftovers.

But also there is misty-eyed gratitude because Thanksgiving dinner was so beautiful, and it snowed yesterday, which was lovely, and Addie whispers her secrets to me at night while she's getting ready for bed, and work is exciting, and Nolie is writing a novel all by herself, and I get to sit and type this in front of my fireplace while the dog snores.

Still, let's be real.  All this gratitude is interspersed with many little freak outs on my part, which I usually use shopping to soothe, but now just use dark chocolate and binge Netflix watching and also some manic crocheting.  I freak out because of all the deadlines and undone Christmas things to do and friends I haven't called and the dogs' nails needing to be clipped, and is there anything worse in the world than that sound?

But the Christmas lights are sooooo pretty!  Gratitude!  Yay!

But I'm putting off working on that one chapter that's late.  And some grading.  What the hell.  Voice of Shite says I'm worthless and a procrastinator.

Also, meditation feels good!  I'm going to go do that and then maybe I'll calm down.

But, seriously.  The grading.

Anyhoo!  This gives you a pretty good snapshot of where I'm at.  Clearly, shtopping is not my biggest problem.

Love you guys,
Me

The best part of waking up...

I am no morning person, but that doesn't seem to matter because the world is and so are my husband and children.  I've learned to roll out of bed, and get that worm.  But just because I'm up, doesn't mean I'm functioning at my A #1 level.

I would love for school mornings to be like the breakfast commercials of my past.  The best part of waking up, me being gently awoken by the smell of brewing coffee, my kids downstairs laughing about the snap, crackle and pop of their cereal.

Instead, my husband is yelling the time every five minutes, and drilling Luke and Clive about combing their hair. Grace  is rolling her eyes at the drama of it all.   Somebody's lost the third pair of gloves, and just as we're about to go out the door, I see Luke has beat up, holey old shoes on.

The positive discipline parent in me knows that this is not an issue, that the scroungy shoes are indeed the perfect natural consequence, but the just woke up control freak in me, is thinking, "I buy you nice shoes, where are they" and "People will think I don't properly cloth you", and you know who wins in the morning?  That control freak.

 Next thing I know, I'm asking him (with that tone), "Where are all your nice shoes?"  Which brings  the anticipated response, "I don't know".  He walks away downstairs to finish what he needs to do, and the control freak sweating, and murmuring under my breath starts searching through his closet, where I find three pairs of decent shoes...THREE PAIRS.

I stomp down the stairs and say smugly, "I found your shoes, if you feel like it, you could go up and change them."  Which he knows means, "Go up and change them."  He goes upstairs, and starts throwing things around, crying, and while control freak (me), is doling out the probiotic supplements to the other two, he screams, "I can't find my stupid shoes."

The control freak marches upstairs yelling something like, "You're almost ten, you should be able to find your own shoes."  which brings more tears, the tears start to awaken the positive discipline parent, and all that's left for me to do is apologize.

And I've learned that this is the greatest lesson of parenting.  Always say you're sorry.  When you're wrong, and I was so wrong, it's important to apologize to those you've hurt, particularly your children.  I hope my kids learn from my mistakes, and especially learn that when you make them, you accept responsibility for them, rectify them the best you can, learn from them, and move on....  At least that's what I'm counting on.

Balls in the Air

As an individual I am prone to distraction.  Yet, I am the mother of three, wife of one, owner of a business, and social butterfly, and with all these balls in the air, I'm in a constant state of bending over to pick them up.

Hell, I don't know why I'm writing this blog post.  I need to change out another load of laundry, I have invoices to finish, and I need to get some food cooking before my kids get here.

I know that if I focused on one task at a time, I'd be better at them, but I seem incapable of this.  As we speak there is a bed upstairs half stripped of sheets, half of the accounts payable are done, there are three baskets of laundry that need folded in the family room, and I'm trying to respond to a text from my sister.

I have intentions of seeing a task to completion, but it seems like just as I'm in the middle of it, there's a fire that needs putting out.

I find myself being completely unorganized, forgetting to check homework, not signing that check, spacing payroll, or missing appointments.

The benefits of all this bad juggling are that my children are fairly self sufficient.  They've had to be. My daughter remembers to check the family calendar, even when I don't.  My son keeps track of the pets.

And it's a damn good thing, I've raised independent self reliant children, or I don't think my kids would eat.  They make their own breakfasts, pack their own lunches, and if they didn't, they'd probably be begging their teachers for half a sandwich.

I find myself saying too often, "Hey remind me to..."

I wake up in the middle of

I started to write something there, but then had to call software support, finish cooking, clean up and get my kids ready for bed. I don't remember what I was writing, and I was going to delete it, but Josh thought it illustrative of what I'm talking about, I can't freaking finish anything.

In the end, what's the alternative.  I'm doing the best I can with what I've got, and my kids are happy and healthy (most of the time).  And the whole reason I'm overwhelmed is because I have so many wonderful blessings in my life, a great family, a stimulating job, fantastic friends

I think this song is my new personal anthem.