Well, what do you expect?

Last night I almost got up out of bed two or three times so I could write down phrases and words to describe a concept that's been floating around in my head.

It's still not neat or concise or complete in my head, but here it is. It's something I've realized about me.

The more tightly I grasp at and cling to my expectations of another person, the greater chance I will miss reality and the unique gift of who they really ARE (imperfections and all), instead of who or how I wish them to be. It's easy for me to get tunnel vision and no longer see all the wonderful things about them (or even the un-wonderful, but realistic things); I no longer am present and available to listen and care and offer love and support for where they are. I only see each time they once again fail to be... something that wasn't them, at least not in that particular moment. I'm only looking for who I want them to be, who I expect them to be, who they should be (according to me)... instead of who they are.

I've spent so much time and energy informing Superman of how he should be or think or act or feel. I've thrown so many internal (and external) tantrums when he did NOT behave how I thought he should. I've lined up expectation after unrealistic expectation along with lists of reasons as to why they should be reasonable... and in so doing have become quite miserable - so long as my happiness rests in whether or not he (or anyone) meets my expectations.

I've really been too afraid and insecure to put the focus on me. I'm the only one I really have any control over. It's so humbling, but I've got to start (and stay) with me. A fellow twelve-stepper described recovery work as being "painfully exhilarating."

Yes, it certainly is. And I've become so much happier as a result!

A man of lesser quality would not have put up with me for as long as Superman has. I'm supremely grateful for him. Just the way he is.

Feelings

So when you express your feelings, particularly those less-desirable, yucky, dark feelings that you've tried to deny and ignore and repress? Turns out new feelings (usually more enjoyable ones) come to take their place!

And by "you" I entirely mean "me."

I've been (and still am) so terrified of feeling my feelings. I don't even know how to begin to process them most of the time.

But I'm learning, slowly.

Being honest with myself about my feelings is hard for me. Not judging myself and my feelings is even more difficult.

Pin up girl

I've been trying to do other things with my hair, than simply occasionally wash and ponytail it. More specifically, I've been trying to understand and actually attempt the use of bobby pins. Oh, and "product." Quite unfortunately, merely owning bobby pins and product does NOT magically bestow upon me all kinds of hairstyle knowledge and skill. So, I've been trying. I never spent hours in the bathroom or in front of mirrors practicing and perfecting all kinds of hairstyles during my junior high and high school years, and it shows.

The other day I washed my hair. I put "product" in it. I bobby pinned with determination. I emerged with what I thought was a tolerable manner in which to display my hair NOT in a ponytail. Several hours later Superman arrived home. I was eager for honest feedback.

Me: Look at my hair. I "did" it today. Do you like it? Not like it? Thoughts?

Superman: *considers my hair* Eh, not really. It's not my favorite.

Me: Specifically, how I pinned it up like this. Here and here. *points out pinned spots*

Superman: Oh. Yeah, that part's okay. It's just really poofy. Maybe if you put some anti-frizz stuff on it or something.

Me: I did.

Superman: Oh.

Evidently I didn't use enough product. I'm tempted to just throw it back in a ponytail until it's 5 or 6 inches longer and less likely to poof. Product is expensive, yo.

First bike ride together since before we were married!

I feel like such a fraud. I'm all spandexed up and I don't even know how to change a flat tire!

We went nine miles and it was a ton of fun. I think I'm going to like this road biking thing (not that I ever doubted), especially with a partner like Superman. He was so encouraging and helpful and kind. It was a little unnerving to be on the road and not in a car (especially turning left with opposing traffic ALSO turning left and being just a little biker in the middle of an intersection full of gazillion-pound cars!) but I'm sure I'll adjust.

I hope my legs will eventually have a shape other than KNEE, but whatever. I'm glad to have legs and having a strong, healthy body is more important than whether or not my calf muscle is visible.

We reached speeds of 20 mph. As soon as I figure out how to shift without having to think too much about it and become accustomed to the teeny-tiny tires I'm riding on, I'm going to have a blast. I had a fantastic time today; can't wait for the next ride!

Superman saved my life!

This is why I can't remember things - my head is in the clouds or I'm in my own little world much of the time.

I can't believe I forgot to blog about how my super husband single-armedly saved my life (or at the very least, my legs. Or maybe at the very, very least, a sudden surge of adrenaline.)

Last night as we were leaving the restaurant and walking to our car I was almost hit by a car and probably would have walked WAAAAAY closer to it (or directly into its path) had Superman not been paying attention and grabbed my shoulder when he did.

We were crossing a part of the parking lot where cars travel both directions. I was paying attention to the car to my right because it had just braked and I was walking directly behind it's bumper. I was about to step clear of that car when Superman suddenly grabbed my arm and pushed me back while exclaiming, "slow DOWN! This is a PARKING lot!" (he wasn't talking to me) just as a car came to a sudden stop directly in front of me. She had to have been driving fast because I didn't even see her approaching from the right when I had checked a few seconds before.

Superman saves the day! Though I'm sure he'd much rather shoot someone in my defense than merely drag me out of the path of an oncoming car. Not that I'm looking for opportunities for him to do either.

Date (OVER)night!

I honestly don't know why we didn't think of this sooner. Both sets of grandparents live less than 30 minutes away from us and have for over a year. And we've waited this long to enjoy a night without kids why?!? For whatever reason, it finally occurred to us that it was a possibility and man has it been lovely. Number of interrupted conversations? ZERO!!! Absolute heaven.

After dropping the kids off yesterday we went to Panera and ordered our favorite sandwiches to enjoy and share. We almost never go to Panera together. My favorite sandwich (bacon turkey bravo) is definitely better than his (asiago roast beef.)

Then we went to the mall, where I got my eyebrows waxed (should I take a hint if every single time I go they ask if I also want to wax my upper lip? I know they're just trying to make more money but still... makes me wonder if I need it.) We walked around and went in stores that seemed interesting and enjoyed free tea samples from this store and I bought some clothes, which I really needed. I later bought shoes, which I also really needed. And an O. Henry book, which I probably did not need but it was all of six dollars and fifty cents and there is no way I'm going to walk into a massive Half Price Books store and not buy anything. I mean come ON. I think I was doing quite well to stick to just one book.

After church we got some coffee and sat across from each other, absorbed in our phones (really! we did!) until someone walked by and joked, "I hope you're at least texting each other!" I told him we weren't, but had been playing Scrabble with each other earlier if that counted for anything. We continued to sit with our phones in relative silence, making occasional comments to each other while sipping our drinks. It was lovely. Then we decided we were hungry, and got almost all the way to the restaurant before Superman remembered that I! Needed! Shoes! So we turned around, drove across town and bought these (after confirming via smart phone that we'd have to spend an extra twenty-five cents if we bought them from Zappos), then the book, then drove back across town for food. Which we enjoyed.

We got back too late to go in the hot tub, but not too late to talk some more without being interrupted! Lovely concept, that.

This morning I had planned to go to my CoDA meeting but because I'm not meeting with my sponsor after group today (still plowing through my fourth step) and due to the single car issue, I opted to skip the meeting and stick with Superman. He's involved in the junior high ministry here at church and that's where I am right now - in the church's coffee shop enjoying a lovely morning.

---

Speaking of being on my computer at church... two Thursdays ago I was huddled over my laptop watching the clock, poised and ready to register Elaine for preschool at the stroke of 9 pm, which was when registration opened. I was able to register her successfully for the fall and not long after that someone walked by and said, "Hi [beck]! You look like you're hard at work!" I raised my head and looked blankly at him. I had absolutely no idea who he was. And he knew my name. It's true I was wearing a name tag, but he wasn't close enough to read it. "Hi..." I faltered, mentally zooming through all the people I know and have seen/met at church while waiting for his face to click and attach itself to a name in my head... but I came up empty. I hate this. I'm really not good at names in the first place and it usually takes a few times of regularly meeting someone for me to remember their name with any accuracy.

I could now either pretend I DID know him (but not have any idea at all why or from what) or admit I had no idea who he was and could he please tell me his name again? I chose the latter and he seemed only slightly hurt, "you know... Mike?" I did not know, unfortunately. Ugh. "Hi Mike. I'm so sorry I don't remember you; can you remind me how we know each other?" "You know, just around church." "Oh. Do you help with the kids or something?" SURELY there was SOME connection? "No, but" he gestured to his daughter, "I think our girls are in the same class." "Oh!" I nodded, "Yeah that could be it." I still have absolutely no recollection of meeting him and since then I've seen him a few times and he's forever imbedded in my brain as "Mike, the guy from church I don't know."

Peaches

I remember the first time I became aware of the difficulty I have when things seem to be going smoothly. See? I just did it right there. I typed "seem to be" instead of "are." Things can't go well. They don't. IF they are it just means that something bad is going to happen. The other shoe will drop. And then somehow, impossibly, I should have known better. I should have done something differently which might have prevented or held off the shoe dropping.

The whole time something is going well I'm largely unable to enjoy and relax because I'm internally tensing and preparing and worrying about when things will cease to go well. It's life, all of it, and for some reason I think that if I just do everything perfectly enough, I won't have to... but I'm not perfect. This is not new news. And yet I still strive to be. To do "IT" right. THE right way. There are SO many right ways to do things, I really have no idea why I obsess about the right way to do laundry. Or eat. Or brush my teeth or parent or wash dishes. Good enough CAN BE enough. I am human.

I'm mildly frustrated at my inability to get past this already because dontcha know that anxiety is Doing It Wrong.

I find it ironic that I fail to apply to this area of my life the motto I have so embraced and been okay with, for parenting. That motto is: "Do what works until it doesn't work any more. Then do something else." Whatever works for you. Sleeping through the night? Great! Glad it works for you! Not sleeping through the night but you don't mind getting up to nurse twice? Great! Glad it works for you! Not right. Not wrong. Everybody's different. And that's okay.

Both depression and anxiety take the person suffering these conditions out of the present moment. They're unable to be all there. Physically present and mentally elsewhere. Certainly not very emotionally present. I've rarely lived in the present moment. I find it to be just too terrifying most of the time. Sometimes I risk it, in the moments that seem to be safe.

Fulfilling life is about being present. Thankful and humbly accepting what comes. Riding through moments as they come, and then letting them go. Good ones and bad ones. Happy and sad ones. All kinds of feelings and moments will come and continue to come until we're dead. We can't control it or decide it even if we are convinced we can. (And if we are convinced we can, we'll eventually be proven wrong; I speak from experience.) Control is such a tempting illusion. As is perfection.


Some people self-medicate. I've tried. Oh how I've wished I could just eat more when I'm anxious, as that would solve two problems at once! I think I'm reaching the point where plain old medication is the answer, for now. I've been wondering that since September and trying many other alternative solutions without much relief. Still haven't called Kaiser to follow through, which makes me wonder if I'm trying to be perfectly in control here, too. If you're anxious about going on anti-anxiety meds does that mean you need them all the more? Probably. It certainly means you need SOMEthing.

Two things, through this, have remained completely awesome. My God and my husband. Both love me without condition and though one does so imperfectly, he has held me and supported me and I am so grateful for his physical presence and comfort.

I started this post thinking I was going to write about eating peaches and laughing around the table with my girls and husband almost two years ago. That was the moment I first became aware of how uneasy I was, at the core, and that's when I first wanted to know why. I thought some more about it and realized it was because I felt I didn't deserve that lovely moment. Surely it would be ruined or taken from me. I had to be ready and I had to protect myself because I hate it when I hurt. Something was preventing me from enjoying the abundance of gifts in my life.

I was preventing me. I hate it when I steal my own joy. I do it quite frequently and I'm really getting tired of it. This isn't working for me any more. I hope I find something that does work, soon. I'll try again, tomorrow.

(P.S. I was depressed much of the time before having kids. Now I'm anxious. I would MUCH rather be depressed. Can't control it, I know... just saying. IF I could pick... =))

Latest pastime...

(Mine's the one on top; Superman's is below.)

I usually win, though only just barely.

Sent from my Droid 2 Global

ESTJ + INTJ

Superman, with a resigned sigh: Great. Now you're going to analyze me to death.

Me, laughing: Oh come on! As if that's new? You've known me how long?

Superman, dramatic Eeyore effect: Yeah but before, you just did it for torture. Now, it's going to kill me.

Dinner Talk

Our family likes to take turns answering questions from this book during dinner time.


The girls get whatever question we think they'll have fun answering and Superman and I pick a number between 1 and 365 and answer whichever question correlates with the number. Tonight I picked 92.


Superman: "If you could invite any character from a book, TV show, or movie to do something with you, whom would you invite and what would you do?"


Beck (thoughtfully): "Hmmm. This could take me a while." I mulled over many, many books. There were too many. I don't really watch TV. Movies--


Superman (as an afterthought): "...except for Mr. Darcy because I followed you into that book and shot him."

Beck: *dies laughing*


I ended up picking Tatiana Rusesabagina (wife of Paul) from Hotel Rwanda. We would talk (meaning, I would listen) about what it means to love and what she learned about herself, her husband and her marriage after living through what they did.

Look into your heart and you'll find love love love love

Superman, announcing to all of us: I love my beautiful girls.

Elaine, promptly: No. I'm pretty.

Superman, smiling: Oh pardon me; I love my pretty Elaine.

Val, not one to be left out: And I'm wonderful!

Superman: OK. You're wonderful.

Superman, joking, to me: Have I created a couple of monsters?

Me, chuckling: I don't think this kind of daddy-loving-his-girls monster could ever get out of hand.

Babies and the people who love them.

We drove Superman to work last night. As we waited at a red light, a city bus crossed the intersection in front of us. The billboard on the side of the bus had a picture of a newborn baby, asleep on her tummy, legs tucked under in the way that newborns do, sweet little baby face all squished against her arms. My 220-pound, 6'3", law enforcement officer husband's reaction was, "awwwww! look at that sweet little baby!" I could hear his heart melting.

So I did look. And as I did, I smiled, and thanked God for such a tender man to be the father of my girls.

My parents are the boring ones

"Daddy stop hugging Mommy! It's boring. We want to do fun things."

-Val, obviously having had enough

Aftermath of all-night overtime

7:00 am

me: Hi. Good morning. Why aren't you in bed?

him: I'm just doing some stuff with the network. I had breakfast. I have court later.

me: OK, well are you at least going to take a nap or something?

him: No, I'll just stay up. I'll be fine.

 

9:00 am

He's still on the computer. He steps into and out of the entry closet as the network goes on and offline.

me: You really should try and get some sleep.

him: I'm just a little tired. Might as well stay up.

me: OK, whatever you think...

 

11:00 am

He installs a swing in the backyard for the kids and a hammock chair for me. I make lunch.

 

12:00 pm

He leaves for court.

 

4:00 pm

He gets home.

me: Hey, where were you?

him: I had to finish up some paperwork at the office.

me: Ok, well what do you want to do now? Take a quick nap before dinner? Then we can go to bed early?

him: No, I'll be ok.

He lies down on the bed next to a sleeping Val.

me: Are you sure? I can tell you're exhausted.

him: I'm not exhausted.

me: Yes, you are.

him: How can you tell?

me: Everything about you screams it.

him: You can't tell.

me: You're tired. Go to sleep.

him: How can you tell?

me: I KNOW YOU. Goodnight.

him: I'm going to get up. I'm hungry. I'll get something to eat.

 

Five minutes later, by the clock:

 

I don't know why he fights it.

Cinco

My husband made me cry tonight - in a good way.
He was just telling me how much he loves me.

We've been going to a weekly "marriage-enrichment" group at one of the churches we attend. (I know, look at us, multiple church attenders, but we only go half the time - to both! Wait. Huh?) Tonight our table discussed many different ways people tend to measure how loved they do or don't feel. We all know it's not supposed to be about "keeping track" of who owes who what, but it's really easy to use some word pictures to describe how we feel sometimes. We talked about perceived point systems, love banks, and the mental record of wrongs and rights done to us over time.

On the drive home he was trying to put words to what his love for me is like. He said none of those word pictures were at all like how he thinks about loving me. He started a few sentences, and then stopped, struggling to find the right analogy.

"OK, I have it."

I was all ears.

"You know Wolverine? Logan? It's like that."

I know of Wolverine, yes, and that he's in X-Men, but that's about the extent of it. I waited for his explanation. I really wanted to understand this and hoped it wouldn't be something that I couldn't grasp or fully appreciate in the same way he did.

He explained Wolverine and reminded me of the special healing ability that Wolverine has. Wolverine can withstand all kinds of physical wounds, poison and disease. His body gets hurt, but then quickly grows back until he's 100% healthy again.

My husband told me that's how he feels toward me. Yes, I hurt him sometimes and of course he feels the pain. The wound of my words or action cuts deep (especially the times I'm trying to hurt him (which is 3 million times worse and totally, wretchedly immature on my part)) but he doesn't stay bleeding for long. His love for me works right away and quickly grows back. He forgives me and soon he's all healed and his love for me is just the same as it was before the wound. It's like the wound never happened. There is no scar. This happens whether or not I'm still being wretched to him - it has nothing to do with me. "I can't NOT love you," he told me, "no matter what you do. My love just fills right back up."

When I think back over our FIVE YEARS of marriage and aaaaaaaaall the many difficult times we've been through, and aaaaaaaaaaaall the things I've done and said to hurt him... what he describes rings true. I rarely (I say rarely only because I know it can't be 100% true but not a single example comes to mind) feel as though I need to earn my way back into his good graces, like i have to somehow pay for what I've caused him to go through. He doesn't reject me, shut me down or sneer self-righteously at me. He doesn't give me guilt trips or have a field day with the multitude of wrongs I've done him.

It's true. He really does keep absolutely no record of my wrongs. (Or if he does he says nothing about it to me, ever.) It sounds almost too good to be true but I swear to you it's the truth.

This fresh realization combined with his earnest, humble description of his feeling for me was enough to bring me to tears. I have always, ALWAYS, since day one, felt that his love for me was in some way more pure and complete than my love for him. I don't deserve it. He loves me so much it just doesn't make sense sometimes - and that is why he's the perfect man for me.

My heart is safe with him, and I'm so grateful.

Happy Anniversary, Lover. I had no idea what I was getting into when I married you, but I absolutely don't ever want to get out of it. =)

Envious?

Hey guess what - I think I like getting massages!

I'm not a very touchy-feely person in general so I was wondering if I would like it. I know all the advantages of having relaxed muscles and just the general sense (and actual existence!) of well-being that can result from regular massages... but just knowing they're good doesn't mean I like them, necessarily.

But it turned out I did.

Superman has been looking forward to tonight since he scheduled our appointment two weeks ago. He's the one with a Massage Envy membership. I totally support and encourage him and happily budget for it... but I don't know if I'm ready to commit to monthly massages (how crazy am I?!?)

I will say that my back feels wonderful, though.

Love Lane

You know what I love about my girl?

Every time she hears us say "love you!" she immediately flings her arms wide open, because she knows that's the answer to the next question, "how much do I love you?"

SOOOO MUCH!

Motherhood: more than clean bottoms, although those are nice too.

It was the night before I was to host a baby shower for my sister-in-law.

Superman had scheduled our tax appointment for that evening. Half an hour before he was supposed to leave he realized that he had misplaced the W2. We tore up the office and file cabinet looking for it. No luck. He called the tax guy and found we could still get our taxes done using the year's worth of pay stubs we had, but couldn't get the money until he had a W2 in his hands. (By the way, did you know it costs $8.50 to get a duplicate W2.)

Anyhow. Superman had just left and I began to change Elaine's diaper. I took it off and then realized the wipes were on the bathroom counter. I dashed to the bathroom, hoping I wouldn't regret leaving a naked baby on the floor. Upon entering the bathroom I saw Val standing on the counter, saying urgently, "Moooom. I pooooooped." Hoping that she meant "I need to poop" instead of "I have already pooped" I swooped her off the counter and landed her in front of the toilet. Too late. She had pooped. Then, as we tried to remove her underwear in the least-messy way possible, the poop fell out and got on her new white sandals.

Cue the bare-bottomed baby, who by this point had probably assumed I had forgotten about her need for a diaper. Elaine toddled in to join us and "help" with the poop situation. Of course this was such an exciting prospect that she peed, which collected in a puddle at her feet, and who doesn't like stomping around in a good puddle? So that's what she did.

So, to recap. My life at approximately 6:50 pm on March 26:

Val (3 years) - squirming on the toilet with poop on her bottom and legs, smearing poop on the seat each time she moved, trying to "help" with vast wads of toilet paper, highly concerned over the unfortunate state of her once-white sandals.

Elaine (1 year) - naked from the waist down, dancing in a puddle of her own pee, delighted to help her big sister with the Putting of Things into the toilet bowl, not particularly concerned about getting poop on her or anywhere else, for that matter.

Me (27 years) - seriously wishing I could take a snapshot of the entire situation and wrap it up with a cute little pink bow and give it to the mother-to-be at tomorrow's baby shower.

Because THAT right THERE is what no one tells you about motherhood. That is, until you experience it yourself and then moms everywhere come out of the woodwork to chuckle and pat you on the back while saying, "Oh me too, honey. Me TOO."

Terminator

Today I learned Superman has his phone set the play the Terminator theme song when I call. I'm not sure what to think about that. He says it's a really cool song. I'm not sure it's a good thing to be associated with... the Terminator.

---

I just finished reading "The Prizewinner of Defiance, Ohio: How My Mother Raised 10 Kids on 25 Words Or Less" and am now freshly inspired to record the truth of my family's unique legacy. So much of the book reminded me of my Grandma and her love for words. I like to think I inherited a little of that love, but I'd like to inherit a lot more of her joy and sense of humor too!

Insecure people cannot fail

Came across this on another blog today...

"I think perfectionism is based on the obsessive belief that if you run carefully enough, hitting each stepping-stone just right, you won’t have to die. The truth is that you will die anyway and that a lot of people who aren’t even looking at their feet are going to do a whole lot better than you, and have a lot more fun while they’re doing it.”

–Anne Lamott, Bird by Bird

That person who isn't even looking at their feet? And having boatloads more fun? I call him Superman. It sometimes makes me crazy looking at both my feet AND his feet (because if I don't, who on earth will?!?! ALL FEET MUST BE WATCHED. IT'S A RULE.) but man do I appreciate the grace he has for me and the love he has for life. I do a really good job of killing that in him some a lot of the time, and I don't want to, because it's everything I truly love about him.