Common Sense, Dancing

I would maintain that thanks are the highest form of thought, and that gratitude is happiness doubled by wonder. ~ G.K. Chesterton

Let’s start this Thanksgiving off right, and begin the giant responsiblity of acknowledging what I’m thankful for this year (and in no particular order except stream of consciousness “must get this out before I forget what I’m writing about” order):

A generator. We put in a generator after the Great Construction Event of 2010, and have used it several time, most recently during the Halloween Blizzard. Recalling the days of my youth when we weren’t able to flush a toilet or take a shower when the electricity went out, I must say a generator makes things more than bearable. Open invitation for those of you who don’t have a generator: we’ve got flushing toilets, showers, and, importantly, an internet connection.

Control top anything. Now, of course you are thinking, “Huh? control top? I’d rather stab myself in the thigh than put on control top anything,” and I would actually agree with you, to a point. And yet, as we begin these days of end-of-year parties, recitals, and public appearances, I take moderate pleasure in knowing “it” is all tucked in and restrained. I’d be more grateful to lose “it,” but I don’t see that happening before, oh, Thursday, so when you marvel at my tight silhouette at the Thanksgiving table, you can just smile knowingly to yourself. I won’t mind.

My dogs. Oh, don’t get me wrong — they are incredibly annoying and under my feet all. the. time. Funnily enough, my exasperation doesn’t alter how intrinsically joyful they are. They’re thrilled to ride in the car to go pick up a child. They’re thrilled to come home after the picking up of the child. They’re enraptured by my cooking in the kitchen (to be fair, many are. It’s quite a sight.) They’re happy to go to bed, they’re happy to get up in the morning. They spend hours making nose prints on the windows, protecting their domain from wandering deer, blowing leaves, our famous Princeton black squirrels, and John the UPS guy. (Actually, they’re not so much protecting in the case of John, but more like waiting desperately for him, as he packs biscuits in among his boxes. He’s a welcome sight in these parts.)

Learning. I was going to write “education,” because I’ve been auditing a class at the University, but the truth is “learning” is more than “education,” and you can often have had a great education and learned not so much. I’m reminded all the time that learning is happening all over the place, in traditional and non-traditional venues. Some are lessons I wish we never had to learn: that a trusted coach can turn out to be an abuser of incredible proportions; that democracy can be threatened at a town hall meeting with a guy and a gun, that living beyond our means can threaten not only our way of life, but that of an entire community, state, nation; that in spite of miracles like penicillin, there remain many mysteries such as ALS and Alzheimer’s which rob us of those we love; that if you give the dog the most obnoxious squeak toy in the history of plush and rubber, it will become his favorite and scare the hell out of you when you step on it in the middle of the night on the way to the bathroom.

All the lessons are not bad ones, though. In my little world, I’ve recently learned that while terminal illness sucks (sorry Mom, but that’s the word we must use), there is a huge gift in sitting in an overly warm living room, watching The View and chatting. A huge gift. Also? I’ve learned (again) that my children are more industrious than I witnessed them being, as evidenced by grade reports and eyewitness (teacher) accounts. I’ve learned (again, thanks Husband) that unexpected flower deliveries are the best kind, and that although you can’t ever go home (er, back to college) again, it’s nice to walk around and look at the undergrads and feel old….and then shrug it off and go to the movies and dinner. (And take cabs. We didn’t take a lot of cabs back then.)

Friends. I’m still laughing over an email exchange from a couple of weeks ago. College Roommate will be flying in for business in a week or so, and I’ll be meeting her in NYC for dinner and a sleepover at her hotel. (Yes, I’m not a huge fan of the Sleepover as a parent, but as a participant at a nice NYC hotel, I’m all in.) Turns out the hotel in question is the Algonquin, and so my response to the invitation was “of course I’m in, but only if we get to sit at a round table,” to which another college pal replied, “Relax, Dorothy, we’ll get you the right table.” Huzzah! (to quote my #2 child) that there are people in the world who get me and my humor. (Still laughing, Sheila. Thanks.) So as I prepare for my sleepover (I suspect there will be talk of getting older, stray hairs, and sagging body parts, so I’m packing my night cream, tweezers, and maybe some lycra), I’m grateful for my friends who are, for the most part, far from me physically but not so far psychically. This becomes even more important when I am reminded of #2 child and her recent school experiences with so-called “social aggression” (euphemism, anyone?). Friends matter. Good friends matter always and forever.

Keurig. I don’t have a problem, I can stop any time. I just believe that every day should start with two ginormous cups of coffee, which equate to 4 K-cups. (A problem would be if I were putting Bailey’s in it at 6:30, and I’m not.) I vaguely remember the day when I made a full pot of coffee, watched it burn all morning and then poured it down the sink. Ah, the quaint old days.

Those Who Are Handy, or Pretend to Be. Husband changed about 435 light bulbs on the weekend, moved the table extensions up from the basement for Thanksgiving, and recently handled such delightful homeowner tasks as restocking the firewood and acquiring 987 pounds of salt for the softener. Jobs that I didn’t have to do — yippee! I also look forward to the return of My Guys from the contractor that we used for the Great Construction Event of 2010.  I miss them a lot — particularly when Husband’s away and there are issues that require a ladder (like 435 dead light bulbs that I don’t want to change. We waited in the near darkness for Husband’s return). I’ve got a small, albeit temporary, project that will require My Guys in the next day or so.

Volunteers and the People Who Support Them. I’m in a position of some leadership on one Board Committee, and as a “regular” volunteer in some other places so I feel like I’ve seen a bit “behind the curtain.” Volunteering is hard, and supporting volunteers must be even harder at times. I’m grateful to both those who are boots on the ground AND those who make it possible for us to be boots on the ground — even when that ground is muddy or messy or when some of the boots say they’ll be on the ground but then don’t show, or when the boots start excusing themselves with the “too busy” stories. We’re all busy, but we get it done, and WE and the organizations we support are better for it.

My family. Last, as they say, but never least. We’re healthy (aside from weird rashes in arm pits [I call them “charm pits” because I enjoy eye rolling], and the various medical issues that arise at bed time [the “parade of maladies”]) and happy (but, yes, we’re often soooooo bored) and smart (mostly too smart for our own collective good, but that’s what happens when they learn to read). Husband and I still enjoy each other’s company after almost a decade and a half together, and our parents are well enough to do things like travel halfway around the world or get two knees replaced at one time. We are blessed.

And I am grateful. Happy Thanksgiving!

I lost my mind earlier this morning.

My #2 child was struggling to get all her stuff and her person into the car this morning. She had bags and jackets and Lord only knows what else — not totally sure as I was in the driver’s seat, awaiting lift off — and opened her car door to discover that the seat had been flipped forward (you know, to allow easy access to the Black Pit that is the Third Row). As she was juggling her baggage, she asked her brother for help flipping the seat up. A brief war of words ensued: “Hurry up,” “I’m trying!” “Try harder!” etc., which culminated is his declaration, “I don’t have to help you; it’s not my job!”

This is where me and my mind parted ways.

Not his job? NOT HIS JOB? I turned my body around and proceeded to explain to him precisely what his job is. And I may or may not have been using my Outside Voice:

‘Not your job’? Are you kidding me? It’s your ONLY JOB. Your role as a member of this family is to help the rest of us out when we need help. Whenever we need help. Just as we would help you out.

‘Not your job’? Have you lost your mind? It is ABSOLUTELY your job to help your sister, particularly when she needs help and ESPECIALLY when she asks for it.

[By now I’m driving out of our driveway and slowly down our street. And, gifted driver that I am, I am able to direct my tirade at him directly as I have the gift of turning around at 5 MPH and using my Outside Voice.]

‘Not your job’? What do you think your job is? And if it’s not your job to help your sibling and your family, whose job is it? If that’s not your job, then it’s not my job to keep you fed, keep you clothed, celebrate your birthday, buy you Christmas presents, take you to the doctor….Those things are not my job either.

You must have lost your mind. ‘Not your job.’ You have to be kidding me. [Apparently when I lose my mind I do a lot of repeating.]

[There may have been some swearing and euphemistic language, a la “fricking” and “bullshit” — but not directed so much at him as at the windshield as I continued the rant in my Outside Voice to myself. Turns out when I lose my mind I also lose a bit of my ability censor myself. Happily the Mother of All Curse Words did not make it through the censor.]

And the finale:

You owe your sister, and me, and probably Daddy when he comes home [from London] an apology. Not your job. You have lost your mind.

I will not hold my breath for an apology; #4 is perhaps the most stubborn human being alive today. He just looked at me silently during the whole episode.

I’ve calmed down considerably, and although my Outside Voice has been put away, I pretty much stand by all that I said [with a nod to Bill Cosby, whose voice I hear in my head when I ask the rhetorical, “Have you lost your mind?”], even if I mildly regret the euphemisms and swearing.

There are two things I cling to at difficult parenting times such as these. First, more than a few people have told me — recently and not so recently — that my kids are great. They are correct, my children are great. They’re good conversationalists, they’re smart, they’re polite, and they are kind. They are really great kids. Maybe because of their parents, maybe in spite of their parents. Tough call.

Second, I’m incredibly mindful of Jackie Kennedy’s observation that “if you bungle raising your children, I don’t think whatever else you do well matters very much.” There are days when I could be almost paralyzed by the parenting responsibilities. A long time ago in a parenting program far, far away it was noted that we parents are not raising children, we are raising adults. And my husband and I are raising four of them. Those four will grow up, partner off, have children, etc. etc. etc. Talk about a ripple effect!

Author Stephen Covey — the 7 Habits guy — wrote in a book on 7 habits for families that “… if we as a society work diligently in every other area of life and neglect the family, it would be analogous to straightening deck chairs on the Titanic.” I think of that phrase a lot — and, huh, doesn’t ease the pressure at all. In fact, I have days like today when I feel that dodging the icebergs is hard work. The danger of letting the “not my job” tip of the iceberg get a bye means turning away from the invisible iceberg of self-absorption and selfishness that could potentially “sink” important values that are imperative for good adults.

[Just re-read that paragraph a million times, and suddenly thought, “Hmmm. Penn State coaching staff?”]

I’m going to go look for my mind. You keep an eye out too, please.