Some things in life are sacred. For some it’s their morning coffee, for others maybe it’s the 6 a.m. tee-off on Saturday they wait all week for. For me, it’s home. Small though it may be, as we covered last week, it remains the one place where I don’t have to entertain, cater to or otherwise impress anyone but family. It is for this and several other reasons that I absolutely cannot stand surprise visits, or, sneak attacks, as I call them at home—where it doesn’t matter that it sounds mean.
Your home is the ultimate safety zone. It is the one place where you don’t have to “keep up appearances” or “fake it ‘till you make it.” You can wear super comfy clothes that don’t match and no make-up; you can even watch a marathon of The Hills. Who cares? Who’s there to see you watching bad TV instead of working out like you should be? No one. At home, you can do whatever you want—no one is there to comment or judge, no one is there to give their opinion at all. It’s a beautiful thing.
This of course, is excluding family. Sometimes there’s no way to get around unsolicited advice or intrusions on your time from family, but it’s alright. That is what families do and it’s what makes a house a home. I don’t think I’m ever actually home alone. Either Chris or Aiden, but usually both of them, are there with me, too. As much as I’d love a Saturday morning where I woke up on my own and not to the sound of something crashing to the floor—I know that won’t be happening for years to come so I’ve found ways to relax and feel at ease with them. Now I can even read while the two of them have a light saber duel and pay the bills during heated superhero battles. This type of interference I find totally acceptable. It’s when it comes from outside sources that a sneak attack inflicts the most damage.
When a friend, co-worker or anyone other than my immediate family shows up unannounced I instantly feel uneasy. I start casually picking up the apartment, scanning the kitchen for too-dirty dishes, basically freaking out that someone might think my place is messy. I cannot stand messes and do my best to keep up with the house, but sometimes trying is not enough. Sometimes a night, or two, will go by without my washing the dinner dishes before bed, or the “breakfast pie” Aiden made while I was in the shower—olive oil, cocoa powder, baking soda, carrot sticks and orange juice all layered in a pie plate—sits on the kitchen counter for two days before being put down the disposal. Things like this I should be able to keep to myself, not be forced to share with anyone who decides to pop over to borrow my iPod or return a book.
I can’t imagine a scenario in which a sneak attack is unavoidable in today’s highly technologically-advanced society. There are cell phones, Blackberries, video phones, IMing, texting and even pagers and home phones for all the dinosaurs out there. How could it be that the unsuspecting victim was ever unreachable?
“Oh we just wanted to stop by real quick,” some say.
To them, a simple truth must be told. You are being inconsiderate. People have their own lives and make their own plans and I’m guessing that dropping everything for you is not involved at all. Call first. Showing up on someone’s doorstep is just rude.
“My phone died when I tried to call on the way over,” say others.
This is why mankind invented chargers, people. Use them. Better still, you should make plans before even leaving the house. It doesn’t make sense to spend your time stopping somewhere you aren’t sure will be worth your time.
Often, Chris and I have pretended to be out when someone knocked on the door, just because we didn’t feel like dealing with company. Especially uninvited company. Is this maybe a bit crazy? Sure. Mean even? Probably. But the little time left for us at the end of the day is something I don’t want to loose to anything let alone door-to-door religious people or friends who can’t pick up a phone.
Call it unreasonable, call it anti-social, call it whatever you want as long as you call it in ahead of time.
Reservations Required January 23, 2009
Learning, Living and Loving Patience January 15, 2009
Waiting for things has never been my style. Once I decide something should happen, together, my excitement and determination turn into rocket fuel and I work and work until I get the results I want.
It has been with great frustration and an enormous amount of restraint that I have agreed to stay in my way-too-small apartment for another year. My fiancé and I decided that the fiscally responsible decision would be to stay where we’re at until after our wedding in July and plan on moving into a home by Christmas. I’ve since concluded that I must not have been listening and therefore my agreement is invalid. A year, twelve months, fifty-two weeks . . . what was I thinking?
As of now I am living in a 971 square foot, two bedroom apartment. If I lived alone this would be great for now. However, the addition of a fiancé, a 4-year-old, a beast-of-a-treadmill, two large recliners, one ottoman, two desks, a filing cabinet, a craft organizer and all of the usual things like bedroom furniture, a couch, entertainment center, etc…it’s a challenge to even walk around.
My kitchen is just, well, it’s a little like trying to cook in a kitchen designed for Thumbelina. It’s cute, but far too small. There is almost no counter space once you add in the microwave and coffee pot, so where can I prepare anything? Enter Mr. Stovetop. This, I know, it totally ridiculous, but when you’re short on space and options you must get creative.
After two and a half years in this apartment, I am so beyond ready to move I often find myself making plans as if I actually were. I pour over the classifieds section looking for three bedroom, two bath houses and write down numbers almost daily. I know that I agreed, that I gave Chris my word . . . but somehow pretending otherwise makes it easier to deal with the reality of my tightly cramped, stovetop abusing situation.
Since I have given my word and I don’t think my “I wasn’t listening” idea is going to fly, I now accept that I have to find a way to be at least content here until Christmas.
Strategy number one: immerse myself in wedding mania. Until now I haven’t really been into the whole planning part of my upcoming nuptials, where as most bride-to-bes go into overdrive the moment Mr. Right slides a ring on their finger. I basically put it off until my friends and family started making me feel lazy. Now, in a matter of weeks, Chris and I have chosen and booked a ceremony site, a reception site, send out an update e-mail to my six lovely bridesmaids, picked out very sweet invitations, nailed down a specific time for the ceremony and reserved our hotel room for the wedding night. Kudos to me, for I have successfully distracted myself from my desire to move by replacing it with the burden of hundreds of wedding tasks.
Strategy number two: follow through with obligations already set in place. My life is very busy even on a slow day, so I have decided to attack all unfinished projects and goals to help push back thoughts of big backyards and feng shuied home offices. Currently I am putting together the family cookbook I started long before Thanksgiving, working out regularly to accomplish my weight-loss goal (for life, not just the wedding,) spending more down time with my joyful little boy and putting a lot of energy into doing well in school. The last seven years of my life I’ve been a college student. No, I’m not in med-school, I’m just taking a round about way to the finish line. I’m a senior at Sam Houston State University and have been “about to graduate” for nearly three years now. It’s time to kick it into gear and get that diploma locked down and out of the way.
Thankfully this apartment/house situation has forced me to look deep into my life and see what I am actually accomplishing in it. There will always be something I want, something I think I need. Learning to wait and give ideas a little more time to marinate before making big changes is an ability I know will enable me to succeed long term.
This doesn’t mean I believe in procrastination or sauntering through life. Once you’ve given an issue the proper consideration, it’s got to be go time. Now, is all the time anyone has to make a difference or to make an impact. Now, is the only chance anyone gets to make their lives a more accurate reflection of themselves.
How-To: Bring Your Family Closer Together January 8, 2009
New Years has come and gone and I must admit, I made no formal resolutions. But, unofficially, I did recently decide to modify my home-life around in hopes of bringing my family and I closer together. A couple of the changes we’ve made so far are logical, free and seem to have made a substantial difference.
Get up early every day and spend your mornings together. Though I am very much a night person (there’s something about the night that just makes it easier to breathe, to think and to write . . .) this has been my favorite change so far. I’ve found the dim, quiet morning to be a very relaxed time when you can just be together while you slowly get ready for the day. I realize that most of us struggle with just getting up on time let alone early, but if you set up as much as you can the night before it will be a lot easier to have extra time in the morning. This includes the coffee pot, everyone’s breakfast and lunch, preparations for dinner, all outfits complete with briefcases/purses and anything else that can be done ahead of time. When these things are already done, it makes the chances of racing around in the morning and being late to work very slim, thus giving you a low-stress start to the day. Yes, it means you will have to make time in your already jam packed schedule to work on tasks for tomorrow’s adventures—but remember, this way you’re giving yourself about 14 hours to get these things done instead of maybe two. Besides, it just makes sense to start your day off as peacefully as you can so you’re better equipped to deal with the demands you’re sure to face later on. Sharing this time with your family gives you a wonderful sense that you’re “in it together.” For parents, taking the extra time to cook your children breakfast and talk to them about whatever is on their increasingly inquisitive minds can make a big difference in what kind of parent both you and your child see you as. If you’re there to listen, more often than not you’ll find they will want to share their thoughts with you.
Another great idea is to save errands for Saturday and Sunday. Most of us are guilty of cramming everything into our weekly routine just to free up the weekend. Spending almost no time together five nights in a row so you can maybe spend two days together at the end of an exhausting week doesn’t make sense. It breaks up the consistency people, families and especially children need to feel secure and be truly content with their home-lives. Come home after work; don’t line up three or four stops along the way. Mix things up by surprising your child up with an impromptu trip to the park, the batting cages or the movies. If you don’t have children, go to the park yourself and take a walk or knock out tomorrow’s prep work early. Board games and cards are always fun and the kids will love to play. Seeing your loved ones happy and excited is a natural stress reliever and gives you a warming feeling of contentment. Theme nights are great to try out, too, like, sports night with hot wings, a game of catch and an evening showing of The Sandlot. (Hint: men tend to be happier when tasty food is involved!) Whatever you do, just do it together. By making yourself available to your family it lets them know you have made them a priority and you value their company. Nail shops, hair salons and grocery stores are all open on Saturdays, ladies. Make due. Menu planning and to-do/shopping lists really help here. Of course there will always be something you can’t avoid doing during the week, so in these cases make every effort to take care of it on your lunch break. You will have to do some things on weeknights, but just make sure it’s the exception the rule and not your normal routine.
The most important part of being a closer family is truly being grateful for the time you have to spend together, whether it’s thirty minutes a day or three hours—be grateful. Teach your children how to thrive and be happy in all situations by offering yourself as an example. Everyone’s lives are different but I believe the basic principals behind these suggestions can be helpful to all. Your life only happens once; there are no second chances to be a better mother, father, son, daughter, sister or brother—so be who you want to be every moment you can.
Surviving Another Christmas December 19, 2008
The holidays make me sick . . . literally. There have been no more than a handful of special occasions where I remained in good health from beginning to end. True to form, smack dab in the middle of this year’s Christmas festivities, I have developed a very itchy, swollen, blotchy red rash all over my arms and legs-a reaction to an antibiotic I was given for a bug-unknown-bite that took a turn for the worst about six days ago.
“Have a merry Christmas,” the doctor said, “and call me if it gets worse.”
Oh, how redundant it has all become.
When I was nine I spent the New Years Eve in the ER with my Mother. For hours I knew something was happening to me, but since I couldn’t tell what it was I figured it was just minor and mostly in my head. Unfortunately for me and poor Mom, the problem was actually in my neck. By the time I came to her, and by “came to her,” I mean, laid on my bed crying until she came and found me, I had developed a very bad case of swollen glands. In true child-like fashion, I had waited until we were minutes away from heading out to Aunt Kathy’s annual New Year’s Eve party before I alerted anyone to my situation. In the ER I had to drink about three million glasses of ice cold water, for what purpose I still don’t even know, thus turning my entire body an eggplanty-type-purple. Then to my horror, the doctor, a boy, told me I would have to pull down my pants because he needed to give me a shot “in the rear-end.” The sobbing was instantly back in action and a moment later a very nice nurse appeared to administer the shot.
The universe cares very little about the same things a teenage girl does, so it decided not to limit my extraordinarily bad timing with illnesses to holidays alone. No-the universe thought it would be a hoot to screw up prom for me, too.
Easter, 2001: I lay out in the sun, completely surrendering to the merciless rays of the afternoon. It’s so hot I can barely breathe but somehow I endure. I found a way to relax and find peace through the heat’s total saturation of my body, in fact, I had found so much peace that, as cliché as it is, I fell asleep. My back burned so badly I had to go to the doctor (surprise, surprise,) but not before I had the ingenious idea to take the sting out by covering myself with towels soaked in vinegar. Not only did this merely dull the fierce, searing pain to maybe, an angry, throbbing soreness, but it caused my skin to tighten so much I couldn’t even push myself up off the floor. When I finally did make it to Dr. Farr’s office, I had missed three days of school and gone through an entire “value size” bottle of Solarcaine. Serious though my situation was, this setback did not stop me from buying the exact dress I wanted to wear to my senior prom. I still got the killer low-back sequined gown and was thrilled to wear it. However, I slept in that lawn chair long enough for the sun to burn through so many layers of skin, that even with medication and Estee Lauder’s best sunless tanning cream, I ended up showing off a very clear X between my shoulder blades where my bathing suit top had been months earlier. Most girls spend months going to expensive salons to show off their tans at prom. I spent one afternoon in my backyard and then months trying to cover it up before prom. At least the Fake-n-Bake Betty’s probably spent way more money than I did. Score: Meagan 1, Betty’s 392.
When I was twenty, the universe stomped all over New Year’s Eve again. About an hour after enjoying a late lunch at a nearby Mexican restaurant with Chris, (then-boyfriend, current-fiancé,) and his parents, I started to feel very queasy.
Instantly I thought, ‘Oh, God, I knew that meat looked weird in my chimichanga!’
The more time went by the sicker I became, until finally I was laying on Chris’s couch shivering and throwing up. It wasn’t food poisoning. I had the flu. Until this point, I had always thought the flu was just a really bad cold. I quickly discovered this to be an extreme falsehood. The flu was so much more than a cold. The flu was the most horrific illness I had ever experienced. The flu was killing me. Chris drove me home and, with the help of my parents, got me set up in my room for the night. Before he left, he set up a Sex and the City marathon (a-la-VHS) in case the Nyquil failed to thoroughly sedate me. He left that night at 10:30 to be with his family, and I stayed in my room, alone and miserable, with only Big and Carrie with whom to ring in the New Year. And so, in the words of the late, great, Freddie Mercury . . . another one bites the dust.
Though I am, at this very moment covered in a sea of itchy, red puffiness, I have high hopes that this Christmas will be one holiday I don’t remember for all the wrong reasons. Soon, I should be able to check this holiday’s inevitable illness off my ever-growing list of things to do and still have time to enjoy the season.
My high hopes for happiness do not end with me, but extend to each and every one of you. I know it’s sometimes hard for adults to feel the warmth of Christmas when we’re all responsible for so many extra things this time of year. I urge everyone to be open to the recognition of Santa Claus as a true force for good in this world. Know that no matter what personal beliefs you hold, the happiness he brings is real. If you need reassurance, just ask the little 9-year-old girl from Cesar Chavez Elementary School in Pharr, Texas. Her letter to Santa resulted in the arrest of a relative who had been molesting her and her sister for the last four years. You can bet that Santa Claus, and the good that can come from believing in his spirit, will always be very real in the hearts of those two lucky ladies.
2008 Holiday “Top 5″ December 5, 2008
Christmas is fast approaching . . . only two paychecks left, for those of you who plan these things out like I do. With all the wreathes and lights and greenery around town, I find myself almost perpetually in the holiday spirit. I am looking forward to many things as the season wears on, the best of which have made it to my Top Five list this year.
1. The cold, well, colder weather. As a very proud Ohio girl, Texas heat is something that I’ve never gotten used to. When I stepped out of the airport the day my family and I moved here in July of 1995, I felt as though the oxygen had been sucked from the air. ‘What’s humidiy?’ I was shocked. ‘People can’t possibly live like this, can they?’ I thought. ‘But, how could Dad bring me to a place that will surely suffocate me?’ I was eleven, asthsmatic and totally betrayed. It took about three months for me to accept that I would not be returning to Cleveland . . . home of the Indians, the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame and the best stadium mustard known to ever grace a street-side hotdog. When the temperature drops, I can almost pretend I’m home again. That is until three minutes go by and somehow it’s 85 and rainy.
2. Decorating. Tonight I will hold my first annual decorating party with my son and fiance. We have many family members to see on Christmas Eve and Christmas Day and rarely have time to spend with just each other for the holidays. So, last week I decided to make decorating the apartment a family event that we can all enjoy together. There will be upbeat Christmas music, egg nog, cookies and tiny hor d’oeurves while we put out decorations that my Mother used to hang when I was a little girl. Though we have a few new ones of our own, the ones I can remember hanging on the walls of our house on 140th Street are still my favorite. When we’re done, Chris and I will dish out a warm meal on china given to me by his late grandmother, and we will have our own version of Christmas dinner. A classic holiday movie, the title of which is thus far undetermined though I’m really pulling for Roudolph, will close the night along with hot chocolate and snuggeling. I am hopeful that this will be one tradition we hold on to.
3. Redirection. Christmas and all it entails offers your mind something else worthy of attention aside from everyday life. I welcome the distraction and am truly thankful for the ability to think about something other than Barack Obama, my job, the laundry, our finances or the ongoing cold war between myself and our tredmill. (Only feet away, every night that evil silver beast taunts me as I watch House from our oh-so-comfy-couch.) I am all too happy to replace these thoughts with others, like, where to put the Christmas tree this year or how to make sure my son doesn’t find his stash of presants. Hiding things from an adventurous 4-year-old is next to impossible. This year, I have eploited his inbility to get to the top of my closet and hidden his Wall-E and superhero loot up there, underneath a My Little Pony blanket. My fingers are crossed he will be too put off by the pink and purple ponies to bother.
4. Redemption. Thanksgiving did not go one hundred percent as planned. Though I had every intention of dispelling the far-too-prevelant belief that held by my family that I do not wash the dishes or clean the kitchen, or generally help at all during family get-togethers, I failed miserably. In my defense, circumstances always work against me. I woke up that Thursday morning and decided that there must be a way to overcome this terrible reputation and that I would make this right. I wanted more than ever to show my family the considerate, helpful, upbeat person I really am. This did not happen. The day started off well enough, toast and happy conversation with Mom . . . but without me noticing, all of a sudden I was behind. Relitives arrived while I was still in pajamas and by the time I got upstairs to get dressed and ready for the day, I realized that my pants were downstairs in the dryer. This is what I got for trying to be wrinkle free. The day continued this way and in truth, I did not wash a single dish. I did not cook anything, I did not serve anything, I was behind the eight ball. The one thing I did accomplish was to set the table. This backfired on me, since after all ten of us sat down and said grace, my father looked down and said, “Where’s the knives?” All eighteen eyes found my beet red face and I said, “Oh . . . sorry!” Everyone laughed, my dad shook his head and chuckeled, and I sauntered back to the kitchen in defeat. ‘Christmas,’ I told myself, ‘will be different.’ I will be the master of table-setting and a champion potato masher. They won’t see that last one coming.
5. Alastair Sim. For as long as I can remember my parents, my sister and I have watched Alastair Sim’s A Christmas Carol (1951) together on Christmas Eve with all the lights out and the fire blazing. I love to watch my father’s face as old Mr. Scrooge dances around as giddy as a school girl–the genuine enjoyment in his eyes is why I come home for Christmas. Even though Dani and I have moved out of the house, we both are sure to make it home by Christmas Eve to spend this time with our parents. After the movie ends and one of us nudges Mom awake, we sit beneath the glowing tree and open one gift. For my sister and I, this is always the new ornament that my mother has carefully chosen for each of us. It’s the nicest, calmest, most beautiful night of the year for me. I hope that my attempt to start my own family traditions with our decorating party this year ends up meaning as much to my children as Alastair Sim means to me.
Appreciating Thanksgiving More Each Year November 27, 2008
Thanksgiving is not my favorite holiday. In the beginning, the warmth of the season seems to take the sting out of everyday life. I don’t mind brain-dead drivers as much, I ignore daily onslaught of junk e-mails that never make it to the ‘junk’ folder and I don’t let the knowledge that I’m totally broke bother me. However, I seem to get less and less excited about all this holiday goodness as time goes by. The phone calls, list-making, the shopping, the endless cooking and cleaning . . . there’s so much work involved that soon the cheery warmth I once felt becomes more like a suffocating Texas heat wave. Luckily, life seems to operate around the concept of three, and though the middle gets a little rough, I always find my way back to spirit of the holidays by the end.
Since the only family I live near is my younger sister, Dani, and her boyfriend, Kyle, many phone calls must be made to successfully coordinate any holiday. The first of which is always to my mother. Where are we going to meet this year? Who’s going to be there? What should I make? Since the answers to my questions are almost never readily available, this call inevitably ends with “I’ll find out and call you back.” And so the list making begins.
1. Get with Mom again before making November budget. Must include cost of food and gas to/from dinner location.
While waiting for Mom to call back, I make the call to my sister to remind her to let Mom and Dad know when she can take off of work and what she and Kyle want to have for dinner. (No answer; end up leaving lengthy message.)
2. Make sure Dani got my voicemail and that she calls Mom back.
While at work, of course, I get the call back from Mom I’ve been waiting for, but cannot answer it. Her message does not answer my questions, but asks why my sister hasn’t gotten in touch with her and if I know what they want to eat. (Go back to list of things to do and put big irritated stars next to number two.)
On the way to the store I finally get to speak to my Mom and get some answers. Dinner will be at my parents house in Houston, Aunt Monica and Uncle Chris and the kids are coming but we don’t know about Uncle Evans and Aunt Ann yet, and I don’t need to bring anything and should be trying to save my money for Christmas. Right. I turn the truck around.
“Okay, Mom, thanks,” I say with a sigh. “How’s everything going with you?” And here’s where it usually happens. Having gotten all the business out of the way, I stop worrying about my lists and all the things I need to do and Mom and I can just talk. She talks about how excited she is to have everyone over and that she hopes my Dad will make those little meatballs everyone loves . . . and I smile. I miss being home and really do look forward to the craziness of Thanksgiving Day.
As we talked I remembered how alike we are, and how wild our holiday get-togethers have been in the past. On separate occasions, both my Mom and I have absent-mindedly shut off the oven while the turkey was still cooking inside it. Those years, no one ate until 9 o’clock at night and didn’t even mind—they were all having too much fun taking shots at us to care. There have been years where cranberry sauce flew through the air, screaming matches erupted because someone refused to wipe down the base boards, tray after tray of garlic bread was burned and our Irish setter raced across the backyard with hot pink panties on its head.
With all this, it would be so easy to let the day be ruined. It would be so easy to put on fat pants, grab a second piece of cherry pie and while looking for the remote boldly announce to the living room, “I’m out. Leftovers are in the fridge.” But the great, no, the beautiful thing about my family is that these insane events don’t ever ruin a holiday for us—they make it fun, and they make it memorable. The story of the flying cranberries has been told a hundred times over, sometimes while laughing so hard you can barely make out the words. The base boards remain a fierce battle of wills each and every year, my Mom has always had bad luck with garlic bread and I don’t think anyone will ever forget watching the hot pink panties zip by the picture window for all the neighborhood to see. We remember these things all throughout the year, and suddenly, if just for a moment, the holiday spirit is with us again.
As I get older, I appreciate Thanksgiving more each year. I am more willing to make the calls and the shopping ventures and the trip out of town with my fiancé and 4-year-old. I know that somehow, I will let the stress of frantic last minute preparations fade away and eventually get to enjoy my family over apple crisp and coffee. Cheers, and may your Thanksgiving be a memorable one.
