The Art of Being Lazy

Yesterday started off busy.  We were supposed to be up with the sun, dressed and ready, for my son's first soccer game.  The very idea of us being up early on a Saturday must have caused a disturbance in the Force, because when I got up, the ground was wet.  It had 'misted', spit, tinkled, sprinkled--whatever you want to call it.  It did this enough to cause the soccer games to be cancelled, since the commissioners did not want small children playing in the mud.  No, the mud on the field was to be reserved for the older kids, their white uniforms notwithstanding.  Larry took Zane to his grandma's house for a visit, and I was alone.

The sudden reprieve ended up being a blessing, because I got to be lazy today.  I'll say that again, just to make sure that you heard me.  I got to be lazy today.  How often does that happen to any mom?  I decided to take advantage and live in the moment.  I took at least two naps.  I finished two books.  I read the paper.  I sipped at my coffee while it was still hot.  I started a new book.  I took a long shower and actually shaved my legs.  Later, we all watched Wreck-it Ralph. 

It was a pleasant day with no hurries or worries.  How often does that happen?  Usually, when I have a moment to be lazy, my brain suddenly remembers this very long list of "honey-dos" that would keep even the most efficient person busy until Christmas.  Today, the list maker part of my brain shut down.

Tomorrow we will all be on the crazy train again, running to and fro and back to trying to keep up with the movement of life, this appointment, that appointment, etc.  And that's okay--I am not knocking a single moment of that slice of chaos.  I wouldn't trade it, ever.  However, that doesn't mean that I won't enjoy the occasional lazy day.


This was my 5 minute Stream of Consciousness Sunday post. It’s five minutes of your time and a brain dump. Want to try it? Here are the rules…

• Set a timer and write for 5 minutes.
• Write an intro to the post if you want but don’t edit the post. No proofreading or spellchecking. This is writing in the raw.
• Publish it somewhere. Anywhere. The back door to your blog if you want. But make it accessible.
• Add the Stream of Consciousness Sunday badge to your post (in the sidebar). .
• Link up your post here.
• Visit your fellow bloggers and show some love.

Walkabouts

My son and I have been taking our puppy Maisy for long walks whenever the weather cooperates, so yesterday we headed out, Zane with his Hobbit(tm) replica axe, and me with Maisy, my cell phone, and the broom handle we use as a walking stick.  We started off walking toward the nearest park, and then we decided to head in a diffrent direction, before changing our minds and going in the opposite direction.

We meandered, in other words.

How often do we just meander?  How often do we just head in whichever direction we have the urge?  Not much, I think.  I know that I feel much more comfortable knowing the direction that I am heading.  I like to know what the destination is, and how I am going to get there.  I can't be the only one, otherwise GPS wouldn't be so popular.  Our lives are so overscheduled these days--we always seem to be going somewhere to do something.  Soon it will be the start of soccer season, and we will be rushing about trying to get to games and practices, among our other responsibilities.

But on this day, we walked with no particular direction, the boy and I, with no particular place to be.  Zane would ask me about Bigfoot, how tall he might be in comparison to various trees and other objects, and I would give him my opinion.  He asked me to help him identify an insect for him, and we would put our heads together and discuss whichever bug was in front of us.  We examined rocks, including one that Zane called the Eye of Sauron as he put it in his pocket. We got mud on our shoes, climbed up and down hills, and Maisy ran circles around us the whole way.

Good times.




This was my 5 minute Stream of Consciousness Sunday post. It’s five minutes of your time and a brain dump. Want to try it? Here are the rules…

• Set a timer and write for 5 minutes.
• Write an intro to the post if you want but don’t edit the post. No proofreading or spellchecking. This is writing in the raw.
• Publish it somewhere. Anywhere. The back door to your blog if you want. But make it accessible.
• Add the Stream of Consciousness Sunday badge to your post (in the sidebar). .
• Link up your post below.
• Visit your fellow bloggers and show some love.

It's Christmas Already

optional prompt: Christmas Time is Here Again


My son is all about the Christmas.  He made us put up all the trees last week, and he keeps them plugged in whenever he is at home.  He keeps telling us that we need to put up some outside decorations.  He bugs us about driving through the neighborhoods looking at the lights.  My husband is kind of the same way, so the two of them have been in cahoots, discussing prospective Christmas presents and what Santa might bring them.   Zane is very excited about this time of year, and is positively giddy now that he has learned to sing Christmas carols.  It is nice to see them cheerful and happy.  We have about three weeks of school left before Christmas break, and then we are all 'off' until next year.  

I'm a little more ambivalent.  This is the time of year when I get pretty depressed.  Part of it is seasonal, I think.  I've always been more somber during December than at any other time of the year.  It may be that because I was a June baby, when the sun is closest to the earth, I feel the distance of the sun when it moves the furthest away.  I don't know.  There are other reasons that I get down at this time of the year, but I really don't want to go into them right now. I am on a mission.

However, I am trying very hard to get as into the spirit this year.  When Zane asked about putting up the trees, I didn't say no, but went upstairs to look for decorations.  When he has asked about plugging in the tress, I've said yes.  I've only asked him to please stop singing "Jingle Bells" twice, even though he only knows the chorus.  I hope that the extra effort pays off.  



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Passion

optional prompt: your passion


Passion is not something that I am known for.  In fact, my husband often kids about lack of emotion about things.  I don't smile enough, or show enough enthusiasm,  is the idea.  Apparently I am supposed to jump up and down and clap my hands with glee, or some similar display of excitement.  Except that really isn't me.  

I am just not overly enthusiastic.  The things that I get truly passionate about, books, movies, music, my family, are quiet activities, and no overt displays are really necessary.  If I get excited about a great book, I may hug it to myself, and smile about it, but no cartwheels are needed.  A great movie may cause me to cry, but it is not necessary for me to cry loudly or hysterically until someone brings me a tissue.  (Unless Old Yeller dies, then it is perfectly okay.)   I've never been an overly demonstrative person, it is not my personality. 

My passions tend to be hidden or subdued.  I see no need to get giddy on the outside, even if that is how I feel on the inside.  Big displays like that are simple entertainment to me, and if my husband doesn't understand that by now, I can't help that.  I show my passion through my actions, such as making sure his clothes are washed and that he has his favorite foods in the fridge.  Besides, jumping up and down really hurts my knees, and my boobs always fly up and hit me in the face.  

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Around the World with a Fork

optional prompt:

trying something new

 

 

 

 

My husband is a consistent eater.  And by consistent, I mean that he sticks to what he likes.  He likes his meat, he likes his potatoes, and that 's about it.  Even if he is a guest at someone's house, he stays true to his palate.  He won't eat food that he thinks that he won't like.  Often, it is an uphill battle just to get him to try a new food.   This has always struck me as strange.  My parents always made my brother and I try new things at least once before we were allowed to turn up our noses.  Of course, I was an Army brat, always on the go, and in foreign countries food choices can be limited. 

I will never be a world traveler, unfortunately.    You will never find me climbing Mt. Everest, or traversing the South American continent in search of a particular flavor of grub.  I would like to do all that exploring.  I would love to walk from one end of the country to another, talking to people and eating their foods.  That will never happen, I know. I certainly love traveling; I just don't have the money or the time. I can still explore the world, however. I can have a bite of fish cooked just so in Japan, or a sampling of noodles cooked in the Old Country.  Each new food broadens my horizons, and the world isn't quite so small anymore. 

My backside isn't so small anymore, either. Perhaps some diet foods from other countries would be a better idea? 

Family

optional prompt: family

My parents came from large families.  My mother is the oldest of eleven children, my father is somewhere in the middle of six.  But there's only just my brother and me.  Throughout most of our moving about, he was there, one small constant.  We got on each other's nerves on a daily basis, just because that is what siblings do.  When we were younger, our disagreements often resulting in physical altercations.  Except that I knew that he had my back, and I had his.  We were often the new kids, we were often targets.  But if you messed with my brother, you dealt with me.   And vice versa.

Now I have a husband and a son.  My brother has a wife and three teenagers.  His kids are much older than my boy, and his wife would rather spend time with her relatives than us.  It is what it is. We have our own lives, my brother and I, and though we live less than five miles from each other, we usually only meet on Sundays for the family dinner.  Conversations are limited to the time it takes to enjoy the meal, most days. 

But I know that if something happens, no matter what, my brother has my back. If I need him, he will be there.  And vice versa.  That is what family does. 

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Expectations

optional prompt: expectations


It is unfortunate, but many people go into marriages with great expectations.  For women, it is often all about the romance, the candlelight dinners, the handholding, and the perfect man who knows just what she needs at any given moment.  For men, it is all about the comfort of a perfect someone who takes care of them, both in the bedroom and out.  

We hear about the fairy tale from birth, the handsome prince come to take us away, the ugly woman who turns out to be bewitched and is really a beautiful princess.  We all want the romance that comes with those unrealistic expectations.  It's why we got into a relationship in the first place, isn't it?  And when the reality doesn't match the expectations, we become disillusioned, dispirited, dejected.  For some of us, the loss of the illusion is a dealbreaker. Those are the people who jump from relationship to relationship, looking for...what?

Don't get me wrong, these expectations are not good or bad, right or wrong.  They are just unrealistic, especially in romance.  Certainly, these expectations do not represent real love, and we find that out soon enough after we say "I do."  Yet these unrealistic expectations persist.  Why?

I love my husband, and I could not see myself ever married to anyone else, but there are times when I have to face that reality and let go of those unrealistic expectations.  So my husband says he will do things and then he gets distracted by a shiny object and forgets.  He probably wishes that I was still skinny.  He is who he is, and I love that, plain and simple.  I need to focus on that reality more.   

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Being Just Me

optional prompt: being just me


I grew up being the kid who didn't really 'fit'.  Probably that came from moving all the time, as Army families tend to do, but maybe it was also just me being me.  I wasn't a typical girlie girl type.  I had Barbies, A Baby Alive doll, and a Mrs. Beasley doll at various times in my formative years, but these girlie things tended to meet with unfortunate events, such as the time I decided that Barbie's hair needed a good curl and took my curling iron to her.  

I liked playing with the boys.  I liked their language, their way of relating to the world.  Boys didn't spend a lot of time on introspection or their feelings.  Boys just were.  They tend to live in the now.  As an anxiety prone child, that was refreshing.  So boys and I built forts in the back and played Army and Tag, read comic books, and went exploring where we shouldn't have gone, and it was fun.

I hit the teenage years, and I was weird.  I didn't 'fit', and now that I had breasts, well, spending time with the boys didn't mean quite what it used to.  I tried to hang out with girls, but I was really no match for the gossiping or the 'mean girl' games.  I was too gullible, and I did not understand the concept of messing with people's heads just because you could.  In my mind, there had to be an end to justify the means.  Tearing the wings off of others was no fun, and I am not one to blindly follow a 'queen bee'.   

I still don't like the typical "girlie-girl" stuff.  I prefer my movies to have explosions and fighting scenes.  I love football, drinking beer, and I can burp with the best of them.  The difference between then and now is that I am okay with my idiosyncrasies.  I don't hide them any more, and if someone doesn't like that, that is okay, too.


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It Makes Me Nervous

optional prompt: it makes me nervous

 

This prompt made me laugh a little in my head.  Because just about everything on the planet out there,  it makes me nervous.   It's just the way I am.  My entire existence sometimes seems to be a huge bundle of anxiety.

 

Waking up in the morning?   Makes me nervous.   What kind of day will it be?  Who will I see that I'd rather not see? Who won't I see that I would like to see?  

 

Getting dressed? Makes me nervous.  Does this color go with plaid?  Why doesn't this fit me today?  Are those heels too tall and am I going to fall on my face while walking? 

Dropping my child off at school?  Makes me nervous.  Do these teachers think I am horrible because I send my child to school with stuff that I know he will eat instead of stuff that is good for him?  How much am I screwing up his psyche today? 

At work?  Makes me nervous.  What major, important, legally binding commitment did I forget?  Which part of the system will break down today?  Who expects me to make decisions for them?

 

It goes on, day in and day out, this running commentary about all the things that I could be found lacking, my shortcomings, what might happen, and quite often, things that I have absolutely no control over.  It is actually rather ridiculous.  So I've learned to ignore most of the things that make me nervous.  I have forced that little voice into a dark corner in the back of my head, and even if it does make me nervous, I do it anyway.  

Except for cockroaches.  I make my husband take care of those. 

 

 

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Book Banning

Optional prompt: Banned books week

The first time I ever remember hearing about a book being banned, it was the book, Are You There, God? It's Me, Margaret.  Apparently there was a mention of menstruation in the book?  People didn't think that was appropriate material for kids.  No, that wasn't appropriate, but those horrible films they make the fifth grade classes watch?  Those are sooooo much better. 

Then, there was a furor over the book Forever, another Judy Blume book, because there is a mention of someone having sex.  I was in high school at the time, so of course we ALL wanted to read the book and we did.  While I liked the book, the part that was causing all the uproar was less than titillating, I thought.  I didn't see what the fuss was about. 

Of course, there ar idiots out there who would ban books they disagree with, or books that have objectionable content, or books that were written by women...the list goes on and on.  Sometimes there are books that I would like to burn, like everything ever written by Ann Coulter.  However, I would never do such at thing, because who am I to claim any sort of moral or mental authority?  It is up to each person to use their own judgment as to what they like or don't like, and then to use that judgment to walk away from what they don't care for.  If you don't like it, don't buy it, and don't read it, and certainly, don't talk about it for hours on end on Facebook.

It's that simple.

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Sickly

optional prompt: sick as a dog

In the animal world, if you're sick and you let other animals know that you are sick, then you are a dead animal.  The reality is that the weak or the old are considered to be food.  The best that some animals can hope for is that the pack will just leave them behind one day, to fend for themselves, or die alone.  That's kind of tragic, but it really is the circle of life.  Animals die and become food for an entire group of animals, even insects. 

This is why I don't often talk about my illnesses.  If I have a migraine, you might notice me wincing, and I'm likely to bite your head off if you speak too loudly, but I am at work and I am working. I am not talking about how much pain I am in. Not one word. On the days when my fibromyalgia is flaring, I might move more slowly, but other than that, nobody knows.  My entire family is the same way.

My mother-in-law, on the other hand, LIVES to talk about her ailments.  That is all she talks about. She will go on and on for hours about her colon, in elaborate detail. Showing any sort of sympathy just prolongs the agony.  It drives me nuts. I don't understand anyone who advertises their maladies so blatantly. Surely she doesn't want anyone to kill and eat her?   I would hope not, but you never know with some people.  Yeah, I went there. 

 

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Driving Along

optional prompt: driving along

 I love to drive.  

Yeah, I so went there.  

I am a woman, and I love to drive. 

I especially love to drive the backroads. 

I love to sit behind the wheel, my hands gripping the steering, and push my right foot to the floor until the countryside blurs around me.  I love swooping over rolling hills as the cows chew on the grass of the pastures. I love turning my music as loud as I can stand as the world whizzes past.  

Highway to Hell?  La Grange? Killing in the Name?  Prime driving music.

I like that feeling of control.  

I don't really get to have that much control over my life anymore.  No adult truly has control. After all, I have a husband and a child, and they come first in my life.  That is as it should be, but my life often revolves around their schedules in addition to my own. And at work, I have federal guidelines, deadlines to follow, and a boss who calls most of the shots, so not much control there if I want a paycheck.  

But out there?  Two lanes of black top, curving through farmland and over hills? 

It's on.


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Change in Weather?

today's optional prompt: a little change of weather


Texas is a land of extreme weather.  In this part of the world, we have hot, followed by melty hot and burst into flames hot.  It is hot here, meaning in the 90s or above, about 8 months out of the year.  Sunny, blue sky weather.  Yep.  

No rain.  No rain means that grass dies and the wind whips up dust clouds.  The dust, while not nearly as horrible as the Dust Bowl of  the early twentieth century, gets into everything. It's a dust mixed with pollens and other random items like bug parts, that swirls through the area.  Then, when the farmers in Mexico burn off their fields(and I can see no good reason to burn a field, when plowing it is just as effective), the smoke heads up here and we get that into the mix as well.  No wonder I have developed asthma since I moved here!

I would love a nice steady rain shower.  No thunder, no lightning, and especially no tornadoes.  Just a week or two of daily, two hour rain showers starting at around 1pm and ending before the rush hour traffic.  That would get rid of most of the dust that has permeated every nook and cranny of the outdoors, so I'd be able to breathe.  It would also refill all of the lakes and rivers and alleviate the pressure on the aquifer that we use for our water source.   

And it would sure cool us all off!

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Smile Even If It Kills You

The prompt for this fine day:  What makes you smile?  And this prompt also fits in great with the Secret Society of Happy People's Happiness Happens month, so it's all good. 



"Make yourself smile because you’re alive and that’s your job. then do it again the next week. I call it being professional. Do it right, with a smile, or don’t do it."  --Supernatural, season 7.


That quote got my attention when I heard it.  It comes from a character named Frank, and he is speaking to Dean Winchester about handling grief.  Frank's family was murdered, and this is how he is coping.  By smiling. 

That seems a bit crazy, on first inspection.

Why should you smile when you are unhappy?  After all, something horrible has happened, such as a death in the family.  It's normal to be sad on those occasions.  Everyone expects you to be sad, to cry, and do all those little things that come with the loss of a loved one.  Nobody expects you to smile or be happy about death, unless you've murdered your relative for a big fat check. 

But what if nothing horrible has happened?  What if you are just sad because it's Tuesday? 

Hormones get mixed up sometimes, and a surge of a particular hormone may make you feel sad.  You may just be tired or feeling lonely.  Routine ennui.  And that is just fine.  You can't help your feelings, right?  We take a nap, and we feel better.

Sometimes, however,  unhappiness becomes a habit.  We get used to feeling sad, and we start to enjoy that feeling.  We get a bit of attention.  Our loved ones start trying their best to make us feel better.  Our sadness gets us presents.  We like that.  In the efforts people take to 'cheer us up', there is reinforcement and validation.  At least at first.  After awhile, when we've become accustomed to our sadness, we end up alone. 

Nobody likes to be around someone who is sad all the time, no matter the reason, and that is just the plain truth.  Unhappiness can be a learned behavior, a habit.  Break the habit of sadness and choose to be happy by following the advice given in the quote above. 

Even if you're unhappy, smile. 

Smiling, even when you don't feel like it.  Eventually that smile will become a habit, and it will become a truth. When you smile, you can't really feel unhappy, and actions speak louder than words here.  If you keep smiling, eventually you will feel happy, too. 

Stream of Consciousness

I am trying something new today.  This stream of consciousness writing thing.  You look at the prompt, you set the timer and write for five minutes.  I am more of a fits and starts writer who tends to proofread and edit while I'm typing, so trying to write in a 'stream' might give me trouble.  But I like to stretch and grow.  The prompt this day is Olympics.

We've been watching the Olympics in the evenings.  Well, I have, anyway.  My husband and son have been taking the time to watch all of the Olympic soccer games that they can, and they are rooting heartily for the USA women's team.  The men's Olympic soccer team didn't make it to the show, so it is up to the women to get the gold this time around.  And so far, they are earning every single inch of ground to get to that medal.  I've only heard about some of the stuff that has been happening, but those women are rough on the field.  They certainly could kick my butt, even if I used my inhaler!  The men's soccer has been worse, with yellow card after yellow card, players pushing the refs and other shenanigans.  I don't like that.  I suppose that the stakes are high at the Olympics, but in soccer the pinnacle is the World Cup, so there shouldn't be all this messing around.   At least the Olympics has kept the hooliganism to a minimum.  Those people annoy the crap out of me, and they disrupt the game.  I don't want my child to think that sort of behavior is okay. 

I know that people were all concerned about Michael Phelps this time around.  There was talk that he had slipped, lost his competitive edge, blah, blah, blah.  I don't think so.  Because I watched that guy swim in a qualifier, and I didn't see a guy who didn't care about winning.  What I saw was a guy sure of himself, who maybe understands that being on a team is not about being selfish, going only for your own glory.  When I watched Phelps swim that qualifier, he was in fourth place until the final 50m, and then, in three strokes, he was the winner.  He's that good. 

Gabby Douglas is a brilliant gymnast, and she deserves the gold medals she has won.  However, I don't believe that anything should be made of the fact that she is African-American.  She is just an American.  She worked hard toward a goal, took advantage of the opportunities given to her, and she was rewarded.  That's the American Dream, right there.

That's five. How did I do?