Everyone has strange little quirks. Little things that make us unique. For example, my aunt doesn't like lots of water, in the sink, for instance. But as easy as it is to see other people's eccentricities, it is all the more difficult to see our own. And then we begin to wonder if we even have any quirks. Maybe we're one of the few normal people out there. But deep down we know there's something. It's just a matter of finding it.
The form of my quirk is slowly beginning to take shape in my mind. I'm beginning to realize I do have that little something that makes me special. I'm a saver of little random things, usually consumables. Mark calls it hoarding. I had never really thought much about it until recently as I've been trying to slowly clean out our house. For example, I have sample Clinique facewash tubes that I've been saving for that perfect trip where I'll need a tube just that size. But I've had the tubes for at least 10 years now. I know because they have an "E" in permanent marker on them, something Laura and I used to do to keep our stuff straight. That was before I went to college. I'm thinking facewash has a pretty long shelf-life, but not that long.
A few weeks ago I was cleaning out a binder to use for work and came across about 10 sheets of notebook paper. Without thinking, I put the paper in a folder and put it back in my desk. The average person would throw it out. But I think of the unneeded trash that I would be creating. The paper's perfectly good. Not wrinkled. Holes in tact. But it's ten sheets of paper. And it's from high school. I know I'm not going to use it any time soon.
What really drives Mark crazy is my need to save food. I'll save three bites of leftover macaroni for that time when I really need a snack and don't feel like fixing anything. Mark tells me it's 10 cents worth of pasta, but that's not the point. It's the effort that went into it and the waste if I threw it out. It finally really hit me when I had put a sippy cup back in the fridge with less than an ounce of milk in it. It's that little bit that can't even be drunk because of how the cup works. Mark asked me why I didn't just put it in the dishwasher. I had no good reason, but I know that in the back of my mind I was thinking, you could just pour some more milk in there later and then that milk wouldn't be wasted.
I wonder where this strange quirk of mine came from. We weren't poor when I was growing up. We had everything we needed and then some. It's this spartan part of my personality that maybe gives me a sense of control and goodness, maybe like when people fast and feel virtuous. Maybe its roots are in my dad's mom who grew up in the depression and tries to make use of everything, and give away the things she can't. She'll often offer me empty nut containers or canned goods that she couldn't make use of. I think how odd that is, and yet, in my own way, I do the same thing.
So one of my recent goals is to let go of those unused and unneeded things. I recently filled a trashcan with old makeup samples and free cosmetic bags that I've never used. And I get a different sense of virtuosity from it. A sense of freedom and pride that I don't need so many material things. Granted, I'm giving up things that I never used in the first place, but it's the letting go that's important. With my cabinets and closets less cluttered, my life also feels more spacious and open. Funny how such little things can make such a difference. I did end up throwing out those 10 sheets of notebook paper.
Showing posts with label domesticity. Show all posts
Showing posts with label domesticity. Show all posts
Monday, June 4, 2007
Friday, May 11, 2007
Dust dust, sweep sweep
Today is a pensive day. I spend much of Friday at work getting lessons ready for the next week. I have lots of time at my desk to be productive, but the most productive thing I seem to do is think. After the tornado of a week I've had, I tend to drift into reflection. I open my computer to write a lesson and find myself posting here. It's becoming my therapy, my confessional. It feels like house-cleaning for my spirit. Recording my soul's struggles feels like dropping off a big load of stuff to Goodwill. It leaves me with more space and a twinge of virtuosity.
One of my favorite authors of the moment is Anne LaMott. She has written a variety of books, but my favorite work of hers is autobiographical. She is so honest and true to herself. She speaks of the dark parts of herself that I would be afraid to let anyone see. I saw her speak at a local bookstore recently, and I wondered how she doesn't just blush with the knowledge that everyone in the room knows about her (not-so-)secrets. It gives me courage to at least want to do the same. I'm not ready yet, but maybe one day. I try to justify it by thinking that it would be easier in a book when it's all lumped together, not strung out paragraph by paragraph in multiple entries.
Thoughts on marriage is one of those things I need to clean out of my soul closet. I think there is still this antiquated mentality that what goes on in your marriage should stay between the two of you. Admitting it's hard or that you have to work at it or that it not all daisies and roses is a sign of failure. Any sort of complaint is registered with the gossip police as "they're having problems," not, "they're totally normal and there's no news to report." Mark and I are fine. Fine as any other normal couple out there, but that doesn't mean there aren't hard parts.
For instance, I thought it was hard trying to share responsibilities with my sister when we were growing up. We'd fight over who had to clean the bathroom and whose turn it was to feed the dog. That was nothing. We had the higher powers of mom and dad to step in and mediate. They told us who had to do what and what would happen if we didn't. We'd fight about it and then it'd be over. Now there's none of that. Couples have to act all grown up and civilized. There's no one around telling us we'll lose TV for the week if we don't do our chores. We have no other motivator but ourselves to share the load and get things done. Because Mark and I don't see eye to eye on what chores are important to do when, we are constantly compromising and trying to accommodate the other person. Sometimes I just want to be four again and stomp my foot and throw a temper tantrum. Maybe we need to just call each other "poopy faces" and be done with it.
Another ponderance deep down is parenting. Of course you hear a million times that being a mom is the hardest thing you'll ever do. And yes, that's true, but not one bit in the way I thought it would be. I really don't mind the diaper changing and financial burden. I've felt pretty confident with decisions I've made that will affect Carter long-term like discipine and day care. The hard part is to not forget that part of myself that existed before Carter and before marriage. The responsibilities of home and husband and kid seem to push away that carefree part of me. I have always been great at making lists, being organized, getting things done. Being spontaneous and impulsive fit in the spaces between. But with more "grown-uppy" stuff in my life, that little kid's voice inside me gets harder to hear. I notice I have to make more of an effort to listen to that quiet, innocent voice. What came so naturally before requires more mindful attention and effort. It's finding that balance between enjoying the moment and and not feeling like my life is out of control (a messy house can do that to me.)
I think that might be enough mental house-cleaning for now. It wasn't anything major, certainly not a metaphorical couch or desk, just a few knick-knacks here and there that needed to be taken to Goodwill. Maybe it's one step farther in being true to myself and getting to know who I am as I evolve with life. I think I feel a little better now.
One of my favorite authors of the moment is Anne LaMott. She has written a variety of books, but my favorite work of hers is autobiographical. She is so honest and true to herself. She speaks of the dark parts of herself that I would be afraid to let anyone see. I saw her speak at a local bookstore recently, and I wondered how she doesn't just blush with the knowledge that everyone in the room knows about her (not-so-)secrets. It gives me courage to at least want to do the same. I'm not ready yet, but maybe one day. I try to justify it by thinking that it would be easier in a book when it's all lumped together, not strung out paragraph by paragraph in multiple entries.
Thoughts on marriage is one of those things I need to clean out of my soul closet. I think there is still this antiquated mentality that what goes on in your marriage should stay between the two of you. Admitting it's hard or that you have to work at it or that it not all daisies and roses is a sign of failure. Any sort of complaint is registered with the gossip police as "they're having problems," not, "they're totally normal and there's no news to report." Mark and I are fine. Fine as any other normal couple out there, but that doesn't mean there aren't hard parts.
For instance, I thought it was hard trying to share responsibilities with my sister when we were growing up. We'd fight over who had to clean the bathroom and whose turn it was to feed the dog. That was nothing. We had the higher powers of mom and dad to step in and mediate. They told us who had to do what and what would happen if we didn't. We'd fight about it and then it'd be over. Now there's none of that. Couples have to act all grown up and civilized. There's no one around telling us we'll lose TV for the week if we don't do our chores. We have no other motivator but ourselves to share the load and get things done. Because Mark and I don't see eye to eye on what chores are important to do when, we are constantly compromising and trying to accommodate the other person. Sometimes I just want to be four again and stomp my foot and throw a temper tantrum. Maybe we need to just call each other "poopy faces" and be done with it.
Another ponderance deep down is parenting. Of course you hear a million times that being a mom is the hardest thing you'll ever do. And yes, that's true, but not one bit in the way I thought it would be. I really don't mind the diaper changing and financial burden. I've felt pretty confident with decisions I've made that will affect Carter long-term like discipine and day care. The hard part is to not forget that part of myself that existed before Carter and before marriage. The responsibilities of home and husband and kid seem to push away that carefree part of me. I have always been great at making lists, being organized, getting things done. Being spontaneous and impulsive fit in the spaces between. But with more "grown-uppy" stuff in my life, that little kid's voice inside me gets harder to hear. I notice I have to make more of an effort to listen to that quiet, innocent voice. What came so naturally before requires more mindful attention and effort. It's finding that balance between enjoying the moment and and not feeling like my life is out of control (a messy house can do that to me.)
I think that might be enough mental house-cleaning for now. It wasn't anything major, certainly not a metaphorical couch or desk, just a few knick-knacks here and there that needed to be taken to Goodwill. Maybe it's one step farther in being true to myself and getting to know who I am as I evolve with life. I think I feel a little better now.
Wednesday, April 25, 2007
Who runs this house anyway?
This past weekend Mark and I took the daring domestic leap of deciding to reseed our backyard in attempts to turn our mudpit/dustbowl into something that resembles the lush green carpet on the fertilizer bag. After unsuccessfully attempting to kill our field of weeds, Mark rented an aerator and was dragged all over the yard by the machine with a mind of its own. He then spread the seed and fertilizer, and gave the whole thing a final coat of peat moss. Then we watered the hell out of it.
Besides having to constantly water, you'd think such a project wouldn't have much of an impact on our daily life. That's where you're wrong. See, we have our dog Winston who thinks the backyard is his domain. But we know he'll destroy all of our painstaking work if we let him out to patrol. So we tie him to a tree in the front when he needs to go outside. He doesn't get it. He goes outside, looks around, wants to come back in, and makes a beeline for the back door to show us what he really wants. He whines and whines, not understanding why he can't go out. Monday we were finally able to calm him down by taking a walk. He did pretty well after that.
Tuesday was a different story. Colorado is a pretty fickle weather state in spring, so those mountains decided to send us buckets and buckets of rain Tuesday. Great for the growing grass, not so great for the dog. Winston didn't want to go outside and pee in the front because it was raining and he hates to get wet. After finally forcing him outside because we were so sick of the whining, Mark and I made several attempts at putting Carter to sleep (more on that in another posting) and finally got him down.
We let Winston back in the house and were reminded just how wound up he gets when he's wet. He covered us with wet dog spray. Then he ran laps around the living room, setting off half of Carter's toys with lights and music, and created an all-out ruckus. Between the disaster of a backyard, Carter who has us wrapped around his adorable pudgy finger, and the crazed dog, Mark and I looked at each other and asked, "Who runs this house anyway?"
Besides having to constantly water, you'd think such a project wouldn't have much of an impact on our daily life. That's where you're wrong. See, we have our dog Winston who thinks the backyard is his domain. But we know he'll destroy all of our painstaking work if we let him out to patrol. So we tie him to a tree in the front when he needs to go outside. He doesn't get it. He goes outside, looks around, wants to come back in, and makes a beeline for the back door to show us what he really wants. He whines and whines, not understanding why he can't go out. Monday we were finally able to calm him down by taking a walk. He did pretty well after that.
Tuesday was a different story. Colorado is a pretty fickle weather state in spring, so those mountains decided to send us buckets and buckets of rain Tuesday. Great for the growing grass, not so great for the dog. Winston didn't want to go outside and pee in the front because it was raining and he hates to get wet. After finally forcing him outside because we were so sick of the whining, Mark and I made several attempts at putting Carter to sleep (more on that in another posting) and finally got him down.
We let Winston back in the house and were reminded just how wound up he gets when he's wet. He covered us with wet dog spray. Then he ran laps around the living room, setting off half of Carter's toys with lights and music, and created an all-out ruckus. Between the disaster of a backyard, Carter who has us wrapped around his adorable pudgy finger, and the crazed dog, Mark and I looked at each other and asked, "Who runs this house anyway?"
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