8.27.14 Cats

I challenge anyone to challenge me of what I know to be absolute fact … cats are grudge-holding creatures. You get a cat for you to love something.  You get a dog if you want something to love you.  I’m not saying cats don’t love you, they do, but they’re a little narcissistic and love themselves better. There is a saying by Terry Pratchett: “In ancient times cats were worshiped as gods; they have not forgotten this.”  Sometimes when we are gone for any length of time our cats do not agree with, or we haven’t been paying enough attention to them,  they vindicate themselves to all sorts of naughty behavior.  I swear my cats can hairball on demand.  And can said hairball ever be deposited on a hard surface? Absolutely not. Instead it will land three inches from the tile on the carpet!
Cats also have an warped view of relationships. Basically if they want one you’ll have one and if they don’t you won’t. This is true whether the relationship is between you and your cat, or your cat and other creatures. My cat, Piper, has what I would call a demographic tolerance for our dog Afton. Basically, if Afton is on the other side of the house she’s okay with her but the moment she creeps into what my cat considers “her domain,” the hissing and swatting begins. Pathetically Afton, (a gentle giant of a Burnese Mountain dog) has somehow misinterpreted this abusive dose of attention for affection, and lovingly continues to stand there and take it.  There was one time where I felt that Piper actually liked Afton. We had been gone for a week vacation and when we came back she allowed their noses to touch and I almost thought that she would cuddle up. But like the flick of a switch, Piper suddenly remembered her grudge, hissed and ran away. Once again reminding the dog that she was the queen bee in the relationship.

 

Our other cat, Tucker,  is much more tolerant. He simply stays out of it and stares at us with wide eyes, silently judging our next moves and calculating when it is “safe” to enter.  Cautious and smart, he is the epitome of a “cool cat,” slinking in and out of a room with silent grace.  Unfortunately, that grace is interrupted about fifty times a day, when he sneezes.  Yes.  Dramatic irony number one … my cat has allergies.  Ever since he was a kitten he’s had them, and even more ironically – I think he might have a slight allergy toward dogs.  Whenever he and Afton get close, the snot-fest begins.  This is not to mention his affinity for using the litter box at the most in-opportune times.  He always tends to drop a noxious little gift in there right before we have company!

 

So why do we do cats? It’s a logical question.  Sigmund Freud believed, “Time spent with cats is never wasted.”  And though I don’t make it a habit to agree with Freud on many things (You probably wouldn’t either if you read his studies!) I do agree on this one.  Because even when there are messes and accidents and allergies, there are also snuggles, and gentle purrs, and patience.  Whenever we go away, the first thing we say as we drive into our driveway is I wonder how the cats and dog are?  I wonder if they missed us?  All in all, home isn’t quite home without the fur and the mess, and the love.  There are little paws that reach out to touch my children’s arms while they sleep.  There are tiny cold noses that nuzzle in after we’ve been gone for a time.  There is a small, warm lump under the covers that meows a “Welcome home,” each day … and those small things, somehow, are enough.

 

Literarily yours,

 

Elle

8-23-14 The Corner of a Starbucks’ Window

So I spent the day in Chicago … not in a touristy kind of way, but in a waiting for my husband to finish a class of his so we could continue our long drive up north to visit family, kind of day. (Yes … that was a run on.) In any case, I holed up in a corner of a Starbucks, got an “Oprah Chai,” considered telling the barista that I thought it was a stupid name for the drink, but then remembered I was in Chicago, Oprah’s home town, and decided better of it. (Let it be known I’ve got nothing against Oprah, she’s got some great things to say, but I don’t think anyone needs to be idolized to the point of royalty – even royalty.)

Besides Oprah, Chicago is such a centerpiece to this nation. Sarah Bernhardt described it as, “the pulse of America.” I don’t know if it’s the pulse, but it’s definitely a major artery at the very least. Michael Douglas said once, “I’m impressed with the people from Chicago. Hollywood is hype, New York is talk, Chicago is work.” And it really is. Everywhere you look people have an agenda that is completely their own. It is fascinating to me, and though there are many, many cool things about this city, I think one of my favorite things about it is the ability to become totally anonymous. Everybody could be anybody, and they probably are … but when you put that many people in one place, it kind of makes everyone equal. We all have to wait for the light to turn green, we all have to shuffle through the throng of sidewalk traffic and no one’s important suit, flashy stilettos or yoga pants are more important on the street than anyone else. There are as many people frequenting the Disney store as the Hancock building and tourists take themselves as seriously as the the suits do!

Cities aren’t really about status as much as they are organic, living, and constantly changing entities. It is so different from the little suburban world we live in, but I can’t say either are better or worse. The thing is, when I’m home, I am too much a part of it all. I never get to watch, because I’m too busy doing, but here, there are just so many cool things that I notice by looking around, and for once not talking, just looking. I’m such a talker that I tend to dive into conversation with strangers in order not to miss an opportunity at relating to people, but I think there’s a small danger in missing the view. “Don’t speak unless you can improve on the silence,” is a Spanish proverb I like a lot. And I think that the city has a sort of “un-silence” that is worth listening to, and looking at. In some ways I feel like I’m watching a work of art come-to-life.

I’ll be honest though, no one lies about the driving in Illinois. It really is awful, because everyone in this “work” town of agendas thinks their business is the most important business to get to. I had a guy nearly skim the side of my car trying to change lanes and a blinker here, is useless. This is a city that adhere’s to to model, “survival of the fittest,” and means it. I had to laugh because a friend and I were down here recently and she drove. It was one of the “watch out the world is out to get you,” kind of driving days where she was: cut off, given poor directions, stuck in construction, re-routed by Siri and denied parking spots lot after lot. It would have been hilarious if it wasn’t so completely awful. She was a rockstar though and eventually, we … like all Chicagoans on a mission, accomplished what we set out to do!

The philosopher Plato said once of his ancient city of Athens, “This city is what it is because our citizens are what they are.” I think that’s really true of all places, and though Chicago may be a city in a hurry, when you slow down to watch, there is beauty in it everywhere – the quick-hugs of friends before the light turns green, the places where 1800s and modern architecture meet, the tiny plots of flowers in unexpected places, the families, the schedules, the dreams. You can see them all, from the corner of a Starbuck’s window.

Literarily yours,
Elle

8-23-14 The Corner of a Starbucks Window

So I spent the day in Chicago … not in a touristy kind of way, but in a waiting for my husband to finish a class of his so we could continue our long drive up north to visit family, kind of day. (Yes … that was a run on.) In any case, I holed up in a corner of a Starbucks, got an “Oprah Chai,” considered telling the barista that I thought it was a stupid name for the drink, but then remembered I was in Chicago, Oprah’s home town, and decided better of it. (Let it be known I’ve got nothing against Oprah, she’s got some great things to say, but I don’t think anyone needs to be idolized to the point of royalty – even royalty.)

Besides Oprah, Chicago is such a centerpiece to this nation. Sarah Bernhardt described it as, “the pulse of America.” I don’t know if it’s the pulse, but it’s definitely a major artery at the very least. Michael Douglas said once, “I’m impressed with the people from Chicago. Hollywood is hype, New York is talk, Chicago is work.” And it really is. Everywhere you look people have an agenda that is completely their own. It is fascinating to me, and though there are many, many cool things about this city, I think one of my favorite things about it is the ability to become totally anonymous. Everybody could be anybody, and they probably are … but when you put that many people in one place, it kind of makes everyone equal. We all have to wait for the light to turn green, we all have to shuffle through the throng of sidewalk traffic and no one’s important suit, flashy stilettos or yoga pants are more important on the street than anyone else’s. There are as many people frequenting the Disney store as the Hancock building and tourists take themselves as seriously as the the suits do!

Cities aren’t really about status as much as they are organic, living, and constantly changing entities. It is so different from the little suburban world we live in, but I can’t say either are better or worse. The thing is, when I’m home, I am too much a part of it all. I never get to watch, because I’m too busy doing, but here, there are just so many cool things that I notice by looking around, and for once not talking, just looking. I’m such a talker that I tend to dive into conversation with strangers in order not to miss an opportunity at relating to people, but I think there’s a small danger in missing the view. “Don’t speak unless you can improve on the silence,” is a Spanish proverb I like a lot. And I think that the city has a sort of “un-silence” that is worth listening to, and looking at. In some ways I feel like I’m watching a work of art come-to-life.

I’ll be honest though, no one lies about the driving in Illinois. It really is awful, because everyone in this “work” town of agendas thinks their business is the most important business to get to. I had a guy nearly skim the side of my car trying to change lanes and a blinker here, is useless. This is a city that adhere’s to to model, “survival of the fittest,” and means it. I had to laugh because a friend and I were down here recently and she drove. It was one of the “watch out the world is out to get you,” kind of driving days where she was: cut off, given poor directions, stuck in construction, re-routed by Siri and denied parking spots lot after lot. It would have been hilarious if it wasn’t so completely awful. She was a rockstar though and eventually, we … like all Chicagoans on a mission, accomplished what we set out to do!

The philosopher Plato said once of his ancient city of Athens, “This city is what it is because our citizens are what they are.” I think that’s really true of all places, and though Chicago may be a city in a hurry, when you slow down to watch, there is beauty in it everywhere – the quick-hugs of friends before the light turns green, the places where 1800s and modern architecture meet, the tiny plots of flowers in unexpected places, the families, the schedules, the dreams. You can see them all, from the corner of a Starbuck’s window.

Literarily yours,
Elle

8.19.14 Pennies

Judith Vorist, genius that she is, created a character many years ago named Alexander.  If you’ve been following me for awhile you’ll know that I have introduced him before, when I felt like moving to Australia to escape my problems.  You see, Alexander became famous in his first picture book entitled, Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day.  So, I’m not having a bad day, and I don’t need to move to Australia, like Alexander wished to, but I am not necessarily having  a good day either.  I have completely lost my affinity for shopping.  Yup.  What does this have to do with Alexander you ask?  Well … a great deal actually. 

You see, Vorist wrote another tale about him called, Alexander Who Used to be Rich Last Sunday.  Now that I can relate to.  I wasn’t exactly “rich” last Sunday, but I was a great deal better off than I am this Tuesday.  And I just have one question … WHY DOES LIFE HAVE TO BE SO EXPENSIVE?!?!?!  Recently, (like in the last week and a half) I swear it has been one expense after another.  First, it was snacks for the road trip to our mini-vacation, then it was groceries for the cabin on the mini-vacation, then it was school supplies for my son, my daughter, and myself.  After this there was the unexpected registration fee for the start of school, then the equally unexpected fee for after care, and, of course, the groceries we needed to fill our now-empty, post-vacation refrigerator!  To top it off, I made the mistake of thinking that my Kindergarten daughter didn’t need uniform clothing until first grade – surprise!  She did!  I figured it out the night before.  Thank God for Old Navy; that’s all I’ve got to say.

I would like to believe Marsha Sinetar who said, “Do what you love and the money will follow.”  I want to believe her, but I must admit I’m still waiting; because I love teaching and being a mom … but it isn’t what I’d call lucrative career choices on either account.  And yet, even here in the midst of daily debt … we are so blessed.  I am actually embarrassed to admit that we make more than the average American family, statistically, have a larger house than average, have a bigger retirement account than projected for our age, but sadly do fall short of the average in terms of debt we have.  I know life comes at us in unexpected ways, but I also know that I’ll have to do better when it comes to this average … and my saving habits.

I love the unknown quote that says, “The best things in life are never rationed.  Friendship. loyalty, love do not require coupons.” Thank heaven for that because I am no coupon-cutter.  So yes, Alexander … I understand your financial troubles, but Benjamin Franklin once said, “A penny saved is a penny earned.”  Somehow he made it onto a hundred dollar bill, so I’m thinking we should listen to him.

Off to my piggy bank now – I found two pennies in my car.  Cha-ching!

Literarily yours,

Elle

 

8.15.14 Exercise

So, I have a love/hate relationship with exercise.  Basically, I love to exercise, and if I don’t, people hate being around me.  You can just tell when I haven’t worked out in a few days because my patience wears a little thinner, my smile tugs a little tighter and my frustration over solvable problems starts to overwhelm me.  I am a bit of a bear to say the least, (not the Winne the Pooh kind either).  I don’t like to be this way, especially when I haven’t worked out in two days and my husband gives me the knowing look followed by his one-sentence-speech, “So … have you worked out today?”  It is pretty much his way of saying, “You’re being a beast, go work off the attitude!” but in a way that won’t get him into more trouble than a small glare.  Still, he is right.  I admit it.  I get carried away.  

Comedian Ellen DeGeneres once said, “My grandmother started walking five miles a day when she was sixty.  She’s ninety-seven now and we don’t know where the heck she is.”  Okay, so I’m not that obsessed.  It isn’t like I am a health-nut, I just start to go a little nutty when I don’t release the excess adrenaline I’ve got pounding through my busy string of days.  Taking a walk, a bike ride or doing some form of aerobics gives me the ability to breathe a little deeper and think a lot clearer.  Suddenly, the word isn’t quite as oppressive as I thought it was.  I agree with Gene Tunney that, “To enjoy the glow of good health, you must exercise.” So yeah, working out is amazing.  I’m a total, total fan … but, (yup, here it comes) I think society, as a whole, has a tendency to take things too far.  

Tonight my seven-year-old son was putting on his pajamas and said, “Wow, my legs look fat.”  After choking on the air I was breathing in that very moment I sputtered out an, “Are you kidding me right now?”  My son is tall and rail-thin, like most seven-year-old movers and shakers.  He is in constant motion and, according to statisticbrain.com, 350 calories are burnt each day by fidgeting, so I guarantee this kid burns an easy 1,000.  I was aghast, but more than that, I was ashamed, because there are only two people he could have heard that kind of crappy comment from … mom and dad.  We are both guilty.  Both of us like to work out and can’t stand to be in the skin we’re in if we don’t.  That doesn’t make it right.  We try to monitor our comments but let me tell you something people, kids aren’t stupid.  They figure things out whether you say them aloud or they perceive your expression in a mirror, they know.  The thing is, I have a lot of friends like me, and I wonder if we are setting our kids up for healthy-living, or fanaticism?  It is a fine line and I try to balance, but sometimes … I think I need to look at the reflections looking up at me in the mirror instead of my own.  

Did you know that according to the same stats website, there are over 45,000,000 Americans with gym memberships!?!  That is a crazy big number.  The news, social media and marketing prey upon the insecurities we all carry over our “imperfect” bodies, but do we ever realize that health is an INDUSTRY?  It is!  A big one!  Again, I’m a fan.  I’m a consumer.  I’m a supporter.  But I am also a fool, one who has bought into the, “What you see is what I’m worth,” mentality that completely ruins our self-esteem, and that of our children.  A good friend of mine who has a beautiful, athletic daughter shared with me recently that they had problems with bullying in Kindergarten.  Apparently her daughter was teased for being larger than the other girls and the kids went so far as to tell her what she shouldn’t wear.  Does anyone else realize this is not okay?  We need to find balance.  I need to find balance, because the conversation I had tonight with my fifty-pound boy broke my heart.  Sure he’ll forget about it tomorrow, but I won’t.  He is perfect, but somehow a part of my brokenness wore off on him.  

I want to realize and carry with me the truth of what Aleister Crowley said,  “The joy of life consists in the exercise of one’s energies, continual growth, constant change, the enjoyment of every new experience.  To stop means simply to die.  The eternal mistake of mankind is to set up an attainable ideal.”  We reach toward airbrushed figures and warped ideals.  We cling to perfection and aesthetic beauty as if it were a cure to any form of discontent … but no one, not even the “perfect people” think they are.  We all have things we would change about ourselves, but I think instead of my thighs, I might focus on my perspective this time.  I love to exercise, but I hate to think I’ve become a slave to some “ideal” version of what I could look like.  I want to be a healthy, positive example for my kids, not another societal statistic.  

Be real.  Be you.  Let that be enough.

Elle

8.10.14 Asked vs. Told

There is a big difference between being asked to do something, and being told to do something.  If you don’t believe me, just ask my husband.  Recently, he unwisely “told” me to do something, and I’m pretty sure he saw blue fire flash through my eyes before he backpedaled sheepishly and grinned, changing his declarative statement into an interrogative instead.  Good choice.  The thing is, I don’t mind doing what someone “asks” … not at all, but being told – yeah, that’s not going to fly.  Growing up I was a lot like Ray Harryhausen who said, “I was never restricted.  I was never told what to do.”  Now, I might have been reminded what not to do, but my parents didn’t have to lay down the proverbial law too often.  I was, and am, a very goody-two-shoes type, but apparently those two shoes have some great heels, because I’m pretty good at digging them in when I feel strongly about something, and people making themselves authoritative over others doesn’t tend to sit well with me.  

Although bosses might need to take the reigns a little more seriously, I still believe that the best administrators are those that facilitate and delegate rather than demand.  From what I have experienced of life, people are a great deal more likely to do what you’d like them to do when you treat them with respect as an equal, as opposed to a subordinate.  According to Nathaniel Brandon, “There is overwhelming evidence that the higher the level of self-esteem, the more likely one will be to treat others with respect, kindness, and generosity.” 

 

Sadly enough, I’m sure you’ve noticed the trend in the social dynamic hierarchy that “nice guys finish last.”  This might be true (in fact I’m pretty sure it is usually true) but that doesn’t mean it should be.  Sometimes I’ve been disheartened when I noticed that “not-so-nice” people seem to get more respect from the higher-ups than the kind folks do.  Let me tell you something, this has never stopped me from being kind.  I’ll forever be inspired by the comment of a co-worker who said that someone told her I was “too nice” to teach middle school.  They apparently said they thought I’d get, “eaten alive.”  Then my co-worker (who has known me awhile) was happily able to report, “But she isn’t.  They trust her.”  I may not be a traditional teacher, because I have no walls.  I may not be a conventional mother, because I match high expectations with equally high doses of pretend.  I may not be a normal thirty-one-year-old, because I absolutely refuse to give up on my ideals that things CAN BE MORE ideal.  And it starts with earning the trust of others, by asking them into your life, without telling them how to do it. 

 

I NEED to remind everyone that I am NOT perfect in this battle of asking not telling.  And my husband, God bless him for his patience, knows that I falter most with him.  Why is it that those we love sometimes get the brunt of our “ugliest-selves?”   Still, I hope he, and everyone I’ve messed up with knows that I am trying.  I do believe in honoring our equality, and the fact that for some cosmic reason beyond my mortal understanding we were put on this Earth at this place and time together.  When I think like that, I don’t know how anyone could forget that they are only as important as every other person planned to share space on this string in time.  I am going to leave you with a quote; it isn’t mine, but I have it hanging in my house to remind me what matters most.  Mother Theresa, in her divinely-inspired wisdom once said:  

“People are often unreasonable and self-centered. Forgive them anyway. If you are kind, people may accuse you of ulterior motives. Be kind anyway. If you are honest, people may cheat you. Be honest anyway. If you find happiness, people may be jealous. Be happy anyway. The good you do today may be forgotten tomorrow.Do good anyway. Give the world the best you have and it may never be enough. Give your best anyway. For you see, in the end, it is between you and God. It was never between you and them anyway.”

Thanks for following me, even though I’d never “tell” you to! 

Elle

 

 

8.5.14 Nightmare # B390

When we moved five years ago to a new state,  it was filled with the typical annoyances of movers.  New address forms, new library cards, new neighbors, new schools, new church … but worst of all … a new driver’s license.  The last time I went to the DMV was five years ago, and let’s just say five years went way too quickly, because this place of torture hasn’t changed.  There is an unknown quote that says, “If you’re ever feeling bad about yourself, spend the day at the DMV.  You’ll feel pretty good about yourself, but hate the rest of humanity.” Two words … true that!  Let’s just say that after spending two hours on a Tuesday no less (Don’t people work?) at this dreadful establishment, I have decided that there is a special place in heaven for those that must work here.
I’ll begin with the ambiance – gray walls, gray floor, gray ceilings.  Got a mental picture?  There are no photos aside from poster-portraits of the Secretary of State (for whom this grungy building was named).  The entire place is filled with lines and lines of broken plastic chairs that are taped, TAPED together in rows (not matching of course).  The only decorations are these bizarre twigs with ribbons and leaves on them, sparse and pathetically hanging above the stations of each worker.  I am not sure if they were intended to be crafty, but they looked more like a “Pintrest-don’t” to me, a symbol of a project gone wrong … much like the workings of the government-led DMV.
In terms of people I must say that every, literally, every kind of human is subjected to this place.  I kept looking at the hundreds of full seats and individuals pouring in the door thinking, where are they all coming from?  And more importantly, why today?  The amount of time I had to dedicate to this trip almost made me want to turn Amish and reject cars all together, because given one hundred and twenty minutes of “thinking time” you start to realize nothing is worth this!  It’s amazing all the things you notice about people when you’ve got nothing to do but watch them: a woman sucking on a too-large-for-her-mouth cherry tootsie pop, the cute guy who needs to shave his neck hair, the new teenage driver who was too busy texting to look up and talk to her mom, the hideous tattoo that appeared to be a hibiscus flower blowing up on the girl’s neck in front of me, the Greek elderly couple pointing everywhere in confused gestures, the man who absolutely could not sit still despite his apparent jittery-effort, the business woman in clickey-heels who seemed “above” it all, the fact that there were only three bald men in the entire cacophony of masses, the poor, blessedly unfortunate mom who had to bring her kids! Thank you God I didn’t have to bring mine. It was a prayer I repeated over and over again in my mind like a mantra. Old people, young people, happy, angry, stunned, sleeping. They were all there. At one point I was pretty certain there was a planned reunion of sorts because people were laughing and hugging, but then I realized they were just on their way out of the building, embracing, no doubt, in recognition of the relationship they’d been able to forage in the trenches of waiting and celebrating the fact that they survived. Okay, maybe I’m embellishing a little, but not much. 

 

I refused to sit the whole time because, well, eww.  I think it was a good decision because along with representation of every type of human being on earth, there were the nearly “less-than-human” types.  Near me a woman coughed, and I moved.  Then the dude beside me on the other side sneezed, and I moved.  But I couldn’t move forward, because there was this really creepy couple where the girl had a perpetually confused/suspicious look on her face, dyed pink hair and no bra. (I’m pretty sure she was on drugs.) Then the guy – he was wearing mis-matched swim shorts, a character shirt and shoes without socks.  I might have thought he was “almost” normal, but he kept starting at the floor with rapt attention. There was nothing on the floor, (as I’d checked) but every once in awhile, he’d glance up, yawn, and go right back to looking down intently.  (I decided he was on drugs too.)  Freaked out, I noticed myself inadvertently moving closer to the college kid next to me because he seemed “safe” in his Cubs hat and Nike t-shirt, then moved away when I realized I shouldn’t find comfort in twenty-something-year-old strangers.  

 
Inching away from anyone at all, I heard the droning robotic voice chime, “B370.”  You’d think there were only twenty people to go because that’s logical.  But this is not a logical place. They don’t go in order of number here, because each station is a different letter, A-F.  For awhile I tried my hand at recognizing patterns, listening intently for any semblance of a routine to the way they choose who would go next, but no.   And then I smelled pot.

 

Nearly hyperventilating at this point from the gray walls crawling in on me, (and wondering if I was suffering the effects of second-hand pot)  I realized that all of us had this sort of animalistic half-crazed look going on.  Desperately our eyes all kept widening, checking our tickets for the millionth time against the blinking light that flashed them with the same level of intensity as checking a winning lottery ticket.  Though, in all honesty, I think the probability of my number getting called was less than a jackpot at that point.  I imagined people losing it and half expected a brawl to break out. I could just see the little white-haired lady beside me tripping the sixteen-year-old next to her in order to steal the kid’s number; she had just the air “innocent-old-lady” to pull it off.

 

When the miracle of miracles happened and my number was called, I tried not to make eye-contact or walk too fast for fear that someone would try to take me out.  I made it safely, but when I reached the counter, I had to take an eye exam which consisted of looking into a black binocular piece.  Before I could, of course, I had to get a wet-wipe out of my bag and ceremoniously wipe the oils and residues off the machine from other people’s foreheads.  Swallowing the bile rising in my throat at all I had to wipe off, I then used a kleenex to dry it.  Good news is … I passed.  Bad news is … I had to wait in another line!  The cashier section was narrow and slow-moving, and I was unfortunately placed in front of a man with no regard for personal space or breath mints.  Finally, after paying, I was asked to sit down and wait in yet, another section, to get my picture taken.  And my chair was warm.  Yuck.  After a few mispronunciations of my name, (four) I was able to take my only-slightly-less-than-awful picture, and GET OUT!

 

Practically bathing in hand sanitizer on my way out, I couldn’t help but drive away with dread at how quickly the next five years would pass until I had to come back.  But the worst part was … my husband needed to go to the DMV too so he went after work – and it took him five minutes.

 

Literarily yours,
Number B390

(Formerly known as “Elle”)

 

8.1.14 Accept No Substitutes

So this past week my husband has been out of town on business.  When he is gone (regardless of the time zone of his travels) we really struggle to catch one another.  I swear I receive more emails from him than phone calls because, to no fault of his or mine, we just can’t seem to have the same spare two minutes to talk.  Sometimes I think even when we do find that our separate schedules eclipsed into a “win-the-lottery” moment of shared time, we are too exhausted to have anything good to say.  After quickly saying the “I have to tell yous,” there is little steam left for the “I want to tell yous.”  

Tonight, we went out on a date–like, a real one!  I say “real” with some emphasis because we also go (or shall I say, don’t go) on our fair share of “at-home” dates.  I am going to digress for a few moments to list off for you some of the main reasons “stay-home” dates completely suck.

– It is hard to feel relaxed when the dryer buzzer is about to go off.
– I rarely sit down at home and when I do, I feel guilty about it.  Guilt isn’t an inspiring feeling on a date.
– For some reason, at-home date nights must always fall on a full moon or something, because on these nights, my children are usually howling about something and won’t go to bed.
– Dog barking … another mood kill.
– I don’t find: A) cooking my own dinner, B) making my own popcorn, or C) refilling my own drink very amusing.
– Comfy, cozy couch clothes are not the most attractive.
– If we own the movie and have seen it before, one or both of us will inevitably fall asleep by the third scene.
– We never agree on a movie genre, which aggravates us both to the point of picking a dumb TV show instead that neither of us particularly enjoy.
– We watch the clock without meaning to, knowing how soon we’ll have to get up, and how much more comfortable sleeping in our bed would be as opposed to hanging out in the living room together.
– Whenever we try to play a game like Scrabble, we fizzle out and blame our lack of competition on a “bad board.”

There are about a hundred other reasons that “stay-home” dates are completely lame, but those are the biggest factors for me.  Because of this, I always try to take date night very seriously when we’re out and about, and appreciate it more than I can say.  When we take time for ourselves, I realize how much I not only love, but really like my husband.  Not “like” in an obligatory-marital, “I’m stuck with you so I have to like you,” kind of way, but a true, “Wow I enjoy your company and I’d pick you all over again!” kind.

What’s sad is, I find that when my husband is on a trip for any length of time, my children and I get into our own little patterned world of “going it alone.”  We adapt and metamorphize (yup … made that word up) into our own little unit.  We are efficient and structured in our own way, but somehow … we are also less.  There is an African proverb that says, “If you want to go fast go alone, if you want to go far, go together.”  Well, I think it is time to admit that without him, I am lost.  I may get a lot accomplished, but it is nothing of worth when he isn’t there to share it with.  My husband isn’t my “better half,” he is what makes me whole.

When he is gone I don’t sleep as well.  I am not as kind.  I don’t have as much patience (for others or myself.)  I try too hard at things that don’t really matter in an effort to cope, and lose sight of precious moments he would help me slow down for.  Tonight, I didn’t have to feel that way.  Sitting on a park bench in the middle of the city, I felt tucked in and safe in the crook of his arm.  I breathed deeper, relaxed in the company of “us” and was able to laugh at all the things I’d worried over all week.  In the words of author Michelle Dalton, “I loved the just-us-ness of it.” He makes me better.  He makes me like me so much more, and I am thankful for the simple fact that he introduced me to a version of myself that wouldn’t exist without him.  I don’t deserve to be loved so well, but God am I ever thankful I am.

I hope you know love like this … if you haven’t found it, keep looking, and accept no substitutes.

Literarily yours,

Elle