Birth Order

Your moment of zen - you can buy happiness, one laugh at a time.

There is much to be said with regard to birth order. Being the youngest child with siblings who peaked the decade before is strange. What I feel (and have felt for many years) is an oppressive state of regulated status. I am the youngest, the little one, the overlooked. I seek attention. I want to please. And I have never been inducted into adulthood, parenthood, or any hood for that matter, feeling like I have access to the  same degree of privilege as my older brothers. I know that some of it comes from the fact that I have never been the first in the family to do ANYTHING. I graduated last, I was employed last, I married last, I had children last - all those last places add up to one big "you can't relate because we are ten years ahead of you". Honestly, it's gotten to the point where I don't ever discuss my personal achievements with family for fear that they might fall on deaf ears, with my audience preoccupied with the next phase - something I'm certain not to reach for another ten years. 


And because I had practically equal doses of company (until I was 9 and my youngest brother went away to school) and alone time, I am most comfortable bridging the gap between crowded and alone, never knowing ahead of time which state I prefer in the moment.  On the one hand, I crave alone time. Picture a forty something woman turning up the volume on music from the eighties, and dancing like she's got something to prove. And yet being with people, all people, and relating in an honest and open format, excluding pretense all the while...well, there's nothing better.  


I know that my experience isn't all that unusual, but I happen to have a circle of friends that are rich in a way that I am not. Their relationships with their siblings are lovely, and while not always perfect, they generate and embrace kinship as a rule, even when it doesn't come easily. As they rally together with support and respect, I admire them. I feel lucky to know them because they treat me like family, and they let me know that "it ain't no thing" to include me. Thanks guys!

Pulling an All-Nighter

Around my house things get done. And by things, I mean things that really should get done. For instance, we always have something clean to wear. And we always have something good to eat. We practice decent hygiene (with the exception of the ten year old who still believes that the shower is akin to a torture chamber). We clean dishes and put them away. We exercise our bodies and read books. Collection agencies don't call, so it seems that the bills are actually being paid on time. Outside the lawn gets a regular trim and the pool gets a granular diet. Yet occasionally I fantasize about pulling an all-nighter. Although I haven't actually done this yet, doing this once a month might be a good starting point. I could stay up all night and pay bills, organize files and receipts, edit and order photos, fold MORE laundry, mend things, clean out the refrigerator, and research our next vacation. The reason that I haven't yet incorporated the all-nighter as a means to diminish my to-dos is that I'm afraid of the day after. The next day could materialize the nightmare I skipped by cheating sleep and that would suck. 

Teach by Example

Sometimes I listen to the noise of others and I think blah, blah, blah. 


In a nutshell, think what you want, disparage at will, and realize it is your power to discriminate. Whatever you do, don't live an unexamined life. The power to judge is yours, even if it's quietly from the sidelines. Remember that the act of judging is not to regard within a cultural hierarchy, but to use examples as a spectrum of behavioral direction. You witness a friend or acquaintance do one thing with poor results (perhaps they are disciplining their child). You learn quite readily to use a different approach. The reason I say this is that we are demonstrative learners. We live better lives, sometimes, because we witness failed examples. 

Authority Figures

The principal at my daughter's school called me yesterday afternoon and within 45 seconds, both my cell phone AND landline were ringing in from the same number. I was in the middle of rehearsing one of my regular after school specials replete with tears, yelling and people talking to me (all while I'm already talking to someone on the phone, by the way). As soon as things around me eased, I returned his call, but he had already left for the day. I hope I'm not alone when I admit that I still quake at the thought of meeting or talking with an authority figure. This time it ended up being no big deal. But historically whenever this sort of thing has happened to me, I ALWAYS feel nervous and stressed and I contemplate worst case scenarios. Please tell me I'm not the only one.

Back on the Horse

I used to ride horses. I was never great and I never competed, but one instructor described me as "a persevering rider".  I rode western as a kid, then found myself missing it in college and took a job as a hostess to pay for lessons, English this time. The instructor and owner of the barn was a character named Bree, and as I got into regular lessons, she would invite me into her home after my lesson and offer me a glass of sherry.  Eventually, she began to ask me how she could get a hold of some pot. And finally, if I could find some for her around the campus. Well, I didn't know what to tell her as I didn't number any drug dealers among my pals at Providence College. Not that Catholics don't smoke pot; I'm sure some do.  Needless to say, my lesson format took a creepy turn and I stopped going.  I was pretty bummed.  After that, I rode rarely.  My husband and I went on a trail ride during our honeymoon and I rode in a cattle drive two years ago in Arizona. When I was pregnant with my youngest child seven years ago, my husband gave me an extremely meaningful Christmas present: a gift certificate for three riding lessons at a local barn. That was back in 2004 and the paper certificate has moved often from one place for safe-keeping to another, most recently tucked inside my wallet like an origami cast-off. One day last week, on a whim, I drove over to the barn and told them I was ready to trade in my paper token for the real thing. I felt like a walking antique after I was dressed in my twenty-year old stuff. My lesson was great, though, and I had a lot of fun. I know now that fear is the only reason that I took action (to finally cash in my gift certificate).  I was afraid not to ride again, and what that might mean to the scope of my life. It had been easy to defer extra-curricular fancies, and deny myself of doing the things that I love for many years. But that time needs to pass.    

Perfectly Boring

The next time you find yourself engaged in a conversation that sounds too good to be true, remind yourself that it is. When people draw out their painfully embellished fairy tales like graffiti for all the world to see, I just want to excuse myself and yawn in a corner. There is nothing more boring than someone who keeps their sharpest knives in the drawer. Seriously, why do people flip through tabloids? Of course, to relish Hollywood's finest caught at their weakest moment. Plain and simple, people are interesting because of their weaknesses. Hell, that's why bad boys have such a following and the reason why Robert Downey, Jr. compels me to love him. So relax, next time you find yourself sharing your stuff, don't be afraid to put it out there "as is". 

Raising the Bar

I knew it would happen. It was just a matter of time. First I wrote a blog about raising the kids, with a healthy dose of self-deprecation. Then I needed to write about me - what an egotist, right? Here I am, look at me, part time mom, full-time narcissist. Just kidding, part-time narcissist. Now I need another blog to write about my super secretive stuff. Come on, it should go to 11 (reference: This is Spinal Tap). The trouble is, if it's a secret, perhaps no one should read it. Maybe I just need to lean in close with my friends and let my loose lips sink some ships.