Volunteer

It’s easy to feel guilty about not volunteering. I’ve been doing it for years—even when I was actually volunteering. But I wasn’t giving myself permission to volunteer with the organizations that I was already involved with. Somehow that didn’t count.

I thought I should be working in literacy programs because I’m an English teacher, or building houses with Habitat for Humanity because sometimes I’m handy, or working at a homeless shelter advising people how to write resumes. And the thing is, I would like to do all of those things because they’d help people and I could use my skills with causes I believe in.

But the way volunteering has worked for me so far is that I’m somewhere and someone needs help so I give it. But I tell myself it’s not okay or not enough because where I’m volunteering is not one of the organizations I held up as helping enough or helping the right people. Just as I have in so many other areas of my life, even when I’m doing something good, I find a way of telling myself it’s not good enough, I’m not good enough.

So besides volunteering today, I’m giving myself permission to volunteer my time, energy and skills where it’s natural for me to do so  and to let it be okay that I’m volunteering rather than feel guilty because I’m volunteering wrong. Maybe someday I’ll build a Habitat house or volunteer in a library. Right now, I volunteer for Attachment Parenting International, both as a co-leader of our S. Austin chapter and as a Contributing Editor for API Speaks.

When Cavanaugh was a couple of months old, a friend invited me to a playgroup. When I showed up there, many of the mamas kept referring to AP. I had no idea what it was. I didn’t want to ask. So I went home and googled AP. Turns out it stands for Attachment Parenting and that even though Mike and I hadn’t made a plan to practice it or to subscribe to any particular parenting philosophy, we were already attachment parents. We were breastfeeding, bedsharing, babywearing, and believing in the language of our baby’s cry. We were following the Eight Principles of Attachment Parenting based on our instincts and I’d just stumbled into a group of people doing the same thing.

What has happened over the almost three years since I met that group is that I have had a support system when Cavanaugh was teething, got rotavirus, learned to walk and talk, was waking up frequently at night, when he said No to us all the time. I had a listserve  with over 400 members who I could ask how to deal with whatever was coming up. I had playgroups and API meetings to go to, sling libraries to borrow carriers from and sling librarians to teach me how to use them.

But most of all, I had a built in community, so in the months that I was so afraid I would fight post-partum depression, that I would suffer from a loss of external structure that would leave me sleeping 15 hours a day (or wanting desperately to), that would render me as unable to function as I’d been during other depressive periods in my life, I had friends who believed in the same things I did and were struggling with the same challenges of parenthood. Instead of the isolation I’d heard about so many new mothers, especially SAHM’s experiencing, I had AP. So when our local chapter needed help, I helped the community that has made me a better mom, that has supported me as my identity changed from pre-parent to parent. I volunteer for them because they made my life better and my son’s life better.

Today I ran a meeting on nighttime parenting and sat in a room with 27 parents and 20 kids as we discussed how to deal with night weaning, night waking, kids waking up to pee while potty training. It felt great. Sometimes self care is about helping others.

Do you volunteer? How do you decide where or how you give your time?

Fix the Phones

Not being able to communicate makes me crazy.Sometimes it’s a matter of one person saying something and another person misunderstanding or hearing something else. That kind of communication is not so easy to fix.

But when someone’s trying to communicate with you and can’t because your phone isn’t working properly, that’s a little more straightforward. The ridiculous thing is that every single phone in my immediate vicinity is messed up so communication in and out has been challenging lately.

First the battery went out on our cordless phone, but not in any kind of just-get-it-together-and-replace-it way. We have two headsets and one stopped working. It would show that it had a full charge but then when I tried to answer a call, the screen would go blank. It only took a few weeks to figure out which handset was the problem and stop putting it on the charger. But the next phone died slowly. The battery held less and less of a charge so it would work if I made sure it was charged all night, and if I put it back on the charger after a long conversation, but recently, it’s gone down to holding a charge for maybe an hour, so really our home phone didn’t work well enough to call it usable.

Mike thought maybe we should get rid of the home phone. But Cavanaugh likes the speaker function. And our house doesn’t always get stellar cell service. Plus the last time we tried to get rid of the phone, our minutes on the wireless plan couldn’t keep up with the number of friends I have far far away.

So after months of fooling around with home phones that sometimes worked, I finally just drove the whopping fifteen minutes to Batteries Plus today to buy replacement rechargeables. It cost less than $40 for two phones though I still found myself thinking I should check Craig’s List or ebay or give up the home phones. Nope, my little sane voice said, buy the batteries. So I bought them. One phone is charging it’s requisite 24 hours now. The next I’ll charge tomorrow.

And my other phone fix was a ringtone problem. I’ve never downloaded a ringtone. I don’t know why it seemed so hard or expensive or unmanageable, but as much as I’ve wished for clever music instead of the tweets and bleeps my phone came with, I’ve never done it.

Tonight I took the ringtone leap. While I may be in danger of getting download happy so I’ve got a tone for each friend or frequent caller, I only chose one tonight, for when my husband calls. I chose a song that always makes me want to dance and always makes me think of him. The assocation of that music with his calling seems so much more positive than the traditional bell tone assigned to him before.

Now our only phone problem is with Mike’s new iPhone, a phone so fancy that the number of options seem to make it impossible to mute texts and Facebook notifications but still let alarms or phone calls come through. I can’t fix that one. I don’t even know how to turn the phone on. But I hear Apple has something called a Genius bar and Mike’s going to visit one someday soon. It only took us months of his Blackberry not charging correctly before we replaced it. Learning the new phone will take a little time, I imagine.

How long does it take you to fix or replace a phone? Why is it so hard to just tackle those necessary but annoying tasks when they first arise?

Photo by Morvena

Just Lie Down

Sometimes all a body needs is rest. So my self care yesterday and today was simple: just lie down.

After Cavanaugh’s stomach virus stomped me yesterday, I lay down at 1 p.m. and was in bed until this morning when Cavanaugh refused to stay in bed any longer.

I still haven’t figured out a good way of taking a sick day from being a mom. It works okay if Mike is home from work or can call in. If Mike has to work, as he did last night from 5 p.m. until 7:30 this morning, and then again today at 3:00, I’m on duty.

Luckily Mike got home from work right as Cavanaugh woke up this morning, so Mike fed the boy breakfast and then went to sleep while Cavanaugh and I watched videos all morning.

We had babysitting lined up for this afternoon so Mike woke up and took Cavanaugh to our friends’ and then he came home so we could sleep some more. I’ve never had a date nap before. It’s cozy.

So Cavanaugh has watched way too many Thomas youtube videos in the last 24 hours and my muscles are stiff from being in the same position for so long, but I managed to take a makeshift mama sick day while the virus works its way out of my body.

All of you other parents, how do you manage when you’re sick?

Photo by Stephanyx

Have a Potluck

A potluck is so much easier than a dinner party. Even if you like nothing else, you’ve made your own offering so you know there’s at least one dish you can eat. Also, potlucks are so informal that there’s no pressure to dress up. It’s about sharing the work as well as the pleasure of a good meal.

We are blessed to be a part of a group of parents who have a monthly potluck. We rotate from one house to another and have a core group of about a dozen families that come. Of course with everyone having new babies, the sicknesses that travel through toddler packs, and various trips, we rarely have all 12 families show up in the same month.

Whether it’s a large or a small group though, it’s guaranteed to be a good time. The kids are so excited to be out at night and with other kids that they play more easily together than at many of the daytime playgroups we attend. Many of the families are vegetarian so we always have plenty to eat and often swap recipes afterwards. Mostly though, the potluck offers us social time with the whole family.

I was lucky enough to find a group of like-minded moms with kids of similar ages when Cavanaugh was only a couple of months old. I’d gotten to know the mamas very well, but the dads were conspicuously absent. They were busy with their day jobs just as we were occupied with the work of raising our kids. While all of the dads are very involved with the child-rearing in their off hours, they just weren’t available during playgroup time. So, when one of the mamas suggested a monthly family potluck, everyone loved the idea.

The dads get to talk to other dads. It’s great to get to see the whole family unit and we’re all much closer because it’s not the fragmented experience that much of being a SAHM includes: a world where partners spend their days so differently that their lives may only overlap where their children are concerned. Plus, having both parents there allows one to get a break to chat or eat while the other watches the kid(s). Then we swap.

It’s one of my favorite nights of the month. Good food, good friends, and the kids are so busy with each other that bedtime is super easy when we get home. The only thing I wish is that they happened more often!

Do you have a group of friends that gets together for regular events? What do you like to do?

Photo by Adrift Photography

Get Back to Yourself

What feeds you, reminds you who you are, and connects you back to your core? For me, it’s poetry. At least it used to be, before I got pregnant.

Then I stopped being able to read or write poetry. I couldn’t even go to a reading because my mind would wander and I’d forget what the poet was saying. I didn’t follow long enough to get the content or savor the language. Considering I have an MFA in poetry and met my husband at a poetry reading, this was a big deal.

But it’s coming back. Tonight, I went to see Tony Hoagland, one of my favorite poets. On Monday, I received an email for Hoagland’s reading at a local university. I have no idea how I even got on the mailing list. But here came this message from the universe, this offering to go back to where I came from.

But my husband had to work and the reading started right at Cavanaugh’s bedtime. Cavanaugh hasn’t wanted to be away from me much since we got back from New Mexico. Reentry from vacation is always hard and this latest trip was eighteen days long. Since I’m the one constant while we’re out of town, once we arrive back, he doesn’t let go of me. So going to the reading meant I’d have to get a babysitter and leave him.

Often, as a parent, I feel like I’m choosing between meeting someone else’s needs or meeting my own. And much of the time there’s not a compromise. It’s an either/or deal. But the older Cavanaugh gets, the more I’m coming to understand that meeting my own needs does meet his. I’m more patient. I’m not modeling martyrdom. I don’t want him to carry around guilt with stories of my sacrifices for him. Since I’ve been focusing on self care this year, I’ve been choosing to meet my own needs more and I’m slowly remembering who I am and what feeds me.

When I got the email about the reading, I took Hoagland’s books off my shelf and started reading. I felt very clear that being in a room and hearing him read his own work would give me so much more. So I emailed the one nighttime babysitter we have who we’ve only used one time before and asked her to come over tonight. She was available and I went to the reading.

When they introduced him, I wanted to shout welcomes to the stage like you would for a rockstar. While the rest of the audience was quiet, I laughed at the funny parts. It caught on. Other people had permission to laugh too. You mean you don’t have to be serious and quiet at a poetry reading? Nope.

I wrote notes, copied quotes, folded one leg over the other and then back again, pushed up my sleeves, itched my head. I wiggled. It was hard to sit still and be mostly quiet when I wanted to give a standing ovation and call for an encore. I wanted an interimssion for a pee break and something stronger than coffee so I could come back and see what poems were in his next set. I wanted to write my own poems again and jotted down lines that came to me as I went. But what I really did was recognize a part of me that’s been missing and make time to welcome it back.

Maybe it’s not poetry for you. Maybe it’s salsa dancing, bowling, or sneaking from one movie theater to the next on a Sunday so you can catch a double feature. Maybe it’s drumming or tennis or work. Whatever those activities are that make you feel like yourself, that get you back to who you most like being or that you are sure fulfill what you are supposed to be doing on this earth are worth making time and room for. Meet your own needs. Get back to yourself. You’ll have a whole lot more to share with everyone around you if you do.

What activities, places, or things get you back to yourself?

Pick Up the Pigsty

When I can’t control the havoc inside my head, it’s time to pick up the house.

If anyone had told me before I had a child that laundry took nine steps, I would have laughed. But it’s true.

1. Put dirty clothes in basket
2. Take basket to laundry room
3. Run load of wash
4. Transfer to dryer and dry clothes
5. Put clothes in basket
6. Take clean basket of clothes to bedroom
7. Sort into piles for each family member
8. Fold and hang up clothes
9. Put clothes in closet or bureau

And you know what? It is nearly impossible for me to get all nine steps done in one day. Often, it doesn’t get done in one week. The ridiculous thing is that each action takes very little time. It’s just doing so many in a row that causes me trouble.

Really, cleaning has never been my thing, but I appreciate having a space that’s picked up.Also, there’s no way I’m going to manage to teach my son to pick up after himself if I can’t clean up my own stuff. I feel like a total hypocrite telling him he can’t take out the puzzle until he’s put away the blocks when I’ve got piles of my own books, crochet projects, and other detritus stacked everywhere. So today, besides taking the dirty laundry off the floor and actually getting it to the hamper, I put the sorted laundry away. Then put the dirty dishes in the dishwasher. Then recycled all but a small pile of the mail. All the toys went in their baskets, the shoes into the hall closet. There was more.

Things haven’t been so great around here lately and the house was a disaster. Today the emotional chaos motivated me to clear the clutter. I couldn’t fix my life, but I could clean it up a little. From room to room, I sorted, put away, and cleared. The house looks much better and I feel emotionally cleaner too.

How does the state of your house affect your mood? Does cleaning help you feel better? Has your attitude toward having a clean house (or your need for it) changed since having children?

Photo Mess

Run Your Butt Off

So I’m saying it out loud (writing it out loud?): I’m going to lose 40 pounds by the time I turn 40. When is that? December 22nd.

Considering I do not get on scales or really know what exactly I weighed when this year of self care started, how will I know? I’ll feel better, look better, and be able to see my triceps again. Oh, yes. They will reappear from the land of maternity weight.

Every time I run, I can feel where the weight is going to come off first: my butt, then my thighs, my back, my arms. How is it that I still have to convince myself to put on my running shoes and go for a run?

My feet hurt, my muscles are sore, it’s hot or cold outside. I’m tired. I don’t feel like it. I went yesterday. I had a bad day.

My friend Courtney turning me onto the c25k running program (though I totally don’t think I’ll get done in the nine weeks the plan has scheduled) has totally helped. I have a manageable way of going running. I only have to go for 30 minutes. And doing the running is motivating me to go to the gym for other classes and to eat less, all of which makes my pants looser, which makes me want to run more.

But when I’m feeling like I don’t want to go, I just think about how bad I feel when I look in the mirror or my reflection in a store window, or that I want to delete the photos of my son’s childhood because I don’t want to see myself in any of them. That generally just makes me want to eat ice cream.

So I’ve started thinking about athletes, real athletes and the commitment it is going to take for me to actually get in shape. So, no chocolate.  And less ice cream. But I’ve started thinking about people who run with injuries, with prosthetics, or marathoners who run and pee as they go. It takes dedication.

Though I’m probably not that dedicated, but I’m going to run my butt off anyway. Just you watch.

Photo Scale

Go to the Gym

When the life you thought you were building may be crumbling around you, there’s only so much the gym can do. But it’s still worth going.

Count 60 minutes that you have a distraction from your growing desperation. Or add up oxygen and endorphin release, strengthening your muscles, feeling proud of what your body can do and going to the gym won’t do you wrong.

So, today, I went to my bodyflow class, which is a combination of tai chi, yoga, and pilates. It makes me take the time to stretch and breathe. If I wear shorts, it lets me see one of my favorite parts of my body, the cut of muscle in my shin. And on a good day, I can balance, tip over and defy gravity.

Whatever is happening outside those gym walls can just wait it’s damn turn. For one hour, I will hold myself up.

Photo Yoga

Make a List of Things You Like About Yourself

As I sunk back into another depression this fall, I realized that the way I’ve been living my life is not the way I want to live. It’s not the life I want. So I’ve committed this year (and the rest of my life) to learning how to take care of myself, to engage in at least one act of self care per day and blog about it. Today’s the last day of my first month of truly taking care of myself and things look very different to me already.

In order to prove to myself that I was worth being loved or taken care of, I was abdicating my personal responsibility: to take care of myself. This month is slowly revealing the flaws in my beliefs and actions that kept leading me to this broken down place.

Going through each day thinking about what I can do for myself allows me to take control, to use my power instead of trying to change somebody else or get someone else to do it for me (which makes me helpless, powerless, and sets me up to depend on someone else to validate me).

My self concept is skewed, it’s a glass half empty perspective that means I’m never good enough. Thus the people closest to me get my projected vision of nothing they do being good enough either. “If only you… If only. You should….” I don’t want to tell myself or my loved ones that anymore.

My friend Jocelyn suggested I make a list of things I do like about myself so that when the loops of critical voices are playing, I have some evidence to the contrary. Can I tell you how much harder this list was to come up with than my list of 50 Fun Things earlier this month?

I got to item 7 then I got stuck. For my 39th birthday, my friend Tara gave me a set of cards entitled Tia Sonya Rocks. Let Us Tell You Why. Maybe it’s cheating, but I’m using her list to keep me going (and if any of you want to add to the list in comments, I’m not too proud to ask for a little help with this one):

1. I am a good mom.
2. I can make a three line joke 10 minutes long and still bury the punch line.
3. I am uber-creative.
4. I make and find beauty.
5. I work hard—so much harder than is called for, but I can dial it down.
6. I share myself.
7. My chocolate chip cookies are delicious.
8. I seek out knowledge and love to learn.
9. My laugh is the loudest in the movie theater.
10. I give good presents.
11. I help others to be better parents.
12. I am a good teacher.
13. I am a good writer.
14. I’m a gardener.
15. I have many friends. That must mean something.
16. I have a good and generous heart.
17. I am a good aunt.
18. When I fail, I try again.
19. My hair rocks, and curls, and tumbles.
20. I love big.

Okay, your turn. Make a list of at least ten things you like about yourself. I was hoping for a hundred, but I’ll keep adding. And if you want to help me build my list, that’s great too. Tell me what you’ve got on yours and give me some ideas.

Photo by pspider

Stop Blaming Other People

It’s not my mom’s fault she couldn’t pay attention for longer than thirty seconds. And maybe I wish my dad had believed it’s a parents job to give a child approval, to build their self concept. It’s not my sister’s fault either. She is just doing the best she can, just like the rest of us. It’s not my husband’s fault either. He works hard. He shows up. And he gets more blame than just about anybody.

I’m figuring out I’ve spent a ton more energy trying to change other people or wish they were another way than I have taken responsibility for what I’m doing. I haven’t changed the things I could change. I’ve complained and felt stuck and gone to a lot of therapy. But there’s something to be said for just doinng what you can and accepting who other people are, just as they are. But I’ve blamed everyone.

There are random people I’ve been blaming for nearly 40 years. So here it is.

It wasn’t the guy who took my five dollars in elementary school and bought candy for everyone at the drug store who never paid me back. Maybe he took advantage, but I handed him the five bucks.

My high school boyfriend, the one who rubbed my belly and called me Buddha, was not a great guy, but it wasn’t his fault that I started puking up my food to try to fit what he thought I should look like, any more than it was the fault of the girl he was cheating with, the girl who taught  me how to puke up my food.

It wasn’t the college professor who flunked me in the Search for Extraterrestrial Life because I couldn’t be bothered to show up for class once I realized it only covered dust particles and hydrogen.

Nor was it the friend who left me in Europe two weeks into what was supposed to be a summer traveling together.

It wasn’t my friend’s fiance who said he didn’t think I was actually moving in with them, even though I’d painted the room and hung everything up before he told me he was under the impression I was looking for my own place.

I bet I could come up with a hundred random people I’ve been blaming for things they don’t even know they did. And the poor people who actually have regular contact with me, man have I got lists of all their wrongs. Of course, my list of my own wrongs could paper the city of Austin. I’ve used all those people I was blaming to confirm that I’m not good enough. I’ve played over how I haven’t been enough for them to do or say or be something else. I’ve blamed them for my shitty life. But it’s nobody’s fault but mine. I’ve spent so much time pressing play on the loops of critical voices and incidents that I haven’t owned my own power. I haven’t gotten over anything.

It’s past due, but I’m done blaming. I’m owning myself, my acts and attitudes. I’m getting better. I’m not going to be broken anymore. I just can’t stand it.

Photo Naturally I Took the Blame

<object width=”450″ height=”610″><param name=”movie” value=”http://backend.deviantart.com/embed/view.swf” /><param name=”flashvars” value=”id=56428120&width=1337″ /><param name=”allowScriptAccess” value=”always” /><embed src=”http://backend.deviantart.com/embed/view.swf” type=”application/x-shockwave-flash” width=”450″ flashvars=”id=56428120&width=1337″ height=”610″ allowscriptaccess=”always”></embed></object><br /><a href=”http://www.deviantart.com/deviation/56428120/”>Naturally, I took the blame…</a> by *<a class=”u” href=”http://encefalocardia.deviantart.com/”>encefalocardia</a> on <a href=”http://www.deviantart.com”>deviant</a><a href=”http://www.deviantart.com”>ART</a>