Multi-Tasking Me

Hot Water and Practical Jokes: The Tragedy

Americans are losing something important.

The number of new construction permits issued each month continues to depress (rather than impress) economists and those who listen to intelligent and semi-intelligent media outlets. Still, by 2050, over 70% of U.S. homes will be able to flush a toilet and not impact the hot water of a simultaneously running shower.

The showers in the house I grew up in lost pressure and hot water whenever the following occurred: 

• the other shower ran
• the sprinklers were on
• dishes were being washed (whether by hand or the dishwasher)
• the toilet flushed

The showers in the house I now live in, built in 2005, are affected by nothing except running for an hour. And cold weather (although that's probably a cause and effect thing with cold weather causing me to want to take an hour's worth of shower and having the effect of eventually running out of hot water).

So what do Americans lose by this?

A Semi-Amusing Practical Joke

Who, after all, has not flushed a toilet or ran hot water in the kitchen during a sibling's shower? Who, after all, did not enjoy its effect? And finally, who did not swear to exact revenge (most likely by doing it again when parents weren't around) when that sibling told on you?

Only children, I totally get that you may be feeling left out. Still, I am sure you have perpetrated this joke on a spouse or that totally lazy roommate who never did his or her own dishes.

Awareness

Just as this generation's youth had to google who Osama Bin Laden was when his death was announced, so that generation's youth will have to google (assuming Google still hasn't succumbed to Bing in 40 years), "Why does a person showering yelp when the toilet is flushed?"

They will google this question only after watching an old movie or television show in which revenge is exacted on a showering person by toilet-flushing. 

Which is a nice segue into...

An Easy Gag Joke for TV and Comedy Writers

The overuse of such gags has been discussed elsewhere. Still, many writers will mourn the loss of this good-for-laughs bathroom scene on days they are feeling lazy or not particularly clever.  Fraternity houses will likewise grieve, and for similar reasons.

Just a Teensy Bit More Power

Office drones and blue collar worker bees, this is just one more way The Man can stick it to you. Not only is He giving orders and intricately commanding every detail of your workday, now The Man is invading your home through new-construction and home renovation regulations in order to rob you of your domestic power as well.There's really not much you can do except write your congress(wo)man, watch more televesion, and exercise your right to bear arms in an ultra-secret militia group.

 

 

 

Busy Boasting

"A life of constant overcommitment is not a sign of success, or something to be bragged about. It is a sign of imbalance, a sign we have put our faith in the gospel of busyness instead of in a God who dares us to trust Him and be willing to rest." -- Mason Slater

 

Okay, so I am totally guilty of this. My core sin is laziness, and it affects everything I do, including how much pride I take in being busy. You see, if I could demonstrate to others how productive my daily life is, then they have to give me credit for being a hard worker and not the lazy, read-all day-at-Starbucks, marathon-tv-show-watching person I know I am on the inside.

I almost literally just had the conversation that begins Slater's article:

“How have you been recently?”

 

“Oh, I'm not too bad. I’m taking a few classes, working two jobs, volunteering at church and on the side I’m writing a novel. I hardly sleep and practically live on coffee, but it’s great. What have you been up to?”

 

“Me? Just work I guess.”

“That must be nice." [thinks: slacker]

Of course, that wasn't me thinking the working person was a slacker; I actually was envying her the ability to relax when she got home, rather than spend every second of her non-kid-waking hours on the computer. But did I feel pride in stating all I was doing? Yes!

It's interesting, this stay-at-home-working-mom thing. When I worked full time, all I wanted was to be able to stay at home with my children to raise them myself. But I don't do that. I am home with them way more than if I had a full-time job, but I still do work that much, just whenever I can fit it in. This way, I can explain to other stay-at-home moms that although I do work, I work mostly from home and can raise my children the way they need to be raised. But for those who look down on stay-at-home moms, I can point to my work and accomplishments with a childish, "See?! You're not better than me, either."

And all of this to defend the core of the problem:  "Even though I would much rather be that stay-at-home mom who watches soap operas all day, I'm not because I know that would be totally bad for society. And my kids. And others who see me wearing skinny jeans. So don't look down on me!"

Often, when I feel overcommitted- usually on the weekends- I worry about when I can fit everything in. And instead of waiting on God, of giving him the firstfruits of my time and productivity, I try to carve out time to just do my job. But guess what? I end up distracted (usually by Facebook) and inefficient. On the other hand, every single time I choose to sacrifice the urgent in favor of sitting down with God, I make the right decision and somehow find time to still complete everything else I need to.

So why do I still overcommit and put pressure on myself to do this and do that BEFORE I meet with God? Because I long to be productive, to see results. And the results of worship are intangible, making it impossible to point to them and say for others to hear, "See?! See what I've accomplished?"

Community

I have often wished to have one circle of friends. The result of this would be that the wonderful people we played volleyball with all summer could somehow be involved in our lives during the year because we cross paths at work or at church. And the women I meet for playdates could be the same people I call to play volleyball with or to see at Bible Study, while I would see the girls who come over to hang out with me at night during the day at work or church.

The truth is that while I do get overlap (like one of my favorite playdate mommies who also goes to school with me and works in the same place), it's just not enough. And I don't have enough time to keep up strong relationships with all of the different social circles I live in, so there have been plenty of moments that I think, "Man, I wish I saw these people who I am doing a Bible study with more than every other week." But we all have our own lives.

True community would be enjoying my amazing friend in more than one setting, so that I don't always feel dissatisfied with the strength of my friendships. I often find myself walking away from a conversation longing to know a person more and thinking of ways I could hang out with her. It almost never works out.

Right now, I think I see one or two of my friends a week, so I am not doing so well in this area. I wonder how other people manage it? How many people is the average person close friends with?

A Snippet of Rest

I think I missed the point of commemorating the anniversary of 9-11. I thought it was about remembering the victims and using the footage and film to create empathy with the pain and terror they experienced. Johnathan has been watching movies and interviews about what happened 10 years ago, and after a little while I usually leave because I can’t stand to see that tower fall one more time. But I think I caught a new perspective last night. You see, this week we’ve both been struggling with some goings on at work and it has been affecting us emotionally and spiritually. So I was more than annoyed when Johnathan came home last night and put on yet another documentary about September 11. As I watched, I cried and mourned and was reminded again how horrible the whole thing was. But I came away in a better mood about our own light, momentary frustrations. One of the things the show pressed home to me was that everything we have could be taken away in a second, so rather than allowing the ridiculousness of others affect me, I am working on seeing them in view of eternity. This is the weight of glory, that we have no guarantee in our lives of tomorrow, and that each person we come into contact with we influence, whether for better or worse. In my case, I hope it’s for better.

Procrastinating

Only lately have I decided that I am not, in fact, a procrastinator; I simply de-prioritize what I really don’t like doing. For things that I care about, I have recently started working ahead and gaining time to perfect my work. I say recently because I have really needed to grow into this. In high school, I would put off the “huge” 5-page paper until the night before, then type away furiously until it was done. I can’t even remember proofreading. In early college, despite having a full semester’s worth of assignments immediately available thanks to my syllabi, I gave myself a weekend to work on the “fairly intimidating” 10-pager due on Monday. After I married, I began working full time, but still had classes to finish. So I started to work way ahead on classes I liked (I had all of my novels read for Victorian Novel before I withdrew halfway into the semester due to health reasons), and plugged methodically away at the classes I didn’t. I still enjoyed the plugging away part, mostly because it was a break from a job I liked even less. After I had kids, though, I realized if I wanted to fit all of the things I cared about into one single semester—fall—I needed to get busy months ahead of time. So I did. The 20-page graduate paper turned into an easy-cause-I-did-my-research 30-pages, and I have stacks of recruit mailings ready to go out the door for Randolph volleyball. It appears I am no longer the procrastinator I used to be. So if I have learned my lesson, why am I blogging right now instead of grading papers?

Freed by my Imperfections

In job interviews, I always identify perfectionism as one of my primary faults. I do it for two reasons: 1, It’s really something I struggle with, and 2, It sounds better than saying, “I tend to be the first person to spot a problem with the way things are done.” Perfectionism can paralyze me. It struck again this afternoon as I was grading paragraphs for my writing class. The first one I picked up ended up being the worst one, and let me tell you, the thing absolutely blew me away. I had no idea where to start. I wanted so badly to make this class useful for the student by being encouraging and helpful with my feedback, but couldn’t even begin. Similarly, I put off looking at student evaluations until I’m in a really bad, self-destructive mood, because they make me so nervous. Even though the percentage of students who disagree with me, or my methods, is always small, I start imagining ways I could have reached the students better. This in itself is good for me. I SHOULD try to reach every student I can, but spending time agonizing about the best way to tell a student his writing stinks like my kid’s diaper pail is not as productive. In fact, it’s a time-waster. And I have zero time to waste. Unless I'm on Facebook.

My problem with perfectionism manifests in other ways, too. For example, I completely suck at knowing when to stop researching/writing/preparing papers. I tend to get terribly snappy with my children and husband if my mind is on the work I need to do. This only worsens my mood because I feel like a bad mom/wife. I have a hard time trying new things because of the insecurities dredged up by being bad at something. Johnathan says I stress out; I like to say I am always thinking of ways to improve.

Regardless of the advantages perfectionism offers (like making me a good student), it can also be damaging. As I sat here a few minutes ago frustrated by my daughter's whining and my son's inability to obey rules, I began to feel like a failure as a mom, and since I'd already yelled at my husband I started feeling bad about that, too.

I know I have a lot on my plate. I am taking advantage of opportunities God has given me and doing well (or so I think). But anytime I start to lag in something I get really hard on myself, and that isn't always good. So I thought it might help if I thought of ways I'm not-so-perfect and then found the bright side. Turns out, it's incredibly freeing to release some of the pressure I put on myself:

1. I avoid looking in the mirror for weeks at a time. My reflection does not (always) make me its slave.
2. I am okay with using pre-made ingredients or paying more for groceries when I don't have time to coupon.
3. I hate reading books to my children. I like laying on the ground and playing with them.
4. I react in anger 4/10 times. That means the majority of the time I don't lose my cool.
5. I get really nervous when I speak in public. I'm usually smart enough to pick out a wardrobe that doesn't showcase sweaty armpits.
6. I'm terrible at pep talks. I stumble over my words and say, "You know what I mean?" a lot. But I think I get the message across.
7. I'm bad at staying in touch, but choose friends I can talk to no matter how long it's been since we've conversed.
8. I can always spot a problem, but I'm really good at coming up with a solution. And if I can't, it's a good reminder to pray.
9. I can be truly lazy, but I always feel awful if I watch too much TV.
10. I occasionally did other people's homework when I was younger, but I think the extra practice paid off.

Am I Getting Stupider?

I find myself doubting my brain often these days. It started three and a half years ago, when I was pregnant with Aubri. I was so sick and stressed during that time that I chalked up my forgetfulness to pregnancy brain and miserable nausea. After she was born, I just thought I was sleep deprived. After all, the fact that I didn’t notice the skateboarder in spandex just means I’m tired or pre-occupied. But I started to realize that I couldn’t recall as many names anymore. As I got more into Facebook, I realized I’d forgotten names of people I attended high school with for four years. Through my pregnancy with Asher and his infancy, this forgetfulness became more pronounced. It is now no longer me forgetting where I put my phone (which I “lose” once a day), but forgetting names of people I went to college or worked with, reminding myself over and over to get my wallet before I leave and walking right past it out the door, or double and triple checking a schedule only to still get it wrong. I have gotten worse at math, using new technology, and even driving. Seriously, I’ve put my car in drive to back out of a parking space so many times I’m lucky my husband hasn’t taken away my keys. Am I getting stupider? My brain used to feel so elastic; if I repeated a phone number to myself 10 times, for example, I’d remember it. I committed my husband’s social security number to memory the first time I wrote it down, but two years later I STILL can’t remember what Aubri’s is. Oh wait, she’s three. See? I suppose it’s not surprising that we lose some cranial flexibility as we age, but I wasn’t expecting it to go this fast. Someone explained to me that my brain is probably just choosing to focus on things I’ve prioritized, like remembering to turn the stove off after I’ve done, or what my favorite line of that book I read yesterday is. It’s also gotten extremely good at analyzing the Angry Birds game for the best ways to maximize points. So it this an age thing? A focus and maturity thing? A lack of discipline thing?

A Writing Life

A person who writes experiences life differently. The power of words to stimulate, express, relieve, draw attention to, and acknowledge something’s worth empowers a writer to touch the world’s pulse of anxiety or beauty or truth, and capture it. When I write, my thought life is always active. I mull, probe, analyze, and sum ideas up constantly. I look at my kid and think about writing. I work on the budget and plan a blog about personal finance. I read articles and craft responses. I listen to a sermon or an interview and transcribe parts I find poignant. I connect concepts and bridge ideas. A study of Elijah becomes a Googling of jihad, which leads to reading about women in the Middle East, and ends with research on immigration. It’s kind of amazing.

Most of the time, all this thinking about writing stays in my brain. Occasionally it eeks out through ink and gets itself seen in words, and those are the times I feel most at peace with myself. I used to journal my prayers, and that became one of the only ways I could pray. With a lack of time to myself with a pen and paper (I spend way too much time working on the computer), I have since gotten away from regular journaling. My prayer life seems much less tangible because I don’t see my prayers as things of permanence—they merely wander off into the atmosphere instead of proving their existence as when I harness them into written words—but it does feel a little more free, too, since my brain has always roamed faster than I could write. I guess everything has its give and take.

When I write, I get to see a little bit of myself, and I like me more. In a weird way, reading what I’ve written operates as a sort of mirror; the words reflect back a small piece of my thoughts, emotions, and way of being. Seeing myself made permanent in this way makes me feel like I’ve slowed time down a bit, and for a moment I am just me instead of mommy or wife or coach or teacher or cleaner or banker or any number of roles I’ve assigned myself. When I feel jumbled or confused, I gain focus from writing. From focus comes understanding, and from understanding acceptance. I can look back at what I wrote and remember exactly where (and probably, who) I was when I wrote it.

I guess I’m telling myself I should really write more often.

Motherlife

  Having babies has changed my life. That kind of seems like a “duh” thing to say, and it is in a lot of ways. But though my life is different in the way you’d expect—diapers, high chairs, middle-of-the-night wakings, and people living in my house who are now scared of thunder—it is different in ways I did not expect. 

First, you have to understand that both of my kids “happened” to us. I had wanted to wait several more years before having them, and I did not yearn or long for them like so many of my friends have. But each child was another transition in my life. I remember holding Aubri just after she was born and thinking, “Well, I guess this is the next step in life.” I didn’t marvel that everything seemed natural and amazing, nor did I have (or expect to have) a motherhood climactic moment of love and bonding when I first looked into Aubri’s eyes. It was more of an, “Okay, this is it. Let’s go.”

Outside of the physical recovery from pregnancy and childbirth (I struggled to sit on hard surfaces for more than three months!), the biggest adjustment I had to make was in the time it took to leave the house. I rarely wear makeup or do my hair, so I was used to getting ready in 15 minutes, and it was a big inconvenience that I now had to add several more steps to my formerly minimal routine. Now, I had to time an outing around naps and feedings, get dressed and wash my face and deodorize, change the baby, dress the baby, feed the baby, pump, make sure the baby has diapers and I have my pump, grab an extra set of clothes for the baby and a water for myself. It definitely shifted my wake up time a good forty-five minutes earlier. You can imagine how horrified I was when having two actually doubled the time.

In the course of time I started laughing more. Aubri is a real challenge, but her precocity makes us smile an awful lot. Asher was such an easy baby it was simple to stay relaxed so I could enjoy Aubri—as long as I had my Starbucks. More laughter in our home has brought Johnathan and I closer together, and I know it has helped us create a loving environment for everyone. I was never really great with kids, and I worried I would not enjoy my own. But I do. I laugh more now than I did growing up. I had expected children to be stressful and burdensome, and instead, they make life seem newer and more interesting.

That’s not to say they don’t also make life hard. I have found, especially lately, that as my interests have diversified, I truly struggle to prioritize and get everything done. And though I am mightily adverse to awakening before seven, I have lately considered doing so just so I can fit everything in and still meet my goals. I value productivity so much that when I need a break and take it, I experience a sense of depression over not having completed my work. It is difficult to stay at home with children while also working several part-time jobs and going back to school. There just isn’t a lot of space to fit work into, especially as the kids age and their naps shrink.

Tonight, I put the kids to bed after a long Sunday (Sundays are never relaxing) and edited some writing before submitting it for publication. Then I cleaned up after them, berating myself for not being better at making them clean up after themselves. Next, I answered a few emails. Surfed Facebook. Wrote this blog. I am headed to bed now, and I miss the cuddling enough already that I plan to lay down with my little girl for a minute and tuck my son in again. A different life. A motherlife.

A Letter To Me

I was listening to music on the radio today because Aubri told me she didn’t want to listen to NPR. The song, “A Letter to Me,” was playing, and I have always loved it. It’s just a great idea, and as I listened to it I wonder what I would want to tell my teenage self. While thinking it over, I could only come up with a few things I would want my high school self to know. The following is not in any particular order.

1. 85 mph in a 55 zone is not as normal in Virginia than California. Be careful.

2. Make sure you eat more than just nachos the last day of the Las Vegas vball tournament. You might save yourself a knee injury. Better yet, since that is also the day Grandma dies, you should really leave the tournament early.

3. Learn how to use the phone rather than the internet. It is more effective, faster, and definitely not as scary once you get enough practice. Trust me, I spent three years of 40 hours a week practicing.

4. You knew he would at the beginning, but Rob chooses Leah. You get someone else, and really pretty kids.

P.S. Once you go black, you never go back.

5. Enjoy your body.

6. I know you are always practicing, but try working out on your own. Begin to appreciate the rewards of conditioning and strength training. You’ll get to eat more.

7. It is mean to call someone’s mother, “old.” With today’s life spans, 80 is the new 60, and 60 the new 40.

8. When Ms. Hawkins says you need to “polish” your story, ask her to help you.

9. Once you read Jane Austen once, you catch on to the language. It might seem difficult to get through at first, but read her now. You become a big fan of British Literature and constantly wish you’d read more.

10. I still have all of those books you stole from the school library. *Wink*

11. Thank Mrs. DeWoody. Write a letter.

12. There’s a reason you liked doing everybody’s English homework. That practice of taking 5 vocabulary words and writing them into a paragraph pays off.

13. You don’t regret quitting softball.

14. Never adjust the heater at home. You miss out on a lot during that grounding. Like spring break.

15. Hot pockets burn. But you already know that.

16. You are so not going to be a missionary.

17. That quote book is awesome. And try not to lose your senior yearbook. Odette actually does become famous and you are going to want to auction that sucker off on eBay or sell her picture to a tabloid eventually.

18. On second thought, it is probably kind of dumb to rhyme your valedictorian speech.

19. Never, ever, tell a girl she has small tits. Don’t you think she is self-conscious about that already? And especially don’t do it in front of a guy. You should really think sometimes.

20. You do find a best friend in college. And your sister Katie grows up to be pretty cool. You should talk to her some.

Honorary Mention: Share your doughnut with Mindy. She may not remember her response, but you will.