Neurosis Part II

I didn't include ALL of the text from my the self-help neuroses pamphlet. Compare with last post.

1. You cannot teach a man anything, you can only help him find it within himself. - Galileo
2. The secret of success is one who does not try to please everyone.
3. Our greatest glory is not in never falling, but in rising every time we fall.
4. It's easier to stay thin than to lose weight.
5. Imaginary worries are the hardest fears to overcome.
6. The safest gamble in life is to take a chance on yourself.
7. A man's own self is his friend. A man's own self is his foe.
8. He who angers you conquers you. - Elizabeth Keany
9. Let me open myself to the knowledge of wisdom.
10. He who finds understanding, finds knowledge.
11. Creative minds flourish in a tranquil environmen.
12. He who gains victory over liquor is strong, but he who gains victory over himself is powerful.
13. It is better to travel hopefully, than to arrive.
14. The breadth of personal power is awesome. Today will be what I choose to make it. No more and no less.
    

How To Be A Dedicated Neurotic

Going through old files from graduate school, I found an invaluable pamphlet.

Be a Dedicated Neurotic

Remember the Past. . . and Regret it.
Abhor the Present.
Dread the Future.

1. Become preoccupied with the body, and make a long list of symptoms. Make them sound very clinical and professional...

2. BLAME your boss, your spouse, your partner, your neighbor, your kid. THEY are responsible for your miseries.

3. Feel trapped. You couldn't possibly declare your own independence without hurting someone's feelings.

4. Overeat. Rationalize and eat! Eat an insulated wall around yourself. Diet for a few days and say it doesn't work for you.

5. Self-pity. No matter what, feel sorry for yourself. Agonize over things about which no one cares.

6. Don't ever try. That way nobody can really accuse you of failure. You can always say, "But I could have done it."

7. Stress how shy you are. Insist that the world must come to you. You're special.

8. Your aggression is now sanctioned by the best authorities; Menninger, English, Cantor, and a host of others.

9. Never listen to anyone. Kiss off all valid advice. When you need anyone's opinion, you'll ask for it. Escape into negativism.

10. Never forgive. Look for the mistakes of others. If you can't find enough, manufacture some.

11. Hyper-acidity is popular for immediate attention. Nothing is better! Develop your own set of symptoms and worries - into an ulcer. Cheerfully explain that half a gut is better than none.

12. Nobody has the same reasons for drinking/ingesting chemicals that you have. Your motivations are UNIQUE. Escape in liquor.

13. Never be satisfied. Tell yourself you can always do better...and better...and better. Apologize for everything, no matter how well done it is. Keep knocking yourself out. You HAVE to work yourself to death to be worthy of being loved.

14. Be a martyr. Sigh a lot. Martyrs must always sigh because of their suffering. Everyone takes advantage of you, so elicit sympathy.

There it is! Print it out, laminate it and memorize each step. Neurosis is an art. The best neurotics have been honing their skills for years.

Or give up now and never try. You'll never be a good enough neurotic. Feel free to blame others for your own neurotic shortcomings in the comments section.

Outpatient Procedure

Completely hypothetically speaking, let's say your spouse was slated to have an endoscopy next week and the hospital called to do "pre-check-in." Let's say the person asking the questions asks what kind of procedure your spouse will be having. You can say anything. What would your answer be?

1. Endoscopy
2. Colonoscopy
3. Vasectomy
4. (Fill in the blank)

Extra hypothetical fodder: After throwing up and bearing four of his wonderful children, you asked him to get #3 and he paused long and hard before he said, wistfully and with hesitance, "I will. . . if I have to."

I did not say colonoscopy. No I did not. Nope.

Adventures of Fluids (not mine)

Timelines are for history geeks. Sorry. Here goes mine:

5:23 Roll over to find a 4 year old boy in my bed who announces, "Mom, I had an accident."

7:10 Wake up for real and realize I'm late. Run into 9 year old boy's bedroom and shatter his lovely dreams. He jumps up. There's a dark circle on his bed.

7:15 4 year old announces for the second time, "Mom, I had an accident."

7:20 Standing behind kitchen bar, I hear the dog gag. I panic and yell at the 9 year old boy to open the door and let her out. "Too late," he announces.

7:50 I am muttering swear words under my breath because I don't know where my husband is. Take 9 and 11 year old to school.

8:00 11 year old calls to request that I bring over the container of collected pond water she has on the kitchen counter. I don't see it. I check in dishwasher with clean dishes. Oh, there it is. I assure her I'll be right there. I'm still muttering swear words as husband enters house in his suit. Oh, that's right. He was at the temple.

8:02 Drive past elementary school and stop at the closest canal. Exit van and begin descent on embankment to gross and disgusting (redundant, but well deserved) bottom of canal. My descent is accelerated as my sensible shoes (not at all) slip and I continue on my backside.

8:04 Walk through squishy bog to obtain pond water.

8:05 Arrive at grade school with smile on face. I'm faking happiness. Notice puddle on floor of van. The container has a crack. Pour out clean bottled water from van onto asphalt. Pour in gross and disgusting bog water. 11 year old girl is happy.

12:40 Pick up 4 year old from daycare. He has had another accident. There are no clean clothes except the ones I forgot to take to charity. They are in the car. I also hold baby Derik. He's 3 months old. He spit up on me.

1:05 Make it out to van, strip child and clothe him in clothes that are too small for him. No underwear. He's going commando.

1:06 Boy announces he has to go "potty."

1:06:22 Mother of child shields the boy with the van door and herself and allows him to pee on the parking lot. Hopes nobody is manning the cameras in the school.

I'm so excited to start this all over again tomorrow.

Beautiful

It is, isn't it? I could start and end this post with this picture and claim myself as a kitchen demi-goddess and call it good. But there is more to this story.

The recipe called it "Earth Bread." The cookbook has been a winner for me in the past. I scanned the recipe and saw that it required 1/2 cup of sunflower seeds. I forgot to go to the store. Never fear! Remember these babies? Oh, yeah. I had sunflower seeds.

I went out to the garden and pulled on one of those sunflower's droopy heads. Something sharp penetrated my finger. It hurt. It stung. It's November. It can't be a bug.

I realized something was wrong when I picked out seeds and dumped them into my injured hand and I couldn't hold the seeds. I ran inside and watched a part of my hand swell. This, in literary circles, would be referred to as foreshadowing. Fortunately, this interaction with, what can only be assumed as a spider, is anti-climactic. No black widow. No decaying flesh. I didn't even die.

80 minutes later and with the help of four children (three losing interest very quickly), I had 3 tablespoons of sunflower seeds. I deemed it good enough.

I am pretty talented in the kitchen. I bake very well. At times I border on genius. But not today.

I am a fly-by-the-seat-of-my-pants kinda gal. I start measuring (read: eyeballing and dumping in) the ingredients. I dumped in the water, yeast, sugar before I started grinding the wheat. I added the white flour, the freshly milled wheat flour, quick look at the recipe, add oatmeal, then some cracked wheat.

I don't have any cracked wheat.

The point of this bread is to have the earthy consistency of dirt with small pebbles. Without cracked wheat, all I have is 3 T. of sunflowers. I have wheat. Lots of wheat but I don't know how to crack it.

I started tearing my house apart looking for my coffee grinder before I realized that I don't drink coffee, never have, and hence, don't own a coffee grinder. And so I improvised.

Blender? No. It didn't even cross my mind until the bread was complete.

Ziploc freezer bag and a hammer on cement!

There are hundreds, nay, thousands of tiny holes in this bag.

And this is my kitchen sink:

Why don't you go on back there and compare the size of that loaf of bread to the size of the mess made to produce it.

End result - beautiful loaf of earth bread with a sprinkle of sunflower seeds and a whole lot of whole wheat kernels, making those little pebbles into boulders turning the bread into a health hazard.

Moral of the story: Just because you can doesn't mean you should.

Halloween Lesson Learned 2009

1. October 29th, 6:00 p.m. at Party Land is a lot like stepping into an amusement park. You will find suffocating crowds, what you want is sold out, someone has to go potty and there aren't enough potties to go around for all those people, and your wallet is taken for a ride.

2. The child you spent a small fortune to buy a costume that she committed to wear even though you had your doubts, wears the costume for half of the school day and then changes into a new costume after lunch. Just to make things for interesting, her trick or treating costume is something entirely different; Miss Obvious. This costume consists of her regular school clothes and "Miss Obvious" written across her forehead. $32 well spent.

3. Tall and beautiful teenager is asked to dance at the Halloween Dance by an 18 year old senior. She is flattered. I want to know his name and address.

4. WalMart is a circus from October 29th at 8:00 p.m. until at least 3:00 p.m. on Halloween.

5. So is Costco, Target, and any grocery store.

6. There are no pumpkins to buy on Halloween day.

7. Church Halloween parties are utter and complete houses of terror and chaos but they serve pizza, provide games and prizes. God bless them.

8. If church party is slated to end at 6:00 p.m. and the University of Utah has a game starting at that time, the party will end 30 minutes early (clean up and drive home time taken into consideration).

9. The year you buy $26 worth of quality candy is the year trick or treaters fall by 75%. And the time of year you are already counting calories and can't touch the good stuff. Except at night when everybody is asleep.

10. All children can do their own make-up with interesting results.

11. Make-up would stay on face until Thanksgiving if not for Johnson & Johnson's baby soap applied directly onto skin then scoured off using a rough washcloth.

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What Halloween lessons did you learn?

Pecking Order

This has absolutely nothing to do with Halloween.

Web MD

My husband was miserable. He had been suffering terribly for such a long time. It started with a stuffy nose and sore throat which quickly escalated to a sinus infection. His doctor prescribed an antibiotic. His sore throat became raw and incredibly painful. Eating became a chore. The burning sensation spread to the inside of his mouth, particularly his tongue.

Being the ever helpful and dutiful wife, I went to the best of the best self-diagnosing sites on the internet. After plugging in the affected areas of his body, I got a definitive answer.

He's going through menopause.

Surprisingly, he didn't take me at my word. He called his doctor who asked about antibiotics and indicated that the medication had killed the good bacteria and here's a prescription.

It cleared up. Go figure.

Just in case you didn't know, Web MD often gets things right on the dollar, as seen here and here. They are quite a pair; one with his bags packed and ready to fly off to the leprosy colony in Hawaii while the other is treating her undiagnosed case of cancer.

Moral of the story: Always trust what's on the internet. It's true.

Organized Chaos vs. Anal Retentive

So I've been seeking more Zen in my life via organization. I've made some observations and come to some conclusions. These are largely hypothetical and in no way, shape, or form reflect my own life nor anybody I know. Just cold ideas without inspiration nor insight.

The Organized Woman:

. . . believes that everything has its place.

The Chaotic Woman:

. . . knows it's in this pile right here.

The Organized Woman:

. . . makes out a menu every week and shops accordingly.

The Chaotic Woman:

. . . is in the middle of cooking dinner when she realizes she doesn't have a key ingredient. Calls husband to pick it up at the store on his way home but he's already in the garage.

Or offers cold cereal or a casserole from Costco.

The Organized Woman:

. . . cleans by method. Monday is wash day, Tuesday is vacuuming, Wednesday she cleans her bathrooms, etc.

The Chaotic Woman:

. . . pulls off her clothes to get in the shower and notices the toilet is dirty, squirts toilet cleaner in said toilet. While it cascades down the sides, she sprays the counter, sink, and outside of toilet. Scrubs toilet, cleans off counter, sink and outside of toilet, takes shower, sprays shower, finds brush and scrubs shower. In the words of Jerry Seinfeld, this is Bad Naked.

The Organized Woman:

. . . checks all soap, conditioner and shampoo before exiting the shower for the next occupant.

The Chaotic Woman:

. . . spends an inordinate amount of time dripping in front of the closet, looking for a new bottle of conditioner or bar of soap. So does her husband.

The Organized Woman:

. . . schedules her time around Oprah.

The Chaotic Woman:

. . . has a love affair with her DVR (which doesn't include Oprah).

The Organized Woman:

. . . changes her sheets every Friday.

The Chaotic Woman:

. . . either doesn't remember when she last changed her sheets or remembers it only because the dog jumped on the bed with dirty paws or a child climbed into bed and had an accident.

The Organized Woman:

. . . rushes home from church every Sunday and begins preparing her lesson for next Sunday.

The Chaotic Woman:

. . . is still preparing the finishing touches for the first hour or so of church the following Sunday.

The Organized Woman:

. . . wakes up an hour before anybody else in the household and reads her scriptures, filling her spiritual vessel with the good Word.

The Chaotic Woman:

. . . feels pretty accomplished when her scriptures are not covered in dust on her nightstand OR finally figures out that they are best kept on the bathroom counter where she may or may not have time as she sits.

The Organized Woman:

. . . plans ahead for every birthday. Her gifts are wrapped and have pretty bows on them.

The Chaotic Woman:

. . . realizes it's her sister's birthday and grabs something unopened from her closet (like lotion she bought on sale or toothpaste) and puts it in a festive Christmas bag with newspaper on top. Sometimes she slaps on a bow.

The Organized Woman:

. . . sighs with remorse as she sends her children to school, lunches in hand, homework complete and in folders, and either misses them all day or leaves to work with a heavy heart.

The Chaotic Woman:

. . . has been heard to admit OUT LOUD that she enjoys her job outside the home and actually finds satisfaction at her office.

The Organized Woman:

. . . cleans her floors on Thursday with a commercial grade mop and homemade cleaning solution.

The Chaotic Woman:

. . . gets her small children out of the bathtub, dries them off with a towel, getting it good and wet, and uses towel to clean bathroom floor. She then carries the sopping towel to the kitchen where she sprays the floor with a store bought cleaning solution and, using her bare feet, she drags the towel around the floor.

The Organized Woman:

. . . her children always have clean clothes that are color coordinated with not only themselves but also their siblings. Their hair is combed, teased, gelled, and their socks match.

The Chaotic Woman:

. . . is grateful that her sons tuck in their shirts at least until they are out of eyesight of their mother. She also buys clothes for her children that don't have only one match. All shirts go with all pants. Socks are all the same brand and style. She's thrilled when her children's hair is combed and she remembers to put on a bra.

The Organized Woman:

. . . plans out her day every night and does not deviate.

The Chaotic Woman:

. . . punts all day long OR

. . . on the rare occasion she DOES plan out her day the day before, she wakes up to a beautiful autumn day and says something irreverent like "screw it" and announces to her children and husband that they are going to the zoo.

And they do.

And corrupts her sister into doing the same.

What are your secrets to survival as an "organized" or "chaotic" woman?

The Comfort of Familiar

She sat across from me with the green formica spanning the distance. She was a mother nearing fifty, dressed in casual clothes like the hundreds of mothers I'd talked to since school started but something intangible told me to pay attention. I was going to learn something.

She told me the story of how her daughter chose an alternative path thus at an alternative high school but primarily at a private school. She did not speak with shame or remorse but with sadness and determination. The target of ugly gossip was her ruin.

I recalled out loud of being ruined by gossip and coming out the other end of the experience angry, bitter, and pessimistic. "In the end all was made whole - plus some," I shared, "except my heart." I heard myself say the last part as if I was a casual observer rather than the first person.

I carried the conversation as I drove home, "except my heart," ringing in my ears. If all had been made whole, why was my heart resisting? It was damaged, rent and disappointed. So much had transpired and over such a long period of time, I felt my very soul had been changed. Yet why couldn't I allow my heart to heal with so many blessings surrounding me?

Because it no longer fits your soul. Give me your old heart. I will give you a new heart.

It was barely a whisper of feeling but resonated throughout my soul.

Damaged as it is, my old heart is so comfortable. Like my ratty old sweatshirt, it wraps around me and it feels familiar. But it's ugly, faded, stretched out, shrunk, and far past its prime. If I throw it out, how will I know I will find another one?

Because I promised I would give it to you if you asked.

I know it will be so much better, bigger, stronger and capable but I hang onto the comfort of bitterness, criticism, and anger. But I know that sooner or later I will ask.

And I will receive.

Twelve years ago today I was fat.

Twelve years ago tomorrow I put on my husband's red polo shirt, struggled into my blue, stretchy pants and waited. I had carefully scheduled my pitocin drip and induction and some crazy fat girls had bumped me because they had actually gone into labor. Spoiled brats. I'd been walking around dilated to 6 cm. and 80% effaced for over three weeks. Did they not understand that once I started labor, I'd be dropping that baby in the car?

By early afternoon I was anxious and bored. I announced to my husband and two and a half year old daughter that I was going to buy a baby book. I drove to a small town store (the small town where I now live but is no longer small) and perused. My pager went off. It was my obstetrician.

"Excuse me," I calmly said to the clerk in the red and white checkered shirt, "May I borrow your phone? I think I'm going to have my baby now." Her pleasant features paled and she frantically started looking for a chair.

One hour later, we waltzed into the hospital, passing the women having contractions. Actually, I backed in and, with a smile on my face, insisted on that epidural, thank you. Pitocin followed closely behind.

An hour and a half later, Samantha made her debut; dainty and perfect, she was all girl as she entered the world with one hand raised to her ear like a wave from a parade float. Destined to be a beauty queen.

She's outgrown her acid reflux, her mother's fashion taste, and all of her shoes. She's taken her place as the second daughter, the older sister, and the true artist of the family. She's smart, sassy, and still the beauty queen.

Happy Birthday, Sam!

I wonder if my friends are the best or my personal hygiene and care is slipping.

My husband grabbed my pants by the belt loop and mentioned I missed one. Again.

My female colleague announced my fly was down.

A friend told me I needed a tissue because I had something white…and pantomimed wiping her nose.

Back to my husband. He often wipes flour or whatever I’ve spilled off the front of my shirt. Quite often I can’t see anything on the front of my shirt which makes his actions suspect. But then I can hardly blame him for checking. During my last pregnancy I refused to buy maternity clothes and simply hijacked his polo shirts. I returned all of them when I was finished but he couldn’t use them. They all had stains in all three spots where I stuck out. I don’t recall him wiping flour or other foodstuff from shirts I was wearing at the time even though there is plenty of evidence I was wearing foodstuffs often.

If I were a clever girl, I would purposely pat flour on myself before he comes home. I think I just might try that tomorrow.

Smoke Alarm

Once upon a time the smoke alarm went off while I was cooking and the children cried, screamed and freaked out. I'd have to bundle them up and take them outside and wait it out.

Today the boys meandered to check if I'd burned something then returned to playing Legos. The teenager waited a full minute and a half to wander upstairs to double check. The 11 year old didn't even make an appearance.

It goes off about twice a month when I'm cooking.

Is this a bad sign?

Life is Like a Box of Chocolates

I got a bee in my bonnet or perhaps on my buttocks and decided it was time to organize every needful thing. Guess what? I have a house of non-needful things! I went to a class on Friday with a professional organizer. She encouraged us to start with ourselves. Building on that concept, I decided to turn off the computer and look at my responsibilities and simplify.

Let's recap, shall we? Before we do so, let's also re-establish my most basic personality flaw. I'm obsessive. When I get a bee in my bonnet, it reproduces.

• Cleaned off the junk corner in the kitchen. You know the one. It's where all the mail goes along with every other piece of paper that I might use someday. All gone. There is now a telephone, a container of pens and a container of pencils. Please don't mix them up.
  
• Five folders sitting upright in a folder organizer; to do, pending, bills to pay, file, and scouts. Scouts doesn't belong there, but neither does the "file" folder. The filing system we have has been shot for years.
• Under the counter is a corner cupboard with a whole lot of crap. It's all cleaned out. I have a secret stash of office supplies including stamps, titanium scissors, three hole punch and envelopes. Nobody knows they are there. And tape! Tape! Tape! Very excited about the tape. One telephone book. Just in case the internet is down.
• I got out the crockpot to cook on Sunday and ended up cleaning out the picnic plates of multiple colors. We don't picnic with anything but paper plates. Spring form pans. How many do you really need? How often to I make cheesecake? I kept three. Just in case.
• Cleaned out my dresser. I honestly can't believe I had all those negligee. Does Deseret Industries take sexy negligee? Won't they be surprised? Sidenote to sexy negligee: Size six at the age of 26 is not the same as size 6 at the age of 43. That's all I have to say about that.
• I tackled the medicine cabinet. We had some seriously old Tylenol. I also confirmed that we have absolutely no good pain killers. Very disappointing.
• Filing cabinet which holds 17 years of our history. I found my social security card. I thought it was lost. I found one of my children's birth certificates, our marriage license, hospital bills.
  
• Speaking of hospital bills, I found an interesting one regarding a surgery someone (no names mentioned) had in July of 1994 to (ahem) perform a ligation of a certain vein that traveled to an area of the body that was clearly keeping other parts too warm preventing babies from being born. That hospital record will be filed with my oldest daughter's personal file, although we'll never know if the operation was a success. I was already unknowingly pregnant.
• Poorly written college papers

And there's so much more! Strange to take a journey of the past 17 years in paper. Stranger still to see how often social security numbers were used to identify us with our medical bills, bank accounts, and anything else. Buy a cross cut shredder.

I will reiterate. Cross cut shredders are the only way to go.

Tomorrow's goal is to take a break from organizing. I want to further explore when, exactly, I introduced my 4 year old son to the word "buttocks" (pronounced the way Forrest Gump does). He asked me tonight how many he has. The boy is fascinated with body parts.

Birds and the Bees - Age 4

Boy: Mom, was I big when I was born?

Mom: No, you were very, very small.

Boy: Was I in you?

Mom: Yes.

Boy: When I came out, you didn't die?

Mom: No. You were in a sac of fluid. It broke and your head went to the hole to come out.

Boy: What hole?

Mom: My girl parts

Boy: Your bottom?

Mom: Uh-huh.

Boy: Was I covered in slurp?

Mom: Slurp?

Boy: How did the doctor get it off me?

Mom: Ummm. He wiped you off with a blanket then wrapped you up and handed you to Dad.

Boy: {After long pause} I want to have a baby brother.

Mom: Yeah, well, my uterus is broken.

Boy: {Another long pause} I think when I grow up, I'm going to have a baby brother grow in my belly.

Mom: Boys don't have babies.

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Later the same day. . .

Boy: Dad, when I get big I'm going to marry Mom and she's going to have a baby brother!

Dad: Okay, Oedipus.