My husband moved out on his own when he was 18 and knew it all. He took with him clothing, a pillow case and pillow, and perhaps a few other random possessions. A coffee table was passed down to him.
When we first moved in together, I began the pain of redecorating a man's house aka what all awesome girlfriends accomplish. Of course, what this means is I got rid of the trash, broken items, tacky items, items with holes, items with, well... no real comfort, style, appeal...basically his things. It is not my fault that his things fell into this category. It's just factual...ask any girlfriend.
Please understand, I am not a pack rat, I purge my house every season. I do not like clutter, I do not like junk, and most of all, I do not like disorganization. So I had been purging my things for some time. My mom can attest to this, during my childhood, she never had to tell me to clean my room. So again, also not my fault that the majority of items to purge were, well...his.
There was one item that stuck out like a sore thumb...the coffee table. The coffee table was heavy, solid wood, scratched, old, and large in a room of other large items. I knew I'd never get rid of it, this was an untouchable item.
Over the years, we had a child, moved to another rental house, bought a house, and married. The coffee table came with us each step of the way, heavy, hard to move (not that I lifted it...), good for storage, hard on your toes, if you accidentally knocked into it in the dark, sleep deprived to nurse a crying baby. Just saying.
Several years ago, I had the coffee table restored. I knew I would need to decorate around it, and I needed it in it's prime. Oh, and my husband would like it too. It's return to prime time, gave me an idea. I pictured a couch, several versions in my head, the perfect compliment to the restored table. I searched for 3 years. I'd be a decorator's nightmare. Then, as if Jupiter had aligned with Mars, and peace was guiding the planets, love steered me right to my couch, on Facebook, for sale: must go.
Our living room is now not only almost completed, but we now use it--you don't have to sit on the floor.
The other day, I was working, laptop on the coffee table, I looked out the window. I saw calm on a suburban street. I picked up my tea glancing at the coffee table, then out the window. It hit me, only this time my toes were not injured, there was no crying baby, he's 8.
The coffee table now sitting in a living room, a room in a house we own, a room that we hardly used before. We own a house with a room we hardly used. I looked around me. This is my life, this is what we've accomplished...and the coffee table has been there each step of the way.
Thursday, December 29, 2011
Monday, December 26, 2011
Party of Perfect, Table for Zero
For awhile, I have been trying to get myself to remember how I did this working mom gig previously. This weekend I read an article about the working mom's work life balance lie. It wasn't an in-depth research article, with NYU study citations and books written by Harvard grads in the footnotes. It was written by a working mom about...(shockingly)... her own life.
Reality is you are not going to work 15 hour days, work out, clean the house, fold the laundry, make a 5 course dinner, make out with your husband, check homework, and put your kid(s) to bed every day and then wax your legs, pluck your brows, and polish your nails...without help and a little downgrade on the expectations you have for yourself. This last part may be the hardest part of all. AND it doesn't mean you have to gain weight, have unruly brows, or be a Kardashian.
I can't look to the past for how to do it now. In the past, my step daughter lived with us. She was old enough for 1-2 hours of unexpected child care, to sweep a floor, run a vacuum, and occasionally start dinner. In the past, a bad week was 45-50 hours, not 60-70. In the past, my husbands shifts were just that shifts: he didn't need relief to come to leave his floor, he just needed the clock to read a certain time. In the past, Gabriel didn't have homework, he went to bed earlier, he didn't have sports. In the past, I could eat a cupcake without much thought.
I can't look at a mistake as a sign that irresponsible immature Janine has surfaced. Sometimes, life happens. I mixed up a soccer schedule when Gabriel's practice day changed. I forgot to confirm plans with friends I haven't seen in awhile, and then never met them. It took me 2 weeks to reschedule an eye appointment the doctor's office had to move.
I have been beating myself up for the last 6 months: every time I don't get on the treadmill, every time laundry isn't done, every time I leave the dishes in the sink/dishwasher, every time (fill in the blank), every time I don't call someone I have been meaning to, or make dinner plans with our friends, every time I go to sleep instead of doing any of the above. But most of all I have been beating myself up for time lost. Gabriel is 8 and soon he will be 17 and he won't want to watch a movie with me and he won't want to show me his awesome new kung fu move against the pillow...10 times. I need to enjoy more and worry less.
So I have started looking at things in the present:
Never in my life have I had the desire to make a 5 course meal in any regularity. Case and point, today I asked my 8 year old if he knew where the cheese grater was. Why do I think I suddenly need to this now?
Today, I watched my blackberry buzz off the kitchen table. It was 11am, I was off, Gabriel was putting a game in the Wii. I picked up the buzzing "find Janine device", I looked at it. 45 emails. I put it down and I played Pac Man Party with my 8 year old. I was off.
Gabriel took a bath, he rarely does this, he is a shower kid. He yelled mom, come see my great water bending move. When half the water in the tub ended up on my floor, I didn't yell or sigh, I didn't get a towel, I laughed. and then we laughed.
I made a work out schedule again, not in-depth, but realistic. It will kick my butt for awhile, but than my butt will look awesome in the jeans I have been eying at Lucky.
and you see, the thing is, I feel better already. AND I am taking Friday off.
Reality is you are not going to work 15 hour days, work out, clean the house, fold the laundry, make a 5 course dinner, make out with your husband, check homework, and put your kid(s) to bed every day and then wax your legs, pluck your brows, and polish your nails...without help and a little downgrade on the expectations you have for yourself. This last part may be the hardest part of all. AND it doesn't mean you have to gain weight, have unruly brows, or be a Kardashian.
I can't look to the past for how to do it now. In the past, my step daughter lived with us. She was old enough for 1-2 hours of unexpected child care, to sweep a floor, run a vacuum, and occasionally start dinner. In the past, a bad week was 45-50 hours, not 60-70. In the past, my husbands shifts were just that shifts: he didn't need relief to come to leave his floor, he just needed the clock to read a certain time. In the past, Gabriel didn't have homework, he went to bed earlier, he didn't have sports. In the past, I could eat a cupcake without much thought.
I can't look at a mistake as a sign that irresponsible immature Janine has surfaced. Sometimes, life happens. I mixed up a soccer schedule when Gabriel's practice day changed. I forgot to confirm plans with friends I haven't seen in awhile, and then never met them. It took me 2 weeks to reschedule an eye appointment the doctor's office had to move.
I have been beating myself up for the last 6 months: every time I don't get on the treadmill, every time laundry isn't done, every time I leave the dishes in the sink/dishwasher, every time (fill in the blank), every time I don't call someone I have been meaning to, or make dinner plans with our friends, every time I go to sleep instead of doing any of the above. But most of all I have been beating myself up for time lost. Gabriel is 8 and soon he will be 17 and he won't want to watch a movie with me and he won't want to show me his awesome new kung fu move against the pillow...10 times. I need to enjoy more and worry less.
So I have started looking at things in the present:
Never in my life have I had the desire to make a 5 course meal in any regularity. Case and point, today I asked my 8 year old if he knew where the cheese grater was. Why do I think I suddenly need to this now?
Today, I watched my blackberry buzz off the kitchen table. It was 11am, I was off, Gabriel was putting a game in the Wii. I picked up the buzzing "find Janine device", I looked at it. 45 emails. I put it down and I played Pac Man Party with my 8 year old. I was off.
Gabriel took a bath, he rarely does this, he is a shower kid. He yelled mom, come see my great water bending move. When half the water in the tub ended up on my floor, I didn't yell or sigh, I didn't get a towel, I laughed. and then we laughed.
I made a work out schedule again, not in-depth, but realistic. It will kick my butt for awhile, but than my butt will look awesome in the jeans I have been eying at Lucky.
and you see, the thing is, I feel better already. AND I am taking Friday off.
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