The Grateful Mind

My house looks like a war zone.

In the middle of renovating the bathroom, Big Bren decided that he positively couldn't stand the front door and ripped out the old one, along with the walls surrounding it.  In the meantime, the main bathroom is still gutted and out of commission, which means that I am stuck with two little boys making a mess in my shower and peeing all over the bathroom in my room.  (That's as disgusting as it sounds.  How boys cannot aim their penises into a hole as wide as a toilet is beyond me.  I can take cleaning their bathroom once or twice a week, but I cannot stand going to the bathroom and -- if I happen not to look down first -- sitting in a puddle of someone else's urine.)

I was (and am) tempted to nag.  It was driving me crazy to walk through (the now gorgeous) front door and see a toilet in my foyer.  There is a thick layer of dust on everything; as soon as I wipe it off, more comes down from all the sanding and scraping that Big Bren is doing.  And I was losing my mind over the fact that he didn't finish one task before beginning the other, so that now both are in limbo -- the door is unpainted and the walls around it are just sheetrock, while the bathroom is still not complete.

Sitting in the living room, looking at the mess, I felt a sense of despair.  I felt like this was all there was ever going to be.  I was never going to be able to clean all this up.  The bathroom was never going to be finished.  I would be stuck in this dusty purgatory forever!  (Cue novela music for the drama queen.)

Then, suddenly, I was standing outside of myself, seeing how positively ridiculous I was being.  Here Big Bren was, trying to make our home nicer and better, and I wanted to cry over dust!  A few months from now, I will be entertaining in my new and improved home, the dust will be long gone and I won't even remember how uncomfortable the renovation period was.  Big Bren has done other work in the house -- he put in new floors, gutted and renovated another bathroom, he changed the stairs, remodeled the kitchen and designed a new fireplace. And he did it a little at a time over the past five years.  Ask me today and I cannot remember the details of any of the times he did the work.

Sometimes we need to step back and look at the bigger picture.  If you take one moment at a time, taking time to be here -- in this moment -- now, things feel so much easier.  Half of the time, our fears run away with us and we start projecting all this nonsense that has no basis in reality.

What alarmed me most about my despair was the absolute lack of gratitude with which I was seeing everything.  I should have been grateful that Big Bren was doing all this work.  I should have the foresight, the imagination, to envision what the "mess" would become.  It brought to mind a quote by Wallace D. Wattles:  "The grateful mind is constantlly fixed upon the best.  Therefore, it tends to become the best.  It takes the form or character of the best, and will receive the best."

I have to wonder whether my lack of gratitude, my lack of vision, my lack of discernment, is keeping me from moving forward in my life ...

Despojo

My closet was a mess.  I hadn’t cleaned it for almost a year.  I still had clothes in a size 4; I now wear a size 10.  (I should probably grapple with my weight issue – sooner, rather than later – but it simply is not a priority right now.)  

I’ve read the books.  I know that by holding on to things that no longer fit (my body or my life), I am creating a bottle-neck so that things that do fit cannot make it in.

At the point that I started to clean my closet, I didn’t know why the task was creating so much resistance in me.  I am not a hoarder; the rest of my home would probably be considered sparse.  My mother-in-law and mother come to my house, see designer bags they like and take them; I don’t mind.  So why my closet was in such disarray was beyond me.

I took everything out and threw it on the floor.  Now my closet and my bedroom were a mess.  Then I walked away from it all and attended to more “urgent” matters:  I went to the post office; I went to the grocery store; I took Brendan shopping for sneakers; I checked my e-mail; I read celebrity gossip on-line.  When I could no longer avoid the mess in my room, I headed back to it with a scowl on my face.

The part of me that believes in scarcity demanded that I keep my stuff; the part of me that knows there’s abundance urged me to get rid of as much as possible  -- much more would come in its stead.  As I started throwing things out, I found that my mood lightened.  I threw out everything that I hadn’t worn for more than two years.  I threw out everything that had seen better days.  I threw out anything whose fabric had pilled or that had seams that were coming loose.  My closet and my room started looking better and better.

Then came the impossible:  my journals.  Where to begin?  I had years and years of journals.  I picked one up and encountered my 20 year old self whining about my father’s indifference and emotional abuse.  The 23 year old me was obsessing about law school grades and finances.  My 25 year old self was pining away for some fool who clearly had no interest in me.  My 28 year old self was crying over some ass who’d stood me up.  From 29 to 38, I was busy cataloguing every infraction committed by Big Bren.  I found a few episodes of fun:  my friend Mindy’s bachelorette weekend in Miami; my trip to Jamaica with co-workers; my first trip to Europe with my friend, Nycol; my second trip to Europe with my mother; and hanging out with my law school buddy, Cora.  But, in between those bursts of sunshine, were long stretches of clouds and rain, usually because of some man.  Where had my life gone?  Had I really spent almost 39 years being miserable?  

I went back to my earliest journals and found that most of them were filled with longing.  Aching to be loved by my dad; yearning to have some sort of meaningful relationship with the man.  So cliché, right?  Brace yourself for more:  all of my relationships with men had been patterned on that all-encompassing need to please my dad.  I was in serial re-enactments of that love/rejection dance.  

When I thought I couldn’t possibly feel any worse about myself, it finally seeped into my consciousness that my dad simply did not like me.  He probably loved me, but he didn’t like me as a person.  Much like the person I wrote about in my previous post, I grated on his nerves.  And it was his right not to like me.  There is no rule that says you have to like your children.  Of course, the child me didn’t know any of this and each grunt he gave instead of responding to my attempts at conversation felt like a physical blow.  Every time he directed a look or a question to one of my siblings, while pretending I didn’t exist, broke my heart.  Even as a grown up, when I drove an hour out of my way to patronize his auto repair shop, only to have him charge me more than I would’ve paid had I not tried to give him the business, it hurt.  He drove a knife into my very soul when I proudly gave him a copy of the magazine that had published my first article and he – without so much as glancing at it – threw it on the table and re-focused his attention on the t.v., as if I hadn’t even spoken.

Sitting in my closet, with the chaos surrounding me, I finally released everything.  More importantly, I released him and I released that little girl inside who loved him and needed him so much.  Many years ago, I forgave him for all the ills of my childhood; for the absolute fear I felt when he drank; and for the fact that the smell of liquor can send me reeling, even today.  Although I had forgiven him, I had never released him.  I was still holding on to that need, that longing.  But when I dragged the garbage bags full of clothes, bags and books to the drop-off, I felt light.  Like a new woman.  It was a despojo – the sloughing off of the old and being renewed again. 

I Just Don't Like You

I wrote before about the constant admonitions we make to our children to "be nice."  My parents were no different.  Whenever I would express dislike for someone, my mother would say, "no sea odiosa; Dios te va castigar."  "Don't be hateful; God is going to punish you."  And I would immediately plaster a smile on my face and pretend all was well.

My mother can no longer tell me what to feel about whom, so now, I do it to myself.  I beat myself up mentally because I simply do not like everyone.  There is one particular person in my immediate circle who grates on my nerves just by existing.  Even when this person does absolutely nothing, I cannot stand to be around them.  I ask myself, "am I a bad person?"  Then I think, "Lightning is going to strike me for  my hateful ways!"

I am a month away from my 39th birthday and as a gift to myself, I have decided to no longer beat myself up over this issue.  I know for a fact that sometimes I am the person who grates on another's nerves just by breathing the same air.  There are times when no matter how hard I try, I still face rejection/disdain from another.  So why should I be wracked by guilt over my feelings?  I resolve to observe my feelings when I am around this person and try to find the origin of my dislike for them. If I cannot, I will allow myself to feel what I feel without judgment.

Time Marches On

I feel like it was just yesterday that I brought Brendan home from the hospital.  Today, he started kindergarten.  I get why people get all nostalgic at this milestone in their children's lives.

No tears for me, but it got me reminiscing about his first five years.  Of course, it wouldn't be ruMIRNAtions if I didn't drag you down memory lane with me.  :-)

I don't know where the time went ...

One day he was my baby; next thing you know, he's a boy.

Do As I Say, Not As I Do

Brendan has developed the most annoying habit -- he expects equality in all things.  He doesn't get the concept that he is not a grown-up or that children and grown-ups have different rights or capabilities.  I'll be  ordering at a drive-through and he will suddenly shout out his order, throwing me off-track and confusing the person on the other end.  Or I'll take him to the store for shoes and, instead of waiting for me to tell the sales clerk that the shoe is too small or too big, he will holler directly to the clerk.  When I tell him that he has to wait for me to do certain things, he responds with "why?  It's my food/shoes, etc."  In those instances, if looks were electricity, his little butt would get a serious shock.

I have tried everything: speaking, scolding, not speaking, time-outs, to no avail; he insists on doing it and questioning everything.  If I tell him it's time to go to bed, he responds with, "you're not going to bed, why should I?"  If I tell him to brush his teeth, his response is typically, "are you going to brush yours?"  It is infuriating, to say the least.  Yet, Brendan is not a disrespectful or defiant child; he usually asks with wide-eyed innocence.  He just genuinely expects the rules to apply to everyone equally.

Growing up, our household was one where children were seen and not heard.  As a result, my siblings and I have tried to give our children voices.  My mother says that we "spoil" our children by allowing them to speak so freely.

In pondering the issue this morning after yet another bout of verbal sparring with my child, I finally realized what was irking me so much about Brendan's constant questioning of everything.  It was that by doing so, he called to light the hypocrisy in so many of the rules.  The "clean your room, or you get no allowance," where our room is in constant disarray.  The "no cursing" rule, where the first thing that comes out of Big Bren's mouth at the slightest annoyance is an expletive.   Ordering him to "be nice," when we often aren't nice ourselves.

And society isn't any different.  We have our elected leaders telling us how to live our lives, while the government is falling apart at the seams.  The countless governors espousing "family values," while their underage children are having kids out of wedlock or when they, themselves, are having affairs.  The governor who was a former Attorney General getting caught patronizing a prostitution ring.  The CEOs of companies allegedly "tightening the belt" by cutting workers' expenses and taking away perks, but they travel by corporate jet and give themselves exorbitant bonuses.  The prosecutors sending people to jail for perjury, but the government lying -- with no repercussions -- about the reasons for going to war with another country.

The fact of the matter is that we live in a "do as I say and not as I do" world.  The sad thing is that despite telling myself that I am giving Brendan a "voice," by scolding him when he exercises that voice, I am slowly muzzling him.  He may ask 20 questions today; tomorrow, it will be 10; the day after, it will be 5.  It would be easier to have a child who simply does as he is told, but I think I kind of like the fact that my child challenges the status quo.  Just as long as he doesn't question me too much.

The Little Things

Big Bren is renovating another bathroom in our house (I really, REALLY, need to stop complaining about things), so he had to shut off the water for 24 hours in order to do the plumbing.

You really don't think about water on a daily basis, do you?  If you need to rinse something off, you absent-mindedly turn on the tap.  You brush your teeth with the water running (even though you know you really should be conserving water).  You tell yourself, "just one more minute," when the hot water rains down on you deliciously in the shower.

With the water gone, I was really at a loss as to how to do simple things.  My parents deal with the lack of water situation every day in Honduras.  They put out buckets to catch rain water for laundry.  They make the short trek to my grandmother's well when they need water to wash dishes or bathe.  They used purified water to brush their teeth and cook.  And they are fine with it.  Meanwhile, I was about to have a mini-breakdown.  I couldn't bathe myself or Brendan.  I couldn't cook.  I couldn't wash dishes or do laundry.  We ate out and used the bathroom at the restaurant; then we went to bed unwashed.

It wasn't until the morning that I realized that it wasn't the end of the world (and with Big Bren experiencing an unprecedented brain cramp when it comes to the plumbing for whatever reason, and the announcement that there would be no water for ANOTHER 24 hours, I'm glad I reached my moment of zen when I did).  I pulled out all of our bottled water, heated some of it and used it to give Bren a quick bath.  Then, we used more to brush our teeth.  I put on my workout wear and was actually grateful for the lack of water because I would now be forced to go to the gym (they have showers!) for the first time in 3 months.

After my workout (and wonderfully toasty shower), I was in quite the good mood.  After work, I am going to buy some 3-gallon containers of water and cook something yummy for my family.  Sometimes, it's losing the little things that serve as a reminder of all the big things that we take for granted.

Reality Check-True Power

I am honored to be a guest on my dear friend's blog. I thought it would be best to start by giving you a little bit of background about myself. I am a working mom of a two year old boy, who is the light of my life. Mirna and I attended law school together back in 1992 and have been hanging out together ever since. Through the years, we have commiserated on so many things, life, love, career, the meaning of life, spirituality. I think what keeps our bond strong is that we have grown together spiritually. We have both been through really tough times and have been there to give each other a lift up when it was most needed. And we were each other's teacher and student along the way. One of the things that Mirna has shown me is that writing can be a tremendous outlet, and a wonderful healing source. And so I thank you my dear friend for giving me this forum to stretch my writing muscles out!

In the past year I have had quite a few changes in my life. My husband, who was a NYC Detective, retired after 23 years. I left a job as a Senior claims manager at an insurance company where I had a promising career, and I relocated to Charlotte, NC, where we have purchased a monstrosity of a house (5,000 sq/ feet). I now work from home full time. I am doing the same type of work I had been doing for the past 8 years,but Iam making almost 1/2 of what I earned in NY. And my expenses have doubled. My husband, who thought he would be working right away, has still not been able to get a job. It's been a rather rough road. Don't get me wrong, I feel very blessed with all the things in my life, but of course, after I put my son to bed and finish cleaning and tidying up, I have time to let my mind go into dark places. I have been sensing an underlying anxiety, a restlessness within myself. Its very easy to blame my feelings on all these changes I have recently experienced, but I know myself, and its something more.

In speaking with Mirna the other day, I tried to explain how I felt. And it suddently came to me,...I feel like I have not done anything to make a difference in this world. Oh sure, I give money to charities, I hold the door open for the elderly, I donate my clothing and food to the various organizations. But will people know who I am when I am gone? I suddenly felt very sad...and powerless. When I was in law school, I had such wonderful dreams, that I would cure the injustices of the world, my work would have a profound impact on so many lives, I would be known by so many, that i would be powerful! And now, almost 15 years later, I find myself working in a small office in my home, adjusting professional liability claims. And I just wanted to cry.

Of course, as I'm sure we all know, when there is breakdown, there is breakthrough. And the minute I felt this despair over my so called "insignificant life", I heard my son calling me outside my door...Mommy, where are u? And it hit me...I make ALL the difference to him! My son would not be here, would not be who he is, without me. And he in turn, brings so much joy to everyone around him, because of me. And then I thought of my husband, who lights up when he sees me (and I'm not in a bad mood :-)) or my mom, who is currently living with us, and who I fully support. And I thought...wow...I am the world to these peoople. And then I thought of all my friends and loved ones who are in my life, who I reach out to on a consistent basis. Birthdays that I help celebrate, times that I've given my shoulder for them to cry on. And I realized that I make a profound difference to everyone that has come into contact with me. And I had what Oprah would call an Aha moment...I suddenly knew what real power meant. It doesnt mean having a fabulous job, or making a ton of money, or being famous. Its having the knowledge that we have an impact on everyone we come into contact with. And we can choose in that moment whether we want to make a difference in a person's life or not.

I suddenly recalled my last flight to NY from Charlotte. There was a young mother on the plane behind me with a screaming toddler on her lap. Prior to having my own kid, I would have rolled my eyes and tried to ignore them. Now with a kid, I really felt empathy for her. But that day, I did more than just feel for her. I turned around and asked her if she wanted me to hold him while she got herself together. She handed him over to me with a look of such gratitude, that I knew I made a difference in her life at that moment....

Introducing "Reality Check" by Mindy

Hello, Faithful Followers.

I am opening up my blog to a special guest. My buddy, Mindy, has decided to grace us with some posts under the moniker "Reality Check."

Like me, Mindy is a working mom who is juggling the realities of being a mom, wife, worker and a woman.

I can't wait to see what she has to say! :-)