My very own Pandora’s Box

This is one I wrote sometime back. Thought I would share…..I’m sure we have all been here at one point or another.

Have you ever become the worst version of yourself? That a Pandora’s Box of all the hateful things, your spite, your arrogance, your condescending side has sprung open? Someone upsets you and instead of smiling and walking away, you nail them to the wall with words. “Hello it’s my nasty side”. Wouldn’t it be great if you could pass all your not so nice words to someone that can’t do what you can do with words, then you could always be nice and they could be nasty whenever they wanted to be? Although I must warn you… when you eventually have the pleasure of saying the things you want to say at the exact moment you are wanting to say them,  remorse quickly follows…well that’s what they tell me is supposed to happen anyway.

So I have been known to have a wicked tongue, I say what other people only think, can be brutally honest and a not so nice person at times.  Sad I know, but yes I must say it’s true. Those that know me, know it to be a little beyond true. I have hurt many through the years and don’t have an explanation for the behavior. Other than I do not tolerate much. I am not a person that is compassionate to many; I am not in need of copious amounts of emotion. I guess I just want what belongs in my life and if it doesn’t fit into my “oh so perfect little world” I turn into what seems to be a large cat protecting her den and all that live in it. My claws come out and “instant removal” is all my instincts tell me to do, but at what cost??

Trying to control those instincts, those wild cat like instincts has been more difficult lately than others. I feel levels of anger now, not just “yea, I’m mad” or even the more extreme “I’m pissed!” No this is true unadulterated RAGE! Never in my life have I ever felt something so intense, till now. I have been in this mode for weeks now, ready to pounce at any time, ready to fight to the death if need be to protect what harmony my life does have. I am trying to learn to cope. Maybe trying to figure out a way to know its coming; I know the cause, but have yet to find the solution. I try steps of control, and now try anything that might work walks, music, and drawings. Right now I will try anything to slow my mind down for a much needed 5 minutes of calm.

So I remember to breath, than I simply try to breathe, when that no longer works I turn for my outlets. I turn on the soft music that soothes the ear; raise my glass of pale pink wine and then turn to the blank paper that is now begging my mind to slow down enough to put something on it. Instantly I find my place of calm. As soon as the lead touches the paper beautiful strokes appear and begin a new vision my mind has created making it more real than it was when I closed my eyes.

I yearn for the calmness to not only return, but stay. I need the simple laughter, the times of silly sighs and him running upstairs to say “what’s wrong” only to get a giggle out of me because he actually did come see what I wanted. Peace is soon to return, all will be well in my perfect little world once more and there will be no need for soft music, blank paper and number 2 pencils.

Counting down the days…….

Meditation Made Easy

We could say that meditation doesn’t have a reason or doesn’t have a purpose, but we would be wrong. It’s unlike almost all other things we do, except perhaps making music or dancing. When we make music we don’t do it in order to reach a certain point, such as finally reaching the end. If that were the purpose of music then obviously the fastest players would be the best. We feel, create and lose ourselves in the expressions we have just created. We take a journey.

 

When we dance we don’t normally close our eyes and imagine the end of the song do we? No we close our eyes, feel the beats, hear the tones and allow our body to move and get lost once again in the all the energies that surround us. When we dance, the journey itself is the point, as when we play music the playing itself is the point. The same thing is true in meditation. Meditation is a discovery of one’s self, a journey to a place within our mind, a place of peace and balance allowing ourselves to heal, relax and bath in the positive energies we create.

 

Meditation takes practice.  Learning how to slow your brain down enough to sleep is difficult as it is, getting your brain to stop and accept the fact that you are in control of its action and forcing it to slow down enough for you sit quietly in the middle of a room with music, candles and incense burning; you have got to be joking…right?  So determined, you try anyway.  You gather your Barnes & Noble’s book on Meditation for Dummies, light your dollar store candles & convenience store incense; because that is what the book said to do. You sit cross legged on the floor in the middle of your room; following the picture from your $24.99 book you should now have a Charlie-horse in both legs and be choking on the $1.99 incense smoke.  Jumping up, you open a window to release some of the smoke so alarm doesn’t go off and notify your alarm company to call out your area fire department, making you the new neighborhood gossip. You gulp down some water to clear your throat of smoke inhalation and regain your position in the middle of your floor.

You close your eyes and wait, and wait, and wait some more. 30 seconds later you pop one eye open because the flickering from the little $.99 votive candles are much brighter than you expected them to be. Up once again, you blow out all but one of your candles and yet again plant your toosh on the floor and say “screw the position, my legs hurt enough as it is, I’m just going to sit here!”  Now you just breath…instantly the thoughts of fire from that almighty, “I have a point to prove” little white votive candle sitting in its glass jar hits your brain along with, “maybe the music is too loud for this to work, I should have chosen something that didn’t make me want to try to belly-dance.”

With a deep sigh, you get up ,yet again, this time more frustrated than you were before you started, you blow out that medieval flame throwing votive, turn off the belly-dancer music and saunter to your kitchen to pour some wine and turn on the TV…”Ahh, this is my kind of meditation!”

I understand completely, I am that person. It took practice and most likely the reason I won that battle was because I was too stubborn to give up, not because one day while trying to meditate a bright white light with an angelic figure approached and granted me serenity, I am not that lucky! I learned there really isn’t much more in meditation books other than guidance on “How-To” there are no books on what works for you. Read and educate yourself, try different things. Lay down, sit up with your legs straight, sit Indian style, light your favorite color candle, incense or no incense, have your favorite flower, this list could go on. The point is to keep it simple, bring scents and colors that make you feel comfortable and relaxed. Meditation is supposed to be enjoyed and a great journey, it’s not supposed to make you want to take up smoking and become an alcoholic.

Eventually it worked, after learning to just breathe with my body in a comfortable position, my arms relaxed and listening to my own heart beat I closed my eyes and felt myself release…I did it! Well at least I had until I got so excited it actually worked…After regrouping and starting again the experience was wonderful. It was short lived simply because controlling my body, and my mind at the same time was work. Now I didn’t see visions of fairies, and colors that look like they belong in a Jimmie Hendrix video but I did feel an unbelievable peace and calmness come over me. I was comfortable in my own skin, the stress was gone and I felt like I could…just breath.

What were we thinkings?!

My mother used to say “Baby anything is cute, its when they grow up they aren’t so cute anymore.

” She was right on some aspects others…not so much. Puppies to dogs, still cute; kittens to cats, still cute, colt to horse, still cute, babies to teenagers, she nailed that one…not so cute, wish she would have been more specific!

Well of course babies are cute, we snuggle them and laugh when they coo and smile because they have gas. That last till about week 3, then the sleepless nights, early mornings, vomit smell that has taken the place of your favorite perfume and not to mention the putrid smell of vial body excretions that shouldn’t come from any human especially something so small, takes the place of that loving bundle of joy the nurses and doctors said was all yours to take home. SUCKER!

By week 12 you are usually thinking, “Oh god I miss looking rested, having energy, smelling good, my house being organized and remembering what my hair looked like brushed.” Weeks 12-24 are a blur, and all you can vaguely remember is what it was like to go shopping for shoes instead of diapers. By week 32 you are on auto pilot, you now are back to your full time job, do good to put on makeup but make time to brush your hair, you get up twice as early,  

but at least sleep most of the night, you have a schedule, a daycare and can wipe a runny nose with your t-shirt without batting an eyelash. Instead of puke you have snot; instead of makeup in your purse you have a bottle, pacifier, and possibly a toy or two. You have learned how to carry your now 20lb purse, 26 lb. squirming child, unlock a door, push an excited dog out of the way and answer a phone, all without peeing on yourself… you have become super women!

On we go…You have done it! You reached 12 months, this isn’t so bad anymore, and you’ve got this, so you think. Then 24 months hits! All you learned over the last 24 months goes out the window. We are now living with an opinionated, pushy, and demanding version of the beautiful child you have lived with for the last 2 years. Tempers flare, toys are thrown, words of various colors are repeated and a new found respect for the word “tantrum” is learned. You realize that all the plans of how “you” would raise a child cross your mind and all you can do is laugh. Fate has thrown you a major curve ball and handed you a 2 year old version of your worst self. A mini me of your “evil twin” has appeared and you are the only one that can face it.

“It does get easier,” well that is what they say so you don’t turn the little “angel” over to the sweat shops. LOL! It doesn’t get easier, you become more able. More able to ignore, tune out and count to 3 than ever before. More able to breath, walk-away, and just try to remember that once this child was angelic and after 8, 9, or 10pm you will be able to take a bath, pee alone, sit and maybe enjoy a few minutes of silence. Ahh, sweet silence, oh how you took it for granted! Empty promises won’t bring that back…ever, so give up. Now you hang on to the moments of innocent laughter, sweet hugs that wrap so tight, and little “wub you mommies” that get you through the tantrums, screaming fits and toys that fly across the room with such force you would think they were thrown by superman’s offspring.

Kindergarten is tough on the heart, it teaches independence, and it’s a good thing. You get drawings, finger paintings, shiny stars for good behavior and noodle art. Elementary brings back that sweet child you lost at 2, just a “different” version. Still sweet, lovable, and kind, but a new sparkle that comes up when they have made a smiley face on a paper and see you light up, ahh you’re the hero once again! The one that can kiss away tears, Band-Aid that boo-boo’s, chase monsters from under the bed and find the ever allusive missing sock.

Now onto the world of Junior High, NOTHING in any book could EVER prepare you for what is about to come, let’s start at the beginning. 5th grades, not too bad it’s a little more intense than 4th grade field trips and homework but still allowing your child to discover without over exposure. 6th grade, a little tough, it’s supposed to prepare you for what is to come. It’s a place of controlled chaos they say. I say it’s a mess of silly string like conversations that have more likes than a Facebook status. Somewhere along the way between 5th & 7th grade your child will lose all understanding of the English language. Words such as “like” and “ugh” will take the place of the exclamation mark; they are used to express that “wow” factor or emotional stature of a statement. You will also be expected to mentally download the meaning of over 20 abbreviations such as BFF, OMG, LOL, LMAO, TTYL, and many others. Conversations with your child will now consist of at least 2 of these. I would study. 6th grade is where it all begins and I say, “Let the games begin.” Hormones, health class, discussions of the body, girls, and boys…in the words of your child…..ugh!

Then we have, 7th grade. A time the horns really start to rise from the depths, friends become more important, and parents loose some of the “cool status” that we struggle to maintain. Requests for cell phones and other expensive items come up. Music changes and they begin to try to “discover” who they are. Midol, feminine products and safe sex are topics to figure out how to discuss!! If you don’t the school gladly will, or worse another teenager. No one warned me about 8th grade! I went to 8th grade; I don’t remember it being anything like this!!

After 8th grade, I say the devil stepped in and has stolen your child only to replace the once angelic creature with a demonic one that has raging hormones, a new found need for fashion you don’t understand or approve of, friends, and a social life that is better than yours. Your baby is now 15 and “what the hell happened, and who is this kid calling you mom?”

Your worth as a parent has dropped from the finder of lost socks, biggest fan on the soccer field and slayer of closet monsters, to keeper of the $20.00 bill, transportation provider and person in the kitchen that provides the food. You will see glimpses of your child as they migrate from the bedroom you have provided; with a beautiful bedroom set, cushy mattress, favorite icon bed cover set, TV, and pet of choice, to the shower or the kitchen. You will receive the occasional grunt of recognition or on days that they want something you will come home to a clean house, smiles, and “hey!” Be aware!! All of that is going to cost you something, and depending on the magnitude of the cleanliness or size of the smile you should know there is a large range of financial loss.

Clean house = minimum $20.00 and a ride to the mall

Clean house & clean bedroom = minimum of $30.00, a friend spending the night and a ride to the mall

Clean house, clean room, and an “I love you” before bed = they want a car! Run like hell!!

Sigh…what were we thinking? We should have gotten a dog!

Is there a food challenge in the air?

No one knows me; really, this is my place of cyberspace verbal vents. I write here every day, well I at least try to. It’s usually not about anything special, sometimes about ideals that pop into my off my rocker brain, previous coworkers, stories from friends and family that I can relate to, children, life, and now a movie that has inspired me, I seem to find a muse in everything. I am actually sitting here watching Julie and Julia laughing as the part of her getting her first comment on her blog plays. I love that it’s sending her into utter excitement; I remember that feeling, instant bliss! Someone knows me, someone has read my blog and actually liked the rants and random thoughts of what some would consider a mad woman.

It’s a great movie and I would recommend it to any blogger, or one that adores food at least. I am lover of food, now you must understand that statement. I LOVE food, I could never be one of those people that could eat just to survive. No, I love flavors, spices, colors and the aroma of it all. I would have to be honest and say that I have this disgusting love affair with lobster dipped in garlic butter, chocolate, cakes, and cookies. Mmmmm,  mashed potatoes that are drowning in gravy, stuffed baby chickens and pork tenderloin that is wrapped in bacon with such care it could have been a baby swaddled in a fleece blanket.  Grilled Sea Bass on a bed of wild rice covered in a sauce made of sautéed mushrooms and lump crab meat. Asparagus, fresh green beans, squash and all the other beautifully colored veggies that beckon me as I walk through the supermarket produce section.

Maybe we should try a cooking challenge like the movie. I am not sure that my discipline will be to the depths of 365 days, but it’s possible.  Although, my hips can’t handle all the glorious recipes of Julia Child, but maybe a book of healthy recipes that I would comfortably feed my family and acquire hips that are smaller than the ones I currently carry around….the idea would be to maintain the old fashioned family values of cooking at home, eating dinner together at the dinner table, saving money and eating unprocessed foods that are good for you.

I wonder if this is something we could do? Am I crazy enough to take this on? Hmmm….

For the Love of Clean Air!

I am sitting on the couch, laptop firmly placed on my legs that are kicked up on the arm of my soft leather couch and across the room from me I have my three favorite guys. My boys and my love sit playing video games and sharing the most vile sounds followed by random giggles and putrid smells that linger across the room. Smells that are horrid enough to make you rethink their diet and possibly consider a phone call to the doctor in the morning to have their tummies check. They call it male bonding, I don’t know what I call it.

My poor daughter and I are terribly  outnumbered on this playing field set for household war where weapons of choice are the bodily functions that can knock one out of the game in a matter of seconds. On the TV the video game, Modern Warfare 3, bellows out machine gun fire with rapid repetition, I have to wonder if the sound echoing off my ceramic tile is actually the machine guns on the video game or the boys. One wouldn’t dare dive off into the abyss of foul green funk that circles over my living room hovering like heavy rainclouds to find out.

Burps and other gaseous actions are violating my living room at the moment, time to migrate upstairs to my sanctuary of  the circulation of clean air, aromatherapy and comfy bed.

Football…a Female Point of View

 

The season madness has started to come to a head like that of an aching zit sitting deep under the skin. I am not one of those women that will watch, follow, or join in on the living room romps and overzealous screaming at the TV based sport castors and referees. To be honest the last Super bowl  I watched was  Super bowl XX (yes 1985) Chicago Bears  and the Super bowl Shuffle with #72  Refrigerator Perry.  But this year I have embraced the Houston Texans and the extreme fan support on a level that I would be willing to show in public…as long as they win. GO TEXANS!

I just don’t understand the hub-bub of it all.

Let’s explain this in a typical female view…

** 11 players on the field per team which consist of 50 plus over sized men oozing levels of testosterone that easily exceed that of a stallion begging to be bred for the first time.

** 50 plus of these freakishly large men squeezed into pants that look to come from the pattern of skinny jeans that once belonged to a size 1 teenager , shoulder pads that were implemented by an individual that lives in a world of 1980 designers, and a form of head protection that was most likely the inspiration for the Helmet haircut.

** Four 15 minute quarters (yes I had to ask my husband how long each was…no laughing) of the most excruciating anticipation, and cardiovascular workout known to man.

** Run 100 yards as fast as you can while being chased by men that are potentially twice your size and being paid millions to face plant you into the earth hard enough to knock the porky pig skinned ball out of your hands before you get to the white line drawn so neatly by the behind the scene worker that is probably paid $10.50 an hour.

** Go through 17 weeks of way to many calories, workouts not suitable for world champion power lifters, abusive games and fans of other teams; all to make it to the annual show down made up of two teams, millions of fans and celebrity filled half times with possible wardrobe malfunctions and commercials worthy of recording on youtube.com videos.

So the game just ended and we got spanked…guess its time to break out the nail polish remover and remove the short lived Texans logos from my nails. I keep hearing we played a good game, I  have to be honest with everyone that follows me, I actually have no clue what that means.

Instantly Infectious

Over the last 24 hours I have become a walking petri dish of infectious bacteria that calls for employees of the CDC to bust in my house, wearing white tyvek suits and respirators, like they did in the famous Steven Spielberg movie E.T. I have been attacked by a virus so sneaky it carries the skill set of a well-trained ninja throwing its little fighting stars dipped in its contagion. It laid dormant as long as it could building an army of its little immune killing cells. Once armed and ready it was released from hiding and hit me with its best ammunition leaving me with fever, aches and pains, sinus congestion, a sore throat and feeling just plain crappy.

I have gone from a once energized and healthy person to a shell of who I once was. I am now a snot snorting lump on the couch with swollen eyes that leak with the persistence of a waterfall. I have a fever that makes me feel like my head is on fire, and a body that feels as though its been soaked in an ice bath, not to mention the voice of a 40 year smoker from my sore throat. To simplify the description, I look and feel like I died yesterday and forgot to lay down.

I have armed my self with B12, B6 and very possibly over dosed on Vitamin C, I am taking Theraflu and Motrin for my fever… surely something has to work!! I don’t know that I would wish this on anyone, not even my husbands ex-wife…………………well maybe the ex-wife.