Monthly Archives: October 2014

My Mental Breakdown in the Middle of A Target Store

I am losing my mind. Little by little.

This past month my son has been sick. It hasn’t been a major sick, it’s been a cough that wakes him up three to four times a night sick. Roughly translated, that is a “wake your parents up three to four times a night” kind of sick.

For a month.

Add to this fact that the weekends have been filled with mandatory professional developments on Saturdays.

I’m feeling a little panicky even talking about it.

My husband said recently that a baby’s REM cycle is 45 minutes. On nights when I am too exhausted to sit in a chair and rock my baby back to sleep and place him in his crib, opting instead to bring him into the bed with my husband and me, I imagine I’m waking up about every 45 minutes.

I am showering a lot less than I used to. Back to the sloppy ponytail. My brain feels like someone has replaced the gray matter with Styrofoam. As a friend of mine said, her own children grown and this stage of mothering far behind her, “This level of sleep deprivation is outlawed by the Geneva convention.”

And yet here I am.

But this happens, right? Those days when the most basic needs seem to be too much work, so they are stripped to only the most basic of the basic needs.

It became clear that my sore throat on Monday, coupled with the delirium, mandated a day away from work, a day for rest. Except, after tossing and turning for over an hour, sleep was not available to me. So I did what every other person losing his or her sanity does.

I went shopping at Target.

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I had no illusions about my intentions at the Target. I was there to SHOP. I grabbed the cart, not the basket, and started making my way methodically though the entire store, letting my cart push me more than the other way around.

To be fair, this was a trip that had been needed for some time, but because I could not be bothered to write down the many items needed in our home, like outlet covers to keep our toddler son from electrocuting himself, it became necessary to walk through every single aisle just to make sure I wasn’t forgetting anything.

Or that’s what I told myself.

Among my purchased items: a loofah, cream of mushroom soup, a sippy cup, a suspension shower rack, 2 picture frames, outlet covers, 2 bins to fit inside our IKEA bookshelf, and gum. I also scheduled an eye appointment, since apparently Targets are now small countries with infrastructure and eye clinics. I almost scheduled to get a strep culture to see about my sore throat, but I have an HMO and wasn’t willing to pay $90 out of pocket.

Oh, and I bought a candle.

It was actually the purchase of this candle that put me over the edge.

There I was, standing in the candle aisle at Target. You know the one. It makes you remember all the yoga and meditation that you should be doing to live a more mindful and healthy life. It’s the one that makes you feel like maybe if you just lit a few more of these beautiful candles in your home, a fung shei fairy would appear and magically transform your house from what it is into a Zen garden with straight lines and empty space.

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The candle I picked up had a big red label that said, “BE JOYFUL!” in tall font. I smelled it. The combination of peppermint and sage transported me to the moments of sitting in our living room in Minnesota, unwrapping the Christmas decorations one by one. It reminded me of my dad’s collection of nativity scenes, many with candles whose heat causes the whole scene to spin and spin. It reminded me of Christmases when money was too tight for a tree, and then the doorbell rang and a tree was sitting, like magic, on our front porch.

The tears came immediately. Because I desperately wanted to hug my dad. And because those precious moments, like the ones with my family at Christmas, are so perfect and beautiful, tight with love and light. I cried because I wanted that candle to transport me to my family, to Christmas, to sleep. I cried because I knew that it may take a few months, but Christmas will come again.

I cried because sometimes just the thought that Christmas will come again can make the sleep deprived moments when I am a lunatic crying in a Target seem a little less lonely, a little less frantic, a little, well, less.

And, I cried because I was tired.

My mom promises me that one day I will wake up and I won’t feel tired anymore. I’m holding onto that promise for dear life. That promise, like Christmas, helps me keep getting up, keep doing the basics of basic, even after the days when the tears flow in the middle of a suburban Target store.

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I took the “Be Joyful” candle home. It has not transformed my living room. But smelling it is a good reminder that this moment is fleeting, and there can be pockets of joy even in the midst of losing my mind.

henri nouwen

261755_10150290602379874_2436766_nRachel

Making Time for Making A Marriage

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Last night I got home, took out my computer to watch some Gilmore Girls while cleaning my living room, and immediately realized I’d forgotten my power cord at work. It’s a sinking feeling, knowing that you don’t have access to your favorite toy, and that you won’t have access to your favorite toy for a whole day. I circled the room about six times, rushing because it was the small sliver of time for me to accomplish housework before my husband and son arrive home from work and daycare, and also because it turns out not having my computer when doing said housework turns me into a chicken without its head.

After settling on playing music on my phone, I accomplished approximately one tenth of what I was hoping to. Nonetheless, I could not wait to snatch up my kiddo and kiss his rosy cheeks the minute he stepped into the door. After our greetings and settling in, I told my husband about the computer.

Me: “I forgot my computer cord at work today. So I guess we will have a technology free evening” [checks Facebook on phone]

Ok, maybe I didn’t immediately check my Facebook. But I did immediately realize that not having one of our laptops hardly would guarantee a technology-free evening.

And we didn’t have a technology free evening. We didn’t even have a phone free evening, since I got a work phone call on the way to Mariano’s grocery store (our date destination, because we like to live it up).

I don’t know about you, but my husband and I do it about three times a week. By it, I mean watch several hours of Netflix. We enjoy finding a show and watching it together start to finish, processing the characters and plot as we go. It provides inside jokes and entertainment. It’s a great way to relax. It’s fun and simple, requiring little to no pre-planning. In a period of my life when I seem to be running a half hour late for everything, that is nothing to take lightly.

With the million ways that “to do” and duty pull at my mind and my day, it is easy to let it end there. My husband and I make a point to intentionally spend time together. But sometimes I think back on the month or the week and wonder, when is the last time we had fun together? When is the last time we talked about our goals for our relationship, our family, our money?

Having a toddler can sure slow all of those conversations down. But I don’t think I can place all the blame on him. I found plenty of ways to be distracted even before he entered our lives. When I go through my Netflix queue it can be a little startling to notice how many television series I have watched start to finish, and the sheer number of hours that represents. Have I spent at least that many or more hours in conversations with my husband (or my friends)?

So last night the idea of having a technology-free evening, one that we could use to play a game or have a conversation, felt like a good one. A great way to have fun together. Because I’m me, and make grandiose plans, it also felt like the beginning of something new.

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We put our son to bed, ate dinner together, opened a bottle of wine. We talked for awhile, mostly about how tired we both were feeling. And we were about to get grab one of our board games to play when our son started crying. Screaming, in fact.

The best laid plans.

But we have made some important strides in intentionality. Like, for example, sectioning off Wednesday night as a night that we won’t schedule other things. The occasional exception may arise, but I don’t offer Wednesday as an evening to get together with my girlfriends or to stay late at work. We also try to keep our phones away during dinner time. And sometimes it surprises me how hard it is to keep this time sacred.

But more often, it surprises me how sacred the time is, how desperately I crave it. Even more than I crave the next episode of Doctor Who. I notice how easy it is to default to the easy, like watching a movie together, instead of being honest about what has been going on in my life. And I notice that when we do take the time to hear about what is going on in one another’s lives it is a lot easier to be kind and thoughtful and go the extra mile for one another.

Or maybe that’s a coincidence.

To sum up, I believe that my husband shouldn’t be finding out about my inner thoughts and goals from my blog, he should be informing my blog through our conversations. And in the interest of including him, you should know that the line about doing it three times a week was his. We make a good team.

261755_10150290602379874_2436766_nRachel

My Church Gave Me $500 and It Has Brought Me Nothing But Angst

A few weeks ago my pastor announced from the pulpit that each congregant in our church would be receiving a check for five hundred dollars. There were a lot of emotions in the room, but the general sentiment was surprise, and perhaps, amazement. After all, it’s a pretty incredible gift to be given. Five hundred dollars can make a big difference in a person’s life, in several people’s lives. Five hundred dollars is an incredible opportunity.

That was how I knew I was supposed to feel. And it wasn’t how I felt.

Backing up a little, let me explain that the money came from the sale of property the church had invested in thirty years ago. I had heard that the church had received a large sum (1.6 million, to be exact) of money, and in conversations with my husband had come to the conclusion that regardless of how the church decided to use the money, we would stay out of the decision making process. We haven’t been involved in how the church chooses to spend its annual budget thus far, and a significant increase in the amount of money wouldn’t and shouldn’t change that.

And then we found out that we were going to be very closely involved in how that decision was made. Each of us was given $500, part of the first ten percent of the 1.6 million dollars, to spend as we see fit.

So my first reaction was more along the lines of, “Isn’t it someone else’s job to make these decisions?”

Frankly, I’m having a hard enough time figuring out how to find time to do the dishes and the laundry. (How many times can you wear work pants before dry cleaning them?) I don’t want to be responsible for the thoughtful discernment of how to spend five hundred dollars.

Also, I don’t really want to think about money at all. I much prefer to leave that to my accountant husband. I’d rather not have to take a look at the total sum of how much money my husband and I spend eating at restaurants each month. I don’t want to know the total amount of money I spend in a year on my daily ice tea from Dunkin Donuts.

My life is pretty much working for me, and for the most part I’m pretty generous. My husband and I support different charities and give money to our church. We get involved in the occasional volunteer project. Add to that the fact that I am working in an urban school district, helping children receive a quality education, and I’d like to think that I’m doing pretty well for myself with my talents and my skills and my contributions to the world. (And for the record, I get my daily iced tea in a reusable mug.)

In the past three weeks hardly a day has gone by without me saying to my husband, “And maybe we could give some of the money to this.” Whether the “this” be to a friend who is struggling to meet rent, to a former student who is paying for college tuition, to another friend who is providing weekly meals to people in Chicago, or to a charity working to stop the spread of Ebola in Western Africa. The need is all around.

In other words, getting this five hundred dollars has been forcing me to engage with the world in a new and uncomfortable way.

It would be one thing if it stopped there. But it doesn’t. Because the other truth of my first thought when I got this money was, “Wow, that’s not very much money.”

Because in the greater scheme of things, it isn’t. And because in the greater scheme of our family budget… it isn’t.

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It’s not that my husband and I are Scrooge McDuck, swimming in a sea of gold. We still have student loans and a mortgage, we were recently hit with a large auto repair, and re-doing the roof of our house cleared out our savings.

But generally speaking, if we want something we have the means to get it. Like my daily Dunkin Donuts iced tea. Or a recent dinner out to Alinea. Yeah. So while we may not have $500 to give away every day, we could probably give away more than we do.

I remember once talking to my mom and hearing her say that she rarely goes to Caribou Coffee because she knows that at five dollars a drink, going there five times is the equivalent of sponsoring a child through World Vision for a month. By the way, she will hate that I wrote that, because she doesn’t say these things to be showy. She told me this in the most matter of fact kind of way possible. Most likely while doing my laundry. Because my mother is lovely and loving and wonderful. And because I hate doing laundry.

I, on the other hand, do not think about the child I could be sponsoring if I gave up my Dunkin Donuts tea addiction. In fact, I get pretty surly when my husband asks if I would ever be interested in brewing my own iced tea at home. Because seriously, where does that line of thinking stop? Should we sell our house and live in a tent? And so what that I paid two hundred dollars to get my hair cut and colored? That’s how much it costs, and I need to look professional for my job. The job, I would like to remind you, where I help change the lives of children. Fueled by the caffeine in my REUSABLE mug.

And on and on and on.

So no, the five hundred dollar check, still sitting in the trunk of my car where I left it the Sunday I received it, has not brought unlimited happiness and celebration. It’s brought a lot of tough reflection.

My husband and I are in a small group with three other couples that go to our church and we have been talking about pooling our money and creating a fund of $4,000 that could be used in a variety of mutually agreed upon ways. While discussing how this might work, I said, “A big part of me wants to write a five hundred dollar check to the charity of the moment, because that’s so much easier than having to pay attention to all the needs all around me.” And I stand by that. The check is a hot potato I’m more than ready to pass to the next person.

But despite my whining and complaining, I also recognize that this discomfort and frustration, this magnifying glass to my own financial choices, well that might very well be the point. (And yes, I am whining and complaining about being given five hundred dollars and if that is too much entitlement for you to get over, I can’t really blame you.)

We haven’t decided how to use our money. We’re talking about pooling the money and then contributing more money to the pot on a monthly basis, and making it a part of our biweekly meeting time to talk about how to spend different chunks of the money. We’re talking about using the money to match contributions we make to various people and organizations we see.

We’re talking about how we can make it more than just writing a $500 check and being done with it, how we can keep the conversation going, how we can continue to give, even when this $500 is gone.

And so it is that this $500 is the beginning, albeit an uncomfortable one, of a new engagement with the world around me. Because maybe small things like brewing my own ice tea (note, I am not committing to this) can add up to make a big difference, and maybe if I actually believed that, and other people did, too, then giving each congregant in a church $500 wouldn’t be such a big deal. Maybe that kind of giving would be normal.

Maybe it should be. And maybe that starts with me.

261755_10150290602379874_2436766_nRachel