Just Once

Book - HBR'S 10 MUST READS - On Managing Yourself
Song- Red Light District - Midi Matilda

"The marginal cost of doing something wrong "just this once' always seems alluringly low.  You don't see the end result to which that path leads.  The key is to define what you stand for and draw the line in that safe place."~Christensen

Danny (husband) was reading a book, HBR'S 10 MUST READS On Managing Yourself-Harvard Business Reviews 10 Best Articles on Managing Yourself.  I supposed, like most of us with not enough hours in the day, that I could use some best advice on how to manage this self- meaning myself.  It has been a great read so far.

I haven't read each piece- I'm amazed I got a chance to read two of the ten actually- WAAAAHHHHHH- but the first piece  How Will You Measure Your Life? by Clayton M. Christensen talks about doing something wrong or against your values or schedule "just this once."  Like, (these are not his examples,) "Oh, just this once I'll skip yoga, " "Just this once I won't make my weekly deposit into my savings account," "Just this once I'll put others opinion of me before my opinion of myself," "Just this once I won't speak up," "Just this once I'll let the kids eat in the car," "Just this once I'll skip my post,":D

The thing is that "just once" usually turns into "just one more time" and then "pretty much always." For instance, I was committed to publishing a blog post every Thursday night.   Then, after about a year of consistent effort-I thought, well, just this once, I'll do it on Friday...or not at all. At this point I pretty much have a Friday post.  It is easier to predict that I will post on a Friday then a Thursday, even though the subheading to Spunkerfly is Thursday Night Post.  "Well, how often did I find Page Six of the NYPost on page six?" I rationalized.  Game show X.  I've been able to recoup an audience but it took a lot more work then if I had remained consistent.  As for "the kids can eat in the car just once, it's ice cream- they're screaming"? There isn't enough Febreze on this earth to battle the stench in my minivan.  Gimme five.  I might have to drive with Scuba head gear so I can look straight ahead but have the air vent out the window.

I have ten and a half point two (roughly) examples going on right now.  My "Just Once's" have become a pile of dread's.  I'm in a dread lock.  I'm not talking Rasta mahn.  I'm talking definition b.

Definition of DREAD

1

a : great fear especially in the face of impending evil

b : extreme uneasiness in the face of a disagreeable prospect 

 Listen up- it's hard for me to put something off-once I put something off- I've told myself it's not something I want to do- getting back to doing that thing I didn't want to do so badly I put it off in the first place becomes a lock.  My energy is sucked into feeling bad about that, so the next goal doesn't feel clean and have that excitement behind it.  My message to myself is, well, you quit before, you might quit again.  And I'm in dread lock.  Dread lock! No fun.  So, this "just once" rule, really struck a cord with me.  Stick to your good habits, Susan!

Last night I hit the campaign trail with my friend and SpunkerFLY Woman of the Month of June, Laura Curran.  Oh, and Nassau County Legislature Nominee. (Is that more important that SWOTM? Maybe.)  Anyway, it was a thing I found myself putting off and was feeling worse about putting off.   What a treat.  I learned so much listening and watching my pal go door to door.   We started at dinner time.  I was sure this was prime door slam hour...hate to overuse a word but as excited as I was to support and spend time with my friend, I'm not much of a door knocker- dread.  I anticipated being scowled at, slammed on, and feeling awkward...all the wonderful positive places my mind goes to in the name of glad-handing.  What a surprise to learn that people were actually happy to see us! Happy may be a stretch, on the whole, but some were! Yes, I can say that some were positively happy.  Others merely interested- which is a leap and bound above slamming and scowling.  Only one person said, "he died a year and a half ago," when we asked if the person was home.  Otherwise, super positive.  One couple actually came out and called to us from down the block.  "My wife wants to know why didn't you knock on our door?"  It was because they weren't on the voter list, but they are now.   I learned from their assertion too.  It was really something.  Logically, Oprah-ly, I know it's okay to ask for something and have the person say yes or no on a logical level.  But emotionally it's very hard for me to talk myself into the asking, the door knocking.  Laura has no problem with this,  and I learned what a huge advantage that is, not only for her, but for the people she will surely serve.  She is making herself available.   Being afraid of putting yourself or your needs out there is nothing short of a handicap.  And if you do it "just once" you may end up handicapped- for life. So go people, steward your own ship! Kindly, with determination and humor.  I hope you will be as surprised as I was at how well you will be received.  Try it, just once.

Next week Spunkerfly Woman of August -Dr. Christine Mullin - there's a lady with good habits!!

Sole Man

"What is the white part of this sneaker stuck onto the blue part here- for mama?" Julian asks.

"It's the sole, the sole of the sneaker." I say.

"Why do you need it?" he asks.  Looking at how the rubber connects to the cotton body of his favorite sneakers.

"Because without it your feet would hurt," I say. "They'd be walking on the ground with no protection."

"Like the soul inside your body?" he asks.

"I was thinking the same thing!" I say.

"Because if you had no soul everything your heart stepped on would hurt."

I have to think about that, it crosses my mind that if I had no soul, life might presesnt me with the opposite effect.  I wouldn't care or be hurt by anything.  But maybe I'm confusing soul with conscience? Or maybe he meant if you had no soul you would be the one to hurt everything you stepped on...hmmm. That makes more sense to me.  Either way I love the poetic way he figures.  His matter of fact explanations fill me with his middle name, Wonder.  He does that, he always makes me wonder.

What do you think? If you had no soul would everything your heart step on hurt? 

Lmk! I think the comment section is working now...give it a shot, I'd love to hear your thoughts. 

Thanks, SS

Let Go or Be Dragged

Song: Blurred Lines Robin Thicke & The Roots Sing with Jimmy Fallon

"Let go, or be dragged."-I heard that and stopped.  Let go or be dragged! YES.

Dahlia's back.  Our staff from this blog returned somewhere in February or March.

(Turns out, I remember when a person leaves better than when they come back...ie; she left December 29th 2012 at 9am.  She came back somewhere in the months between February or March 2013.)

She called in February.

"Eye coming in two week," she said.  "Joo need me?"

"Did I need her?" I wasn't sure.  Truth be told, I'm better busy.  Bit of a grouch, but I get more done.  I like to, as that Redneck Comic says- "get her done".  When I have more time, I have less time.  I daydream,  I chat,  I go to yoga,  I chat, I go to the market, I chat.  I dibble, I dabble, I dribble, I babble. I have flex-time.  Like a child, I thrive on consistency and schedules.  Without Dahlia- I am forced into following Henry's nap schedule- I have a half hour to grocery shop after drop off-before he naps. I have at least two hours to write while he naps. I have either one hour or ten minutes depending on how long he goes over his two hours to make appointments or do anything on the phone while doing laundry before Julians pick up.  Then, I have an hour and a half to give them lunch (and have them throw it in chunks on the floor at me while I clean).  Then around three o'clock Henry goes down for nap two.  During the school year- I have twenty six minutes to watch Steve Harvey before Colbert's pick up at the bus stop (I DVR but never remember to watch).  You get the idea.  You might be living the idea.

With Dahlia, I can do more "for me"outside the home while he naps.  I think that is so funny how everyone says that, "Do it for yourself," "I did it for me." Like it's a one-off.  As if anything we ever do is ever for anyone else.  Really look at that -tap the spine of it- you will see that it's true.  Even me not having help is doing for me- I am forming my decision based on what I get done vs what I don't.  Sure I've given up all reasonable monetary or creative ambition so that I can be little more than a breathing body in the house while my young linger in the land of nod- but as far as "help" goes, I'm looking at it in terms of cost benefit for me, not them.  I'm not knocking having an extracurricular life, doing blatantly extra for myself is nice.  I like to float around stores and text and have a bit of a stretch-go to the library to write uninterrupted- but is it essential? Do I need it? 

I've heard the rumors, doing 'for me' is important.  Put the oxygen mask on yourself first.  We are here not only to survive to take care of our littles- but to thrive!  It helps to do it in a friendly manner.  Yoga and being able to take a shit with the door closed helps me be friendly.   Being strapped to the house without options for escape, makes me itch.  (Add the B).  Having help is mood altering.  I'm not talking about nailing down a babysitter to watch TV on my couch for a couple hours while my kids color the walls.  I'm talking about a grandmotherly figure who lives with us: mopping, wiping, folding, feeding, speaking a second language at any time of day or evening three and a half days a week.  It's an entirely different lifestyle, actually. Plus, she has a green card.


But do I need it? 

"Yes," Danny said.  "Get her back." He doesn't care what I do with my time as long as its spent grinning like an idiot instead of nagging like a mother. 

The question in my soul was Henry.  Dahlia was Henry's nanny.  She didn't take care of my older two.  To say he was heartbroken when she left is a true story.  He called for her, he babbled in Spanish for her, he looked for her, he couldn't eat, he couldn't sleep.  He couldn't understand.  I know this because he would only stop crying when I said her name. "You miss Dahlia?" He'd look at me head on- tears in his eyes, then, rest his head on my chest. "Yah-yah." 

He did get over it.  Kids are resilient, as everyone told me and everyone was right.  But seeing the process was very difficult, muy dificile.  Was I setting him up again? Was I setting us up again?

IT'S AN ENTIRELY DIFFERENT LIFESTYLE - a loud ominous voice echoed from above...

"Yes," I said.  I answered Dahlia, "Yes, I need you." 

I didn't ever quite get a handle on if she was actually going to show up.  Her texts were vague and in a complicated Spanish I couldn't speak.  I speak basic Spanglish.  "Yo no quiero to hurt my son, entiendes?" We humans are genius at recognizing patterns, and in my experience, genius at ignoring them.  I can see now that I was waiting to see if she was going to leave before she ever came back.

"I'm here," she said. "At the stayshion."

Those words once so wonderfully lyrical I'd thought my alarm clock was set to a dance beat, now made my chest tighten, scared to get on the dance floor.

"Ok," I said. "I'll be there in cinco."

When she walked in the door Henry jumped.  He started doing forward rolls at her feet.  Showing off his feats of strength. "Hola, corazon," she said, in a voice reserved for the bedroom.  He clapped, smiled and laughed.  Oh, thank God.  What was I thinking even considering the possibility of no Dahlia?  Then she went towards him and he froze.  He ran up over to the couch and jumped upon it as if running from a flood.

"Henry," she said.

He put his back up against the couch and glared at her with as cold as eyes as a 22 month old can muster.  She went to reach for him and he arched his back and stretched his neck and face as far away from her as he could.  Danny and I looked at each other.  Strange.  I went and sat on the end of the couch and he jumped in my lap, hugging me tight around the neck- looking at her.

"Henry, she's here," I said. "Yah-yah.  She's here."
I stood up and brought Henry closer to Danny and Dahlia who were standing shoulder to shoulder.
"Henry," Danny said, "it's okay, baby."

She came to take him from me, she meant to hug him but he screamed as if she were setting him ablaze.  I held him until he relaxed.  She smiled a here-nor-there smile I was grateful for and walked down into the basement.  When all we could see was the top of her head as she walked down the stairs, Henry looked at me with his big brown eyes and moved to get down, "ow-en," he said.

"He's hurt," Danny said. "Amazing, it's just like- in us."

Danny meant it was in us to react that way, to shun the person we perceive rejected us.  I was amazed.   Since I can remember whenever I've thought someone rejected me I've reacted by putting on the biggest smile I can muster and moving right along, typically apologetic. "Sorry you had to; date me, be my friend, born to the same parents, the parents of my husband, check my luggage, write me a ticket, shake sand in my eyes, not call me back..." I pretty much apologize upon introduction,  "Hi, I'm Susan, sorry." I must have learned that somewhere along the line smiling and apologizing were the keys to the city of Stable Town.  The bigger the hurt, the bigger the smile.  What crap.  That was Avoidance Ville.  Seeing Henry in his unmanipulated truth made me think, "Wow, that's the truth" and then  "Man, I've been twisted."

Guess it's the same thing, a defense is a defense-virtually there's a wall up and no more entrance is gained by smile or frown.  Still.

"Yeah," I said, totally confused, terribly sad.

Henry waited by my side watching the stairs.  Then he went closer and peaked down after her.  Then he looked at me, asking if he should go.  I shook my head, not yet.  I waved my arm, come.  I sat down on the carpet.  He came and sat inside my criss crossed legs, I kissed his warm little cheeks.  Dahlia was already out of sight.  She was the only girl in the room.  He got up and slowly tip-toe toddled to the door and down the stairs.

I was scared.  While she was gone, we'd gotten used to our new routine.  Henry spent a lot more time with his brothers- they were a trio.  I didn't want her to pick him up and carry him around all day.  I didn't want him to attach and get hurt.  Things would be different.  She'd just clean and if I was really in a jam I could leave him with her- like when I did drop off cause that's a total pain in the keister with two kids or grocery shopping- way more appealing without a howling toddler pealing stock off the shelves or, or, or...but, but, but.

I created stress where I wanted control.  I wanted to be alone but I didn't want them together.  They wanted to be together and for me to leave them alone.  They were Spongebob and Patrick and I was Squidward.  If that analogy doesn't make clear how badly I needed to get out and mix amongst the masses, I don't know what.  Point is, I had to beat it.

And then I heard that "Let go, or be dragged."  I was a drag, being dragged.  I had a visual of me hanging onto the fender of a beat up convertible, sucking on exhaust and cans tied to streamers while the happy couple managed that safety defying feat of making out while steering off into a Godly future.  I had to let go.  First of all, it was my near two year old and his 52 year old nanny.  They were not getting married- he was playing cars while she folded laundry and cooed to him in Spanish.  She didn't even have a license.  I'm just playing, I didn't have the image of them getting married, but I did have the image of me on the fender.  I let go of the idea that I didn't deserve this help.  I didn't just run around chatting and stretching, what fantasy was that? As every parent with two kids or one- knows- taking care of them is a full time sprint from dawn to go the bleep to sleep.  And it wasn't like I didn't have a third, I just had help with him.  A lot.  Finally,  I let go of the idea that Henry would be scared for life unable to acknowledge or trust his feelings if she had to move on.  His pain coming out sideways in over eager smiles and sarcasm.  That was mine alone!  Hehe.  Moving on is a part of life, as his parents we can help guide him through that understanding, try to grasp it time and again ourselves.  She comes, she goes.  People come, people go.  Sure, I still wonder occasionally when she leaves, if that will be the last adios for my muchacho. It's a passing thought, it comes, it goes.  My knees are no longer scraped and bleeding while my mind drags me around by the fender of fear.  That's been replaced with a whole new set of other ones...:D  Do I need them? No and joo don't either.  We can feel better today knowing that sometimes it's really hard to let go, but so much harder to be dragged.  

Astronomy Lesson 2x

*Another summer re-mix originally posted in 2011- This was most viewed of 2011. Starting to feel like a summer host airing repeats-hehe.  Enjoy this beautiful day :D

A snippet from the day that I thought was pretty cool/ironic/funny.

True story. Tonight around 7pm.

"Mama, come quick!" Julian, the three year old hollers from somewhere not in the tub where he is supposed to be with me and Colbert, almost six.
Luckily, I find him. (Dry humor- bc our house is not big.)
"You rang?" I ask.
"Mama look!" he says, standing naked by his bedroom window. I come up behind him.
"The sun made the sky red," he whispers, in a voice that could be the cutest thing I've ever heard and an expression to match.
"Yes," I say.
"Why it be's like that?" he asks. "Why the sun do's that to the sky?"
His early language has negotiated itself into a slight bent toward ebonics.
"That's the sun doing what it does," I say. "It's called a sunset."
"It do's that everyday?" he asks.
"Yup, whether we watch or not, or like it or not, the sun is doing her thing," I say.  I can't grasp science so I attempt profound.
"Like me, Mama," he says still looking at the sky. "I do mine."
"Yup," I say. Containing myself. "And I do...mine."
"Can I see Mama, can I learn?" Colbert comes in, a wet noodle from the tub. These are words I've never heard him ask, I don't want to lose momentum.
"Sure, look," I say. "It's the sunset."
"It's beautiful red," Colbert says.
We are having a moment like real people. It's almost like walking through a gallery with cohorts. I almost don't recognize them as my children. It's surreal.
"Yup, we were saying that the sun is just like people. We are what we are whether anyone watches us or likes us or not. We could beg the sun all day not to rise or set but it will. We simply be what we are."
 "Colbert be's a jerk," Julian says. Here it comes, "And you, Mama."
Zing.
"Sometimes, sometimes we can all be jerks," I admit.
"I not! I not a jerk!" He screams and starts a sweltering meltdown shattering our reverie.
Thar she blows.
"No, shhhh, of course not. Just me and Colbert." I say, eyes up to heaven, I wink at Colbert.
"Julian's a big fat jerk," Colbert adds.
 "Okay, Let's get your pajamas on," I say. "And no more name calling or you'll both be on the naughty step."

Said the sun to her sons.