The incessant fire alarm cried for the third time. I came downstairs to find Andrew standing on the dining room chair, waving the pot holder at the ear piercing box to clear the smoke around it as he’d seen me do the first and second times only minutes earlier. A smoky haze filled the downstairs, so I opened the window and door once again. This has become a usual occurrence in our lives.
No, I haven’t burnt dinner (this time), but I do need to add cleaning my stove to the list of what one must take care of when living alone.
Until seven months ago, I had never lived on my own. I’d gone from my parents' house to living with my ex-husband and completely bypassed that learning experience. And it has been ummm…. interesting. Some have called me a bit of a princess (or worse) in my life because of what I’m willing to do or not do in terms of work around the house. All of that has had to change though.
Within the first couple of weeks of living on my own, I managed to lite two towels on fire at the stove. Luckily, I don’t panic… much, and I managed to throw them into the sink to put them out. I’ve set the fire alarm off so many times that the kids no longer panic as they did the first, second, or fifth time.
I’ve gone to work and left a candle lit all day. I once forgot to lock the door before I went to work. With no one to come behind me and remind me, I have realized my inattention to small details. My tendency to be impatient and always in a rush doesn’t help.
I’ve had to learn how to hang things on the wall, which means most things on my walls are far from straight. I’ve had to learn to be okay with that, and the perfectionist in me took a while with that one. I’ve had to unclog toilets when my daughter has stuffed them with paper, and unfortunately, no one cleans or picks up when I don’t have time due to all the running around I do.
Even with all I’ve done on my own, there are two things that I struggle with that I refused to do my entire life before now, and that would be to cut the grass or to wash the car.
When I was a teenager in high school, my father decided I was going to learn to cut grass. We entered into a battle of wills, and I won that battle hands down. I never even stepped foot onto the front porch to approach the lawn mower. Years later, I grew tired of waiting for the grass to be cut for a flower bed I was trying to design, so I attempted the lawn mower myself. Within five minutes someone took pity on my inaptness and finished the job. That was my only experience cutting grass.
I simply avoided this task by moving into an apartment. Maintenance does a wonderful job, and I’ve actually weighed buying a house with not cutting grass, and so far the not cutting grass part is winning.
The car on the other hand has proven a challenge. Not only do I have to worry about actually bringing it in to get its oil changed (I’m not touching that one), but it does need to be cleaned once in a while. I’m perfectly content driving through the car wash even with the extra cost, but my son, on the other hand, wishes to wash it. He does a great job, but unfortunately, it requires my help. So welcome to washing the car, willing or not.
Even with the high learning curve, I wouldn’t change any of it. It doesn’t feel like too long ago when I wondered if I could do it; live on my own and take care of everything that came up. I’ve proven to myself daily that I will find a solution to any problem that arises though, and I love every minute of it. Without this first step, I would never have created that list of thirty-three experiences, which it’s time I get back to.
Sunday, April 24, 2011
Tuesday, April 19, 2011
Scary Movies not so Scary Anymore
I grew up watching horror movies from the time I could sit still. Psycho, Night of the Living Dead, Leprechaun, Poltergeist and all the others grouped in this time period were my childhood version of Disney movies. I clearly remember a slumber party that we stayed up watching Night of the Living Dead until the wee hours of the morning. We were still watching, when one of the sleeping girls woke screaming and ran through my house, and we all teased her about it for days (okay, so it was more like years). A good scare was exhilarating and highly entertaining then.
I don’t find that the case anymore. In fact, I haven’t watched a scary movie in over four years. My students always try to get me to watch this or that scary movie, but I’ve never once been tempted.
I’m not interested in adding to the ways my nightmares can wake me up with my heart pounding and leave me wide awake for the rest of the night. It didn’t use to be like this though.
After some random stranger high on drugs attempted to break into our house in the middle of the night, my anxiety of a repeat performance manifested itself into dreams straight out of the horror movies I’d watched my entire life. I no longer wanted to wake up to giant spiders hanging over my bed or form being chased by monsters with large blades, so I quit watching horror flicks. Of course with my list of experiences this year and my New Year’s goal to do the things that scare me, I couldn’t leave it be.
Scream 4 debuted recently, and I was a fan of the first three, so I figured, why not? I mean, I finally sleep through the night without waking from nightmares. Who needs sleep?
Having not watched one in so long, I wasn’t sure what to expect. I was prepared to be scared and maybe have a bad dream or two, but I also wasn’t going sit through this one by myself. I haven’t reached that level of fearlessness yet. (I’m working on it though.)
I discovered, however, that scary movies are comical. Who writes this stuff? If I hear a noise upstairs, and I know a killer is terrorizing my town, I’m not going to run upstairs to see. If I’m being chased, I’m not going to go upstairs where there is no chance of escape. I’m definitely not going to go outside, alone, in the middle of the night practically begging to be sliced and diced by a mad man. No, I would not even worry about packing my bag before leaving for an unplanned vacation.
Why can’t they write intelligent horror? Scary does not have to equal lack of common sense. Needless to say, no bad dreams, but I also have no desire to see another scary movie any time soon. Not because it’s scary, but more because it’s annoying to watch people react so idiotically. So I’ll cross it off my list of things I fear and stick to the movies I actually like. I’ve already begun my count down to the last Harry Potter movie. It's supposed to be scary with the fight to the death, but that at least is my kind of scary.
I don’t find that the case anymore. In fact, I haven’t watched a scary movie in over four years. My students always try to get me to watch this or that scary movie, but I’ve never once been tempted.
I’m not interested in adding to the ways my nightmares can wake me up with my heart pounding and leave me wide awake for the rest of the night. It didn’t use to be like this though.
After some random stranger high on drugs attempted to break into our house in the middle of the night, my anxiety of a repeat performance manifested itself into dreams straight out of the horror movies I’d watched my entire life. I no longer wanted to wake up to giant spiders hanging over my bed or form being chased by monsters with large blades, so I quit watching horror flicks. Of course with my list of experiences this year and my New Year’s goal to do the things that scare me, I couldn’t leave it be.
Scream 4 debuted recently, and I was a fan of the first three, so I figured, why not? I mean, I finally sleep through the night without waking from nightmares. Who needs sleep?
Having not watched one in so long, I wasn’t sure what to expect. I was prepared to be scared and maybe have a bad dream or two, but I also wasn’t going sit through this one by myself. I haven’t reached that level of fearlessness yet. (I’m working on it though.)
I discovered, however, that scary movies are comical. Who writes this stuff? If I hear a noise upstairs, and I know a killer is terrorizing my town, I’m not going to run upstairs to see. If I’m being chased, I’m not going to go upstairs where there is no chance of escape. I’m definitely not going to go outside, alone, in the middle of the night practically begging to be sliced and diced by a mad man. No, I would not even worry about packing my bag before leaving for an unplanned vacation.
Why can’t they write intelligent horror? Scary does not have to equal lack of common sense. Needless to say, no bad dreams, but I also have no desire to see another scary movie any time soon. Not because it’s scary, but more because it’s annoying to watch people react so idiotically. So I’ll cross it off my list of things I fear and stick to the movies I actually like. I’ve already begun my count down to the last Harry Potter movie. It's supposed to be scary with the fight to the death, but that at least is my kind of scary.
Sunday, April 10, 2011
Experience #10: The Vagina Monologues (A last minute addition)
Saturday night I attended The Vagina Monologues at Nicholls State University with my good friend Donna. I’d heard about them years ago, and I knew it was the perfect addition to my list of new experiences. (I find myself adding to this list constantly as new experiences come my way).
The play is not for anyone uncomfortable with vulgar language. At the beginning of the play, they warn the audience that some of the material may be offensive to some. I’m not easily offended. I’d like to believe I’m very open-minded. My family who listened to me tell them about it with raised eye brows today are somewhat wishing that I would be a little more close-minded these days. I will admit to being uncomfortable at times. I mean it’s not every day that you see a group of women demonstrate the different “moans” a woman makes during sex on stage, but most of my squirming came because I kept flashing back to a recent conversation with my daughter.
Just a few weeks ago, she was in the bath tub and began asking questions about her girl parts. (On a side note, she seems to always ask the hard to answer questions in the tub. She may have to start taking a shower.)
She asked me what the name of her girl parts were. In all her five-year-old superiority she told me that she knows it’s not her booty like we’ve been referring to that region.
I, the mother who did not blink to inform her son at three when he asked about his boy parts that he had a penis, just stared at her in that moment unable to say the word vagina. So I told her that she had girl parts and quickly changed the subject by making up a story with her favorite characters.
Quick save, but why couldn’t I say it? My mother and I have never once had a conversation about “girl parts” or sex. Even now, very distant from my teens, I still don’t mention the word sex in front of my mom. I have no past experience to draw from, but I told myself that I was brave enough to have that discussion with my daughter when the time came. Especially since I teach teenagers and understand that they experiment with sex with or without the communication.
So there I was watching brave college students demonstrate what an orgasm sounds like and explain what a vagina looks like, and what it would say if it could talk, and how it would dress if it dressed up, and I had never brought myself to say the words they used for vagina out loud. The words sound strange in my mouth, uncomfortable and awkward.
But for a moment, after listening to them I felt empowered enough to use the words, and you know what? They didn’t sound so strange after hearing them spoken aloud so many times. Donna and I laughed and repeated parts of the dialogue all the way home, nearly in tears as we laughed so hard. At one point, I told her I never thought I’d hear those words from her mouth, and probably never would have if we hadn’t watched the play together.
For one of my dream jobs, I’ve always wanted to write about oppressed women and make them feel empowered by telling their stories. I would have loved to travel the world and bring about social change. Yet, I couldn’t even say the word vagina to my daughter.
Maybe I just need to start with empowering myself, and in turn my daughter. So the next time my daughter asks, I will be ready. The Vagina Monologues provided a list of synonyms, but hey, I think I can start with the word Vagina. See it doesn’t sound strange at all to me anymore.
To read more, see http://mylife-in-stories.blogspot.com/2011/04/whispering-vagina-monologues.html#links
The play is not for anyone uncomfortable with vulgar language. At the beginning of the play, they warn the audience that some of the material may be offensive to some. I’m not easily offended. I’d like to believe I’m very open-minded. My family who listened to me tell them about it with raised eye brows today are somewhat wishing that I would be a little more close-minded these days. I will admit to being uncomfortable at times. I mean it’s not every day that you see a group of women demonstrate the different “moans” a woman makes during sex on stage, but most of my squirming came because I kept flashing back to a recent conversation with my daughter.
Just a few weeks ago, she was in the bath tub and began asking questions about her girl parts. (On a side note, she seems to always ask the hard to answer questions in the tub. She may have to start taking a shower.)
She asked me what the name of her girl parts were. In all her five-year-old superiority she told me that she knows it’s not her booty like we’ve been referring to that region.
I, the mother who did not blink to inform her son at three when he asked about his boy parts that he had a penis, just stared at her in that moment unable to say the word vagina. So I told her that she had girl parts and quickly changed the subject by making up a story with her favorite characters.
Quick save, but why couldn’t I say it? My mother and I have never once had a conversation about “girl parts” or sex. Even now, very distant from my teens, I still don’t mention the word sex in front of my mom. I have no past experience to draw from, but I told myself that I was brave enough to have that discussion with my daughter when the time came. Especially since I teach teenagers and understand that they experiment with sex with or without the communication.
So there I was watching brave college students demonstrate what an orgasm sounds like and explain what a vagina looks like, and what it would say if it could talk, and how it would dress if it dressed up, and I had never brought myself to say the words they used for vagina out loud. The words sound strange in my mouth, uncomfortable and awkward.
But for a moment, after listening to them I felt empowered enough to use the words, and you know what? They didn’t sound so strange after hearing them spoken aloud so many times. Donna and I laughed and repeated parts of the dialogue all the way home, nearly in tears as we laughed so hard. At one point, I told her I never thought I’d hear those words from her mouth, and probably never would have if we hadn’t watched the play together.
For one of my dream jobs, I’ve always wanted to write about oppressed women and make them feel empowered by telling their stories. I would have loved to travel the world and bring about social change. Yet, I couldn’t even say the word vagina to my daughter.
Maybe I just need to start with empowering myself, and in turn my daughter. So the next time my daughter asks, I will be ready. The Vagina Monologues provided a list of synonyms, but hey, I think I can start with the word Vagina. See it doesn’t sound strange at all to me anymore.
To read more, see http://mylife-in-stories.blogspot.com/2011/04/whispering-vagina-monologues.html#links
Monday, April 4, 2011
The Best Laid Plans
I’m a planner. I have detailed calendars with events neatly penciled in, and I plan out months in advance what I’m going to do. This slightly annoying characteristic has really helped out with those thirty-three experiences this year. (No, I did not have one of those experiences this weekend. Apparently, I need to plan better. Go figure.) I did have this wonderful weekend planned. Each day of my weekend was lined up and mapped out for me. Then, of course, it all fell apart and gave way to spontaneous, random events instead.
First, plans fell through on Friday night, so I spontaneously decided to go to the movies by myself instead of staying home and watching one. It was a horrible movie. The movie was missing my favorite part which would be an actual storyline, but I learned that I don’t really care anymore if I have to do something on my own. Hello independence.
Saturday morning when I awoke, I thought it was to attend the Madhatter’s event in Thibodaux until I got a call that morning to confirm my seat for Sunday. A rearrangement of plans had to be made for I’d already made plans for Sunday. The result was I was able to spend the entire afternoon with my cousin Scott. We sat on his mom’s front porch for hours, relaxing. Something I hadn’t done in so long that I can’t remember the last time that I had, relaxing that is. For the first time in a long time, I had that childlike feeling of being able to just be in the moment instead of rushing off to accomplish all the things on my crazy list.
Plans for Saturday night fell through again and made it possible for me to enjoy a glass of wine (or two) with a close friend and much needed friend time. There is nothing like spending time with a girlfriend and talking about everything going on in your world.
After my scheduling mistake, Sunday meant I had two things to do, so it began with the Madhatter’s. Even with my teenage obsession with fashion, I’d never attended a fashion show before. I enjoyed the experience and plan to attend with my daughter next year, for she would love to watch now that fashion has become her obsession.
The second event of Sunday was to learn how to edit digital media. My list of what I want to know how to do grows daily, and I plan to continue pursuing new learning experiences. But then unexpectedly, I had dinner with two great people and another great time during this spontaneous weekend.
By far, the best experiences of my weekend were those things that happened when plans were rearranged. So the lesson learned this weekend is that maybe I need to slow down, just a bit. This over planning my weekend is not necessarily leading to the best experiences. Maybe the impulsive side of my personality needs a little more leeway. Hmm… not so sure about that one, but at least maybe I should learn to enjoy the little moments.
First, plans fell through on Friday night, so I spontaneously decided to go to the movies by myself instead of staying home and watching one. It was a horrible movie. The movie was missing my favorite part which would be an actual storyline, but I learned that I don’t really care anymore if I have to do something on my own. Hello independence.
Saturday morning when I awoke, I thought it was to attend the Madhatter’s event in Thibodaux until I got a call that morning to confirm my seat for Sunday. A rearrangement of plans had to be made for I’d already made plans for Sunday. The result was I was able to spend the entire afternoon with my cousin Scott. We sat on his mom’s front porch for hours, relaxing. Something I hadn’t done in so long that I can’t remember the last time that I had, relaxing that is. For the first time in a long time, I had that childlike feeling of being able to just be in the moment instead of rushing off to accomplish all the things on my crazy list.
Plans for Saturday night fell through again and made it possible for me to enjoy a glass of wine (or two) with a close friend and much needed friend time. There is nothing like spending time with a girlfriend and talking about everything going on in your world.
After my scheduling mistake, Sunday meant I had two things to do, so it began with the Madhatter’s. Even with my teenage obsession with fashion, I’d never attended a fashion show before. I enjoyed the experience and plan to attend with my daughter next year, for she would love to watch now that fashion has become her obsession.
The second event of Sunday was to learn how to edit digital media. My list of what I want to know how to do grows daily, and I plan to continue pursuing new learning experiences. But then unexpectedly, I had dinner with two great people and another great time during this spontaneous weekend.
By far, the best experiences of my weekend were those things that happened when plans were rearranged. So the lesson learned this weekend is that maybe I need to slow down, just a bit. This over planning my weekend is not necessarily leading to the best experiences. Maybe the impulsive side of my personality needs a little more leeway. Hmm… not so sure about that one, but at least maybe I should learn to enjoy the little moments.
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