The Tensile Strength of Family or Becoming A Rubber Band Ball.

I recently read an amazing book, "Crazy for the Storm" by Norman Ollestad .   A memoir, it is the story of the pivotal turn in Norman's life--at age 11 he not only survived the plane crash that killed his father and two others, but he then had to climb, injured, down a treacherous mountain to reach help.  There are a lot of lessons, both little and big, in this story that make it worth reading, but the one thing that stuck with me was the idea of tensile strength--the idea that there is a maximum stress a material (a person, a realtionship, an organization or a community) can take without pulling apart or breaking. 

I'd been thinking about something along those lines for a while now--mostly because we see it all of the time--whether it is a bad relationship, a difficult client meeting or the earthquake in Haiti--but I hadn't figured out the language of what I was trying to say until this book help me put it into words and then apply it on a more personal level. 

For the past six or so years, our family, like many around the world, has had our tensile strength tested time and time again, each time seemingly extending the amount of stress we are able to take without ripping apart.  Our stress factor was an ongoing and connected combination of things--all of which manifested around our family's emotional center, my husband.  Illness, horrible chronic pain, addictions and the resulting 'side effects' of fear, debt, anger and so on.  The critical stress factor of addiction is gone now, for over three years, the resulting issues of debt, anger and resentment have been, we're proud to say, worked through successfully.  And, because we learned to and because the chronic illness and pain are still present, we are always working to ensure that our tensile strength  is equal to our current needs.  And for the past six or so years, that is where I thought my focus should be, on ensuring our tensile strength was enough for us to face anything life threw at us. 

Oh, so, so, very wrong.

What I've recently had to face is that our tensile strength isn't our weak spot--it's not what I have to worry about.  Rather, it is the slack moments of rebound, when life is wiggly and uncertain...The moments before the next step puts you on solid ground.  The moments you think you are the safest because the 'hard' stuff is in the past. These are the moments that scare me the most--and are when I'm at my worst. Because instead of being thoughtful about what we should do in this moment right NOW, I'm always looking too far forward, aniticpating the next, hard thing we need to get through. 

And there is the heart of the issue:  I've set myself up as the fixer--the only one with the tensile strength. I do this because here is how I currently think:  If there is nothing to fix, then what is my purpose?  I have been living as if my only purpose is the happiness and well-being of three other people--which if I was Mother Theresa would be laudable and honest.  But I'm not Mother Theresa and so this set up doesn't really work for anyone--and here are five reasons why:

1. It's not conducive to raising confident and capable children.
2. It's not conducive to a fully realized life for me. 
3. It's not conducive to a mutually satisfying partnership. 
4. It sucks to always be placed as the fixee/It's arrogant to always be the fixer. 
5. My initial premise that we as a family unit have a tensile strength is incorrect.  The reality is that I have a tensile strength and they each have their own different tensile strength.  That we've survived as a unit, is, well, surprising. 

What have I learned?  Here is a simple visual for those of you who need them like me: 

An individual tensile strength is like a single rubber band--it has only itself to rely on.  Which is fine, until it breaks.

A collectives' strength is like one of those cool rubber band balls you get for your kids teacher every fall.  In the rubber band ball each singular rubber band lends its strength to the whole--so even if one breaks, the ball itself still exists, still works. 

And so this what it boils down to for me-and where my focus needs to be--on working towards the rest of my life being spent as part of a big rubber band ball.  

A very colorful, very fun, very bouncy and ultimately very long lasting rubber band ball. 

A Few Fantastic Days in New York City

Let's face it, I can't imagine the recap of any trip to NYC starting off any other way than:  It rocked!  And so this one does, because it did.  Rock, I mean.  Totally.

We started off with the childrens opera, "The Enchanted Pig" at the New Victory Theater....an amazing theater and a fun performance, regardless of way too much gold lame for my (rather limited) tastes.  And, there is nothing better than seeing your daughter and her grandpa rocking some plastic pig noses

The next day brought the MOMA and the American Folk Art Museum...first time to the latter and I absolutely loved it.  My daughter liked the Thomas Chambers paintings of Niagara Falls and I liked the Finster and the quilts.  More than that though, the building itself is brilliant, reminding me of the Rothko Chapel in Dallas--amazing on its own and in its ability to let you engage the art on your own terms.  Too often, like my experience at MOMA, you are forced to experience the art on someone elses terms because of crowding, like at the current Tim Burton exhibit.  Best of all though, according to my daughter, was the giant couch at MOMA in the room that houses Monet's Water Lillies..according to her, it is the best, most comfortable couch in the world...and she should know, she laid on it for quite a while.  In an attempt to engage her in the art we were supposedly looking at, I asked her what her impression of them was...her answer?  "My impression is that this guy needs a different art teacher."....Genius, like beauty, is in the eye of the beholder.

Okay...the whole reason for the trip...The Westminster Dog Show!  I am not sure what I expected---but it wasn't this.  I was blown away by the whole thing--the casual nature of the day that allowed us to wander from our seats to the floor, to the 'benching room' where the dogs get ready, to the place where all of the dogs and their owners hang out after they win or lose.  The people with dogs were incredibly nice and open and giving, which meant my daughter got to see/touch/kiss many of her favorites.  As did I.  And the people we met and/or listened to in the stands were incredibly nice as well..sharing information and stories without hesitation.  We met a wonderful woman in the bathroom (of course).  She was 78 and this was her first trip to the dog show--after saving for years--and she came to see the Corgi's...a dog she remembered and loved from her childhood.  And to me, that was the overall feeling of the show...a sense of loving dogs because of a childhood joy in them.  Because of that, the whole experience was a softer, simpler one than I think I was expecting...all for the better.  For my daughter is was, in her words, "totally awesomely cute and cuddly".  (If you say it really fast and in a high-pitched voice, you get the idea).

We capped off the day with a long walk back to Grandma and Grandpa's place, interrupted by a stop-off at City Bakery for the best hot chocolate ever.  Seriously.  EVER.

On the way back to Austin the next day my daughter wondered two things.  First, did the people on the plane know that the food they were serving us was really bad?  And secondly, would I remember this trip when I was really, really, really old?  Yes, to both my sweet petite.

Best In Show: Love in the Big Apple

"Where is Busy Bee?!?!?! Where is Busy Bee??!!?"

One of the best lines in one of the best scenes in one of the best movies ever--"Best in Show".  This is on my mind as my daughter and I are off to the Westminster Dog Show this weekend with my mother and sis-in law. (All due to and many thanks given to V.C. for making this happen.)

We are all very excited, as you can imagine, but my daughters excitement is palpable--the ever changing lists of dogs she wants to see, pet, buy, play with etc.  The park, toy store, museums she wants to see on our free day. (Okay, I made up the museum part, but I'm ever hopeful).

The excitement ratcheted up a notch or two when she realized that we would be in NY over Valentines Day.  She picked out an outfit (black skinny jeans, black and pink high tops, black small paul t-shirt and a black and red sparkly rocker jacket/hoody ala Avril Lavinge) and asked to wear it to a 'fun & funky' place with good food for our Valentines Day Dinner.  She begged me, as only a 7-year old can, to wear something "non mommyish" so that we could be "cool chicks" together. 

Which then immediately led to my own "where is Busy Bee?" moment in my closet yesterday as I tried to find something that fit, was 'non mommyish' and for a 'cool chick'.  As with Busy Bee in the movie, this outfit was not to be found--ever.

So, dog show?  Check.  Fun & Funky?  Check.  Good Food?  Double Check. Park, toy store and museum? Checkity-check-chek.  One mommyish semi-cool chick dame in comfortable earth tones?  Abo-friggin-lutely!  

Watch out New York. Here we come.  

A Perfect Day/A Dream Day

Happy Birthday to me!  So I turned a year older yesterday.  Woke up happy.  Kids dressed, fed (technically) and drove them to school.  Kisses, kisses!  A little down on the way to work, saved by AC/DC "Shook Me All Night Long".  Good times, good times.

Work, work, work.  Calls from my hubby (love you/miss you).  Read funny messages on Facebook from my friends.  Downloaded some Simon & Garfunkle and Lady GaGa.  Flowers from my sister...a phone call full of laughter, same sis.  Went across the street and bought myself two books: The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks by Rebecca Skloot and Flirt by Laurell Hamilton. 

Meetings, fun, frivolity. Tiny chocolate cupcakes that I DON'T EAT (Nutrisystem....argh).  And then home.  Taken out to dinner by kids and Dad.  Good food, fun and outrageous desert that I DON'T EAT (see above, argh).  Fun and cooky presents from kids.  Nice watch from parents.  Lovely art from Hubby.  Kids devolve into general crazyness.  Daughter pretends to be "Francoise the Frenchman" on the phone with her Dad, hands phone to me with an introduction of "...and here is my hefty assistant.".  Son gasps and says, "...you can't call Mom that, don't you know hefty is a garbage bag!".  I'm feeling the love here folks.   Everybody laughs hysterically.

Put kids to bed, daughter, after channeling an old tent revivalist for a bit, climbs into bed with me. Conversation about her taste buds (with visuals).  Read a book, long-distance crossword with hubby.  Sleep.

Now that's a pretty perfect birthday in real life. 

HOWEVER, in my dream life I would wake to kisses from same hubby and kids.  They would be out the door, the house would be perfectly pristine and smelling wonderful.  I would lounge on a perfectly proportional super-comfy chaise lounge in cashmere lounge clothes and then I would have a day of books and movies (Dirty Dozen, Love Actually, Brothers Bloom, Once) a few of my favorite foods (mashed potatoes with gravy and a pear, walnut, blue cheese salad with a blueberry vinigarette and a GIANT, really cold perfect diet pepsi.  For dessert, a perfect slice of Chocolate Mousse pie with raspberry creme and GIANT really cold perfect glass of milk.

Gorgeous hunky men would come in, give me some wine and cheese,  a 90-min hot stone massage, a mani/pedi (no color, but a nice buffed shine).  Hubby would come home (kids over at friends) a date night of movie and book store--with comfy couches where'd we'd sit, drink coffe (mine a decaf, venti, non-fat, with whip Mocha).  Home, candles, music, a crossword or two done together, a Neruda poem (Ah Vastness of Pines) and then ......(see fireworks in background, oh la la).

There is much to be said for both, but thankfully the reality was so much fun, I'm not missing the 'dream' birthday much.  On second thought, I might switch my little homegrown Francoise for the gorgeous hunks and massage.  Oh well, what is it that my kids teachers say?   "You get what you get and you don't throw a fit".  I'm good with that.

And to my husband, who I miss terribly and will continue to miss until you get home tomorrow....a little Leonard Cohen...

"...And sometimes when the night is slow,
The wretched and the meek,
We gather up our hearts and go,
A Thousand Kisses Deep."