Part deux: It’s 11 o’clock. Do you know where your balls are?

THE ART OF JUGGLING YOUR BALLS: PART II

a.k.a. The New Rules for Mothers Who Do Too Much and Think That’s A Good Thing!

To make sure you were paying attention last week, I am now going to test you on Part I of The Art of Juggling Your Balls.

1.  Moms who juggle more than one ball at a time believe:

a) in the Easter Bunny

b) Prozac is the new chocolate

c) balls are overrated

d) a + b but not c

2. Women who want it all, define ‘all’ as:

a) Brad Pitt

b) chocolate-covered Prozac

c) 1.738 children, 4 ex-husbands, and Death-by-Motherhood lip gloss*

d) a + some b and definitely c

How did you score?

A score of less than 5** may indicate PDLOQTRFSTW. Don’t bother looking it up.  There is no cure.

Unless…. you read…

MY NEW BOOK! Actually I don’t have a book but if I did it would be called The New Rules for Mothers Who Do Too Much and Think That’s A Good Thing! and it would look like this:

I need a bigger book!

PDLOQTRFSTW is a unique malady because, not only does it have a lot of letters and cannot be pronounced, it’s sneaky. It makes you think you’re strong and healthy and can have it all.  What my new book would reveal (if it existed) is this:

you can’t have it all

WHAT?

you can’t have it all

Speak up, dammit!

YOU CAN’T HAVE IT ALL!!!!!!

UH OH. I am going to be in big trouble for saying that. (But if it’s in a book that doesn’t exist, who will ever know?)

Wait… I came forth to speak the truth. For I have learned. I have suffered. I have been to the dark side…

Sorry, wrong book.

Bottom Line: YOU CANNOT HAVE IT ALL. It was a  myth that you could. A story. A hoax. A fabrication by somebody, somewhere, who confused equality with insanity.

The notion that women can have it all is a trick because we think that the pursuit of ‘all’ equals the pursuit of happiness, therefore having it all must be a good thing, right? It’s a trick we play on ourselves, each other, and the world.  And that is just plain rude!

And it doesn’t matter how you define ‘all’. What matters is how you define happiness. I propose that we re-define happiness. Which brings us (finally) to MORE NEW RULES…

RULE # 7: HAPPINESS = LOVING YOUR BALLS ONE AT A TIME

For many women, having it all promises happiness. But here’s where it gets twisted. Many of us equate happiness with approval. From anyone and everyone but ourselves. Looking good on the outside has trumped feeling good on the inside.  That can’t be good.

 

 

(nice but)

…if you make loving your balls your Number One Priority, you will find your happiness. Promise. Ya’ gotta love your balls. To do that you have to…

RULE # 8: TREAT YOUR BALLS AS IF THEY WERE FABERGÉ EGGS

Hmmm. I know that sounds deep and profound so I’m going to put it another way: Handle your balls with care. Love them. Treasure them. If you do this you’ll think twice about juggling more than one ball at a time.

Rule # 9: Always ask: Which ball do I really want to play with right now?

When you wake up in the morning, the first thing you do is check in with yourself. How are you feeling–not thinking–feeeeeeling.  Ya’ gotta feel good. That’s all there is to it. So, whatever you do next has got to feel good–a stretch?; some deep breathing perhaps?; morning pages?; chopping wood? It really is all about YOU.  That’s a good thing. Own it! Love it! –or–STEP AWAY FROM THE BALLS. I repeat, do not touch a ball that doesn’t feel good when you touch it.

….what about my job? What about the dirty laundry?

What about the plight of the Titi Monkeys?

TOO BAD!

Do not touch anything UNTIL you feel good.  THAT IS YOUR RESPONSIBILITY TO THE WORLD!

Make sure it feels good to go to work.

Step away from the laundry until you can find the love in your heart for your family such that you are inspired to wash their clothes. OR, get your mother to do it (that would be mean, but how else is she going to learn this stuff?) OR hire someone else to do it. These are all options. Pick one. But whatever you do, don’t do the laundry while pouting about the laundry, or anything else for that matter.

Same goes for those monkeys.

Own it! Love it–or DO NOT JUGGLE THAT BALL!

And when you’re done you’re going to…

Pick up another ball. Repeat. This new practice is called NOT HAVING IT ALL AND LOVING IT.

Because, what is the point of having it all when having it turns you into a __________ (insert words that rhyme with ‘hit shed’).

RULE # 10: IT’S ALL ABOUT ME

Repeat this phrase over and over: It’s really is all about me. This is the proper way to use the word ‘all’ in a sentence.

Trying to have it all makes us miserable because the pursuit of happiness by chasing ‘all’ sets us up for failure, and that makes us feel _________ (insert feeling that rhymes with kitty) and then we’re not any good to anybody. Once again: It is your responsibility to feel good so that you can have a positive impact on the world.

And sometimes…

…all you may want is a cookie.  Go for it… if eating it will leave you feeling good.

That was easy.

———-

* Shiny but deadly.

** Bonus points: How many times did I use the word ‘all’ in this post?

Some cake, a few presents, and no smelly boys!

I think it was my seventh birthday. My mom was throwing me a party with all the neighborhood kids. I hated the neighborhood kids. There were only two of them. And they were twins. Evil twins. There was no logical reason to invite them.

Huh? What was that supposed to mean?

Fast forward to me as The Mother.

I had told myself that when I had children they would have great birthday parties.  But even my version of a good party (some cake, a few presents, no smelly boys) was nothing compared to what some of my fellow mommies were doing.

I recall one mother planning the most elaborate backyard birthday party for her four-year-old(our daughters were friends in pre-school).  There were stations, complete with pony rides, a magician, a local politician and an aesthetician giving mini facials. The sad thing was that the birthday girl cried the whole time. So did I. It was overwhelming. To stay calm I had two pony rides and six mini-facials myself, which made all the other little girls cry because I held up the line.

So when Number 1 was about to turn seven I put my foot down. And not too skillfully I might add.

There have been battles over birthdays, and all of them in my head. Should I hire a caterer and serve vichyssoise?; Should I see if David Copperfield does birthday parties for 5-year-olds?“–that would certainly top all the other magician parties!; Should I mortgage my house to get Myley Cyrus flown in to sing Happy Birthday?; Should I kidnap the entire cast of Glee to prove how much I love my kids?

Should I just shoot myself?

Numbers 2 and 4 have birthdays in August. Number 1 has a birthday coming up in October and then we have Number 3′s to celebrate in November. Is it a coincidence that all of these birthdays coincide with hurricane season?

Which is why I instituted the every-other-year rule a few years ago. Each of our children has had a big party every other year (and by big I mean some cake, a few presents and no smelly boys).

Now, when it comes to my birthday, I think a semi-annual celebration is well deserved!

It’s 11 o’clock. Do you know where your balls are?

THE ART OF JUGGLING YOUR BALLS: PART 1

“I can soooooo do it all because I get to define what ‘all’ is“, said the mom who actually believed she had superpowers. To which her children responded: Hahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha, nice try Mom.

Juggling is overrated.  Period.

But if you’re going to juggle, please please please follow these different simple woo-woo hard(adjective TBA) rules.

RULE # 1: JUGGLE ONE BALL AT A TIME! ONE. BALL.

Hold on. That rule needs to be in a much bigger font and a different color.

RULE # 1: Juggle one ball at a time.  One. Ball.

(Can ya’ hear me now?)

For example, let’s say I’m trying to apply my favorite lip gloss or get into downward facing dog while I’m thinking about my client’s deposition and how I need to get it done before the kids get home from school. I cannot be fully present for the lip gloss application (soooo important and fun), or the downward facing dog pose (so important for my back) or the depo prep (important for my job) or the kids coming home (something I really look forward to).  Whenever I fail to give something my undivided attention, I fail to get all I can out of that moment.

If the thought of having less than 27 balls in the air at once makes you fear that the sky will fall and then the stars and planets won’t have a place to live anymore, you need to sit down.

Feel that fear and don’t do it anyway. Your brain is feeding you propaganda which has caused you to become very attached to your balls. Ruh Roh. How’s that working for ya’?

Aren’t you forgetting something?

Mama’s got to be happy. The motto in our house, which we all sing* every day to the tune of Justin Bieber‘s Baby Baby Baby Ugggghhhhhhh (or whatever that crazy song is called) is:

“If Maaa-ma Ain’t Happy Ohhhhh…  Ain’t No0000-body Happy ohhhh…”

RULE # 2: CREATE YOUR VERY OWN ONE MINUTE HOLIDAY.

It is your responsibility to feel good–good as in it’s-bringing-me-joy kind of good. For me sometimes all it takes is a little lip gloss. Or yoga. Or peanut butter cups, I mean, spinach.

I know you’ve heard it a million times: women have to put themselves first; they need to put themselves back on The List (even Oprah said that)…(OMG, I just quoted Oprah. In public!) But what does that really mean, to put yourself on the list, especially if you’re like me, always losing her list. Which leads us to…

RULE # 3: YOU ARE THE LIST!

Holy paradigm shift Batman. I am the list. Of course. If I am the juggler and I am the list, then I am… a bird, a pl… I think I need a red cape!

RULE # 4: SET AN INTENTION FOR YOUR IDEAL DAY.

In other words, live your day, don’t let your day live you. You get to decide what kind of day you’re going to have. And be sure to write your intention on some sticky notes and put them up everywhere: your bathroom mirror, the frig, the car, the Vitamix.

Then…

RULE # 5: TAKE RESPONSIBILITY FOR THE OUTCOME–GOOD OR BAD.

If you have a bad day don’t blame your spouse, your kids, the scale, or the cable guy. This isn’t about blame. It’s about responsibility. Yours. To yourself. So….

RULE # 6: MAKE A PLAN.

A goal without a plan is a dream. If you simply wake up and declare I am going to have a good day but don’t have any idea how that’s going to happen then you’re setting yourself up for a less-than-ideal day. You must become a deliberate creator.

To be continued….

* Yes, the whole family sings this song.

The 80/20 Rule for Moms

Here’s how I apply the 80/20 rule to parenting… and just about everything else in my life: If I get it right 80 percent of the time, I give myself an A+.

However, the times I don’t get it right, which must never exceed 20 per cent, I just plain suck at it, to wit:

Can you tell the parent from the child in this picture?

Kids, can I get a tattoo?

I told my kids (a.k.a. resident aliens), correction, I asked my kids if I should get a tattoo.  I don’t normally ask them for permission but since I won’t allow them to get tattoos… no wait, Number One has a couple…

Ok, so I just wanted to get some dialogue going on a delicate issue: to tat or not to tat. That’s when Number Four chimed in: You should get a tattoo that says “The Worst Mother”.  Ouch.

So, here it is:

My New BFF, Jeannette Maw

Hmmm, I made a new friend. At my age* I am always amazed when I make a strong connection with someone new. I don’t know why that is. Unlike my kids whose friends come and go–kinda like Peanut Butter Cups in our house (trust me, I do NOT know where those things go!), I’ve had a stable of old* friends for years.  Lately, however, all these really cool people have come into my life: Joy, Joelle, Linda, Michele, FloMo, Debi, Tami, Susan, Bridgette, Sarah… and then along came Jeannette.

This week Jeannette gave me the honor of writing a guest post on her wildly popular blog over at Good Vibe University. You can read it here. And please leave a comment while you’re at it… it makes me look soooo popular too; so important among BFF’s!  Like, duhhhh!

There’s just one teeny tiny giant problem: I FORGOT TO INCLUDE MY BFF’s PICTURE IN THE POST!   So, here it is: Introducing my new BFF, Jeannette Maw, Good Vibe Coach!

Jeannette Maw (isn’t she pretty?)

*Nope, not givin’ that up!

Parenting Styles Quiz

Ever wonder how your parenting style affects your children?

Today’s lesson is on parenting styles and how they affect children.

Technically speaking, i.e. according to parenting expert Barbara Coloroso, author of Kids Are Worth It, there are three different types of parenting styles:

BRICKWALL, BACKBONE,  and JELLYFISH.

The author hasn’t met me yet.

Ms. Coloroso applies her parenting models to all sorts of situations parents encounter from toilet training to getting your kids out of jail.

To determine what type of parent you are, read the definitions (mine) of each of the parenting styles, below, and answer the multiple choice questions which follow….

A brickwall parent is a great big pain in the Ashtabula Star Beacon.  S/he doesn’t have time to parent and therefore rules with an iron fist.  A kid with brickwall parents grows up to be:

a) mean and grumpy

b) the leader of a Third World country

c) Robin Williams

d) a braille translator

Jellyfish parents are spineless and whiny.  They provide very little structure, are permissive and, pretty much afraid of their own children.  A child of jellyfish parents grows up to be:

a) spineless and whiny

b) a follower

c) Robin (as in ‘Batman and…’)

d) an odor tester (ewwww).

Next we have backbone parents. This type of parent provides healthy boundaries, a stable home base, freedom to grow, and little if any electronics.  Backbone parents are excellent listeners. They ask questions. They also make time for laughter and play, as long as it doesn’t involve electronics. Kids with backbone parents develop a strong moral center. They grow up to be:

a) resilient

b) dedicated to the pursuit of happiness

c) Lady Gaga

d) not very good with electronics.

Finally there’s the Tasmanian Mama, as depicted above in a self-portrait of the artist as a crazy lady. This type of parent (of which there is only one, hence she is the worst!) vacillates between all three parenting styles, depending on the mood in which she is swinging at any moment in time/space reality. (Be afraid for her children for they know not what to expect. Ever.)

Children of the Tasmanian Mama grow up to:

a) also have multiple personalities and wild mood swings which can sometimes cause Mercury to become stuck in retrograde.

b) defy Myers-Briggs testing methodologies, even when the tester is Michele Woodward (who, by the way, is in denial about not being Superwoman).

c) have no artistic talent even when they are certain they do

d) feel lucky to have made it to ‘grown up’.

Hand in your answers promptly and I’ll grade them when I’m in a better mood. Please be advised that I’d like your responses to be neat, well thought out, and if you like you can include your own artwork, but make sure you color inside the lines and whatever you do, do NOT copy mine.

She’s Gonna Blow!

Once upon a time…

I was having a bad day.  A very bad day. A really awful very bad horrible yucky day. Are you beginning to get the picture? To make it really clear I am going to show you an un-retouched photo of how I looked that day:

Brace yourself.

Yup. That’s me. And I even had all my make up on!

Have you ever read your children a book called Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day, by Judith Viorst? Well, my day was going to be worse than that. I knew it.

And therein lies the problem. As long as I insisted that it was going to be a bad day, you can bet the whole day was going to turn out to be pretty stinkin’ bad. How could it not?  Whenever I tell myself something, over and over, the more I look for evidence to prove that I’m right.  Sometimes being right is more important than being happy.  Right?

But I have an inalienable right to be happy! It says it right there in the Declaration of Independence. (As an attorney I like to refer to big important documents to make a point; in this case, to show how being right does not make one happy. Ok, that made no sense, but don’t give up on me yet, I do have a point to make). 

Technically speaking, the Declaration of Independence gives us the right to pursue happiness… it doesn’t entitle us to happiness. This is an important distinction. You have to go out and make your own happiness. Personally I think the document should be amended to say that every American has an obligation, if not an outright duty to pursue happiness.  Can you imagine what would happen if everyone believed it was their duty to get happy?

I believe. I believe.

I’ve been reading The Happiness Trap, by Russ Harris.  The author says we’re caught in a psychological trap that we set for ourselves; being in constant pursuit of happiness (big house, shiny cars, fancy clothes) is exhausting and makes us very unhappy. Well isn’t that ironic! Don’tcha think? A little too ironic.  And I really do think. (Thank you, Alanis Morissette).

What I love about this book is that it’s not telling me to ”think positive” or to “go meditate“. Instead, Harris shows us how to ACT, or rather, use ACT (acceptance and commitment therapy) to get out of the trap.  This means that at first one starts by recognizing unhelpful thoughts, such as “I’m having a really bad horrible rotten day” and allowing those thoughts to come and go without a struggle, without arguing with what is; If you’re always asking “why does this always have to happen to me?”, you’re going to stay stuck in wanting happiness without ever actually attaining it.

Harris further explains that as well as your physical self and your thinking self, there is also “the observing self”, the one that is capable of keeping an eye on the other two. That, my ladies (and gentlemen–men, I know you’re out there), takes some practice.  In essence, when you become the observer, you transcend the thinking mind and thus are able to act in ways that are aligned with your core values.  Assuming your core values include living a rich and meaningful life (a.k.a. the pursuit of happiness), and something triggers you, causing your thoughts to head south, the observing self, if present, will be able to turn you back around so you’re heading towards your North Star again.

The operative word is trigger.  Some people aren’t even aware they’ve been triggered because old thought habits keep them in a perpetual, low-grade state of discontent.  Without observing the thoughts and feelings that follow the trigger, one remains unconscious. Feeling bad becomes a bad habit.

So, back to my almost really-awful-very-bad-horrible-yucky day, this is what I observed: I was talking to a relative on the phone who began to complain to me about another relative. ”Trigger, trigger, trigger, trigger”, shouted my physical body as I felt the familiar tightness in my chest. I then observed a very old thought pattern hijack my brain: “Here we go again. I can’t solve this problem. This isn’t even my problem to solve. Why doesn’t X just do Y so we can all be happy. Dammit this is turning out to be a really horrible bad terrible rotten day.“  This kind of thinking takes me out of my business and puts me in someone else’s. Like I don’t have enough of my own business to take care of!

Once we realize that the thing, the situation, or the person who triggers us isn’t what’s horrible but rather it’s our thinking that is horrible, we are set free.   Free to think whatever we want.

Some thoughts I’d like to suggest:

I am responsible for my own happiness.

“Everybody” is not the boss of me, I am. Yay!

Chocolate is the new chicken.

A Mother By Any Other Name….

I think I have MMPD –Multiple Mother Personality Disorder.  How many of ‘me‘ are there? Let us count them all, shall we?

First of all, there’s Laverne.

Laverne is what Martha Beck, author of The Four Day Win, would call my inner Dictator.  I would best describe Laverne as, well, a bloody dictator! She says things to me like: “Don’t you dare eat that“; “Be nice“; “Make your kids behave for cryin’ out loud“; and my favorite: “What will people say?” I hate Laverne. Laverne must die.  Soon.

Next there’s Shirley. Not her real name. Shirley is my “Wild Child”. She says things to me like: “Go ahead, eat it, you deserve  it, you just walked the dog “; “Let’s go shopping“; “Sure the kids can get a tattoo as long as it says MOM“; and my favorite: “Let’s watch Oprah.” As if having Laverne and Shirley do battle in my head isn’t bad enough, I also have to contend with…

Ruth.

Basically, Ruth is my mother by another name. She’s full of suggestions: “Don’t you think the girls should be taking tap lessons?”; “I really don’t think lime green is a good color choice for closet hangers” and “There’s the hard way and then there’s my way. Why do you always do it the hard way?” By the way, Ruth’s real name is Ruthless.  She’s my inner critic.

Damn! Just call me Sybil.

Would the real ME please stand up.  Wait, who is Me?

Well, according to Martha, the real me is the one who stands back and simply observes without reacting. As The Watcher I don’t have to participate in the battle raging in my head. I can simply sit (or stand) back and notice all the people in there, going blah-blah-bloody-blah, and then I can decide what I want to do. When I’m ready to decide. When I say so. It really is all about Me.

The problem with MMPD is that, to your kids, you look and sound like a freak! When you’re at the mercy of Laverne, you become Dictator Mom. At the whims of Shirley?–hey kids, it’s Wild ‘n Wacky (and not in a good way) Mom. And when Ruth-the-Critic is in your head, and the resentment just keeps on comin’, your kids don’t stand a chance. Who can blame them for tuning out?

So one day, while driving around trying to do the things on The To Do List, I told Shirley to go sit in the back seat and put a sock in it. She didn’t like that much and put on a big pout. But, like I told her, I really didn’t deserve a Big Mac that day.  I deserved something that would nourish and nurture Me.

Why am I talking to the people in my head?

The first big step in trying to Get A Grip is to figure out who You are, not as a mother, but as a person. We start the process by doing nothing other than noticing all the chatter, all the voices in our head–our parents, Miss Roach (my third grade teacher), the make-up lady at Bloomingdale’s who insists I need to wear lash-thickening mascara.  When you slow down and start to get curious about all the thoughts that hi-jack You (as opposed to listening/believing them) then you become The Watcher. That’s when you begin to stand a chance at getting aligned with Your True Self – the one who decides what she’ll Eat, when/if she’ll Pray, who she’ll Love.

Besides, I like my lime green hangers.