Editor's Note: If you live in a cold climate, you may not want to read this. I'm trying to make a point here and I don't want you getting mad at me right off the bat that in April, it's warm enough where I live to be at an outdoor pool party. If this is an issue, stop reading now and come back in a week or so when I've had time to post about something else.
I was at a pool party / BBQ a few weekends back at a neighbor's house. My 3-year-old was so excited to go swimming in their new pool, our first invite to use it. I was dreading it. A bathing suit in front of my neighbors? And ones I'm just getting to know, to boot? No, thank you, that's what my husband is for.
I get to the party, two kids, a husband and a Cocker Spaniel in tow, and we settle in the back yard. Our hostess, a wonderfully nice woman, asks if I'm going in the pool. "No," I say, "Hubby is going in."
"Not feeling up to a bathing suit?" she asks me.
"Not so much," I reply.
"Me, too," she says. "Didn't want to put it on in front of so many people." She pats her stomach.
"I know what you mean," I say. "Still a few more baby pounds to lose."
Suddenly, my commiserating friend turns on me. Her brow furls. "What are you talking about? You're so thin! I hate it when skinny people say stuff like that!"
OK, folks, I admit it, I am a "skinny people." A size 4, sometimes even a size 2. Go ahead, hate me. But understand that if you're going to hate me for being thin, I'll have to find something to hate you for, too. The grass isn't any greener over here in Skinnyville, trust me!
Not only am I skinny, but parts of me border on scrawny. My ankles are bony. As are my knees and my elbows. My hips are at least 1 full size bigger than my waist. My waist, by the way, is too high. My skin is the color of paste. The only tan I've ever had came out of a bottle. I have stretch marks (sorry, "marks of honor") from the weight gain during my 2 pregnancies. The only way I can fill out the top of a bikini is if I buy it with the suit. My teeth are crooked and I hate them. So much that I decided 2 months ago that braces would be a good idea. (31 with braces? Have I lost my mind??) My naturally blond hair is now highlighted with gray. My pores are too big. My butt is too small. Getting the picture?
I might be thin, but I'm certainly far from perfect. Short of the Baywatch babes, I don't know that you'll find another skinny woman (or any woman for that matter!) that wouldn't change a thing or twelve about the way she looks. I'm no exception. "Skinny" doesn't mean anything except that my dad has a great metabolism and I inherited it.
Remember the old Pantene shampoo commercial, where Kelly Le Brock (the model with the gorgeous, thick hair) would say, "Don't hate me because I'm beautiful"? Let's try this... if you can get a tan, have straight teeth, nice hair or a chest, then don't hate me because I'm skinny. Otherwise, I'll just have to blog about you behind your back.
Thursday, April 26, 2007
Friday, April 20, 2007
The Unhealthy State of Mental Health
First and foremost, my heart goes out to all those impacted by the recent tragedy at Virginia Tech. I can't begin to imagine the sorrow and the grief of the families, friends and communities of the students who lost their lives, were injured or were on the campus that day. My sincerest wish is that we never see something like that happen again. The "why?" questions abound and I know there are more of them than answers.
Some people will make this tragedy about gun control. After all, we're in election season (yes, a full 18 months before the actual elections). No better time to start talking (finally) about the issue. But this post is not about gun control or 2nd amendment rights, it's about a much larger, more pervasive issue in this country. It's about mental health.
I know at least half a dozen people close to me who struggle with some form of mental health "disorder" (more in a minute about why that's in quotes). They're bi-polar or have depression, anxiety, chronic stress or ADHD. Amongst them are both men and women of varying ages, socioeconomic backgrounds, races, religions, etc. There's nothing common about them, no way to categorize them into a group "likely" to be impacted by such a thing. Beyond the people I do know who struggle with these, I'm sure there are many, many more people I know (live near? work with? am related to?) who have similar struggles that I know nothing about. Why? As a friend, neighbor, family member, co-worker, etc., why would someone not want to tell me, to share, to ask for help? It's because there's such a stigma. Telling someone you need help makes you weak.
Just think about the words themselves... "mental" is slang for "crazy," right? I had to break up with that girl, she was mental! And disorder, well, it means something is wrong with you. But if you break your arm, I don't say you have an arm disorder. If you get strep throat, I don't say you have a throat disorder. If your heart isn't beating properly, I don't say you're weak. I say you're injured or you're sick, and I encourage you to go to a doctor. Anyone would. So when there's something "off" in your brain, why is that a "disorder?"
I said before there was nothing common about the people I know who struggle with these "disorders." But that's not entirely true, there is one thing. Each and every one of them has expressed the same feelings: I didn't want something to be wrong with me, I was ashamed/embarrassed to tell anyone, it was hard for me to finally ask for help. Why? When your arm is broken, I'm guessing it's not so hard to let people in on that. Why should this be any different?
Some might say that mental health "disorders" are "all in your head." OK, so physically, the chemical imbalance (or whatever it is) might physically be located within your skull. And I admit I tend to stress myself out over the small stuff, and that is in my head. But when we're talking about a true "disorder," that's not something you make up or talk yourself into.
I think this country has a "drug" mentality. Got a sore throat? Antibiotic. Stiff neck? Muscle relaxer, maybe some pain pills. Depression? Prozac. I'm not opposed to medication when it makes sense and I believe that in many cases, it's a good way to even out the imbalances that cause anxiety, depression, etc. But I think we (as a society) need to realize that medication only treats the symptoms, it doesn't treat the problem. If you have stresses or situations that trigger your depression, you need to work to avoid those situations, maybe get some help on how to work through them or view them differently. If talking to your crazy aunt gives you an anxiety attack, then stop talking to her. We need to find ways to change our routines, our patterns, eliminate (or at least reduce) the triggers. Balance the situation so that you can balance yourself. Again, this is not to say that medication isn't sometimes required long term, or that you can "think your way out of depression." And it's a lot easier to get a prescription from a doctor, presumably a "stranger," who you know is obligated not to tell anyone he saw you in the first place, than it is to fess up to someone you know, someone who might "judge" you and remember it years later that you were "weak" and couldn't handle life on your own. Children should have their parents, teachers, other "grown-ups," etc. But who do the grown-ups have?
If more of us had access to counseling (formal or informal), if more of us felt comfortable talking about this, being honest about this, learning to say "no" when our plate was too full and one more "yes" would spiral us out of control, feeling comfortable telling people that we might need a little understanding... then maybe we wouldn't need so much medication. Maybe we wouldn't feel so alone, maybe we wouldn't get to the point of tears or panic or, God forbid, shooting up classrooms.
Maybe if asking for help was easier, maybe if people were less judgemental, maybe if the stigma was reduced, just maybe that kid with the gun in the classroom would have talked to someone, would have realized he wasn't alone and would have been able to make his own life better instead of ruining so many others.
Some people will make this tragedy about gun control. After all, we're in election season (yes, a full 18 months before the actual elections). No better time to start talking (finally) about the issue. But this post is not about gun control or 2nd amendment rights, it's about a much larger, more pervasive issue in this country. It's about mental health.
I know at least half a dozen people close to me who struggle with some form of mental health "disorder" (more in a minute about why that's in quotes). They're bi-polar or have depression, anxiety, chronic stress or ADHD. Amongst them are both men and women of varying ages, socioeconomic backgrounds, races, religions, etc. There's nothing common about them, no way to categorize them into a group "likely" to be impacted by such a thing. Beyond the people I do know who struggle with these, I'm sure there are many, many more people I know (live near? work with? am related to?) who have similar struggles that I know nothing about. Why? As a friend, neighbor, family member, co-worker, etc., why would someone not want to tell me, to share, to ask for help? It's because there's such a stigma. Telling someone you need help makes you weak.
Just think about the words themselves... "mental" is slang for "crazy," right? I had to break up with that girl, she was mental! And disorder, well, it means something is wrong with you. But if you break your arm, I don't say you have an arm disorder. If you get strep throat, I don't say you have a throat disorder. If your heart isn't beating properly, I don't say you're weak. I say you're injured or you're sick, and I encourage you to go to a doctor. Anyone would. So when there's something "off" in your brain, why is that a "disorder?"
I said before there was nothing common about the people I know who struggle with these "disorders." But that's not entirely true, there is one thing. Each and every one of them has expressed the same feelings: I didn't want something to be wrong with me, I was ashamed/embarrassed to tell anyone, it was hard for me to finally ask for help. Why? When your arm is broken, I'm guessing it's not so hard to let people in on that. Why should this be any different?
Some might say that mental health "disorders" are "all in your head." OK, so physically, the chemical imbalance (or whatever it is) might physically be located within your skull. And I admit I tend to stress myself out over the small stuff, and that is in my head. But when we're talking about a true "disorder," that's not something you make up or talk yourself into.
I think this country has a "drug" mentality. Got a sore throat? Antibiotic. Stiff neck? Muscle relaxer, maybe some pain pills. Depression? Prozac. I'm not opposed to medication when it makes sense and I believe that in many cases, it's a good way to even out the imbalances that cause anxiety, depression, etc. But I think we (as a society) need to realize that medication only treats the symptoms, it doesn't treat the problem. If you have stresses or situations that trigger your depression, you need to work to avoid those situations, maybe get some help on how to work through them or view them differently. If talking to your crazy aunt gives you an anxiety attack, then stop talking to her. We need to find ways to change our routines, our patterns, eliminate (or at least reduce) the triggers. Balance the situation so that you can balance yourself. Again, this is not to say that medication isn't sometimes required long term, or that you can "think your way out of depression." And it's a lot easier to get a prescription from a doctor, presumably a "stranger," who you know is obligated not to tell anyone he saw you in the first place, than it is to fess up to someone you know, someone who might "judge" you and remember it years later that you were "weak" and couldn't handle life on your own. Children should have their parents, teachers, other "grown-ups," etc. But who do the grown-ups have?
If more of us had access to counseling (formal or informal), if more of us felt comfortable talking about this, being honest about this, learning to say "no" when our plate was too full and one more "yes" would spiral us out of control, feeling comfortable telling people that we might need a little understanding... then maybe we wouldn't need so much medication. Maybe we wouldn't feel so alone, maybe we wouldn't get to the point of tears or panic or, God forbid, shooting up classrooms.
Maybe if asking for help was easier, maybe if people were less judgemental, maybe if the stigma was reduced, just maybe that kid with the gun in the classroom would have talked to someone, would have realized he wasn't alone and would have been able to make his own life better instead of ruining so many others.
Friday, April 6, 2007
What's wrong with women?
The dress code where I work is "business casual." Depending on the weather, what kind of mood I'm in, how many times I've hit snooze and what's clean, my outfits for work can range from khakis and a fancy t-shirt to a suit. I give very little thought to what I wear to the office, I just try to make sure it's not too short, too tight or too wrinkled.
A few weekends ago I went to the mall. It took me at least twice as long to get ready to go shopping as it does to go to work. I tried on at least 3 pairs of pants, 2 pairs of shoes and half a dozen shirts before I found just the right thing. Had to put on jewelry. Had to do my hair. Not just the quick "pull it back" thing I'd do for work, but I had to bring out the hair gel, scrunch it, dry it, the whole nine. Then I put on makeup. Not just foundation and blush, but mascara, eye liner and lipstick. Then I touched up the polish on my toes. I didn't expect to see anyone I knew, yet I spent twice as long getting ready, trying to look good for strangers, as I do to go spend the day with people I do know at the office. Why? Because there's something wrong with women!
Yes, that's a pretty broad generalization, and it may sound offensive. But I'm willing to bet that there's not a woman on this planet who can honestly tell me they've never done this before. And if you tell me you haven't, I probably won't believe you. Maybe not all the time and maybe not to go to the mall, but you've done it to go someplace, we all have.
Why is this? Why do we do it? Clearly, there's something wrong with women.
I'm happily married. I'm not looking to get hit on while I'm out, or even for men to look at me. I honestly couldn't care less. You know why I get all dolled up? The same reason you do. Every woman wants to impress other women. This is a tough thing to admit, and you might be calling me names and denying this right now. But every woman wants to look at least as good as, maybe even better than, the other women. We want to walk through the mall and think, Wow, I look a LOT better than she does. And if you see someone else that you know is clearly better put together than you are, you notice that to. It's true! I'm not talking about being jealous that the lady in Macy's has the expensive new Coach bag or the giant diamond earrings. I don't care about that stuff. It's not about material possessions, it's about the self esteem boost you get when you're able to look at someone and say to yourself, I can't believe she went out in public looking like that!
You know what I mean. You've walked through a store or been at the park or just driving down the street when you see another woman dressed in something that you think is completely inappropriate. You've had this thought: Holy cow, do you see what that women is wearing?!?! There's a good chance you've even nudged the person next to you and motioned with your head Hey, get a look at that one! Can you believe it?? You might have even told someone about it when you got home. You are not going to believe what this lady at the mall was wearing!
Why? Why do we women do this? I'm venturing to guess that men don't do this nearly as much, if at all. The only time I can see my husband or my brother even noticing another man's clothes might be if the other guy was wearing a Mets jersey (sorry folks, we're Yankees fans!). So what's wrong with women? Why do we care?
Let me say, for the record, that I'm not talking about women being oppressed or feminism or women's liberation movements. I believe that I'm equal to men in pretty much all aspects of my life and have no trouble asserting myself as such to anyone who might think otherwise. I have a brain, just like a man, and though I show this daily through my actions, I don't feel the need to "prove" this to anyone. Moving on...
So why are women like this? I'll tell you why... Men made us do it! Yes, again, I don't believe that men rule the world and we have to do what they say. But for hundreds of years, men were in charge and women were second class, submissive citizens. It was our place and our job for so long to do what men wanted us to do, that we began to equate looking good (which was, I'm sure, originally done to please men) with our self worth. If I look good and I keep my house neat and make hot meals every night and take good care of the kids, my man will be happy and he will love me. This is not to say that women who are able to do that don't deserve a medal, by the way. I don't cook, I don't dress up beyond shorts and a t-shirt at home and my house doesn't get dusted nearly enough. Any women who can do all of these things is very high on my list of role models, for sure! However, I hope these women do these things because they want to do these things, and not because some man is telling them that's what makes them a worthwhile woman.
It doesn't matter a bit how you divide responsibility in your home. Maybe your full-time job is the house and the kids. Maybe you work outside the home and your partner manages the home front. Maybe you both do both. That's not the point. The point is, whatever your personal situation, you should be equal to your partner, period.
I totally get why single women, college age women and anyone else who's "out there looking" might spend the extra time getting dolled up to go to someplace as simple as the mall. But the rest of us? Why do we do it? Because for so long, men said we had to. And so much worse than that is now that women are, by all accounts, equal to men, and appearance is no longer the only available criteria on which to "judge our worth," we're still doing it to ourselves. We are perpetuating it! It stopped being about impressing the men and it became about impressing the other women. Sad, isn't it?
Here's how I see it. It's all about perspective, right? The next time you see a woman in sweats and a baseball cap in a public place, erase this thought: Wow, do you see what she's wearing? That's the best she could do? Instead, replace it with this one: Wow, there's a lady so confident in herself that she can wear sweats to the mall and not even care. She doesn't have to impress anyone.
Better yet, let's declare May to be "sweatpants and ponytails in public" month. Yes, you heard me. Instead of getting dressed up to go out to someplace that really doesn't matter anyway, let's throw on a pair of sweats, maybe a baseball cap, and stop trying to out-do each other. The first time might be difficult and you'll feel uncomfortable when you first see another woman who's all dolled up. But remember -- she's only dolled up to impress you, and you don't care!
A few weekends ago I went to the mall. It took me at least twice as long to get ready to go shopping as it does to go to work. I tried on at least 3 pairs of pants, 2 pairs of shoes and half a dozen shirts before I found just the right thing. Had to put on jewelry. Had to do my hair. Not just the quick "pull it back" thing I'd do for work, but I had to bring out the hair gel, scrunch it, dry it, the whole nine. Then I put on makeup. Not just foundation and blush, but mascara, eye liner and lipstick. Then I touched up the polish on my toes. I didn't expect to see anyone I knew, yet I spent twice as long getting ready, trying to look good for strangers, as I do to go spend the day with people I do know at the office. Why? Because there's something wrong with women!
Yes, that's a pretty broad generalization, and it may sound offensive. But I'm willing to bet that there's not a woman on this planet who can honestly tell me they've never done this before. And if you tell me you haven't, I probably won't believe you. Maybe not all the time and maybe not to go to the mall, but you've done it to go someplace, we all have.
Why is this? Why do we do it? Clearly, there's something wrong with women.
I'm happily married. I'm not looking to get hit on while I'm out, or even for men to look at me. I honestly couldn't care less. You know why I get all dolled up? The same reason you do. Every woman wants to impress other women. This is a tough thing to admit, and you might be calling me names and denying this right now. But every woman wants to look at least as good as, maybe even better than, the other women. We want to walk through the mall and think, Wow, I look a LOT better than she does. And if you see someone else that you know is clearly better put together than you are, you notice that to. It's true! I'm not talking about being jealous that the lady in Macy's has the expensive new Coach bag or the giant diamond earrings. I don't care about that stuff. It's not about material possessions, it's about the self esteem boost you get when you're able to look at someone and say to yourself, I can't believe she went out in public looking like that!
You know what I mean. You've walked through a store or been at the park or just driving down the street when you see another woman dressed in something that you think is completely inappropriate. You've had this thought: Holy cow, do you see what that women is wearing?!?! There's a good chance you've even nudged the person next to you and motioned with your head Hey, get a look at that one! Can you believe it?? You might have even told someone about it when you got home. You are not going to believe what this lady at the mall was wearing!
Why? Why do we women do this? I'm venturing to guess that men don't do this nearly as much, if at all. The only time I can see my husband or my brother even noticing another man's clothes might be if the other guy was wearing a Mets jersey (sorry folks, we're Yankees fans!). So what's wrong with women? Why do we care?
Let me say, for the record, that I'm not talking about women being oppressed or feminism or women's liberation movements. I believe that I'm equal to men in pretty much all aspects of my life and have no trouble asserting myself as such to anyone who might think otherwise. I have a brain, just like a man, and though I show this daily through my actions, I don't feel the need to "prove" this to anyone. Moving on...
So why are women like this? I'll tell you why... Men made us do it! Yes, again, I don't believe that men rule the world and we have to do what they say. But for hundreds of years, men were in charge and women were second class, submissive citizens. It was our place and our job for so long to do what men wanted us to do, that we began to equate looking good (which was, I'm sure, originally done to please men) with our self worth. If I look good and I keep my house neat and make hot meals every night and take good care of the kids, my man will be happy and he will love me. This is not to say that women who are able to do that don't deserve a medal, by the way. I don't cook, I don't dress up beyond shorts and a t-shirt at home and my house doesn't get dusted nearly enough. Any women who can do all of these things is very high on my list of role models, for sure! However, I hope these women do these things because they want to do these things, and not because some man is telling them that's what makes them a worthwhile woman.
It doesn't matter a bit how you divide responsibility in your home. Maybe your full-time job is the house and the kids. Maybe you work outside the home and your partner manages the home front. Maybe you both do both. That's not the point. The point is, whatever your personal situation, you should be equal to your partner, period.
I totally get why single women, college age women and anyone else who's "out there looking" might spend the extra time getting dolled up to go to someplace as simple as the mall. But the rest of us? Why do we do it? Because for so long, men said we had to. And so much worse than that is now that women are, by all accounts, equal to men, and appearance is no longer the only available criteria on which to "judge our worth," we're still doing it to ourselves. We are perpetuating it! It stopped being about impressing the men and it became about impressing the other women. Sad, isn't it?
Here's how I see it. It's all about perspective, right? The next time you see a woman in sweats and a baseball cap in a public place, erase this thought: Wow, do you see what she's wearing? That's the best she could do? Instead, replace it with this one: Wow, there's a lady so confident in herself that she can wear sweats to the mall and not even care. She doesn't have to impress anyone.
Better yet, let's declare May to be "sweatpants and ponytails in public" month. Yes, you heard me. Instead of getting dressed up to go out to someplace that really doesn't matter anyway, let's throw on a pair of sweats, maybe a baseball cap, and stop trying to out-do each other. The first time might be difficult and you'll feel uncomfortable when you first see another woman who's all dolled up. But remember -- she's only dolled up to impress you, and you don't care!
Wednesday, April 4, 2007
Manishevitz Hangover
Ever get home from shopping for all of those things you just just had to have and suddenly regret your lack of willpower? Or get your credit card bill at the end of the month and feel like you've been punched in the stomach? What have I done? What possessed me to spend this much money? How am I going to pay for this stuff? Some people call it "buyer's remorse." I call it the "Manishevitz Hangover."
I have a "blended" marriage. I'm a Christian and my husband is Jewish. Being in a blended marriage means (among other, much more complicated things) lots of holidays to celebrate. The good news is that we never have to fight over who to spend Christmas with. His parents get Thanksgiving, mine get Christmas. His mom hosts the Passover Seder, I host Easter dinner. All in all, not a bad deal, and my kids get to learn about a lot of different traditions.
Every year at Passover, my mother-in-law brings out a bottle of Manishevitz wine. If you've never had it, it's Kosher wine (means it was blessed by a Rabbi) and it is very sweet. Pour about 47 sugar packets into a glass of regular white wine and you'll get Manishevitz. I've never had more than 1 glass at any given time, but I really do like this wine.
A friend of mine (who is not Jewish) works at a liquor store and was asking me how long Passover was, so she would know how much Kosher wine to order. I told her to try the Manishevitz, but not too much, as I can only imagine the hangover that could result from not only the alcohol, but the very high sugar content. Sounds like a bad combination to me!
So I'm thinking about this wine, and how much I like it, and how easy it might be to drink a lot of it. Why don't I? Why do I always stop at 1 glass when it tastes so good? It's because I'm scared of the hangover. Sure, I've been hungover before in my early 20's... but the Manishevitz Hangover? At my age? No, thanks.
Hhhmmm.... am I being a chicken? Missing out on something I really like because I'm scared of the consquences? When I'm not even all that sure about the consequences. Maybe Manishevitz has a very low alcohol content and I wouldn't even get a buzz. Maybe if I slept long enough after, I'd feel fine in the morning. What else am I missing out on because I'm scared of the unknown?
There have been plenty of times in my life that I could have missed an amazing opportunity if I'd allowed my "what if" fears to take over. For example, my husband and I (he was my fiance at the time) used to live on Long Island (New York). A friend from work invited us to spend New Year's Eve 2000 (1999 into 2000) at a restaurant she had rented out in Times Square. In New York City, watching the ball drop, in person, for the millennium. Wow! My fiance/husband couldn't wait. Me? Scared out of my mind! Remember, this was back before 9/11, when everyone thought the terrorists would attack at the stroke of midnight for Y2K. Be right there in the middle of it? No, thank you. But alas, my fiance/husband convinced me that it was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, one I'd never see again and hey, if the world was indeed going to end, at least we'd go together, with smiles on our faces. So, I went. Clearly, the world did not end, and I can't believe I even considered missing it. I'm thankful I didn't let my fear win on that one.
Fast forward a few years and now my husband and I live in South Florida. We have good jobs with decent incomes. Certainly far from rich, but nowhere near "just scraping by." We work hard for everything we have and certainly aren't in need of anything. We're very "middle" middle class. Yet when I drive down the road and see all the "New Homes Starting in the $600's" signs, or see the neighbor's new Mercedes SUV, I sometimes can't help wondering what we're doing wrong. We have good jobs, are financially responsible, yet we can't afford any of that stuff that everybody else seems to be able to get so easily. What's wrong with us???
I read a statistic that in 2005, the average American had a savings rate of -.5% per year. Yes, negative savings. That means that the average American spends more than he earns. How do you spend more than you have? Well, you either win the lottery, dip into your savings account, or buy things you can't really afford on credit.
I know (because I've been there myself) that sometimes, you have to buy things you can't pay for at the time -- gas, groceries, emergency root canal, clothes for a job interview. I'm not talking about these situations or these people. I'm talking about the people who have a choice.
I'm venturing to guess that a lot of these "average" Americans are buying things they don't need on credit. I'm guilty of this, too. Another pair of black shoes, the Venti size coffee, clothes my kids don't really need. Here's the thing, though... need or not, practical or not, I never buy something unless I know I can pay for it... and when I can pay for it. Period. Yes, I'm fortunate to be in this situation, I know not everyone is. But if I wasn't? You can better believe the shoes, the Venti and the clothes would stay right there at the shopping mall.
Add to this the housing market which has cooled off recently and the record number of foreclosures, especially here in Florida. Why? Because people bought houses they couldn't afford, or took out an interest-only loan and now they can't make the payments. They're left with nothing but an ugly credit report. Did they need the 5 bedroom house with a pool, or would a 3 bedroom have suited their needs? Did they need a Mercedes SUV, or would a Honda have done the same job?
What I don't understand is why people (the ones who do have a choice) indulge in things they can't afford. Why they drink the entire bottle of Manishevitz, sweet and smooth as it is, when there's surely a hangover on the way in the morning?
My husband and I often discuss this, and if maybe it's us that's wrong. Maybe we'd be a whole lot happier if we just "lived the good life" and bought whatever we wanted. Why not drive a Lexus instead of a Honda? Why not upgrade to the 5 bedroom house instead of the 4? Why not take fancy vacations and wear designer clothes instead of counting every penny and making sure we're putting money into our 401k's every week? Wouldn't we have a lot more fun? You only live once, right? Why can't we just loosen up and enjoy it? Why? I'll tell you why... we're scared of the consequences. Scared that we'll get into debt we can't recover from. Scared that we'll still be working when we're 70. Scared that our kids will have to pick up the pieces. Scared that one more glass of that Manishevitz and we'll wake up one day with the reality of a killer hangover.
This is not to say I'm a penny-pinching tight-wad. Far from it. I try to balance "responsible" with "makes me happy." But the things that make me happy include buying $3/yard fabric at Walmart that I may or may not ever sew into something useful, or picking out matching clothes at Target for my girls that they may or may not wear more than once. For my husband, it's his high-definition cable and Disney DVDs for the kids. We know what our "means" are and we choose "stuff that makes us happy" that falls within that range. Are we short-changing ourselves? Missing out on happiness? Maybe.
What's the right way to go when it comes to indulgence? Live for the moment, or live for the future? If you're talking about dark chocolate, I'll live for the moment every single time -- I'll worry about my waistline another day. But if you're talking about my money? I'm not so sure of the answer.
What's the moral of the story? There isn't one. Everyone makes this choice for himself. Maybe I'm right, maybe I'm wrong. Maybe my philosophy will change, who knows? I guess only time will tell. Would I like another glass of Manishevitz while I wait? No, thanks, the first one was plenty.
I have a "blended" marriage. I'm a Christian and my husband is Jewish. Being in a blended marriage means (among other, much more complicated things) lots of holidays to celebrate. The good news is that we never have to fight over who to spend Christmas with. His parents get Thanksgiving, mine get Christmas. His mom hosts the Passover Seder, I host Easter dinner. All in all, not a bad deal, and my kids get to learn about a lot of different traditions.
Every year at Passover, my mother-in-law brings out a bottle of Manishevitz wine. If you've never had it, it's Kosher wine (means it was blessed by a Rabbi) and it is very sweet. Pour about 47 sugar packets into a glass of regular white wine and you'll get Manishevitz. I've never had more than 1 glass at any given time, but I really do like this wine.
A friend of mine (who is not Jewish) works at a liquor store and was asking me how long Passover was, so she would know how much Kosher wine to order. I told her to try the Manishevitz, but not too much, as I can only imagine the hangover that could result from not only the alcohol, but the very high sugar content. Sounds like a bad combination to me!
So I'm thinking about this wine, and how much I like it, and how easy it might be to drink a lot of it. Why don't I? Why do I always stop at 1 glass when it tastes so good? It's because I'm scared of the hangover. Sure, I've been hungover before in my early 20's... but the Manishevitz Hangover? At my age? No, thanks.
Hhhmmm.... am I being a chicken? Missing out on something I really like because I'm scared of the consquences? When I'm not even all that sure about the consequences. Maybe Manishevitz has a very low alcohol content and I wouldn't even get a buzz. Maybe if I slept long enough after, I'd feel fine in the morning. What else am I missing out on because I'm scared of the unknown?
There have been plenty of times in my life that I could have missed an amazing opportunity if I'd allowed my "what if" fears to take over. For example, my husband and I (he was my fiance at the time) used to live on Long Island (New York). A friend from work invited us to spend New Year's Eve 2000 (1999 into 2000) at a restaurant she had rented out in Times Square. In New York City, watching the ball drop, in person, for the millennium. Wow! My fiance/husband couldn't wait. Me? Scared out of my mind! Remember, this was back before 9/11, when everyone thought the terrorists would attack at the stroke of midnight for Y2K. Be right there in the middle of it? No, thank you. But alas, my fiance/husband convinced me that it was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, one I'd never see again and hey, if the world was indeed going to end, at least we'd go together, with smiles on our faces. So, I went. Clearly, the world did not end, and I can't believe I even considered missing it. I'm thankful I didn't let my fear win on that one.
Fast forward a few years and now my husband and I live in South Florida. We have good jobs with decent incomes. Certainly far from rich, but nowhere near "just scraping by." We work hard for everything we have and certainly aren't in need of anything. We're very "middle" middle class. Yet when I drive down the road and see all the "New Homes Starting in the $600's" signs, or see the neighbor's new Mercedes SUV, I sometimes can't help wondering what we're doing wrong. We have good jobs, are financially responsible, yet we can't afford any of that stuff that everybody else seems to be able to get so easily. What's wrong with us???
I read a statistic that in 2005, the average American had a savings rate of -.5% per year. Yes, negative savings. That means that the average American spends more than he earns. How do you spend more than you have? Well, you either win the lottery, dip into your savings account, or buy things you can't really afford on credit.
I know (because I've been there myself) that sometimes, you have to buy things you can't pay for at the time -- gas, groceries, emergency root canal, clothes for a job interview. I'm not talking about these situations or these people. I'm talking about the people who have a choice.
I'm venturing to guess that a lot of these "average" Americans are buying things they don't need on credit. I'm guilty of this, too. Another pair of black shoes, the Venti size coffee, clothes my kids don't really need. Here's the thing, though... need or not, practical or not, I never buy something unless I know I can pay for it... and when I can pay for it. Period. Yes, I'm fortunate to be in this situation, I know not everyone is. But if I wasn't? You can better believe the shoes, the Venti and the clothes would stay right there at the shopping mall.
Add to this the housing market which has cooled off recently and the record number of foreclosures, especially here in Florida. Why? Because people bought houses they couldn't afford, or took out an interest-only loan and now they can't make the payments. They're left with nothing but an ugly credit report. Did they need the 5 bedroom house with a pool, or would a 3 bedroom have suited their needs? Did they need a Mercedes SUV, or would a Honda have done the same job?
What I don't understand is why people (the ones who do have a choice) indulge in things they can't afford. Why they drink the entire bottle of Manishevitz, sweet and smooth as it is, when there's surely a hangover on the way in the morning?
My husband and I often discuss this, and if maybe it's us that's wrong. Maybe we'd be a whole lot happier if we just "lived the good life" and bought whatever we wanted. Why not drive a Lexus instead of a Honda? Why not upgrade to the 5 bedroom house instead of the 4? Why not take fancy vacations and wear designer clothes instead of counting every penny and making sure we're putting money into our 401k's every week? Wouldn't we have a lot more fun? You only live once, right? Why can't we just loosen up and enjoy it? Why? I'll tell you why... we're scared of the consequences. Scared that we'll get into debt we can't recover from. Scared that we'll still be working when we're 70. Scared that our kids will have to pick up the pieces. Scared that one more glass of that Manishevitz and we'll wake up one day with the reality of a killer hangover.
This is not to say I'm a penny-pinching tight-wad. Far from it. I try to balance "responsible" with "makes me happy." But the things that make me happy include buying $3/yard fabric at Walmart that I may or may not ever sew into something useful, or picking out matching clothes at Target for my girls that they may or may not wear more than once. For my husband, it's his high-definition cable and Disney DVDs for the kids. We know what our "means" are and we choose "stuff that makes us happy" that falls within that range. Are we short-changing ourselves? Missing out on happiness? Maybe.
What's the right way to go when it comes to indulgence? Live for the moment, or live for the future? If you're talking about dark chocolate, I'll live for the moment every single time -- I'll worry about my waistline another day. But if you're talking about my money? I'm not so sure of the answer.
What's the moral of the story? There isn't one. Everyone makes this choice for himself. Maybe I'm right, maybe I'm wrong. Maybe my philosophy will change, who knows? I guess only time will tell. Would I like another glass of Manishevitz while I wait? No, thanks, the first one was plenty.
Dirt under my rug
Like most houses in South Florida, my downstairs flooring is all tile. It's a beautiful big tile, a nice textured-looking beige color, laid on an angle. My husband and I painstakingly picked it out ourselves when we built the house. When we first moved in, we were so proud of our beautiful floor. Gosh, we'd done good!
Alas, it's four years, two kids and a black dog later. Furniture, a pack-n-play, exersaucer, baby swing, pink princess kitchen set and tons of other toys have covered most of this beautiful floor. It's changed (in my mind, anyway) from a "thing of beauty" to "one more thing I can't keep clean." Big messes (my husband lost a fight with a can of powdered chocolate Ovaltine a few weeks ago, I often tip over the can of coffee grounds) or anything that will attract those famous Florida ants (spilled milk, dog food, cookie crumbs) tends to get cleaned up right away. But the dog hair, dust, smaller amounts of sand and grass... they tend to linger until they accumulate into a "big" mess worthy of a true cleaning.
This past weekend, my husband and I did one of our least favorite chores... we moved all the toys and furniture, swept and vacuumed the whole place and then mopped all the tile. Teamwork, yes, and it goes much quicker. But still, I have a very long list of other things I'd rather be doing on a Saturday afternoon.
This morning I was running late to work (no surprise there) and I decided to move some laundry from on top of the washing machine into an actual laundry basket. Turned one of my 3-year-old's pink socks right side out and watched a pile of sand and grass land on my beautiful, clean tile. OK, messes happen, but we just cleaned this floor! I was torn -- it's not really a "big" mess (do I clean it up now?), but it's larger than a "small mess" (do I leave it for next time?). It's a medium mess, just big enough so that the next person who walks through the laundry room could easily drag it through the house, or add their own little mess to it, making it a "big" mess. What do I do with that?
My brilliant solution, given my time constraints? I grabbed a broom, lifed up the little mat in the laundry room, and swept the dirt underneath. Voila! No more mess! So I'm thinking as I do this, "Great solution, Kat! The mess is gone, it's out of the way, no one knows it's there but you and you can clean it up next time you do the floors." Perfect, right? But then I started thinking, "I wonder how much dirt I can sweep under this rug before the rug stops laying flat on the floor... until someone else realizes it's there... until my husband catches on that I took the 'lazy way' out and just hid what I could have easily cleaned up."
The dirt under the rug isn't hurting anyone, right? It's just a little dirt. But how unfair is it if my husband (who is a great partner around the house, and is just as likely as I am to be the one who cleans the floors next) is the one who has to clean it up? Why should he have to clean up the mess, when I could have taken care of it so easily myself? What if the pile of dirt gets a little too big, and my 3-year-old trips on the mat because there's a bump? Why should she get hurt because I've swept dirt under the rug? My house looks clean now, yes, but I know the dirt is there. Will I forget all about it? When will I come back to clean it up? Will I obsess over it? Will I tell people they can't come in, for fear of finding the mess, or will I let people into my house and pretend it's just not there, letting them belive my house is really clean?
This little bit of dirt that I swept under the rug this morning got me thinking... what other "messes" do we sweep under the rug? What else do we hide from others -- for whatever reason -- that we may or may not ever come back to clean up? Is that fair to ourselves, to our family, our friends? Here's what I mean...
I was in an auto accident a few months ago, rear-ended by a big pick-up truck on my way to work. My car was totaled but thank God, my 8-month-old daughter (who was in the back seat) and I were not hurt. "Hurt" or not, though, my mind had a really hard time dealing with it. The "what if's" kept going through my mind... What if I had been in our smaller car? What if my daughter was injured? What if I was trapped in the car and couldn't get to her? What if next time it's a semi and not a pickup that hits us? I was making myself crazy, wasn't sleeping, and was in pretty bad shape. But ask me about the accident? "I'm fine! We're both fine!" Dirt under my rug.
This went on for about a week, and I kept sweeping the thoughts, the sleeplessness, the nervousness under the rug. Looking in, my house was perfectly clean. But if you moved my rug? Watch out! Of course, my husband moved the rug first. (I guess he knew where to look!) He saw my dirt, he encouraged me to try to clean it up, offered to help with the mess... talk about it, see a counselor, something. But I didn't need to clean it up, he's the only other one who knew it was there, and I didn't have the energy to face that mess.
A few nights later, I had a nightmare that something happened to my 3-year-old. She's not the one who was in the car with me, but this is where my fearful mind was taking me. I jumped out of bed and ran into her room to make sure she was OK. I woke her up by accident. "Mommy, I'm tired." OK, maybe my mess wasn't "hurting" her, but it was impacting her in some way. So now my husband found the dirt under the rug, my daughter was about to trip on the rug, yet all this time I was OK keeping the dirt there, because my house looked clean.
I ended up opening up to some dear friends of mine, asking for prayers. I received overwhelming love and support and encouragement. I went to see a counselor. Slowly but surely, I was able to sweep the dirt back out from under my rug and begin the process to clean it up. Let's be real... there is still dirt there, it'll take a long time to get rid of it all. But allowing my family and friends to see my mess, my dirty house, was the only way I was going to get this particular mess cleaned up. It was hard for me to do that, but sometimes, it's the only fair thing to do -- fair to ourselves, and fair to the people who might get hurt tripping on our hidden dirt or have to clean it up for us later.
What's under your rug? What's the "small stuff" that can stay there until the next time you clean? What's the "big stuff" that's going to trip up someone else if you leave it there? What's the "medium sized stuff" that may be OK on it's own, but will accummulate very quickly into "big stuff" if you let too much of it pile up?
I've got lots of "stuff" (all sizes) under my rug.... some of it I put there on purpose, some of it I didn't. Some of it I know is there, some of it I may have forgotten about. I guess the only way to find out is to lift up the rug and look. After all, couldn't we all use a good Spring cleaning?
Alas, it's four years, two kids and a black dog later. Furniture, a pack-n-play, exersaucer, baby swing, pink princess kitchen set and tons of other toys have covered most of this beautiful floor. It's changed (in my mind, anyway) from a "thing of beauty" to "one more thing I can't keep clean." Big messes (my husband lost a fight with a can of powdered chocolate Ovaltine a few weeks ago, I often tip over the can of coffee grounds) or anything that will attract those famous Florida ants (spilled milk, dog food, cookie crumbs) tends to get cleaned up right away. But the dog hair, dust, smaller amounts of sand and grass... they tend to linger until they accumulate into a "big" mess worthy of a true cleaning.
This past weekend, my husband and I did one of our least favorite chores... we moved all the toys and furniture, swept and vacuumed the whole place and then mopped all the tile. Teamwork, yes, and it goes much quicker. But still, I have a very long list of other things I'd rather be doing on a Saturday afternoon.
This morning I was running late to work (no surprise there) and I decided to move some laundry from on top of the washing machine into an actual laundry basket. Turned one of my 3-year-old's pink socks right side out and watched a pile of sand and grass land on my beautiful, clean tile. OK, messes happen, but we just cleaned this floor! I was torn -- it's not really a "big" mess (do I clean it up now?), but it's larger than a "small mess" (do I leave it for next time?). It's a medium mess, just big enough so that the next person who walks through the laundry room could easily drag it through the house, or add their own little mess to it, making it a "big" mess. What do I do with that?
My brilliant solution, given my time constraints? I grabbed a broom, lifed up the little mat in the laundry room, and swept the dirt underneath. Voila! No more mess! So I'm thinking as I do this, "Great solution, Kat! The mess is gone, it's out of the way, no one knows it's there but you and you can clean it up next time you do the floors." Perfect, right? But then I started thinking, "I wonder how much dirt I can sweep under this rug before the rug stops laying flat on the floor... until someone else realizes it's there... until my husband catches on that I took the 'lazy way' out and just hid what I could have easily cleaned up."
The dirt under the rug isn't hurting anyone, right? It's just a little dirt. But how unfair is it if my husband (who is a great partner around the house, and is just as likely as I am to be the one who cleans the floors next) is the one who has to clean it up? Why should he have to clean up the mess, when I could have taken care of it so easily myself? What if the pile of dirt gets a little too big, and my 3-year-old trips on the mat because there's a bump? Why should she get hurt because I've swept dirt under the rug? My house looks clean now, yes, but I know the dirt is there. Will I forget all about it? When will I come back to clean it up? Will I obsess over it? Will I tell people they can't come in, for fear of finding the mess, or will I let people into my house and pretend it's just not there, letting them belive my house is really clean?
This little bit of dirt that I swept under the rug this morning got me thinking... what other "messes" do we sweep under the rug? What else do we hide from others -- for whatever reason -- that we may or may not ever come back to clean up? Is that fair to ourselves, to our family, our friends? Here's what I mean...
I was in an auto accident a few months ago, rear-ended by a big pick-up truck on my way to work. My car was totaled but thank God, my 8-month-old daughter (who was in the back seat) and I were not hurt. "Hurt" or not, though, my mind had a really hard time dealing with it. The "what if's" kept going through my mind... What if I had been in our smaller car? What if my daughter was injured? What if I was trapped in the car and couldn't get to her? What if next time it's a semi and not a pickup that hits us? I was making myself crazy, wasn't sleeping, and was in pretty bad shape. But ask me about the accident? "I'm fine! We're both fine!" Dirt under my rug.
This went on for about a week, and I kept sweeping the thoughts, the sleeplessness, the nervousness under the rug. Looking in, my house was perfectly clean. But if you moved my rug? Watch out! Of course, my husband moved the rug first. (I guess he knew where to look!) He saw my dirt, he encouraged me to try to clean it up, offered to help with the mess... talk about it, see a counselor, something. But I didn't need to clean it up, he's the only other one who knew it was there, and I didn't have the energy to face that mess.
A few nights later, I had a nightmare that something happened to my 3-year-old. She's not the one who was in the car with me, but this is where my fearful mind was taking me. I jumped out of bed and ran into her room to make sure she was OK. I woke her up by accident. "Mommy, I'm tired." OK, maybe my mess wasn't "hurting" her, but it was impacting her in some way. So now my husband found the dirt under the rug, my daughter was about to trip on the rug, yet all this time I was OK keeping the dirt there, because my house looked clean.
I ended up opening up to some dear friends of mine, asking for prayers. I received overwhelming love and support and encouragement. I went to see a counselor. Slowly but surely, I was able to sweep the dirt back out from under my rug and begin the process to clean it up. Let's be real... there is still dirt there, it'll take a long time to get rid of it all. But allowing my family and friends to see my mess, my dirty house, was the only way I was going to get this particular mess cleaned up. It was hard for me to do that, but sometimes, it's the only fair thing to do -- fair to ourselves, and fair to the people who might get hurt tripping on our hidden dirt or have to clean it up for us later.
What's under your rug? What's the "small stuff" that can stay there until the next time you clean? What's the "big stuff" that's going to trip up someone else if you leave it there? What's the "medium sized stuff" that may be OK on it's own, but will accummulate very quickly into "big stuff" if you let too much of it pile up?
I've got lots of "stuff" (all sizes) under my rug.... some of it I put there on purpose, some of it I didn't. Some of it I know is there, some of it I may have forgotten about. I guess the only way to find out is to lift up the rug and look. After all, couldn't we all use a good Spring cleaning?
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