Jillibee'sness

Bored of Directors

My husband has been home for 2 months having been laid off from the job he held for 13 years. He was a director of Advice, protocol, policy and procedure at a brokerage firm. Apparently, once a director, always a director. I've been getting lots of advice and suggestions of ways to improve the policies, protocols and procedures around the house. It's vacation with an edge. We've been taking trips. He's been helping around the house. He's been carpooling and tending to the baby and adding his enriching comments to co-op discussions.

I hate helpful men. The way they breathe in and out like that. The nerve. When I write this all down, it looks like a good problem to have - too much help. It is. But it still gets on my nerves because it is new, it is different, it is not ME. (I still have not forgiven him for not being ME; a serious flaw in a husband of mine).

Apparently I too, have been laid off from my job as director of our home and home school. With all my free time, I have been thinking a lot about chaos (when I am not thinking of how to get away with murder). I think there are 2 types of people: those who think of people in just two types and all the others.

Ok, so maybe there are more than 2 types, but for the sake of this essay there are 2 types. There are those who like to organize chaos and get satisfaction from super imposing structure upon chaos and bending it to their will. They measure success in terms of what they accomplish and how that discipline prepares them for future challenges. Then there are those who like to wallow in chaos and wait for the order to emerge from the chaos. They patiently wait until they see the divine hidden structure being revealed just below the surface of the chaos. They measure success in terms of what they learn in the process of discovering the order to the chaos and how that understanding shapes their future.

I can let you guess which of these two categories I fall into. Ok, time's up. I'm the wallowing lazy slob, he's the controlling structure junkie. (Now aren't you glad I entertained the notion that there are more than 2 types of people? You don't have to identify with either).

We have been visiting the California missions. Regardless of what you think about their mission, the book I'm reading does not portray the method of the missionaries in a very favorable light. Not one to miss an opportunity to make everything all about me, I have identified with the misunderstood savages; who, like me, were existing with a structure and a spirit all their own until the structure
junkies came and made them wear pants and jump whenever a bell rang. The book I read said that the Indians thought the Spaniards smelled bad. If this keeps up too much longer, I will have to confer that I think my husband stinks too. The nerve of him, providing me with lots of colorful beads and a little time to do some beading and writing and complaining while he chaotically runs around ordering our chaos around. Doesn't he realize the virtue of wallowing in chaos? He is not enlightened but I'll try to be understanding. Insight beats self discipline any day. You don't have to break a sweat or a nail gaining insight.

Disclaimer: No marriages or husbands were harmed in the making of this essay.

Busy Buzz Buzz

One Christmas, when I was about 4 or 5 I looked up from my Sears' catalog and began a passionate campaign for the object of my desire.  I said to my parents, "I want a busy buzz buzz, I want a busy buzz buzz, I want a busy buzz buzz...  Is that a toy?"  I may not have known what it was, but I knew I wanted it.

That is exactly where I am today.  I have been saying the middle aged version of that for several years now.  I do want a busy buzz buzz even if it is not a toy.  I was incredibly wise at 4 or 5.  Somehow then, like now I suspected that what was presented to me in the marketing of that catalog, what sparked such intense passion in me, might actually not be a toy. Might be too old for me.  Might be dangerous for someone in my stage of life.  I wanted it, whatever it was, and I wanted the grown ups to confirm that it was OK to want it.  That is exactly how I feel now.

I got a busy buzz buzz that year.  I think I remember what it looked like.  I think it was a red pen with a bee face that had a battery and made squiggled lines.  You can find them at Big Lots but they aren't shaped like bees nor called by that name.  I bought them for my kids this year, even though they did not want them.  They might have given it 5 minutes of play time before they moved on to the busy buzz buzz of their soul.  One man's busy is another man's buzz buzz.

I don't have my busy buzz buzz now.  It did not significantly change my life.  It might have even led me astray.  It was not anatomically correct because the pointy "stinger" part came out of its face as I remember.  I think I remember that because of that I avoided the wrong end of a bee and got stung once or twice.  I'm not sure about that though.  Memories are like that, just ask James Frey. 

What I do know is that as insecure as I am about this stage in my life, as insecure as I feel about getting a chance to pursue some of the things I think I want, whether I get them or not, chances are they will not be what I think they are nor do what I think they'll do.  AND in 40 years if I am blessed to be alive and to have enough memory left to recall them, I won't remember which end of the thing had the stinger (though everything does have a stinger on some end or another).  Chances are, even if whatever it is I want so desperately comes to me, it will blend into all the things that surround it.  So that like my busy buzz buzz, it will have to compete with other memories of that Christmas, like how comfortable my light blue cat pajamas were and how it felt to not be allowed to eat the gum drops on the gingerbread house my sister was making.   These memories are just as clear and significant as my memory of the busy buzz buzz. 

So...should I get out of my comfortable cat pajamas and pursue my busy buzz buzz or just use the authority I now have as an adult to eat a bag of gum drops?  That really is the deeper question and the point of this story. 

Will it matter whatever I decide?  If it does, will I remember that it mattered?  If not I, then will my kids remember that it mattered (or even share my opinion about what mattered?) From what I understand if I live long enough, the memories that will remain sharpest have already happened.  So that even if I become the next Oprah I won't remember the career equivalent of her embarrassment over James Frey's lack of memory, but I will remember that my mom had little felt birds in little gold plastic bird cages all over our Christmas tree.  I will remember my dad reading us a story while all three kids could still fit on his lap and how it felt to stroke his red corduroy shirt while he was reading. And I will remember the music that was as much a part of my childhood as the ticking of the clock. 

Most of all I will remember how it felt to be allowed to want a busy buzz buzz which is almost better than getting one.  No matter what I do with my own busy buzz buzz from this point on,  I hope I can still remember that I am helping to create my children's long term memories and I hope I can also remember to honor my children's right to pursue their busy buzz buzz even if part of the way I do so is by modeling my own pursuit.  Which I plan to do just as soon as I find that grown up to tell me it will be OK.

This just In

My husband got laid off from his job last week.  They did not call it that though.  They said his department was "impacted".  Impacted as opposed to being "let go".  Interesting choice of words.  Who would think that I might blog more than once on with the metaphor of bowel function but it's s all pretty crappy no matter what you call it.  Personally I would rather let go, than be impacted.  Impacted accurately describes the anxious anticipation and eager sense that we should be doing something while feeling utterly powerless to move things along in any real meaningful sense. We certainly can't hurry this process and being nervous will only make things worse. Oh sure, there are things we can do to help make things better, but when we are finrally no longer impacted lies outside of ourselves, thankfully I believe, in the hands of God.  Maybe that is what is meant by the phrase "let go and let God".

Since I determined this blog was all about me, I won't waste any of my time telling you how my husband is doing or how his future looks.  I have been seeing this as my opportunity to try a few things with the perfect care giver in charge of my children (especially the 60 days he still receives his regular pay and benefits).  This is my chance to see if I can make a go at something without it costing my family.  A sort of 60 day trial size career with a mommy back gaurantee.  I will use 3 analogies to explain how that's going.

I feel as though I have been pulling with all my might in a tug of war (in this case, my husband's job and insane schedule being the opposing force) and the other side just let go.  At first I was elated not to have to pull so hard.  The next minute I was on my ass.

I feel like I have been a canary in a cage.  I have been staring out of my bars out the window to the beautiful blue sky, certain that given the chance I would soar among those clouds and join those beautiful birds I have been admiring from afar.  Suddenly my cage door is open and the window is open.  Instead of trying these wings, I am sitting on top of my cage and for the first time understand the risk.  What if my wings don't work?  I never thought of the ground before.  What if there is a cat on the ground?  So here I sit on top of my cage looking down through the bars, "There's my food dish.  There's my little bell" and then looking back out the window.   

On other days I am like a puppy in the park sniffing everywhere and running in circles not certain which smell to pursue first.

It is all a bit exhausting.  I have been chain eating.  (Like chain smoking).   I have been sleeping at weird times and feel like I am not sleeping at all or sleeping too much depending on whether I have just spent 4 hours awake before dawn or have just awakened from a 3 hour nap before sunrise. 

My husband is getting lots of calls of support.  Even my friends are calling and emailing him and I appreciate that.  I am looking for ways to support him too.  I told him laid off was just another way to say "laid often" and I have tried to back that up.  (Sorry to take it there if you hate that kind of thing...or even if you love it).  That's been a good perk though. Still, I feel like the calls and emails of support for me are less than I might like though not absent.   I feel like I felt while he was working and advancing his career all these years, "secondary".  I feel sort of isolated.  Part of the reason is that I am not really asking for help.  I don't know what anyone can do for me anyway.   Back to the impaction metaphor, we just have to take in good things, exercise a bit and wait for this to pass. 

So we are making lists and making plans.  I am going to be going to workshops and asking questions.  It really is an exciting time and deep down I am an optimist and always have landed on my feet before (though if I am still a canary, that won't do. This time I don't want to land on my feet).   I am just going to try not to explode nor implode as a result of this impaction.  And as they say in the Good Book (but I don't think it is in the Bible), "this too shall pass".

   

clearing up confusion

with more confusion... 

I have been getting some feedback that people think I was talking about something sexual in my earlier blahg Matrioshka fashion statements.  I swear I wasn't.  I just want all the priveleges of being a lesbian without having to go near anyone's vagina.  I'm tired of being whatever it is I think I have to be that I would not be if I did not care what men or really really good girls think.  I am sure it has something to do with being 40 and is nothing that a little leather, a little less makeup or concern that I don't wear enough makeup, a day or two without a bra..just to the grocery store...late at night..when no one is there...wearing a big coat, and maybe a tattoo won't satisfy.  Sorry to disappoint you guys.  I really really really was just talking about the clothes and the shocking statements and maybe a little freedom they seem to enjoy.

I have not logblahged in a while.  For those of you who just tuned in, tired of hearing me whining, my friend offered me $1,500 to get in shape by Christmas and I thought that was a good idea because that is what it would cost to get to my parents' house.  Problem is that was a couple of months ago and an ambitous goal for a not so ambitious gal. I am still working on getting in shape.  I have lost about half of what I wanted to lose, I have lots of ideas of why that might be but the biggest is that it was silly to link this "reward" with my desire to go home and see my parents for Christmas.  The stakes were too high and too many people (my kids, my parents) were depending on me for this. The pressure was excruciating. I also sort of dove into it without much plan or room for trial and error.  I don't want to do this for an event I want to do this forever.  So, I am going to try to extend this working on my extension thing a bit...with or without the wager.  Hopefully it will still be there by my birthday; it's a fun incentive and will be even more fun if I get to spend the money on me. Stay tuned.

I have had lots of wonderful people whom I love, arguing with me about my negative spin on myself and my daily non events.  I treasure those comments.  Don't worry though, this is sort of a game I play with myself to make my life (and the lack thereof) more interesting.  I know "everybody" feels this way from time to time.  I know that nothing I am doing or not doing is THAT important.  I know I am normal.  But I want to be special and so the way I accomplish this is by being the most unspecial and making the very normal seem abnormally awful.  So I am awfully special.  Also, I am sort of laughing at the parts that bug me or worry me so they won't have any power.  I'm telling you the truth, but in the way a caracature tells the truth.  My nose is not THAT big.  Maybe I should not have to spell this out but I just don't want anyone to worry about me.

I have not blogged much lately because I have been busy singing to herald the birth of Santa while wishing Jesus would save me from the pressure.  I did find a way to go to my Mommy's house for Christmas that did not involve chopping off a limb or donating an organ (both considered when I realized I had not kept the pace I had started through this sing-a-rama busy season of grab on the go to fill the hole eating).  Unfortunately because I am from Venus and my husband is from the credit union we miscommunicated and I wound up without he and my son on board to go too!!  The cost during the dates they can make it is so high that the star with a tail as big as a kite can't even cover it.  So, he is not going.  It turns out I have starved myself and robbed Peter to pay Paul so that I could go be with my familiy for Christmas without my family!  I don't suspect this is the last word.  I still have my hair I could cut and sell and he can sell his pocket watch (oh do tell me you know that story), but it is infuriating that although I believe Jesus saves, we do not and so every year His birthday is a big source of financial conflict for us.  My daughter is unconcerned about any of this cause her money is on Santa anyway and he always comes through for her.  Let's see if Santa has a little something for Mommy besides a kiss under the mistletoe cause I am starting to lose faith. 

Finally, if you are reading this thank you!!  Let me know!  Send it to your friends.  Make me rich and famous for being poor and anonymous so I will have nothing to write about anymore.

Love
Jill