I Don't Wanna Work...

An oldie from 2006 as well

I have worked since I was 16 years old. That's 27 [update: 32] years. Not alot, but pretty good, but I'm burnt out. I want to be in a financial situation where I can simply... "be"...

BE with my kid
BE interested... in anything
BE involved... with my son's school or with some philanthropic endeavors
BE awake... get real, stress-free sleep
BE organized
BE able to make my jewelry again, for fun...not money [I'm not that good]
BE carefree
BE political
BE a family...

just BE...

Okay, I am converting to Taoism... (picks up the Tao of Pooh)...

Yep, ok... that makes sense to me... right now.

Oh, yeah, I forgot one thing... I NEED THE MONEY I'M MAKING.
Wish it wasn't true, but it is. I actually need to make money to help my family meet it's needs. If I knew then what I know now, I would have enjoyed the HELL outta my teens at the time.

When you think about it, you don't have to work when you don't realize how great that is, or when you're too old to enjoy it! How fucked up is that! The best years you've got, you spend working 9-5, 5 days a week [translation: 8:30-5, leave, pick up the kid, get dinner over, do kid's homework, get kid to bed, work from 8-10 at home... you get the idea.] Then you try to jam everything you WANTED and still NEED to do, into the weekends and evenings.

I've thought about simplifying... you know, paring down on the things you buy... spending more time couponing or buying less... all GREAT in theory... but for a woman who walks through a store and "picks up" $150 dollars worth of "Ooooo they'd like that" JUNK... it's not reasonable.

I don't want to work anymore... but I have to... and I will... and when I retire, I better be in HALFway decent shape... so I can enjoy the life I have left!

Dammit.

If I Won The Lottery...

Tonight, the Powerball is worth $120MM... a $62.6MM cash payout...and I, as do others, have often thought about what I would spend that money on, if I won.

Clearly Alex is ready for a wealthy life.

Before spending anything, I would call  my husband, letting him know we had just reduced our worries by ALOT. My second call would be to our family accountant, asking, "WHAT the HECK do I do!?!?"

When we did get the payout, I have a few things I'd like to do:

1. Payoff ALL our debt, and payoff the condo.
2. Give every immediate member of my family a $10K gift and tell them to go play! (repeat every year)
3. Buy a house, with a yard, in a neighborhood with other kids around.
4. Set up a college fund and trust for Alex.
5. Set up a philanthropy that would help others. One cause close to my heart is helping homeless families get back on their feet, but there would be alot of options for this organization I'd like to explore.
6. Give the Annoyance $100K to use as they see fit.
7. Give the Off-the-Street Club $100K to use for a library or scholarships...in my mom's name.
8. Put our friend (and Alex's nanny for many years), Suzie through school. Give her enough money that she doesn't have to worry about bills, food and other things... and just finished college and become the juvenile parole officer she wants to become.
9. Go back to school to become a teacher/school counselor.
10. Help set up elder-care for my grandmother, Alan's mom, my dad & my step-mom, my aunt  and other members of my family in need.
11. A family vacation, with friends too, to Orlando... all-inclusive... all the bells and whistles.
12. A vacation for me and the hubby... where? I have no idea! When all the options are available... it's hard to pick one.
13. A series of donations to organizations close to my hearts: Lung Run (for lung cancer research), ArfHouse Chicago, Breast Cancer Research, Men of Movember, and more.

It would really be something to be debt free... and Alex's future, funded! :)

Life Can Be A Cliche

There's a reason for cliches... they're cliches because they are, more often than not, true.

Examples:

"What doesn't kill you, makes you stronger"
"Time heals all wounds"
"Growing like a weed"
"All work and no play, makes Jack a dull boy" (or according to Stephen King, a psychotic killer)
"Asleep at the wheel"
"Better than a kick in the teeth"
"Busy as a one-legged man in an ass (butt) kicking contest"
"Take a picture, it will last longer" (see... true, right?)
"Time flies when you're having fun"
"Two wrongs don't make a right"

And on... and on....

But there's a reason they exist... because on some level they are true... if you google "cliches", you get some great sites, and even more little pearls of wisdom disguised as word play.

One of my favorites was a Samuel Clemens (Mark Twain) quote:
"If you never tell a lie, you never have to remember what you said."

Ain't that the truth... and ya know... "truth is stranger than fiction"

So, don't sit there "twiddling your thumbs!" "Live each day as if it were your last," and get out there and "Play for the name on the front of your jersey, not the name on the back of your jersey". Because "You don't miss the water till the well runs dry" if "you snooze, you loose." So, "go for broke"... "a good beginning, makes a good ending"... "make no bones about it" "you got it coming to you... 'grab the bull by the horns" because "opportunity doesn't knock twice."

Aging Sucks

Another old Myspace blog from 2007, that still has a "point."

Well, my grandfather would have said "getting old stinks," because his generation didn't use "suck" with the elegance of my generation. He lived to be 92. When he died, it was in a nursing home, he couldn't see, couldn't hear, had a staph infection contracted during one of his many hospital stays, and couldn't eat. His mind? Still sharp as a tack.

My grandmother, currently 94, and now,
because of a series of small strokes, she's
had to go to a nursing home because she
can't walk, talk or feed herself. My aunt
goes to feed her dinner every night.

My grandmother turns 90 today. She's had 4 hip replacements, carpel tunnel, hysterectomy, and more. Her hearing is, well, limited...but there. She has macular degeneration in her eyes. Her mind? All there. She still gets around, uses her walker, but still manages to cook dinner, do the daily crossword, iron clothes and clean.

Now, at 90, you'd expect alot of these things...but aging starts MUCH younger and with less innocuous symptoms.

Tipping. What makes a man of 60 start to tip significantly less than he did when he was 40? Age? It could be failing memory. It could have been a deterioration of math skills. It could be the impending fixed income. It could be age. I'm going to assume it's the impending fixed income... I can rationalize that choice.

Patience. How can the bar you went to in your 20s, be too loud to go to in your 40s? Increased sensitivity to sound? The younger set is lounder these days? A change in the decor that makes the sound bounce and increase in volume? Getting older, and having less patience? Nope, gotta be the decor! I know it's not the hearing because I can hear my lil guy in the back of the house when he stubs his toe. I don't think the kids are louder these days (egad, I just called them "kids"...). I refuse to believe it's my "getting older" syndrome... so it MUST be the decor. Did I mention, I only go to my old haunts if I know they've been redecorated?

But lack of patience is a wide-spread aging symptom... lack of patience with servers at restaurants, attempting to cut in long lines by feigning ignorance, asking for help and then getting mad when the answer isn't the one they wanted, yelling at young people for being young.

I'm straddling that line now... at 43... of aging to a point of intolerance... or remembering how fun it was in my 20s and 30s. I'm lucky to have a 3 y.o. that keeps my foot firmly planted to the younger side of 40... but I feel the ever growing tug of the oldies side.

I know I'll always tip 20% or more... my fear is that the "customary" tip will go to 30% and no one will tell me...or my mind will fail, and I'll become the "bad tipper". I already have a low tolerance for rude behavior, but it doesn't suffer from an age bias. I think older AND younger people have become more rude. How hard is it to say "excuse me" or "please"? How hard is it to excuse someone who has asked, easier than ignorning me when I ask... I'll let you know you were rude.. ACK... another thing that comes with age. But I like to think of it as a confidence that comes with it, rather than an intolerance.

As my hip reminds me of my changing body, and my breasts rolling to the side when I lay down at night "tip" me to the fact I am aging... or the additional "laugh lines" (WRINKLES people, WRINKLES) that wink at me in the morning mirror... and the 90 y.o. grandparents I've had... I've got 50 more years ahead of me...

I intend to "age" gracefully. I'm going to create "post-it" reminders of these "behaviors" I fear of adopting... so if my mind fails, I'll have these notes... so I can become the sweet ole lady down the street, who has the great halloween candy and has her grandchildren visit her often...and help her decorate at Christmas. The woman who helped keep a neighborhood connected and together through good works, and a sweet disposition.

I'm going to make sure that MY aging, doesn't suck.

Growing Up [A post from July 13, 2006]

Just reposting from my OLD myspace page. Still holds up, but it was 5 years ago! 

So, my year of "health" has turned up many reminders that I'm getting older. And while I feel I've gotten "wiser", the old bod seems to be falling apart.

I have to laugh. It's one of those "my mother told me" moments. And it's true. If you're under 25, and reading this... and have the least little respect for your parents... BELIEVE them when they tell you about getting older, and start taking better care of yourself NOW! One line my mother used to tell me was, "lose the weight now, it's harder when you're over 40." My reaction, "uh huh, hey, can I borrow about $20 (it was the 80s... $20 went farther)"

I don't feel old. When I look in the mirror, I just think I look tired... 25 and tired. But those aren't lines from being tired, they're my age showing. My wear and tear that reveals itself in little cracks and creases when I smile.

The gray is overrunning the auburn locks that once covered my head, but in a way, I think it's cool. As I tell those who would have me color my hair, "I earned every one of these fuckers, I'm wearing them with pride."

But back to the body crumbling issue. I had put on a lot of weight, and it was NOT helping me care for a very energetic toddler... so I went on Weight Watchers. I dropped 38 pounds by Xmas. I haven't lost or gained a thing since then... but what has happened, I've gotten more active. In getting more active, I've run into more problems.

I found out, I have arthritis in my hip... and possible schlerosis or bone spurs... and I'm doing PT twice a week to try to fix my pain and limp. Then, over the 4th of July, my foot started hurting... ALOT. So, I make an appointment, get referred to a podiatrist, who tells me... I have arthritis in my foot. I have now added another chemical to my daily diet, in the form of 200mg celebrex. Yippee!!! Pretty soon I'll be riviling my grandmother's weekly pill container of morning and nightly pills, totalling about 15 a day! (sigh)

I have also developed tennis elbow, most likely from lifting 41lbs of toddler when necessary.

But I have to say, for all the physical ailments of an aging body, I wouldn't trade it for the confidence, personal growth, and (hopefully) wisdom I've gained along the way. If my choice was to return to the 5 Mile a day runner who was so insecure as to hang out and try to see if her ex-boyfriend was seeing someone else... to today... THANK GOD for who I am today... aches and pains and all!

Second Grader Poetry

My wonderful son has been learning about poetry in his 2nd grade class. Good ole mom was the subject of his 5 senses poem.

Now, Alex doesn't like to "write," because he usually feels like it has to be "right." And when it's open ended questions, or assignments like this one where he has to write his thoughts, he just freezes up. But he has a very involved teacher, who understands Alex's potential like we do and plays an active role in helping Alex over his fears.

Well, thank you, Ms. Balsley... and thank you for helping him feel comfortable enough to write his mom a poem, two days before Mother's Day. Here it is:

My Mom: Annie

I hear her being funny.
I see her brown hair.
I smell her perfume.
I taste her mac and cheese.
I touch her when she gives me hugs.

My response to my son: Alex

I hear your laughter even after you've left the room.
I see those big, brown eyes looking to me for help.
I smell that shampoo I used on your hair when you were a baby.
I taste your scrambled eggs you made me for my weekend breakfast.
I hope to touch your heart, and let you know how proud I am of you, and how much I love you.

Continuing Story of the Self-Image Misconception...

Ok, so I left off with the Wooley's, University of Cincinnati Eating Disorders Clinic and the continuing misconception that I was fat.

At the clinic, we lived there in a nearby hotel with suites. I had a roommate, and we were either in therapy or classes from 9-5. One of the classes I remember most was the "Body Image" workshops. In one workshop we had to walk up to a big piece of paper and draw an outline of how big we thought we were. Next, another girl would draw one for how big they thought you were. Then you'd back up against the paper and the leader of the workshop would trace around you. The perception of my self was about 6" all around LARGER than the actual drawing, and the outline from the other girl was smaller than my actual.

Then we did another workshop where we were talking about things that stressed us out, or saddened us or concerned us. I mentioned that my mom had been pretty depressed since we moved to the midwest, and she was lonely, and not as happy. The woman running the workshop said, "can I try something, I'm going to hold around you from behind... and I'm going to be your mom. I'd like you to just walk around the room with me on you, and talk to your mom." I laughed. The other girls laughed. "Sure! Why not," I responded.

She laid heavy on my back, and as I walked and tried to talk to her, she'd say things like, "I'm so tired," "I hate my life," "Take care of me, Ann," "I need you around, Ann." This went on for just a couple minutes, but by the end of it, I was in tears. I hadn't realized how much I was worried about my mom, and how I had internalized the idea that I had to take care of her, and I couldn't. Remember this, it's a realization that rears it's ugly head 20 years later.

More fashion faux pas, but appropriate garb at the time.
1984 on my way back to college, after the clinic.

For those of you who don't know, bulimia is more about needing at least one aspect of your life to be in your control. You control your weight. The underlying issue that showed up in almost all the girls in that group was a need to control something... anything... and weight seemed to be the easiest solution.

Well, I left there and did follow-up therapy, and returned to college. I had a little breakdown when I went on Spring Break with friends from school, to Padre Island. It was not the smartest thing I ever did. "Hey, you have issues with your weight, and you've just finished an eating disorders clinic...whatcha gonna do now?!" "I'm going to a beach filled with size 2 blondes in bikini's with hot dudes drooling over them." Yeah... not smart!

Other than that, I recovered pretty well, had the occasional mishap, but began working out regularly and eating better.

I still wasn't skinny... and I missed the protruding hip bones of my bulimic era, but I stayed the course.

I yo-yo'd in weight, fluctuating 20 lbs up or down for most of my 20s. Had one great summer where I worked out every morning and / or ran in the evening and felt the best I had in a long time. Again, wasn't skinny, but was very fit, and was happy with it. What a concept!

I was fit enough that I actually bought a bandeau top (yes, that was like a tube top, but it twisted in the middle and was MUCH cooler!) with black cotton parachute inspired pants (yeah, I know, ick) and a little black bolero jacket, a regular slave to fashion! I never would have worn this sort of outfit. When I was at my skinniest in my bulimic period, my friends couldn't get me in a miniskirt, it was just too much for me. But my self-esteem had improved enough, I was comfortable dressing like a working girl, to go out.

Now, the switch to where I started packing the pounds on began around '92 and when the first experience I had with online communities... Compuserve to be exact. I went from being a very active, outgoing woman to a "rush home and get online to talk to people I didn't "really" know, and live a soap opera style existence online."

It cost me money, friends and my positive body image. Don't get me wrong, I got a husband out of the deal, but it did take it's toll.

More to come.....