Outsourced. It's an easy word to say, comprehend even. It's a hard word to grasp in concept, you know...when you've been the Outsourcee. I find myself quickly approaching the first anniversary of my Outsourcedness. It's a strange matter.
Like the 12 steps of AA, Outsourcing takes you through a myriad of emotions: anger, bitterness, numbness, and, if you're lucky...hope.
I found the hope in my new found job as Domestic CEO. I made a choice to tackle that like I tackle most everything in my way in life; with zest and fervor (truly, the only thing I may love more than tackling is headbutting - but that's a whole different story). I hoped [there it is again] that this would be the best job of my life, and with all things, I like succeeding so I gave it my all. I cleaned my house as if I was possessed. I repaired things. I remodeled. I grew tomatoes.
Tomatoes. Yes?
No. Whooooooa, no.
A friend gave me hope [oh boy!] that I too, could have a garden. "Let's start small," I said. "I've killed everything I've grown except my husband and kids to date." I took a class. I ran to various stores to purchase supplies. I threw some seeds in peat and put them on my porch in the glorious sunlight to thrive and be fruitful.
They were rotated. And watered ["BE CAREFUL NOT TO OVERWATER!" I told myself]. And then, sweet Baby Jesus...they grew! AND GREW! I took pictures. I texted friends. I believe, I posted it in social media. I was proud. In the back of my mind I spit on my Outsourcer, "Let me go, will you? I'll show you how miraculous I am...I'm growing tomatoes!"
It came time to transfer my seedlings into my containers. I mixed soils and composts and fertilizers in my garage. I readied my containers with love and care. I chose their new homes with precision and calculation - paying heed that the deer that love my yard would not get to them. Moving day came and went. ...And so did my babies.
Everyday I would check them. "They're not growing." I'd water them. I'd beg them. I scoured the internet and books from the library to see what I'd done wrong. "...they're...not...growing..."
"No, No, NO! This can't be happening." After all, I had hope.
And as the days passed into those first crucial weeks, my hope, like those poor, poor tomato souls - died. The day I had the strength to pronounce their death, my neighbor witnessed something horrifying. He stood behind me for God knows how long, and watched as I swore at my failed attempt at gardening. He watched me beg, and I think I heard his snort when I finally offered them money and/or drugs if they. just. grew. I kicked their bucket - literally, not figuratively or metaphorically - and stomped away.
I let go of hope of homemade ketchup and spaghetti sauce and salsa and pizza sauce and fresh Caprese salads. I pouted. I. Was. Hopeless.
That is, until this Christmas. I gave my husband a composter. And my friend tells me, "Your tomatoes are going to LOVE his compost. You can do it this year...I know you can!" ...and I purchased some seeds.
Friday, February 6, 2015
Thursday, October 23, 2014
The Best Hugs Ever
Yesterday, I had a moment...as I watched a video about Moms. It was voiced over by a small child stating, "SHHHH! My mom is sleeping. She's very tired..." It went on to tout all the things this child understands that their mom did for them. It was bittersweet, and heartbreaking; and I cried. I cried a lot.
I cried because I too fall asleep when they practice piano. I too, am so very tired that I feel it in my bones. But mostly I cried because I'm terribly afraid my children would not say these things about me, were they to be asked.
Maybe my expectations on myself as a SAHM are a bit harsh. I make most of our meals from scratch, and with love. Never is someone without their favorite article of clothing because it is dirty. My home is always tidy. I tell each child I'm proud of them and that I love them every single day...and yet; I feel it's not enough. That I'm failing. That somehow I'm ruining them. And that I'm alone, because, well mainly; other moms don't sit around discussing their shortcomings or that they have the same plights.
And maybe they do.
I have little patience with my own children. I yell too much. I repeat myself at the cost of sounding like a broken record of nagging sounds. Play dates are few and far between. I'm victim to overusing my "Later Card" (always telling them I'll have time to do whatever they're asking about "later"). I'm always distracted because I need to do this, this or that.
And maybe other moms sit down at the end of their day and feel defeated too.
...and every time I notice myself doing (or not doing, as it were) all of these things, or having these thoughts, I stop and say, "I'm going to do better today." My daily struggle.
So, today, I'm not doing the dishes on my own. And I'll not make a kid do them as their chore. Instead I'll ask for someone to help me, and while they do, we'll talk about their friends. Not school. Not how their day went - but about their friends that I rarely ask about.
Today, I'm not going to make dinner on my own. I'll ask for a different child to help me prepare it, and while we do I'll pinch their little butt and tell them how big they're getting and how beautiful/handsome they are, and that I'll really miss the days they're too grown up to butt-pinch any more.
And today, I'm not going to yell. Even if they're doing something incredibly mean, or stupid, or wrong. Instead I'll walk over and just hug them so tight it hurts them to breathe. ...and when they ask what that was for, I'll respond that they must have needed a hug because they seem upset. And maybe, just maybe there will be a little less yelling in here today.
And hopefully, no matter how remotely, I'll succeed at one or more of these things and at the end of the day when everyone is tucked in; I won't feel like a miserable failure. And maybe, just maybe someone will ask my kids about me and they'll respond, "My mom? Yeah, she's crazy but she tries real hard and loves me & gives me the best hugs ever."
I cried because I too fall asleep when they practice piano. I too, am so very tired that I feel it in my bones. But mostly I cried because I'm terribly afraid my children would not say these things about me, were they to be asked.
Maybe my expectations on myself as a SAHM are a bit harsh. I make most of our meals from scratch, and with love. Never is someone without their favorite article of clothing because it is dirty. My home is always tidy. I tell each child I'm proud of them and that I love them every single day...and yet; I feel it's not enough. That I'm failing. That somehow I'm ruining them. And that I'm alone, because, well mainly; other moms don't sit around discussing their shortcomings or that they have the same plights.
And maybe they do.
I have little patience with my own children. I yell too much. I repeat myself at the cost of sounding like a broken record of nagging sounds. Play dates are few and far between. I'm victim to overusing my "Later Card" (always telling them I'll have time to do whatever they're asking about "later"). I'm always distracted because I need to do this, this or that.
And maybe other moms sit down at the end of their day and feel defeated too.
...and every time I notice myself doing (or not doing, as it were) all of these things, or having these thoughts, I stop and say, "I'm going to do better today." My daily struggle.
So, today, I'm not doing the dishes on my own. And I'll not make a kid do them as their chore. Instead I'll ask for someone to help me, and while they do, we'll talk about their friends. Not school. Not how their day went - but about their friends that I rarely ask about.
Today, I'm not going to make dinner on my own. I'll ask for a different child to help me prepare it, and while we do I'll pinch their little butt and tell them how big they're getting and how beautiful/handsome they are, and that I'll really miss the days they're too grown up to butt-pinch any more.
And today, I'm not going to yell. Even if they're doing something incredibly mean, or stupid, or wrong. Instead I'll walk over and just hug them so tight it hurts them to breathe. ...and when they ask what that was for, I'll respond that they must have needed a hug because they seem upset. And maybe, just maybe there will be a little less yelling in here today.
And hopefully, no matter how remotely, I'll succeed at one or more of these things and at the end of the day when everyone is tucked in; I won't feel like a miserable failure. And maybe, just maybe someone will ask my kids about me and they'll respond, "My mom? Yeah, she's crazy but she tries real hard and loves me & gives me the best hugs ever."
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