Monday, December 27, 2010

Can't wait 'til I'm 78

Ooooh.  Woweee!  It's the 1980's around here now.  I'm cruising through the 20th century.  Vroom.  Vroom.  I got a microwave for Christmas from my mother!  I've used it 20 times in two days. I've done two hours less of dishes per day.  And instead of having my usual lunch of two fried eggs on polenta (the quickest gluten-free thing I can do around here) I've actually microwaved soup.  My anti-microwave stance started to wane in the Wenatchee McApartment which came with one.  I realized that it didn't necessarily have to reduce the quality of food we ate.  And I duly noted that the longitudinal mass-experiment has 30 years of no documented cancer connection.  So... throwing caution finally to the wind, I put it on my Christmas list! And bingo.  Mama Santa delivered!

With a little help, Huck got me the world's BEST tea pot: a cherry red ipot  It looks like it was designed by someone who actually drinks (if not grows and harvests) loose leaf tea instead of coffee.  It's got everything a girl could want and cute to boot!

The Candy Cane girls choir
Coyote was confused by his coal candy on Christmas morning.  Never mind that it was candy and it was on top of some pretty cool gadgets.  In his most disappointed tone he said, "But I was so good yesterday.  I wonder what he was thinking."  And also from the Kids and the Darndest Things file... today in the grocery line Coyote was looking at the tabloids and asked, "Why do you suppose they put all these women in bikinis on the magazines?" And before I could explain anything about their constant need to be critiquing bodies as good and bad and how dangerous that is for all of us, he answered his own questions, "Oh.  I get it.  It's to inspire the boys."  We might have another gifted one here, folks.

hiding in the bathroom cupboard
marshmallows or liver?  Rachel needs to know
I was wondering what the next Chinese New Year might hold for me, and loving all things divinational and having found the predictions of the last two years fairly accurate, I looked it up.  I am supposedly a rabbit.  A wooden rabbit.  So these last few years have really chewed me up and spit me out.  But in January, we return to the year of the rabbit.  And perhaps you'd think that was lucky for me.  What I found was a life time luck-o-meter.  Apparently, they said, I was born in very bad luck.  The lowest possible.  And the last decade has had medium bad luck for me.  And it just goes down from there.  Down.  Down.  Down.  I thought it had been looking up for us as a family, if not for me personally.  And I felt that we were due some upping-ness, not that life works that way, I just wish it did.  But my damn chart just sinks me all the way down to the bottom, perhaps lower.  I don't know.  The graph mechanism wouldn't let me see that far down.   Until I'm 78, at which point my luck-o-meter goes WAY UP.  Seems like if I'm having that bad of luck for the next 43 years, I probably won't be making it to 78.  But the way I'm feeling today, the sooner this human experience is over, the I guess all my bad luck might just mean living to 78.  I was trying to spin it like this: for the next 43 years I won't Need Luck because I'll be creating it myself.  But by the time I'm 78, I'll start needing all the luck I can stand.  Too bad I probably won't make it to 101, because then my good luck goes off the charts.

But really, what the hell kind of astrology is that?  A life time of hopelessness in one foul chart?
Coyote shows anti Rachel the video game he's writing

I prefer Rob Brezny's work. For instance, a few weeks ago, he said that a gallon of cow's milk requires over 300 squeezes.  This, people, is inspiring.  Because you'll remember that I was struggling with housework.  And instead of conquering the kitchen all at once, I realized that perhaps it could get done 15 minutes at a time.  And I did.  It took four days, but bit by bit I got it done.  And then I turned my attentions to the rest of the house and inch by inch it got all perky again.
Christmas morning fat lip from jumping over boxes

Simultaneously, in the segment of homeschooling I'm calling Psyche-Ed, we had begun reading a kid oriented book about perfectionism.  Blue's work book contains a list of only five attributes of perfectionists, while mine is loaded with about 25.  Mom, she says, I think this book is more for you than me.  Indeed.  And this is what, it turns out, is wrong with my housecleaning and yoga and yadda yadda yadda.  I won't do it unless I can do it perfectly.  My first husband used to come home sometimes and sigh and say, "Oh god.  Did you try to clean the house today?"  And there I would sit, crying on top of a pile of everything we own.  I would put a book away then realize the book shelf was dirty and all the books dusty, so I'd take it all apart to clean it, only to find an earring and then go put that away only to find a messy pile of jewelry .... etc... ad nauseum.  I've improved a lot over the years.  But it's been work.  When I was 30 I realized that perfectionism had prevented me from trying new things.  So that year I learned to down hill ski, surf, and took up jogging (I've since bailed on all of them due to the following reasons: expensive, lack of waves and ocean, and mind-numbingly boring, respectively.)  But this was the first time things coalesced to reveal my thinking about housework and yoga and the more mundane practices of regular maintenance.

Oma and Coyote at Duck Land
I think my relationship to cleaning sounds like the way some people describe yo-yo dieting.  This one method, you think you've got it.  It's really going to stick this time.  And then it doesn't and you feel like a failure and all crappy.  And then another method catches your eye and you think this one. This One.  It's really going to work this time.  And then more failure.... and on and on and on.

And so my latest method which I anticipate failing is the fly lady, a hoot and a half.  I love her radio posts, especially when she starts crying and gets all blubbery.  It's so endearing and yet nutty.  I am working through her baby-steps system.  And I am realizing that I wasn't that far behind.  My house wasn't THAT bad.  My expectations were just THAT high, however.  And this method... this one is really going to stick.  I just know it.  I just KNOW IT!  Damn that Chinese astrology.  I'm not Chinese anyway.  This method is going to work until I'm 78, and then some.

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