Stealing My Wiggle Room

It's the end of a long day. My patience has been tried, and tried again, and tried yet again. I have come thisclose to losing it with the kids, but I have kept my cool. They're good kids, I remind myself. They're just tired like I am. Then Daddy comes home and within minutes something happens to set him off and he completely loses his temper with the kids.

And you know what I think?

NO FAIR!!!!

It's like every day I work to build up each child's emotional bank account. I make deposit after deposit, and I am very careful not to lose my temper, because I know that will be a serious withdrawal, and I know that sometimes I can't help but lose my temper, so I have to make sure that the emotional bank account is full enough to handle that kind of withdrawal. I allow myself some wiggle room, just in case. Then what does my husband do? He totally steals my wiggle room!! I'm the one working all day to fill the bank account and then he depletes it in a matter of minutes by losing his temper!!

I want to yell, "NO!! You are not ALLOWED to lose your temper! You have only been with them for TEN MINUTES! I've been with them ALL DAY!! If anyone in this house should be flipping their lid it should be ME!!! But I'm NOT!!! See how COMPOSED I AM????!!!! No fair no fair NO FAIR!!!!!"

But I don't yell. Because the emotional bank accounts are already dangerously close to being overdrawn, and we can't afford it. So I suck it up, support my husband's disciplinary actions (if not his attitude) and save my huffing and puffing for after the kids are in bed. I know my husband has had his own set of stresses during the day, and even though they may not be the same as mine, they still wear him down. I just wish I could go to his office and yell at his boss to blow off some of my steam.

I just hate it when someone steals my wiggle room.

Dreams

When I was younger I picked up a book all about dreams that I found on one of my mom's bookshelves. Dreams have always intrigued me- are they just my brain making sense of my day? Are they my creative juices run amok? Or do they hold a key to a deeper, subconscious self that knows more about me than I do? The answer was: Yes. A little of all three.

As I recall, the book was very long, and I didn't read all of it. To be honest, once I got through the first chapter I felt like I had the whole dream thing down (keep in mind I was a teenager at the time, so I pretty much knew everything). The basic gist of it was this: your dreams are your subconscious projecting your inner feelings in code. And since not all of us are entirely in touch with our inner feelings, it can be very beneficial to pay attention and try to decipher the code in order to recognize those feelings, because once we do, we might be able to take steps toward resolving some unknown inner conflicts and thus live a happier life.

The key to the code, I learned from the book, was to pay attention to the people, places, and things in your dream and how you feel about them. Many sources out there will tell you that certain "dream symbols" mean specific things- like dogs represent loyalty, flowers mean love, etc. However, this is only true for certain things, and for obvious reasons. For example, dreaming that your teeth fall out is representative of being anxious about something, and that is fairly universal because really, is there anyone who would be happy about their teeth falling out? Probably not.

The important thing is to break down your dream into its basic components and to ask yourself, "How do I feel about this in my everyday life?" For example, if I have a dream about my seventh grade English teacher, there is a reason. If I ask myself how I feel about my seventh grade English teacher, I might say that she was very tough but at the same time I felt like I learned quite a lot from her. I take that feeling and then try to compare it to something happening in my life right now, like maybe my current job, which is tough but I feel like I'm learning a lot. If I dream that something terrible happens to my teacher, it may mean that I fear losing my job. Knowing that that is a subconscious fear, I can take steps to allay my fears by rededicating myself, preparing for potential job loss, or gathering reasons why my fear is unfounded. All of these steps will lead me to become a less fearful, more fulfilled person.

After I learned all of this from that book, I began to look at my dreams with fresh eyes. Every night was like a therapy session, and dreams that on the surface seemed as random as they were illogical were suddenly perfectly orchestrated metaphors for my life. Every dream was like a puzzle, and every solved puzzle was another insight into my subconscious. It was so much fun! Plus, I got to amaze my friends and family by interpreting their dreams and becoming their dream guru. Kinda cool.

To give you a recent real-life example, lately I've been pondering recurring nightmares/dreams I've had in which planes and helicopters crash. They have become so regular that I can't see a plane in the sky anymore without pinching myself to make sure I'm awake. Because if I'm not, that sucker is going to crash and I'd better hightail it outta there. It's just a fact. Anyway, a long time ago I had figured out that those dreams represented what I've learned is my greatest fear: that everything I know to be good, right, and real suddenly falls apart and I'm left with nothing of real emotional value (think husbands with secret lives, friends who try to kill you, etc.). In my mind, planes are safe. They take you where you want to go, and are supposed to do so without incident. Until something goes horribly wrong and they crash and you die.

Anyway, the other night I started wondering why it was that I had always dreamed about planes (there were a few years when the dreams became buildings falling down, but lately we've been back to planes- yes, I know this sounds like post-9/11 trauma, but they actually started long before that...which is in itself a little creepy...but that's for another post). I realized that the dreams started shortly after my parents divorced, a time during which I think a part of me did feel like my life was falling apart. And then it occurred to me: my parents met while working at an airport. My mom was a former flight attendant turned ticket agent, and my dad was a recreational pilot and ticket agent. Coincidence? I think not. Funny how our clever our subconscious coding can be.

My newest recurring dream is about tornadoes. My son is obsessed with tornadoes, so I'm always watching shows about them and reading books on them with him. I assumed that was why I was always dreaming about them, but then I decided to take a closer look. How did I feel about the tornadoes? Well, in every dream I would feel terrified- it was a tornado, after all- but I would also feel a little excited and in awe. And after every narrow escape I would think, "Cool. I just lived through a tornado." So my question to myself is this: what is something that scares me, and yet I think it is so awesome and cool at the same time?

The answer is: writing. I want to be a writer. I think it would be so cool to be published, and yet a part of me is terrified of it! What if I'm not good enough? What if I try and I fail? What if I run out of things to say? (highly unlikely, but we're working on 'what if's' here, okay?) Writing is something I'm so close to, I look at it with wonder, and yet I just barely skirt by it, not ready to take the leap into the whirlwind world of publishing, not sure if I'm ready for a damaging storm of rejection. Writing is my tornado.

Now that I am aware of that, I know two things:

1) Writing is important enough to me that it has seeped into my subconscious. That tells me that it's not just a passing phase, it's something that's real and important to me, and it's time to take it seriously.

2) I can allow it to scare me away and never feel that rush of "Hey, I got through this!" Or I can plunge ahead full force, chase the storm and live to tell about it. I think I'll pick the latter.

Writing this post and writing on this blog is a small step in the right direction for me. It's allowing me to acknowledge my passion and to feed it, even if it's in a small way.

That's what my dreams have done for me.

What could your dreams do for you?

Art

Last week I had a wonderful opportunity to visit the Virginia Museum of Fine Arts. The best thing about this opportunity? It was all ladies, and I didn't have my kids! (Don't get me wrong- I love my kids, but a few hours away never hurt anyone, right?)

As most moms probably know, something strange happens when you get away from your kids for awhile. You are suddenly able to use both hands. You are able to hear yourself think. You are able to talk to- and actually hear- other grownups. You can even wear the same clothes for longer than an hour without having to clean random bodily fluids off of them, which means you can even wear nice clothes. You can enter a building without first mapping out the locations of all available restrooms and elevators for strollers. When I visited that museum, for a few brief hours I got to just be me again.

I know, being a mom is probably making me the best me I can be (don't worry, I'm not going to break into song here) but the noise and chaos that comes with having kids doesn't give you much time to get to know that person you're becoming. By the time the little ones are in bed I'm too inundated with cleaning up messes and too worried about the next day's messes and too tired to think straight enough to be introduced to myself.

But as I walked through the museum and gazed at the incredible works of art from throughout history, a quietness came over me. The clean white walls and the neatly ordered paintings and sculptures brought a peace that I'd forgotten. I could stop and study anything I wished; I could wonder and ponder and read and contemplate and listen to my own thoughts as I did so. I found myself asking wonderfully intelligent and thought-provoking questions, and at the same time I also found myself just letting the colors and the textures wash over me, just taking them in without regard to their greater meaning or context. A part of me awakened from a deep sleep, stretched luxuriously and yawned deeply, inhaling the beauty that is art.

It was a rare opportunity, and when I left I felt renewed and invigorated. I felt I could go back to my daily labor of love feeling just a little bit lighter, remembering that underneath all the spitup, homework, and diapers, I'm still in there, getting better and wiser day by day. I'm hoping that sometime in the near future I'll get to hang out with myself again. Until then, I will simply appreciate the art that is my baby's smile, the music that is my children's laughter, and the incredible beauty that is my life.

Wanted: Actual Writer

I keep saying that "I'm going to be a writer someday." Here's a question: Why can't I be a writer right now? Doesn't the very fact that I'm writing something at this moment make me a writer?

You haven't heard from me in awhile here, and I guess this is my way of saying I'M BACK! Pretty much everythng else I do that's creative makes a big mess, and to be perfectly honest, I am sick and tired of cleaning up messes! Writing is the one creative thing I can do that isn't messy. And I am in desperate need of a creative outlet.

I was also in desperate need of a new post on this blog, because I really don't want people stumbling upon it and being forced to read about potty training! (which was a success, by the way- she is now 4 and going to preschool and perfectly potty trained, thanks to that last method) Unfortunately, I couldn't really think of anything particularly creative to use to reclaim this blog, so I'm just kind of rambling here...

My point is, it's time for me to get my butt in gear (as my dad always says) and BE a writer. And in 2010, writers write blogs. So here goes.