This, my friends, is something I used to not appreciate nearly enough. I had exactly two best friends all through high school. Before Facebook, they were the only ones from my high school I kept in contact with.
Then, and sometimes even now, I found it much easier to strike up a conversation with boys than girls. I can't really explain why, but it does explain that even though I was generally painfully shy, I did manage to have high school boyfriends.
After college, Darrell and I made a group of couples friends. We were fresh out of college starting our new careers, all but one couple without kids yet. There were a few singles we socialized with also, but mostly it was that core group of couples friends, one set from college and the others either transplants like us or locals to the Detroit Metro area. We played board games on Friday nights, went out to dinner together. They were the ones who would visit or even drive Darrell home sick from work when he was fighting Hodgkin's lymphoma. They even helped us move away when the time came. I would sometimes do things separately with the ladies, but it wasn't quite a cohesive group of ladies friends.
My first real dip into a group of adult girlfriends came by joining a playgroup with my daughter the few years I stayed home with her. Those ladies saved my sanity! Talking to them about what we were all going through as generally first-time mommies was the best therapy imaginable, and quite reasonably priced as well. Their children became my daughter's first friends, but I am the one who remembers them and knows that they had a leading role in making that first year enjoyable, and perhaps even saving my marriage, probably without even realizing it. I haven't kept in touch as well as I should, but they still mean the world to me.
The next time something similar happened, it took seven years to build in Lexington. For the first time in my life, I became a real part of a network of friends, mostly girlfriends. We carpooled our kids to activities, filled in at bus stop pickups, cheered each other on in going back to work/changing jobs, talked about our husbands, had book clubs and game nights, let my daughter watch their young sons, watched our kids (generally boys somehow) grow up together and play soccer/basketball/join cub scouts/etc. together, had Bible study together, hosted/attended various family gatherings, trick-or-treated together, had girls-nights-out together, even went on a cruise together. I could go shopping at Target or Kroger and maybe even run into one of them there.
And for the first time in my life, I felt like I perhaps could not live without my friends. Before, I'd always thought it might be Darrell and I against the world, with the help of our families. Now I realized that we could call in reinforcements from so many more. I cared about these ladies. They cared about me.
Which might explain why I'm so darn excited that several of them are coming to visit me this weekend! I've been so happy I've nearly been skipping around my house, definitely not typical Jennifer behavior. I'm more excited to go to the grocery store for them than I have been in... (well, perhaps ever?)
Those two friends from high school? Yes, I still love them, too! One of them is coming this weekend, too. Lifelong friends that you can pick up the phone and catch up with anytime are priceless, and I won't give them up for anything, probably more so now that I realize more about the true value of friendship.
I'll always remember the little girl who wandered the grade school playground with no one to play with, who was too shy to ask to join others already playing. I'm glad she's been blessed with more friends than she ever imagined as an adult. Thank you, girlfriends, you are each amazing!
Thursday, September 26, 2013
Tuesday, September 24, 2013
A Job Well-done
My view of what constitutes a good job at something has changed significantly over the years. Early in my market research career, I thought it was important to be one of the ones who went above and beyond, put in extra effort, and stayed late. I was even rewarded for that effort. After starting out at what seemed like low pay for a college graduate at the time, I received ten and even 15-percent raises along with promotions those first few years.
Then we had our first baby, and I couldn't even imagine going back to work when she was born. So I didn't. I focused everything into that little girl, even though the baby stage is very tough for me. I read every parenting book I could get my hands on, but was disappointed to find that even the experts weren't always right. Dr. Sears was one of my favorite parenting experts, but once he insisted that exclusively breast-fed babies did not suck their thumbs, I wanted to seek him out to personally introduce him to my daughter (ok, maybe I wanted to slap him, too, but just a little).
The work of being a mommy is the toughest job I've ever had, but I still didn't find only it rewarding enough somehow. I wanted something more than just being my daughter's mother and my husband's wife. I admire women who can be fulfilled without a life outside their families. The ones who bake home-made cookies not just at Christmastime, the ones who pack their children's lunches with sweet daily notes of encouragement each day, the ones who do all that stuff on Pinterest... Ok, so maybe the perfect mom doesn't even exist, but I know there are many out there much more perfect at it than I.
So, I went back to work (the paid kind), but it was never quite the same as the work I did before. Sometimes I'd try working really hard and putting in extra hours again, in an effort to get recognition or get ahead. But then I'd feel like I was missing out on too much with my kids. I tried working part-time. I tried flexing my schedule. I tried running my own business.
And what I learned is that it is more about the attitude and just plain learning to be more efficient as I get older than it is about finding the perfect balance or schedule.
I told a coworker recently that at the end of each pay period, the company and I are even. I do believe that to an extent. After all, I'm employed "at will" - they can fire me any day they choose. But it's not quite that either. I still want to do a good job. I still want to make a difference. And I hope that in my generally quiet way, I can be some influence for good in my work environment.
My family runs best when I work at least part time, not just because of the money I earn (which is important, of course), but because of the fulfillment and independence it gives me as well. I would not work if I didn't make enough to make it worthwhile (i.e., I wouldn't have worked just to pay for daycare). But I'm thankful that part of the reason I work is because I want to, not because I'm forced to. And I like that I'm not forced to stay home either.
But my weekends are much more sacred to me than were when I've not worked for pay and compared to before I had kids as well. I may glance at a work email that comes in on my phone over the weekend, but I won't sit down for long at my computer giving away my time. Luckily, I honestly believe I'm more efficient at work than those younger coworkers putting in more time than I do. And I don't dread things like being fired anymore. You might think that's just because we make enough to be comfortable, but I promise it's not. Darrell and I have both earned more at past jobs. He could take a much more stressful job so that I could stay home, and vice versa, but neither of us want that. Our family is too important for that, so the balance that works for us is to both work somewhat less stressful jobs.
And balance is a constant work in progress. This Pew Research study indicates that, and I'm betting that your own life does as well. I wouldn't ever expect my balance to be your balance, or my job well-done to match yours. I'm just content to be in a place in life that it all feels right, for the first time in my life. I can only pray that it lasts, and hope that you can find your balance as well.
Then we had our first baby, and I couldn't even imagine going back to work when she was born. So I didn't. I focused everything into that little girl, even though the baby stage is very tough for me. I read every parenting book I could get my hands on, but was disappointed to find that even the experts weren't always right. Dr. Sears was one of my favorite parenting experts, but once he insisted that exclusively breast-fed babies did not suck their thumbs, I wanted to seek him out to personally introduce him to my daughter (ok, maybe I wanted to slap him, too, but just a little).
The work of being a mommy is the toughest job I've ever had, but I still didn't find only it rewarding enough somehow. I wanted something more than just being my daughter's mother and my husband's wife. I admire women who can be fulfilled without a life outside their families. The ones who bake home-made cookies not just at Christmastime, the ones who pack their children's lunches with sweet daily notes of encouragement each day, the ones who do all that stuff on Pinterest... Ok, so maybe the perfect mom doesn't even exist, but I know there are many out there much more perfect at it than I.
So, I went back to work (the paid kind), but it was never quite the same as the work I did before. Sometimes I'd try working really hard and putting in extra hours again, in an effort to get recognition or get ahead. But then I'd feel like I was missing out on too much with my kids. I tried working part-time. I tried flexing my schedule. I tried running my own business.
And what I learned is that it is more about the attitude and just plain learning to be more efficient as I get older than it is about finding the perfect balance or schedule.
I told a coworker recently that at the end of each pay period, the company and I are even. I do believe that to an extent. After all, I'm employed "at will" - they can fire me any day they choose. But it's not quite that either. I still want to do a good job. I still want to make a difference. And I hope that in my generally quiet way, I can be some influence for good in my work environment.
My family runs best when I work at least part time, not just because of the money I earn (which is important, of course), but because of the fulfillment and independence it gives me as well. I would not work if I didn't make enough to make it worthwhile (i.e., I wouldn't have worked just to pay for daycare). But I'm thankful that part of the reason I work is because I want to, not because I'm forced to. And I like that I'm not forced to stay home either.
But my weekends are much more sacred to me than were when I've not worked for pay and compared to before I had kids as well. I may glance at a work email that comes in on my phone over the weekend, but I won't sit down for long at my computer giving away my time. Luckily, I honestly believe I'm more efficient at work than those younger coworkers putting in more time than I do. And I don't dread things like being fired anymore. You might think that's just because we make enough to be comfortable, but I promise it's not. Darrell and I have both earned more at past jobs. He could take a much more stressful job so that I could stay home, and vice versa, but neither of us want that. Our family is too important for that, so the balance that works for us is to both work somewhat less stressful jobs.
And balance is a constant work in progress. This Pew Research study indicates that, and I'm betting that your own life does as well. I wouldn't ever expect my balance to be your balance, or my job well-done to match yours. I'm just content to be in a place in life that it all feels right, for the first time in my life. I can only pray that it lasts, and hope that you can find your balance as well.
Thursday, September 19, 2013
How long does it take for a house to be a home?
You may have heard that we moved again. Yeah, this is our seventh house. Is there anybody else out there who can even say that? Anyone? Bueller.... Bueller...
So, I've hereby decided that owning/living in seven different houses (that's just as an adult and not counting apartments or mobile homes) qualifies me as an expert on several things, amongst them knowing how long it takes for a house to feel like a home.
Now, I completely subscribe to the notion that my home is where my husband and kids are. (Or maybe I just have to in order to keep my sanity at this point.) But, that's not the same as feeling at home in a new house.
See, when you first move in, there are boxes everywhere. Even if your husband's new company pays movers to do all the packing, loading, and unloading... Even if you have family or friends that help unpack... And especially if you jump right into your new job with barely a long weekend to start unpacking... ...it takes time to even look like a house a family lives in rather than a temporary storage unit.
You miss your old home. You ache for its familiarity. You miss your old friends, and hurt for your kids missing their old friends, too. Because even though you keep in touch, it's not the same as living down the street, or right next door.
You drive to an unfamiliar office in an unfamiliar town, not even the one you are now living in. Your husband drives to a different unfamiliar town, but he has a three-month head start on you in feeling like he belongs here.
Blinds are put up on windows. The stacked boxes come down and get moved around (please don't look in my basement for another year) until there are some rooms without boxes in them at all. The wall decorations get hung. The kids set up their bedrooms just so. Maybe you paint a few rooms just before or soon after moving in. You start meeting a few of the neighbors. The kids get signed up for activities and start school.
And then one evening you go to a band boosters meeting, and suddenly, you've made a friend for yourself, two for your son, and one for your daughter, all in one little family. Your son is asking to ride his bike down the street to meet another friend from summer camp and after school care. Your daughter is regularly texting a few girls again, and talking regularly about certain people from school and church. Your husband has a work friend over to help him work on a car and have dinner with us. You are meeting a lady from work to work out once a week at the local rec center. You're just about to the point that you'd consider her a friend as well.
Driving to work doesn't feel so unfamiliar anymore. You're considering adding some of your coworkers as friends on Facebook. You trust the neighbor to get your son from the bus if he forgets to go to after school care on your work in the office days. You walk around the house without a slightly lost feeling. The rooms look and feel like they are yours. You can sit down to read or watch TV in the evening rather than collapsing in bed from constantly unpacking/cleaning/decluttering. And the couch feels right sitting where it is again. It feels right to sit at the table eating dinner.
You might even start to forget little things about your old house. In the least, you think more often of the things that were wrong with it and are better in this house.
You tuck your son in at night, hug your teenage daughter goodnight, and it just feels like home. It's been almost four months. You're home.
So, I've hereby decided that owning/living in seven different houses (that's just as an adult and not counting apartments or mobile homes) qualifies me as an expert on several things, amongst them knowing how long it takes for a house to feel like a home.
Now, I completely subscribe to the notion that my home is where my husband and kids are. (Or maybe I just have to in order to keep my sanity at this point.) But, that's not the same as feeling at home in a new house.
See, when you first move in, there are boxes everywhere. Even if your husband's new company pays movers to do all the packing, loading, and unloading... Even if you have family or friends that help unpack... And especially if you jump right into your new job with barely a long weekend to start unpacking... ...it takes time to even look like a house a family lives in rather than a temporary storage unit.
You miss your old home. You ache for its familiarity. You miss your old friends, and hurt for your kids missing their old friends, too. Because even though you keep in touch, it's not the same as living down the street, or right next door.
You drive to an unfamiliar office in an unfamiliar town, not even the one you are now living in. Your husband drives to a different unfamiliar town, but he has a three-month head start on you in feeling like he belongs here.
Blinds are put up on windows. The stacked boxes come down and get moved around (please don't look in my basement for another year) until there are some rooms without boxes in them at all. The wall decorations get hung. The kids set up their bedrooms just so. Maybe you paint a few rooms just before or soon after moving in. You start meeting a few of the neighbors. The kids get signed up for activities and start school.
And then one evening you go to a band boosters meeting, and suddenly, you've made a friend for yourself, two for your son, and one for your daughter, all in one little family. Your son is asking to ride his bike down the street to meet another friend from summer camp and after school care. Your daughter is regularly texting a few girls again, and talking regularly about certain people from school and church. Your husband has a work friend over to help him work on a car and have dinner with us. You are meeting a lady from work to work out once a week at the local rec center. You're just about to the point that you'd consider her a friend as well.
Driving to work doesn't feel so unfamiliar anymore. You're considering adding some of your coworkers as friends on Facebook. You trust the neighbor to get your son from the bus if he forgets to go to after school care on your work in the office days. You walk around the house without a slightly lost feeling. The rooms look and feel like they are yours. You can sit down to read or watch TV in the evening rather than collapsing in bed from constantly unpacking/cleaning/decluttering. And the couch feels right sitting where it is again. It feels right to sit at the table eating dinner.
You might even start to forget little things about your old house. In the least, you think more often of the things that were wrong with it and are better in this house.
You tuck your son in at night, hug your teenage daughter goodnight, and it just feels like home. It's been almost four months. You're home.
Tuesday, September 17, 2013
Why I don't want my kids' best days to be during high school
High school was perhaps the worst four years of my life. With the exception of a few very close friends (I thank God to this day for Shara, Rachel, and Heather) and getting the experience of heart-brake and braking a few hearts of my own, I was often pretty miserable.
I was the shy girl with acne who didn't even begin to develop a figure until halfway through high school. I was so painfully shy that some mistook it for being stuck up and others just didn't even notice me. I had overprotective parents who didn't allow me to go to middle school dances and events. I didn't belong to the "Mannington crowd", or any other crowd or group for that matter. I was a band geek, math field day nerd, track/cross country middle-of-the-pack runner. I really had no idea who I was, to tell you the truth.
Today, I don't care if I fit in and I finally feel very comfortable as just me. But every teenager wants to fit in and be "normal", and I was certainly no exception to that. I remember the cruel comments that others thought I didn't hear. I remember the cruel comments about me said right to my face. And, I remember the mean things I did and said as well. Teenagers just aren't the nicest people, including me.
It's bad enough to not fit in with your peers, but even my teachers couldn't remember me. I was the straight A student who always did her work. They paid no attention to me, as far as I can tell even looking back to this day. Don't get me wrong, there were a few good ones, but a lot of the teachers that I even respected spent class time lecturing us about what a horrible job teaching was, and recommending that we never do it ourselves. They may have done a good job teaching me math, but they also made me steer clear of something I thought I'd do someday, and they helped inspire me to leave my home state of West Virginia as soon as I could. I am so thankful that my kids' have had much better teachers all along the way. Instead of good teachers being the exception as it seemed to be for me, it has been the general rule for them, thank goodness.
In my high school, teachers actually voted on who would get into National Honor Society. It was a big deal my junior year when one of the Valedictorians wasn't voted in. I had one and only one B one semester of high school, which positioned me just below the four Valedictorians. No one seemed to care the next year when I still didn't get voted into National Honor Society. I was the only one who graduated with highest honors in my high school without the NHS patch that year, and probably for most other years. My name was the name left out of the list of highest honors graduates in the yearbook.
It hurt, and yet, even then, I felt a sense of pride at sticking out. I tried to showcase not having the NHS patch the day I graduated, and hoped others would notice. I felt a sense of pride that the following year, they changed the way NHS "voting" was done, having to at least list more information (GPA, activities, etc.) instead of giving teachers just a list of names to vote on. So maybe someone actually did pay attention.
I can honestly say I didn't learn much in high school. Math felt like the only subject I really advanced in at all, and even then we had warnings from previous high school graduates about how difficult Calculus would be in college - stories of North Marion graduates having to take it over, failing the first time or struggling to just get by.
I was so ready to get away that I was disappointed at first to be going to college as close as I did to home. But it was immediately different and invigorating to be away. College is where I bloomed, not high school. College is where the classes challenged me, where I was around more diverse people, where I met my soul mate. I was still in West Virginia, but it seemed a world away.
I was determined it would be different for my kids. That they would be challenged through high school and not just after. That's why I'm so happy they've had the opportunities to advance that they have.
But even then, I don't want their glory days to be in high school. I don't want them to ever look back and think, yeah, those four years were the best of my life. I wouldn't even say that about college. For me, every season has brought growth and new challenges. If you asked me the best season of my life so far, I'd quite honestly say my 40s, and I hope the next decade my answer changes to that season.
I want my kids to have the same, only better. Isn't that what we all want?
I was the shy girl with acne who didn't even begin to develop a figure until halfway through high school. I was so painfully shy that some mistook it for being stuck up and others just didn't even notice me. I had overprotective parents who didn't allow me to go to middle school dances and events. I didn't belong to the "Mannington crowd", or any other crowd or group for that matter. I was a band geek, math field day nerd, track/cross country middle-of-the-pack runner. I really had no idea who I was, to tell you the truth.
Today, I don't care if I fit in and I finally feel very comfortable as just me. But every teenager wants to fit in and be "normal", and I was certainly no exception to that. I remember the cruel comments that others thought I didn't hear. I remember the cruel comments about me said right to my face. And, I remember the mean things I did and said as well. Teenagers just aren't the nicest people, including me.
It's bad enough to not fit in with your peers, but even my teachers couldn't remember me. I was the straight A student who always did her work. They paid no attention to me, as far as I can tell even looking back to this day. Don't get me wrong, there were a few good ones, but a lot of the teachers that I even respected spent class time lecturing us about what a horrible job teaching was, and recommending that we never do it ourselves. They may have done a good job teaching me math, but they also made me steer clear of something I thought I'd do someday, and they helped inspire me to leave my home state of West Virginia as soon as I could. I am so thankful that my kids' have had much better teachers all along the way. Instead of good teachers being the exception as it seemed to be for me, it has been the general rule for them, thank goodness.
In my high school, teachers actually voted on who would get into National Honor Society. It was a big deal my junior year when one of the Valedictorians wasn't voted in. I had one and only one B one semester of high school, which positioned me just below the four Valedictorians. No one seemed to care the next year when I still didn't get voted into National Honor Society. I was the only one who graduated with highest honors in my high school without the NHS patch that year, and probably for most other years. My name was the name left out of the list of highest honors graduates in the yearbook.
It hurt, and yet, even then, I felt a sense of pride at sticking out. I tried to showcase not having the NHS patch the day I graduated, and hoped others would notice. I felt a sense of pride that the following year, they changed the way NHS "voting" was done, having to at least list more information (GPA, activities, etc.) instead of giving teachers just a list of names to vote on. So maybe someone actually did pay attention.
I can honestly say I didn't learn much in high school. Math felt like the only subject I really advanced in at all, and even then we had warnings from previous high school graduates about how difficult Calculus would be in college - stories of North Marion graduates having to take it over, failing the first time or struggling to just get by.
I was so ready to get away that I was disappointed at first to be going to college as close as I did to home. But it was immediately different and invigorating to be away. College is where I bloomed, not high school. College is where the classes challenged me, where I was around more diverse people, where I met my soul mate. I was still in West Virginia, but it seemed a world away.
I was determined it would be different for my kids. That they would be challenged through high school and not just after. That's why I'm so happy they've had the opportunities to advance that they have.
But even then, I don't want their glory days to be in high school. I don't want them to ever look back and think, yeah, those four years were the best of my life. I wouldn't even say that about college. For me, every season has brought growth and new challenges. If you asked me the best season of my life so far, I'd quite honestly say my 40s, and I hope the next decade my answer changes to that season.
I want my kids to have the same, only better. Isn't that what we all want?
Thursday, September 12, 2013
This side of 40
Disclaimer: If you are still under 40, you may not want to read this. If you are 40 and over, you will probably just sympathize : )
There are things I wish people had warned me about before I started stumbling significantly past 40 years old. It's not 40 that gets you, it's those years shortly after 40 that you start noticing things changing, at least it was for me.
At 40, I thought something like, "Well, this isn't so bad. I basically look and feel better than I ever have." Good-bye insecurity with my body, hello long-term running to continue to keep me in shape, hello confidence in my ability to be a mom, wife, and employee that I've never had before. Overall, 40 felt great. What was all the fuss about anyway?
But then, I noticed a wrinkle on my forehead! I mean, really, I could live with more pronounced bags under my eyes and laugh lines. Those were just signs of enjoying life, right? But a really distinct line right across my forehead? It just wasn't fair to go straight from still fighting teen acne in my early 40s to this!
Then, I swear to you, one day I just woke up and the skin on my arms looked OLD. I don't mean that it hung more, it's just that the texture didn't look like my skin anymore. This can't be right. I'm still a mom to a teen and a not even preteen. I can't have skin that looks like I most remember my Granny's skin looking, can I?
And then, I just started waking up with mysterious aches some mornings. Sort of like what you get when you overdo it on exercise, but funny thing, it wasn't after days of too much exercise. I mean, really, what is that all about? But sure enough, talking to others 40+, I hear a similar theme.
I was the person who healed quickly. When I had PRK (like Lasic) eye correction surgery in my early 30s, my eyes healed too quickly, said the eye doctor. Anytime I was injured, from teen through my 30s, I healed more quickly than the doctor said I would. But something weird started happening shortly after 40 on that front also. I don't heal so quickly anymore!
Finally, I'm just tired more often. That one actually has me a little worried. I seriously want to nap often, which is totally unlike my typical go, go, go attitude. I've always enjoyed a good night's rest, but my energy during the day just isn't what it used to be. I even tried a diet recently that promised to help give me extra energy, but it didn't deliver on that promise.
I mean, seriously God, why do things have to start falling apart just as we women actually feel really comfortable in our skin? And I'm one of the very lucky ones. I know lots of people with chronic conditions that actually have the right to complain, while I don't.
I am grateful at this point that I've taken decent care of this body that's starting to wear out. How much worse could it be if I hadn't? I seriously don't want to know!
There are things I wish people had warned me about before I started stumbling significantly past 40 years old. It's not 40 that gets you, it's those years shortly after 40 that you start noticing things changing, at least it was for me.
At 40, I thought something like, "Well, this isn't so bad. I basically look and feel better than I ever have." Good-bye insecurity with my body, hello long-term running to continue to keep me in shape, hello confidence in my ability to be a mom, wife, and employee that I've never had before. Overall, 40 felt great. What was all the fuss about anyway?
But then, I noticed a wrinkle on my forehead! I mean, really, I could live with more pronounced bags under my eyes and laugh lines. Those were just signs of enjoying life, right? But a really distinct line right across my forehead? It just wasn't fair to go straight from still fighting teen acne in my early 40s to this!
Then, I swear to you, one day I just woke up and the skin on my arms looked OLD. I don't mean that it hung more, it's just that the texture didn't look like my skin anymore. This can't be right. I'm still a mom to a teen and a not even preteen. I can't have skin that looks like I most remember my Granny's skin looking, can I?
And then, I just started waking up with mysterious aches some mornings. Sort of like what you get when you overdo it on exercise, but funny thing, it wasn't after days of too much exercise. I mean, really, what is that all about? But sure enough, talking to others 40+, I hear a similar theme.
I was the person who healed quickly. When I had PRK (like Lasic) eye correction surgery in my early 30s, my eyes healed too quickly, said the eye doctor. Anytime I was injured, from teen through my 30s, I healed more quickly than the doctor said I would. But something weird started happening shortly after 40 on that front also. I don't heal so quickly anymore!
Finally, I'm just tired more often. That one actually has me a little worried. I seriously want to nap often, which is totally unlike my typical go, go, go attitude. I've always enjoyed a good night's rest, but my energy during the day just isn't what it used to be. I even tried a diet recently that promised to help give me extra energy, but it didn't deliver on that promise.
I mean, seriously God, why do things have to start falling apart just as we women actually feel really comfortable in our skin? And I'm one of the very lucky ones. I know lots of people with chronic conditions that actually have the right to complain, while I don't.
I am grateful at this point that I've taken decent care of this body that's starting to wear out. How much worse could it be if I hadn't? I seriously don't want to know!
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