People Pleasing Self

This year I have battled many alter egos of myself. My favorite one to chase down and womp with a rubber bat is my People Pleasing Self.

She has never, not ever, built me up. She makes me crazy with giving me 10,000 scenarious about what people will think and how to work around that. She is ultimately trying to be a good girl but she makes me dizzy and then tired and then grumpy and then mean. And then she blames me for the cycle.

She is fired.

She makes me justify being a stay-at-home mother. When I'm talking with working moms, I play down anything which sounds good as a SAHM. And when I'm with stay-at-homies,  I commiserate about laundry. The truth is that my family has done some health and budget and career calculations and we have determined that this job is where I need to be. It is also one of the more tedious jobs I have ever had and so I am pursuing work with my boutique design company. Point is: I'm neither and both. I can't justify that.

When someone gives me a compliment, she likes me to justify more things:
- how I had the money for something
- why my hair looks good
- how I have artistic talent
- why I am a woman.
I'm learning instead to say a simple "thank you."

She is ridiculously inclusive. She makes me work a room more than I want to at a party. If I'm in a deep, beautiful conversation with someone, she wants me to stop and equally talk to everybody. Additionally, if I disagree with someone, she wants me to smile.
Instead, this: 
- There are no report cards at parties. There are people. Enjoy the people. 
- If you don't agree with someone, there are polite ways to disagree. Learn those ways.
- You don't have to engage every conversation.

She wants constant affirmation.
*Tiring*

She lets people say mean things. She doesn't know how to be kind and true.
Fail.

And most importantly of all: 
She is not love. 

She is about appearances and the wrong kind of acceptance. She is frail and finicky. She is perfect on the outside and miserable on the inside.

But love is not. Love is strong and forgiving and washes away imperfections, keeping the personality of a person and overlooking their prickles. Love keeps people warm and offers protection. Love sands the edges, but keeps the shape of a person. Love owns.

Recently, when I was redoing my kitchen, People Pleasing Self popped her head in to say that half my friends would be jealous and the other half would think it was a crappy job. She said I should invite them all over to see my kitchen. I got stomach cramps just thinking of it. And after the bulk of the work was done, she told me that it wasn't perfect. But I didn't listen to her.

So this is what I want to say to her:
You have never improved me. You have never loved me. You have never let me be me. You made me become as neutral as possible so I wouldn't offend. You didn't let me speak truth. You always knocked on my door after a big performance and reminded me of the mistakes.

And after that, I want to say:
I love my human-ness. I love my quirks and the places from where I have come. And I love the way my friends have improved me with their quirks and the places which they have called home. I don't want perfection– not the way you offer it. I want life to have texture and meaning and you strip all of that away.

You are a magazine to which I will not subscribe.

So go knock on another door. But please know that I have told everyone your secrets and they won't listen to you either.

Love will lead the way. I will follow Love.

The Fuss about Female Friendships

Friendships with females is weird.

If you want to get to the heart of any woman– I don't care how powerful she is or how important a role she plays in world politics– bring up the tea party she had with her best friend when she was 8 years old. Or the fact that she still wanted to play with Cabbage Patch Dolls when she was 10 while her best friend was experimenting with how high she could make her hair with Aqua Net. The joy and pain in female friendships is strong and deep and unforgettable.

My husband, Dan, says that this doesn't exist with men. He seems to think that men are less sensitive and that when they do get upset, they simply pound one another in a flurry of men-tosterone until they are exhausted. And then they help each other up and get burgers.

Weird.

This year I went to a conference and participated in a brief, 5-minute meditation. During this meditation we had to go into an imagined house and talk to people from our life. One of the rooms was filled with people we had hurt. I was surprised that the host of our meditation decided to fill the room with people we had hurt rather than people who had hurt us. It was shocking to me. I didn't want to go in. It's so much easier to want to go in the room where people hurt us; I feel stronger and more superior there. Being a victim has a false way of making one feel mighty. I went in the room anyway but I didn't look at anyone in the eyes.

When I was in seventh grade, I had a best friend whose name started with "D." I'll call her "Darlene." I had at least one or two best friends since third grade. Darlene lasted a year.

Darlene and I spent a lot of time together. We laughed at each other's houses and read "Teen" magazine and kept notebooks which we exchanged between math class which had glued pictures of Kirk Cameron in it. This was before email. It was the way to be close with someone: glueing pictures of culture in a notebook and writing in it. Best friends did that. At the end of the school year, we signed yearbooks. A really popular girl asked Darlene to sign hers and so I watched my best friend go into a bathroom stall and spend a ridiculous amount of time writing about how much fun they had (standing in lunch line?) in big bubble letters. I don't know how Darlene would have any time for this girl because she was spending all her time with me.

Later, she signed my yearbook and she wrote something like this: "I don't really know you that well, but you're a really nice person." And then she probably added something like, "Keep Cool Cuz Keeping Cool Counts."

Decades later, a close friend of mine forgot to tell me that she became rich overnight. We were at the park with a bunch of friends and all snuggling our big-fat babies. She told me that she was looking at a house that was easily four times the price of our current homes. (We both had small homes.) And I said to her, "Whoa! Isn't that (price here)?" hoping to remind her that we were in the same middle class. We were both talking loudly so everyone could hear. It was a perfect setup. She smiled and said, "Is that all? I thought it was (ginormous price.)" And at that moment I knew that we would no longer be going to yard sales together anymore. I also knew that our friendship was over.

Every chick I know has these stories. How someone hurt them or shamed them or made them think they were insignificant. Heck, most of these stories helped form the kind of people we wanted to be or the careers we chose.

I also know that the women in my life who have shown tremendous vulnerability and strength and forgiveness to me are important; I'm not going to give up on friendships. Being a friend takes work but it is worth it.

When I had to go into the hospital to see if my in-utero baby had a heartbeat anymore, my friend Steph came with me. I tried to joke around because the pain was too heavy for me, but my friend wept so loudly that I broke down, too. We hugged. We both cried ugly and I stood in a hospital gown, feeling very exposed. It was good. I will never forget the bravery it took for her to accompany me.

I have another friend who is ten years older than me who I absolutely adore who has given me gobs of praise. One time, however, she needed to tell me something I did where I messed up and the funny is: I felt MORE loved by her. It pained her to tell me. I will never forget her grace and candor. We're closer as a result, I swear.

I need my friends.
One friend says "yes" to every event in life; she's unstoppable. I need that.
Another is resilient and kind. I need her laughter.
My neighbor friend is allergic to gossip. What a great person to know.
I need these women to shake up my view on being a woman, or being a "good girl" (gag), or being full of life. I need them to share music and food and books and grace. Oh, the grace. Yes.

If I don't have these friends, I will become small and generic and chalky. I need them.

I'm at an interesting intersection of life right now where I have changed so much in the past year that I'm not sure what my friendships hold. I'm afraid I might scare people; I think I already have scared a few.

I want to try new things and become an illustrator. I don't really care about recipes right now. I'm definitely *yawn* about women who tease stay-at-home moms. And talking about parenthood ONLY is very boring and kind of safe. I very much want people to tell success stories. I want to hear good things. Stories of bravery and silliness. I love when women say great things about their kids or their husbands or boyfriends or sisters.

So let's make a deal, people: Keep trying.
Do the forgiving and the moving past. Or draw boundaries... healthy ones. Or realize that you made a mistake and just keep moving forward. Develop the friendships right in front of you. Invest in them. Send your friends texts and cards. Invite them to monster truck rallies. If they're important to you, show it: Make time for them.

Be true and maybe, just maybe, it will come back to you.

List

Before the New Year, have a talk with yourself. I do. I mentally take myself out for coffee. Reflect on the things which happened which deserve a thumbs up. Remind self that the failures were wrong turns and can be avoided in the future. Operate from a place of grace. And then, when I've taken out the trash, I raise a glass of Martinellis with my family and welcome the new possibilities. Here's my brain dump:

1. I am not a supremely outgoing person. I have tried to be fun. I have thrown parties. They're okay, but I'm so nervous I feel like puking afterwards. However, I AM a one-on-one coffee drinking friend. Or tea drinking. Occasionally wine drinking. But throwing parties is for people far more extroverted, fun and flexible than I am.

1a. I do, however, like to be invited to parties. Where I am not in charge of the fun.

2. Watermelon flavored anything is outlawed. Says my mouth.

3. It's amazing that anyone can make friends in this world. What with all the syndromes and inclinations and mental health problems and personality disorders and owing to half the population suffering with depression... it's nothing short of a miracle to have a friend.

4. But making friends is way important. If you don't make friends you'll just stay inside your head all day and rehash. Best to make friends. As quickly as possible. Throw your genetic craziness into the stream of life and watch life smile upon you.

5. When it comes to athleticism I am not brave. But someone once told me that if you start running for one day in a row, then you are a runner. No badge needed. I'd like to try cross country skiing. I must be brave.

6. The days before New Years feel really odd to me. The sun shines too brightly for the frigid days. And I keep waiting for something exciting to happen. Today I bought my own excitement: Six different Jell-O flavors/colors for a rainbow Jell-O salad. It should take 5 hours to make and 37 seconds to eat. It will be pretty.

7. My trash cans are always full. Never do I say, "Oh good... the trash can is empty." Always full.

8. I'm learning to accept people who say crazy things. I used to try and change them but now I just let them be who they are. It's hardest when my six year old says things in public. I just want to hide.

9. I want to learn carpentry. Rephrase: I want to be a master cabinet maker.
*sigh* Like I have time.

10. I need to focus on illustration this year. Every other day my brain says, "You can do this." And then, alternately, "You can't do this." But artists who only work when they feel strong or inspired or pretty or enlightened are not brave. I plan to show up even when. Even when.

11. I purge my house regularly. I might be addicted to it. I don't know where this stuff is coming from b/c I'm not buying more stuff. (OH wait... Christmas.)

12. The man I married is very good to me. He is a gift and I hope I always treat him that way.

13. I have had a huge amount of friends tell me that they were pregnant this year and "not to tell anyone." To which I think two things: 1. Congratulations and 2. I want to tell someone.
Best not to tell me.

13a. I have had a lot of friends tell me they were pregnant who had been trying for, like, many, many years. It happens. I celebrate every time. Don't give up on reproduction or adoption or desiring of being a parent.

14. Someone said some crazy (negative) things about me this year and I am actually grateful for it BECAUSE it showed me the power of words and how I should be more careful with them when talking about human beings. I need to be extra careful with the words which come out of my mouth. Lesson accepted.

15. I had my hair cut and I opted for bangs. My stylist gave me a speech about bangs, about how I needed to do them every day and how they're not an easy style to have. I have bangs. They are currently pinned up but when I wear them down, I look very sassy.

16. In my parallel life, I do yoga everyday and hate sugar. I also wear breezy outfits from Banana Republic and always feel ready for every adventure my family brings my way.

17. I like my laugh. I went through a stage where my laugh was forced, but these days I find that my laugh likes to come and so I let it.

18. My best friends are scattered throughout the country. This is bad. They need to move next door to me.

19. I'd like it if I talk less in 2015 than I did in 2014. Blogging doesn't count.

20. If you found yourself on Facebook, would you like yourself? I don't mean "Facebook 'Like' button" yourself... I mean, would you say, "Hey, that is one beautiful person." Do you like yourself?

21. Fun statement to finish: I have never regretted _________________.

21a. Answers:
Being a parent.
Being a wife.
Being a sister.
Being a woman.
The hard work which becomes a very good design.

22. I love when people reject the title of "victim" and choose instead to move past a bad era of their life and do redemptive things. Own a balloon shop. Bake gluten free things for kids with allergies. Join a dance class. Start a business. Volunteer at a hospital.

23. I'm careful to not bemoan the age "40" because when thirty year olds complain about their age I feel totally annoyed. Also: Forty is truly a great age. I'm loving it.

24. I am starting to read. I am literate, but I haven't found the lure of books until (looking at watch)... late in life. I'm more of a do-er than a reader. That might change.

25. Coffee needs to be strong. And hot. And preferably creamy.

26. I would like to visit the following places: Ireland. The Redwood Forest. New York City in December.

27. Boredom can be a gift. Especially to children. This is why my kids are so creative.

28. All the things that I thought would be easy this year were hard and all the things that I thought would be hard were easy. Which shows me that I don't know how to anticipate anything and might as well strap into 2015 and thank God for life and breath.

29. When I treat my children with respect, they mirror that respect back to me. Not always, but enough that I want to treat them this way always.

30. New discovery: I love bragging about my children to their faces. I want them to know that I'm proud of them and HOW I'm proud of them. They seem to like this. It won't make them grow proud. It will make them grow secure.

31. New discovery #2: Learning to speak specific kind words to friends is important to me. Not just: "I love you" but "I love the way you (take care of homeless dogs) or (make me laugh.)" Specificity is important.

32. I have it in my mind to conquer my anxiety of dinner making this year. As in: Plan a month in advance. As in: Keep dinners simpler. This requires some organization and inventory.

33. Books I enjoyed:
Essentialism by Greg McKeown
Thrive by Arianna Huffington
Sacred Rhythms by Ruth Haley Barton
Calvin and Hobbes Complete Collection by Bill Watterson

34. I want to collect all the positive people of the world and put them in my pocket.

35. Best ad campaign: Kohl's "#FindYourYes" is sticking on my fridge. "Find Your Yes." Love it.

36. I have inherited 2 more siblings (in-law) this year. This is fun. I must have more.

37. There are 79 different ways to tell the same story. Everyone has their own angle. I tend to like storytellers who like redemption, humor, truth and subtlety. Sometimes it's not possible to get all those aspects in one story.

38. I went to a conference this year for the first time in a decade. My brain was so happy that I had to leave early because it wanted to burst.

39. Raising girls is interesting because I think women have to adapt more to life than men. Maybe I'm wrong. I'm not wrong.

40. New Year's Blessing: May you find joy in the simplest of things. May your heart and wallet and mind be full. But may your calendar be open and spare, allowing for unexpected joy and rest. May your hope be true. May you know The Way, The Truth and The Life.

41. I have never:
Been to a fancy schmancy New Year's party where I glam up and dance my bum off until midnight when I'm kissing, well, Dan. That would be fun.

Auld Lang Syne and all of that.

That Time I Turned Forty

When I clinked plastic SOLO cups of bubbly last New Year's Eve imagining the possibilities of the coming year, I couldn't have believed what a difference a mere 365 days could make.

I couldn't have imagined that the family from which I was raised was growing in such beautiful ways. While I was busy in Chicago trying to survive, they were busy in their homes making brave choices. Choosing to stay. Or choosing to be. Choosing to walk across a room and say hello. Marrying amazing people. I felt so wealthy when I saw them all this summer, realizing that I was related to such deep and strong and vibrant people.

I'm still battling the younger version of me who is Miss "I Can Handle This All By Myself." She is tenacious. I'm learning that controlling areas of my life doesn't bring lasting peace. I've caught up on my to-do lists approximately twice this year and it was satisfying for exactly seven seconds until the to-do list began again. Learning to let things be unfinished for a while.

When my children walked out the back door of our house and headed off to their first days of school, the house became immensely quiet. Something changed in me. I felt like my heart grew larger. I felt more peaceful. And most surprisingly, I began to pray. It has alluded me all these years. Prayer is seducing me.

My children are at an age where I think mostly fond thoughts of them. Apparently I am an "elementary children" mom. Some women go gaga for babies. I love other people's babies, but didn't enjoy the experience as much myself. I faked most of my smiles to them. That's like 5 years of lying. In any case, I have always loved them, but now I am enjoying them far more than I thought possible. They are wonderful humans.

I found myself in an interesting intersection of friendships this year. Most of my friends had gone different directions than I. (Not morally... I mean they have a lot of soccer practices to attend, etc.) So I began to reflect on friendships and what is important. Realizing that I could stay home all day and have a super clean house *cough, cough, rolling eyes* or make friends, I began to reach out to a few individuals. This was hard for me.

I am 100% happy when women own their choices in life. Their career. How they eat. If they exercise. If they choose to wear Calvin Klein clothes or shop at Goodwill. If they plan to stay home vs. work outside the home. I just love it when women encourage each other especially if their choice is different from someone else's. I'm amazed when women support each other in these decisions.

I remodeled my kitchen. Dan helped. It was harder than one would think, but easier than potty training a toddler. I gave myself mottos to keep me going, like: "Keep your eyes on the prize," which helps when you're ankle deep in debris. Also: The remodeling will never be done because we are creative, thrifty do-it-yourselfers. New remodeling word of the year: Phases. Own it.

My grandmother died this year. I was devastated by her leaving us here. No more pies. No more of her slowly-made cookies and casseroles. No more of her high pitched voice calling me, "Emmy." But after the grief, I began to dream about her and in my dreams she is holding many babies and she is very happy. I feel as though she is not dead and in a way she isn't. My thoughts of her keep me warm.

I turned forty. A lot happened. All my creative work came at once. All the weddings fell in one chunk of the year. All the new things came at once as well. Someone replaced my favorite chai tea with shots of estrogen. My friends who I thought were drifting to another realm came back to me and those who I thought were my backbone are being sent another direction. So I adjust my sails and wait for God to make sense of it all.

I'm reading. I have never called myself a reader. I read a heap of books about living more minimally and deliberately. Several of the books have probably changed me forever. By the way: I read books like I eat sandwich crust: all over the place. No order. Sometimes I read the last chapter first. Dan hates this.

I said "no" a lot. After realizing that I was becoming dangerously close to burning out in too many areas of my life, I said "no" to a ton of good things in my life. Or I politely declined invitations. It was weird to put down my people pleasing self and just listen to what my heart was saying. But so far, I'm glad I did. I used the time in more creative efforts in addition to taking excess things out of my house. Such an amazing feeling.

I cleaned house. Stuff that was in my house with no purpose got ushered to the front curb. Or the Epilepsy Foundation's second hand store. I'm purging things and allowing my eyes some breathing space which gives my mind some space, too. I approve of living with less though I'm not a shiny example of this. It's a journey.

I bought clothes that fit. And all the women said "Amen."
Colorful ones. *swoon*
I still have one maternity top which must leave the house; why the sam hill can't I get rid of it?
Small steps.

My body rejected dairy this year. I was very sick until I learned what it was. I learned a lot. I miss you, ice cream.

There are some people in my life who I care for but don't understand. So instead of rolling my eyes, God is prodding me to think kindly of them, to pray for them, to look forward to good things about them. No news yet, but I can say that my heart feels lighter.

And this non-new revelation: I love design. It's work. My back aches. My eyes dry out, but I love it. I want the designs to be useful to others. These designs sprang from a period of great sorrow in my life over 4 years ago and have proved to be so healing to me. I want the same for others. Some people believe in my work. Some just buy it because they're my friends and I bake them cookies. I'm just going to keep going and try to be mindful of what engages people. I'm hoping to study illustration this year because my drawings of people are– how do you say it– not good. Yet.

If you would have told me about all these changes at the beginning of the year, I would have hyperventilated. But the changes came just when I needed them, at just the right time. Which finds me grateful, tired and amazed.

My New Years Blessing for Friends:
"May your days be less like 'the mass of men leading lives of quiet desperation'* and more like the charming few who live with truth and inspiration."

___________________________

* "The mass of men lead lives of quiet desperation."
-Henry David Thoreau 

Leaving, Living, Loving

Whenever my children and I go on a trip, I scour my computer for the file titled "PackingList.pdf" and print out a copy. I set it on the kitchen counter a week before we go and I mentally tick off my list, occasionally adding things for the adventure, things like "birthday gifts" or "book for mom" or "chocolate."

The beginning of our trip is usually pretty smooth. If we fly to our destination, I get snacks and electronics ready for everyone in a special, easy to reach pouch. If we drive, I like to clean the car before we go, making sure we have enough leg room for my tall brood. As we journey to our destination, I have immense satisfaction in curbing their hunger pangs by flinging bags of Chex Mix or cut apples in their general direction.

The return trip from anywhere is an exercise in chaos. There are no "Return Home Packing List.pdf" files to refer to and our stuff has been deposited haphazardly around the hotel room or grandma's house or wherever we found ourselves. There are less healthy snacks. We find ourselves rummaging through the car to find *whatever* we can to eat and this week we returned home from Iowa eating stale Cheetos. They didn't crunch. My oldest daughter, in a fit of desperation, began to feel claustrophobic and began hucking clipboards and art supplies and trash at the feet of her sister just to get some breathing room. Understandably.

This year I have said a lot of hellos which have been glad and joyous and long and beautiful occasions. I have said a few goodbyes as well and if I were in fifth grade and had to write a "compare and contrast" essay regarding these two seasons, I would say this:

Generally speaking, it's more fun to say hello than goodbye.
The things you say during "goodbye" seem more enduring than the greetings you say at "hello."
The sentiments you say between "hello" and "goodbye" are important, too. Things like, "I love you" or "I'm sorry" or "My, you're lovely" or, my personal favorite, "Please pass the chocolate cake."

Some people don't know how to communicate to anyone because they haven't been given the tools. Or maybe they see it as a luxury. I don't see communication or emotions as a luxury; I see them as a necessity of living a life observed. I'm not interested in pretending things aren't happening, but then I'm not interested in sensationalism either. I might cry and it might be ugly and I might need a break from the intensity of it all, but communicating and emoting are not bad. They CAN be used in a bad way, but if the aim is to use your powers for good, that's a good direction in which to head.

I recently said goodbye to my dying grandmother, her hand squeezing mine fiercely as hot tears dripped off my face, using my free hand to quietly blow my nose so she wouldn't hear me crying. At first I felt ashamed for being so useless, for being so full of emotion and not being a strong rock for her. But when I let myself just cry, the rivers washed over me, onto her and held us together. A baptism of sorts.

My grandmother loved me. I know she did. That being said, she didn't come from an era where love was distributed in gushy sentiment. It was delivered in the form of letters describing peach pie and little cards and sometimes coupons which she clipped for me. She hugged me and smiled at me, but there was not a wealth of sentiment between us.

Some people are hurt by others who cannot communicate love in the way they understand it. This makes perfect sense. A father may be irritated by his adult son for not being able to live more frugally, while the son may be equally irked at the father for not seeing the efforts he puts into being a good father and husband.

I know a fair amount of people who are under the notion that people need to be left alone when they grieve. The idea is that they'll see you on the other side, as if you're going through an impenetrable tunnel, like the kind they have at carnivals, the ones with boats. "I can't be with you in the tunnel," is the logic, "but when you're free from the hurt and pain and ugly, I'll be there for you on the other side with a nice iced tea."

This does nothing for the heart. If anything it shrinks love. This produces a world of pain and abandonment issues. It would be better if the person bought their own ticket for the tunnel and followed their friend through, calling their name, getting wet from jumping out of the boat ride just to catch up; love would do that. Then they could both emerge from the tunnel with new vision and large hearts and very squishy sneakers.

I don't see people who need comforters who are perfect and polished and poised. People who are hurt need friends who will reach out, make the phone call, touch their hand and say things like, "I don't know what to say, but I'm here to listen. I might make mistakes, but I'm trying. How are you?"

The days of flimsy handshakes and brisk hugs are over for me. It's time for strong goodbyes. It's time to get messy. It's the new fashion trend: Tear-drop soaked shirts and snotty noses on shoulders. Looking someone closely in the face and saying, "I love you," coffee breath be damned.

I don't know a formula, per se, for communicating, but I will say this:

People appreciate when you try.

Just try.

Say the lovely things you need to say. Utter the hard things with truth and humility. Stay a while. It might not be pretty or be neatly wrapped with a bow on top, but at least you expressed love.

Say hello.
Choke out a goodbye.
Try.

Forty

My husband and I have an unfinished basement. We never plan on finishing our basement because we both recognize that basements are holding grounds for memories and rarely-needed high-chairs for babies who visit us and, well, unnecessary stuff.

We moved into this house 7 years ago. Last month I think we finally unpacked the last boxes. We formed a huge purge circle in the basement. A "purge circle" is like a crop circle in that it involves methodically crunching down material. Like cardboard boxes. Old artwork. Business cards. That sort of thing. We had three piles: Sell (Craigslist), Give (Goodwill) and Trash Without Any Remorse. We went bonkers on that basement. We were ruthless.

The next week we came home with a trunk full of memories because Dan's parents are moving from their home of 30 plus years. Naturally the stuff went in our newly purged basement. Nature abhors a vacuum.

When the children go to school, the house will creak less because I will probably attack their closets and remove the following:
Annoying toys
Broken toys
Maybe all their toys
Scraps of paper which they swear are important
Balls of lint which they might swear are important
Anything which smells funny, looks funny or acts funny in a way which does NOT make me laugh

And here's the kicker: They won't even notice.

Nope. For all these years I have allowed them to keep their rooms how they want and now I am going in with HAZMAT suits, a Dyson vacuum and grenades filled with–I don't know–Lysol or something.

They won't notice. But I will.

I'm not sure what is up with this recent rash of purging in my house. It's just so freeing. And most of my Mom friends who have elementary aged children are doing it, too. I see the wide eyes they give me as they describe the things they have found in their house, unawares.

Purging house isn't enough for me.
I'm purging my mind, too. Getting rid of ways of thinking which I have outgrown.

I'm starting to outgrow complaining... I want redemptive endings to stories. I want people to end their sad stories with "And THAT'S when I started to learn (contentment) or (how much my children love me) or (how to fish)." Add some faith and hope between the lines.

Perhaps it's un-feeling of me, but I'm bewildered when people complain that no one is friendly or that people don't invite them to parties. I just want to say, "Have you tried smiling and introducing yourself?" Or..."Have you heard of evite.com? Host your own party, sister! Don't look at their calendars. Just do it." If you're new to a company or school or crowd, don't WAIT for people to introduce themselves. You have a hand. Extend it. Say hello. Shake hands. Fist bump. Whatever. Heaven help me if my children don't learn this life lesson: If you want to have friends, you must be friendly.

In a fair week I  am turning forty. I'm not sure if culture told me to start pumping extra estrogen or if my body did it on its own, but I am becoming bolder and learning to say "yes" by saying "no."

I'm saying "yes" to books and I'm saying "no" to constant negativity.
I'm saying "yes" to true friendships and I'm saying "no" to people-pleasing.
Yes to truth. No to sensationalism.

Thumbs up on:
creativity, baking, gardening, laughing with children, everyday wine, calling friends on the phone, investing in your home team, taking walks, making friends with people even if they're super rich (you read that correctly), praying for justice, crying when life hurts, seeking redemption every instant of every day and always having art supplies on hand.

Thumbs down to:
not trying again, making life complicated, being fancy on the outside and hollow on the inside, dry cake, refusing to communicate, Facebook-only friends, bad theology and stinky refrigerators.

I told my mother about some of these changes in me and she asked, knowing the answer already, "How old will you be turning this year?" And I answered, "Forty." "That's when it happens," she said, "That's when you start standing up for yourself and speaking your mind. That's when you feel more comfortable saying 'no.'"

Sweet mercy.

Here's my hope: That when the sweet surges of estrogen wash over me, I will be transformed gently, like a butterfly emerging from its cocoon, stretching its wings, drying out, shaking off the old, limiting ways of thinking and rising with new colors, new vision and maybe some super cute Merrell sneakers. The only thing constant is change.

Grammy

When I was in my early teens, I was a lanky, non-confident girl who was always being swayed by the opinions of others. I liked art and home life and seemed to attract best friends who pushed me to be more silly or fashionable or guy-crazy than I actually was. I was in that odd place like most young girls are where their bodies are beginning to show signs of womanhood, but their emotions and life experiences suggest that the pendulum still rests strongly on the "girl" side.
"Like, hey. Like, wow. Like, whatevva."

In short, it was hard to be myself because I didn't know who my "self" was. Those teen years are really the equivalent of researching a grad school paper. My life thesis in 8th grade was how high I could tease my hair and STILL maintain a banana clip in it, all with the help of a little Aqua Net hairspray. Speaking of hairspray: I took up babysitting so that I could maintain my hairspray budget of $17.47 a week. I was highly flammable.

Other junior high foibles include the time I dated a boy for one hour because a friend begged me to do it. By second hour of that day, my SAME friend helped me craft a break-up letter. (Lame.)

Perhaps the pinnacle of my 8th grade wisdom was when a very popular girl came up to me and asked me if I thought Tiffany was a "butt." Except she didn't say "butt," she said a word which rhymed with "butt" and implied that Tiffany might make friends too easily with boys. Being unaware of this word, I ASSUMED that the "butt" word meant "jerk" (not because I asked but because I used context clues from popular girl's argument) so I answered the popular girl confidently, "Yes. Tiffany is totally that word." She smiled and said, "Sign this petition." And so I signed a petition stating that Tiffany made friends with boys far too easily. I'm sure I dotted the lowercase "i" in my name with a bubble heart because that's what we did in the 1980s.

It gets worse: That day I came home and used my new word on my mother.
Hiroshima was nothing compared to the explosion that came from her face.
Related: I learned that the "butt" word did NOT, in fact, mean "jerk."
Also: Context clues cannot always be trusted.

Why am I offering these stories? Because this:
Even though I was hormonally imbalanced and teetered precariously between the worlds of girl and woman and sometimes acting like a full-fledge ogre, I knew that I could visit my grandmother in Pennsylvania and be just me.
I didn't have to dress up or impress her or *gasp* CHANGE who I was.
I could just be me.
The girl who didn't know how to do her hair.
The girl who spent $30 on a surf shirt so that people would like her.
The girl who wouldn't even know what to do with a boy if she liked him.
The girl who loved art.

My grandmother didn't do a whole lot with me. We didn't go on vacations together or go shopping. She bought Cracker Jacks which we ate at night while we watched Wheel of Fortune. All her cereal in her pantry was labeled with a date on top. For a little variety we would mix the cereals in our bowls... a little Raisin Bran and Corn Flakes and Waffle-Os.

We picked broccoli from the garden. It was my job to take a small paring knife and kill the green broccoli worms. They burst when I sliced them. I thought it was fun.

When I turned 18 and graduated from school, my Grammy found a recipe for-- get this-- OWL SHAPED cookies. It involved two different colored cookies doughs which you would wrap one over the other in a large tube shape and slice so that it was a circle with an outline of another color, and then use a pistachio for the beak. She came from an era where happiness was homemade.

She was so excited to make these cookies that she couldn't wait for Granddad to get home; she took the great big Lincoln Towncar and went with me to the grocery store. Upon backing up the car, she caught the bumper on the side of the garage and peeled it from its original placement, causing it to stick out a full foot, if not more.

In order for Granddad to not be so angry about the bumper, she decided to fix it. I thought she was going to try to push it back into place. Instead, she ran inside and got the Windex. She made the bumper shinier than before. What a riot!

In the end, we made the cookies. While most 18-year olds prefer foods with more of a "cool" factor, I was quite happy with the owl cookies. Seriously (shaking head) OWL cookies? With the car repairs and ingredients for the cookies, they must have cost $500.

I haven't spent gobs of time with my grandmother, just enough here and there. But what I can say is that she kept a Spirograph on hand, she gave us fun food, she let us work beside her, she didn't try to impress us, she always, always sends us birthday cards and Christmas cards as well, she loves Jesus and--in the end-- I feel safe with her. I feel like she's on my team.

She's soft and comfy and unassuming. She wears those ankle socks with the pom poms on the back so that they don't slip into your tennis shoe.

I'm trying very hard to not speak in the past tense, but at the same time I am wrestling with the fact that my grandmother has just suffered a stroke which will make her different. She may not call me "Emmy" anymore in that high octave she uses for my name. She probably won't bake cookies anymore; I don't know. And she may not sew, either.

In essence, our family is left with snippets of her previous self. I've heard people talk about losing loved ones before and debate about --forgive the term-- the virtues of losing someone abruptly verses sluggishly and I have to say that plucking bits of a loved one's personhood one memory at a time seems horrible, like using an eraser on an evil pencil very, very slowly.

My reaction, then, needs to be this:
To unabashedly sustain her beauty and goodness and fullness.
To continue to bake cookies, particularly ones in the shape of an owl.
To use Windex to shine up life's errors.
To be myself and realize that living simply beside someone is far more powerful than trying to entertain them.
To realize that Cracker Jack's are special because someone told me they were special.
And to realize that people are special, too, for the same reason.