It has been a couple of weeks since I last posted a column. The past couple of weeks have been filled with big news and changes for our family. A couple of weeks ago Tom had to utter what has typically been a nasty word in our family to the girls and I. It is a word filled with stress, heartache, and chaos. The dirty word of all dirty words…relocation.
My family has already had to relocate a couple of times now for my Tom’s job. There are definitely positives and negatives with relocation. One great positive is that it really pulls a family together. When you don’t know a single person in your new hometown, it’s best to cling to your family like Brett Favre clings to football, like Detroit clings to the Redwings, like Michael Phelps clings to….well we’ll just stop right there.
The one thing that people always bring up when we relocate is how the relocation will affect my children. That’s understandable. I worry about them too. What I have learned on our most recent relocation is that children actually have it the easiest. My children get to go to school everyday where they are surrounded by kids their age and plenty of friend potential. They also have the added benefit of adult intervention to force interaction between the new child and the current students. Of my two daughters, Megan probably struggles the most with the changes of a new school, new home, and new friends. Hailey, on the other hand, approaches her first day in her new school with a “who gets to be my new friend” attitude. I imagine her in her new classroom boldly telling the kids to step aside and give her some room so she can evaluate them for friend worthiness. The girl has confidence. What can I say?
Tom doesn’t work in a traditional office setting. I think that would make things much easier for the two of us if he did. At least then we would have Bob from accounting who would approach Tom and explain that he and his wife would love to have our family over for dinner this weekend. At which time Tom would enthusiastically accept the offer. Our family would arrive at Bob’s house with dessert and wine in hand smiling ear to ear. We would enjoy a fantastic dinner prepared by Bob’s wife Louis. Megan and Hailey would be thrilled to meet Bob and Louis’ daughters Becky and Jane who coincidentally are the same ages as our daughters and totally into all the same things our daughters are in to. We would become instant friends. We would plan annual family camping trips to the lake. We would have regular dinner and game nights, join a bowling league, and swap babysitting needs. We would cry and snap pictures as our daughters headed off to prom together with their dates and share scary student driving stories. When the day arrived for our children to head off to college we would rejoice and cry together. We would celebrate together at our daughter’s weddings and the birth of our grandchildren. We would hold hands when one of us is diagnosed with cancer and when Tom is officially diagnosed with Alzheimer’s Disease. Wow, what a dream. Alas this will not happen because like I said Tom doesn’t work in an office. So, no office means no Bob. But thanks for the dream Bob and Louis you are both beautiful people.
This will be our family’s third relocation in four years. Under normal circumstances, I would lock myself in my room and cry for hours but not this time. Why? We are relocating back to the same town we just moved from a year ago. I am happily looking forward to reuniting with my friends that I left behind. No worries that Bob and Louis don’t exist in our old/new hometown because I have replacements. No, in a strange turn of events when Tom mentioned relocation rather then burst into tears I screamed joyfully and jumped up and down. I also then thanked God that I never had the ambition to finish unpacking all the boxes and didn’t waste time hanging all the pictures. I did, however, bother to change my driver’s license and license plates. Crap! Oh well, no bother. I wasn’t crazy about that picture on my license anyway.
Yes, we are heading back to another Midwest location. To a town I often marveled at how lucky I was to be living and raising my daughters in. A town where neighbors bring Bundt cakes to new neighbors and pans of lasagna when a new baby is born. A town where families gather for Little League softball during the week and soccer tournaments on the weekends. It’s a town where garage parties still exist and neighbors compete for being the best decorated house during the holidays. It’s a town where people aren’t afraid to proclaim their love of God. Where farmers work endless back breaking hours and a cops busiest day is catching a teenage driver who tried to creep through a stop sign. Simply put it is in my opinion one of the greatest places in this great country and I just couldn’t be happier to have heard that dirty word, “relocation”.
Wednesday, October 28, 2009
Sunday, October 4, 2009
Dressed for Success
When Hailey was four years old, Tom and I were trying to get some ideas from the girls for Christmas presents. We were expecting Hailey and Megan to list off all the latest and greatest in the world of Bratz Dolls which is exactly what Megan did. Hailey on the other hand announced that she wanted “work pants.” Tom and I were puzzled. What did she mean by “work pants” and why wasn’t she asking for toys like a normal kid? I asked Hailey what work pants were. She grabbed a hold of my slacks and shacked the pant leg back and forth and said, “Work pants.” Ahh, work pants equals dress slacks which is what I wore to work. I was tickled. My daughter wanted to dress like me. Imitation is the greatest form of flattery. Tom and I bought Hailey a pair of “work pants” for Christmas. She was so excited over that one gift. I will never forget it.
Recently I was looking at all of my “work clothes” hanging very neglected in my closet. I nostalgically ran my hands down the shirt sleeves of silk blouses and pant legs of slacks. “We had a good run black pants and striped shirt.” I said to my beautiful clothes hanging there and looking sad due to their current lack of need. I then turned my attention to my pride and joy, my beautiful high heel shoes resting delicately in my shoe organizer. I love all shoes but high heels are the chocolate nutty donut of my closet. They are the supreme shoe. The only action my beautiful stilettos have seen recently is from, you guessed it, Hailey marching around the house and playing dress up in them.
I remember one time Tom told the girls they should dress for the person they want to be. In terms of his career advice that saying was right up there with, “You’re no better then the people you surround yourself with.” These would be two phrases that the girls and I hear quite often. Anyway his advice to dress for the person you want to be rang in my mind as I was gazing upon my neglected work clothes hanging in my closet.
Perhaps it is the psych major in me but I was compelled to conduct a case study on myself. Would I experience more satisfaction and joy in cleaning my home if I were dressed in clothes that screamed happy employment to me? It was certainly worth a try. It would give me an excuse to put on my work clothes again after a long hiatus and analyzing my case study would definitely break up the normal housework routine for me.
The next day after I sent the girls on their merry way to school, I retreated to my closet and “pretended” that I was getting ready for a day at the office. I picked out a favorite pair of slacks, a blouse, and beautiful pair of heels. After showering and getting dressed in my work clothes, I styled my hair as I would if I were going to the office. I also, wait for it… put on make-up! If I was going to conduct this case study, I was going to go all the way. I completed my ensemble with jewelry and perfume. I took a glance in the mirror and must admit that I instantly felt a sense of importance. So far there really was something to this theory.
I exited the bathroom and headed to my “office”. The commute was pretty painless and quick. I set to work cleaning my kitchen which was followed by picking up the living room, family room, and sun room, and dusting all areas. I then moved on to cleaning the bathrooms. By now I was realizing that cleaning in nice clothes is a little riskier then cleaning in old jeans and a t-shirt. I was constantly mindful of where I was spraying the cleaner so as not to splash it on my nice work clothes and no doubt create a bleach stain. My next task was cleaning my floors. I went for the wood floor first. It goes without saying that stilettos don’t have a lot of traction. My shoes slipped out from under me a few times nearly resulting in me ending up on my bottom. Upon completion of the wood floor cleaning, I moved on to vacuuming. By now I had sweat dripping from my forehead, and I was breathing heavily. I was thankful that I decided against wearing the “dry clean only” silk blouse. It would have really made me mad if I had to pay to have a blouse dry cleaned because I was sweating in it while cleaning my floors. It’s just not right. By the time I completed my vacuuming, not only was my forehead and arm pits sweating but my feet were also sweating in my beautiful stiletto heels!
I collapsed onto the sofa and surveyed my completed work. My house was clean and it looked nice. My clothes managed to escape the case study without any bleach stains, but they were now sporting sweat stains and my beautiful shoes were housing stinky, sweaty feet. So, did I have a greater sense of satisfaction and joy cleaning my house simply by downing my work clothes? Umm, no. I wish I could report that I felt more energy, joy, and importance cleaning my house wearing dress slacks and stilettos but the answer is just no. I actually felt ridiculous and mildly uncomfortable. I guess I just don’t like cleaning my house. Some people do and I envy them for possessing this quality. Some people don’t like cooking which I think we have established I do enjoy. So what I need to do now is find someone who loves cleaning and hates cooking so we can job share household needs. She can clean for me and I will cook for her family. Hey I may be on to something here. I better go. I need to research this on the Internet. I also need to get my blouse and slacks out of the washing machine and hang them to dry.
Recently I was looking at all of my “work clothes” hanging very neglected in my closet. I nostalgically ran my hands down the shirt sleeves of silk blouses and pant legs of slacks. “We had a good run black pants and striped shirt.” I said to my beautiful clothes hanging there and looking sad due to their current lack of need. I then turned my attention to my pride and joy, my beautiful high heel shoes resting delicately in my shoe organizer. I love all shoes but high heels are the chocolate nutty donut of my closet. They are the supreme shoe. The only action my beautiful stilettos have seen recently is from, you guessed it, Hailey marching around the house and playing dress up in them.
I remember one time Tom told the girls they should dress for the person they want to be. In terms of his career advice that saying was right up there with, “You’re no better then the people you surround yourself with.” These would be two phrases that the girls and I hear quite often. Anyway his advice to dress for the person you want to be rang in my mind as I was gazing upon my neglected work clothes hanging in my closet.
Perhaps it is the psych major in me but I was compelled to conduct a case study on myself. Would I experience more satisfaction and joy in cleaning my home if I were dressed in clothes that screamed happy employment to me? It was certainly worth a try. It would give me an excuse to put on my work clothes again after a long hiatus and analyzing my case study would definitely break up the normal housework routine for me.
The next day after I sent the girls on their merry way to school, I retreated to my closet and “pretended” that I was getting ready for a day at the office. I picked out a favorite pair of slacks, a blouse, and beautiful pair of heels. After showering and getting dressed in my work clothes, I styled my hair as I would if I were going to the office. I also, wait for it… put on make-up! If I was going to conduct this case study, I was going to go all the way. I completed my ensemble with jewelry and perfume. I took a glance in the mirror and must admit that I instantly felt a sense of importance. So far there really was something to this theory.
I exited the bathroom and headed to my “office”. The commute was pretty painless and quick. I set to work cleaning my kitchen which was followed by picking up the living room, family room, and sun room, and dusting all areas. I then moved on to cleaning the bathrooms. By now I was realizing that cleaning in nice clothes is a little riskier then cleaning in old jeans and a t-shirt. I was constantly mindful of where I was spraying the cleaner so as not to splash it on my nice work clothes and no doubt create a bleach stain. My next task was cleaning my floors. I went for the wood floor first. It goes without saying that stilettos don’t have a lot of traction. My shoes slipped out from under me a few times nearly resulting in me ending up on my bottom. Upon completion of the wood floor cleaning, I moved on to vacuuming. By now I had sweat dripping from my forehead, and I was breathing heavily. I was thankful that I decided against wearing the “dry clean only” silk blouse. It would have really made me mad if I had to pay to have a blouse dry cleaned because I was sweating in it while cleaning my floors. It’s just not right. By the time I completed my vacuuming, not only was my forehead and arm pits sweating but my feet were also sweating in my beautiful stiletto heels!
I collapsed onto the sofa and surveyed my completed work. My house was clean and it looked nice. My clothes managed to escape the case study without any bleach stains, but they were now sporting sweat stains and my beautiful shoes were housing stinky, sweaty feet. So, did I have a greater sense of satisfaction and joy cleaning my house simply by downing my work clothes? Umm, no. I wish I could report that I felt more energy, joy, and importance cleaning my house wearing dress slacks and stilettos but the answer is just no. I actually felt ridiculous and mildly uncomfortable. I guess I just don’t like cleaning my house. Some people do and I envy them for possessing this quality. Some people don’t like cooking which I think we have established I do enjoy. So what I need to do now is find someone who loves cleaning and hates cooking so we can job share household needs. She can clean for me and I will cook for her family. Hey I may be on to something here. I better go. I need to research this on the Internet. I also need to get my blouse and slacks out of the washing machine and hang them to dry.
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