Crock-Pots and Christmas Elves

In lieu of exchanging gifts, my mother, three sisters, two brothers, additional in-laws, friends, boyfriends, and significant others over the age of 18 have a Yankee Swap on Christmas Eve.  The exact number of participants varies each year due to marriages, divorces, estrangements, break-ups, new homes (shout out to my BFF's family for moving an hour away), etc.  Regardless, every adult brings one gift to enter into the swap and leaves with a different one... Unless you, like myself, buy something special with yourself in mind, such as the 30 rack of Bud Light and rolls of paper towels I put in last year... It's funny, too, sometimes you end up with something you never expected. Like the year I received this Neckline Slimmer... or my mother ended up with this lingerie... 

But there is something that you can expect every year: the sister that I am babysitting for this week will inevitably bring a Crock-Pot.  I'm not kidding.  Every year, for as long as I can remember, someone has unwrapped a Crock-Pot.  Some years our mom takes pity and keeps it... again.  Some years my sister takes it back home, but no doubt, this year, I'm taking it.  After this week, I get why she brings the Crock-Pot to the swap: it works Christmas miracles! 

Being a parent is literally a full-time job. Kudos to all of those working parents out there, you're crushing it! Days are jam-packed with washing laundry, and doing homework, and grocery shopping, and basketball practice. The list is clearly never-ending.  Then, when you're trying to get stuff done and your kids are watching TV, they watch these shows where the moms have all day to prepare dinner and they wonder why you keep feeding them cereal for two meals of the day.  BUT low and behold, some genius out there invented a Crock-Pot, slow cooking tacos and meatballs galore! Isn't it nice to think that someone is out there looking out for us moms? (I'm including myself in that category until tomorrow morning). Which is a good thing, too, because there are some assholes out there just trying to make our lives harder! Like the jerk who created Elf on a Shelf. 

Meet Oodle - my sister's kids' Elf on a Shelf.

 

Oodle is like the anti-CrockPot.

He makes no one's life easier and brings anxiety to the Christmas season.  Out of the 5 days I have been a mom, twice I have forgotten to move Oodle before climbing into bed, and have had to get up in the middle of the night to find a new location for this bitch! I'll tell you, it is adorable watching my two nephews who still believe in Santa wake up and run around the downstairs looking for Oodle, but c'mon! Santa already sees you when you're sleeping! He knows when you're awake! And when you're not awake, Mom or Dad has to go find a new place for Oodle!  To make it worse, I've noticed that some parents aren't helping each other out.  Pinterest and Facebook are flooded with Elf on a Shelf ideas! Elves ice skating around the kitchen table. Elves writing notes to their families.  Elves building a freaking igloo out of marshmallows! RELAX, just move your Elf at night like everyone else and stop making it harder for others to keep up!

I get it.  Crafty moms and dads exist. Culinary moms and dads exist. Busy moms and dads exist.  Parents, just like kids, come in all shapes and sizes (if your size it too big, hit me up, I'll let you borrow my Neckline Slimmer), but my point is this: I've realized this week that parenting is a day-by-day vocation, and it's freaking hard! In my experience as a spoiled-rotten daughter, your kids have NO IDEA how much work you do so they probably don't thank you for 85% of what you spend your life doing to make theirs easier.... but that's okay.  Because someday, they will have kids of their own, or their sister will ask them to babysit for a week, and they won't remember that one time in 2013 when Oodle stayed in the same place for 6 days in a row... and they'll have no idea that the meatballs you heated in the Crock-Pot were actually frozen from Costco.  They'll be thankful that you tried, that you were invested, and that you were there.  Hang your hat on that this holiday season.  If you're a parent, you're a Rock Star!

Suppose You Can Get What You Want...

Whenever I find an eyelash on my cheek in the mirror I am sure to make a wish, I take birthday candles very seriously, and I love fortune cookies.  I wouldn't describe myself as superstitious, but rather I have a lot of faith that what is meant for a person finds its way into his or her life.  Fortune cookies, to me, are the best part of sushi nights with my family, chinese food nights with my friends, and are an excellent excuse for mai tais or scorpion bowls.

I always like to say that my former boyfriend and I fell in love over fortune cookies.  He probably would not say that, but I do.  The first time I really remember the two of us having a conversation together was over a fortune.  A common friend of ours ordered chinese food for dinner and offered me the cookie.  Together my former boyfriend and I opened it and read allowed our first fortune together

Your income will increase.

I was disappointed.  I don't like the fortunes that have simple, literal meanings; my former boyfriend on the other hand was beyond excited.  We were getting paid the next day, so in his mind, the fortune was meant for us.  When I went to throw it away he stopped me, "hey, wait... you should save that," so I stuck it in the back of my phone case.  

The next time we got a fortune together was the first time I visited him that summer, the next time he visited me, and the list goes on.  Fortunes were our thing.  We got one last New Years and read it at midnight. We would sneak them from the dining hall for each other on stir fry Wednesdays --  it was our fun little game, and I saved them all.  My favorite one we ever got was from a restaurant in my town.  We stopped there one day on our way back from the grocery store and asked for just one fortune.

Our brightest blazes of gladness are commonly kindled by unexpected sparks.  

I should correct my previous statement: I fell in love over fortune cookies.  Ever since we have broken up, I have been less than delighted when my sister and I finish our sushi or my friends' scorpion bowl is empty because my favorite part of Asian cuisine has been tainted.  Fortune cookies started to become a bitter reminder of all of the fun memories we had.  Is it pathetic that cookies started making me sad? Maybe, but they did nonetheless. 

The other day, I went to pick up dinner for my family at the same sushi restaurant near the grocery store where we had gotten my favorite fortune.  While I was there I asked for one extra cookie to open by myself in the car.  This fortune, I told myself, was meant for me.  Whatever it said was going to set the tone for my new life - my new outlook for the year ahead.  I know how cheesy this all sounds, but that's honestly what I did.  I opened the fortune and found a phrase I truly believe was intended for me.

Suppose you can get what you want...

At first I thought that the universe was telling me that if I want to get back together with my former boyfriend I can, but then I took a second look.  My fortune is telling me that I can, without a doubt, find what I'm looking for.  I should never settle.  I can find someone, something, anything that makes me happy as long as I know what I want and I accept nothing less.  So for now, I don't know exactly where to find what I'm looking for but it's out there; and I'll find it in the unlikeliest of places because our brightest blazes of gladness are commonly kindled by unexpected sparks. 

Two Emotions

I recently started following an Instagram account of a boy that I go to school with.  While looking through his photographs I saw that eleven weeks ago he shared seven pictures of white lined paper on which he wrote his most personal fears.  I was awestruck.  He mentioned in the caption of the first picture that he was inspired by an artist that had done something similar and he felt like it was "something he had to do" - as if sharing his fears in a public way would help him feel less afraid.  I was beyond impressed by the honesty of his list, and have been inspired to create my own.  I'm not sure that writing down my fears will have the same as confronting them, but it is certainly worth a shot.

I am afraid.

I am afraid at all time that people do not like me.  I always assume that a person's first impression of me is negative and I am constantly worried that people speak negatively about me when I leave a room.

I am always fearful of entering social situations.  Before entering a social setting I spend about ten minutes mentally preparing for what we will be doing, who will be there, and how I anticipate acting.  My good friends know that I "rev myself up" before any event, even if it is just watching a movie with them.  I become flustered when plans change or if I am in contact with people I was not prepared for.  "Bumping into" someone I was not expecting is my worst nightmare.

I am afraid that my mother will never allow herself to be fully happy.  Ten years after my father passed away she began going on dates.  After about four dinners with the same man she stopped dating entirely claiming that she "felt like she was cheating on someone."  What an amazing tribute to my parents' love; however, it makes my heart sad that my mother thinks she cannot find love again.  I'm afraid that she is missing out on happiness because she is holding onto something that she will only have again after this life.

I am afraid that I will never find a love like my parents'.

I am afraid that I will always care more, love deeper, and give unconditionally.  I am afraid that no one will ever feel the same way for me, and that I will emotionally exhaust myself for others who will not or cannot reciprocate.

I am afraid I will lose myself.  Each time I hit a bump in the road, I am completely derailed.  I do not handle tragedy, separation, or major changes with poise, and my behavior and way of looking at the world is ultimately altered.  It takes months for me to recover, but I eventually find my way back to my faith, my family, and myself.  I am afraid that my mind is not strong enough. That someday something will happen - the final straw - and I will not bounce back.  God-willing, it will not be the loss of another family member…because I truly would not recover.

I am afraid of almost everything.

Being afraid is not always a bad thing.  Fear itself stops us from putting ourselves in harms way.  It is the reason that women are less likely to be victims of crime - we engage in more preventative behaviors because we are afraid.  Fear, however, is debilitating.  It stops us from taking the good risks, as well.  It is one of two emotions in this world that both protects us yet leads to our demise; the other is love.  The combination of the two can be deadly or exhilarating, but it is hard to tell where one stops and the other begins.  I fear falling in love again, but I'm also afraid of a life without it.  Unfortunately, until I can get over the former I will be living the latter.

A Gift From My Former Self

After reflecting more deeply on my "rock bottom weekend," I began thinking back to times past when I have felt low.  Even lower than I feel right now.  My first semester freshman year of college I suffered from biological depression.  I went to school six hours away from home, and thought I could handle that.  Obviously I could not.  By Thanksgiving break I had gained 15 pounds and had a panic attack at the ten o'clock mass.  When I got home, my sister called to ask if I was okay.  She said she could tell something was different and wanted to make sure I was adjusting at school.  The thing is, I honestly thought I was fine.  That's the thing about depression, it sneaks up on you, and sometimes you don't know it's there... until it's really there.  I went back to school after Thanksgiving in a downward spiral until Christmas break.  I suffered three panic attacks: one in the bathroom during calculus class, one blow drying my hair in my bedroom before Spanish class, and one on my way to work at the ROTC building.  I felt worthless.  No one liked me; why would they?  I saw myself as overweight, unintelligent, and different.  I began to see myself the way that my roommates told me I was when they were drunk.

"You're so stupid!"

I let them define me and I didn't even know it.  And then I came home for Christmas... and it was apparent to everyone that something was undeniably wrong.  I didn't want to spend time with my friends.  I couldn't sleep at night.  I had gained at least 5 more pounds since Thanksgiving.  I was lethargic, sensitive, distant, and alone in the presence of others.  So my sister stepped in, and I will never feel like I can thank her enough for it.  She told my mother something had to be done.  I flew to Florida to spend my last week of winter break reading in the sun at my Aunt's house, and I received a call from the counseling support center at my university asking if I'd like to set up an appointment; my sister had called them.  I went back to school for one week in January 2011.  I didn't sleep a wink at night and could barely coax myself out of bed during the day.  I met with a psychologist who encouraged me to see a psychiatrist for antidepressants. That Saturday, I got a call from my sister,

"Mom say's she'll come get you."

and that was it for me.  I walked away from school and didn't know if I would ever go back.  I withdrew, packed up, and moved home with no plan and a lot of love.  My family did everything they could to keep it together for me.  I had never felt so low, so incapable of happiness, but my family and my true friends got me through it.  I got a job, took night classes, and tried to get it together.  I exercised, read, and wrote my way through depression.

Looking back on that time in my life is what brings me to my post today.  I found a gift from myself in a file on my computer.  If at the lowest moment of my life, I was able to write this way - to think this way- then I can carry myself through the superficiality of a college break-up with dignity.

A fact: nobody chooses to be broken. It would be irrational to believe that a person makes the conscious decision to feel the unyielding piercing in the pit of her stomach, the relentless pressure building behind her eyes, or the perpetual feeling of emptiness that remains seemingly insurmountable. It has been said that you are always in control of your own fate; it’s a lie. Sometimes the choice is not yours to make, and many times there is a breaking point. The world is silent, sleep is exhausting, smiling is infrequent, and your spirit is broken. Barring natural disaster, the truth is that someone contributes to this personalized, toxic, apocalyptic state. They chose for you. They fueled the earth-shattering, emotional tragedy that inevitably infiltrates every crevice of an already fragile life until the glue had been employed to hold the pieces together is forced to give way to devastation. 

A fact: everybody has the ability to heal. It would be irrational to believe that a person could be broken forever. It has been said that you are responsible for your own happiness; it’s the truth. One day when the world is silent, sleep is exhausting, smiling is infrequent, and your spirit is broken, you will realize that the catalyst that caused this quasi-apocalyptic tragedy is unworthy of grief. The anguish will turn to fury, and eventually to numbness. You will choose to fill the new wound with the same glue that used to hold the broken pieces of your life together, and with time, you will heal.

The First of Many

A friend of mine suggested that every time I am feeling sad about my former relationship, I should write a letter and tear it up.  I understood where she was coming from, but the problem with that plan is that it doesn't hold me accountable for what I have to say.  Every thought and every emotion - be it sad, angry, hurt, relieved - are all my own and not only crave expression, but need to be expelled.  I'm pissed.  I'm saddened.  My mind and heart and everything in between is twisted and crumbling and being fueled by every day.  Every instance.  Every moment.  So, why write a letter and tear it up?  These notes are a reflection of myself that should not be destroyed, but should be celebrated.

It would only be appropriate to give a short bit of background about my relationship, since feelings and emotions do not, or should not, come from thin air.  I am a senior in college and my former boyfriend is a junior.  We attend a small Catholic college in New England.  After meeting at an event highlighting student-leadership two summers ago, we dated for a few months more than one year.  Most recently, we spent the summer apart, as his family lives a few states away, and I did a lot of traveling to see him.  A. Lot. Of. Traveling.  Unfortunately, as I came to find out, I was more interested in seeing him than he was in seeing me, he thought little of making this relationship long-term or long-lasting, and he believed the plans I was making for my future following senior of college should not include him... at all.   He also cared more to spend time with his friends, male or female, than with me, thus spending Thanksgiving, Spring Break, and visits over Christmas vacation together were not in the cards for us without a conversation which typically ended with me in tears and him looking more and more annoyed each time.  Sleeping in the same bed quickly shifted from three-five nights a week last spring, to one-three times a month this fall.  Eventually, I became insecure in a relationship that I once believed made me the luckiest girl on the planet, and found myself doing things not because I loved him, but in hopes of making him love me... and that was a terrible feeling.  I laid it all out there for him one last time, he told me that he didn't value the same things in a relationship that I did, and that what I wanted was too much pressure; so, I told him that I didn't want a relationship at all.

Keep in mind there are two sides to every story, and I do not have an account of his side.  In his eyes, I could have been too clingy, too forward thinking, too hopeful... who knows? And I am not in any way trying to demonize him.  My former boyfriend was, and still is, an incredibly friendly, upbeat, intelligent, good-looking guy.  Does that make him a good person? Yes. Does that mean he's a good boyfriend? Maybe for someone, but not for me.

This whole experience is overwhelming, underwhelming, disheartening, empowering, and a whole slew of emotions that I can't even define or articulate for myself.  A choice that I made feels like a punishment on some days, and a new beginning and introduction to my new sense of self on others. 

I am sad that our relationship has ended, that all of the memories we made together now taste bitter on my tongue.  That when I think of something to tell him, I have to keep the thought to myself or think of someone else to call.  I am sad that the love I felt for him wasn't cut from the same cloth that the love he felt was.  But mostly, I am sad for what could have been... that I could have been complacent.  I could have wanted for nothing more, and I could have molded myself into the kind of person that he wanted to be with: blindly happy, baring no request, living in the here-and-now, and moderately content with a half-hearted juvenile desire to be close to one another.  It feel like it might have been possible.  Sometimes I wish to myself that instead of asking for one more conversation about our feelings for one another, that I could've just climbed in and accepted the single time that week that he had wanted to share a pillow, a blanket, and bed as enough.  

And then I remind myself that I want more.  I want feelings of certainty.  The feeling of knowing that no matter where I am, in happiness or tragedy, that person will come running.  That when I am lost, he is looking... and that when he is lost, he wishes we were lost together.  I want aligned values and the desire to be with one another whether you are four states away and a ferry ride away, one mile away, or laying in the same bed.  Is that too much to ask? Maybe... actually, probably.  But if it is, I hope there is someone out there who asks for too much, too.  Because I am willing to give everything, to love unconditionally, and to make someone else's needs my own, but only if they can do the same... since I'm willing to give so much, I need a partner who is not so selfish as to take and take without the desire to give in return.  

So, I think this is what heartbreak feels like, and honestly, he is probably only the first of many to break my heart. But, more is out there for me.  Even when I am feeling downtrodden, hurt, and cast aside, I know that I am not meant to feel this way forever.