Cardioship

Relationships are hard. Romantic relationships, friend and family relationships. Neighbor and work relationships. They all take a toll on the heart.
Relationships can make you feel good about yourself and horrible about yourself. Love, doubt and dislike yourself. Never mind how they can make you feel about the other person in the relationship.
Oy.
Some relationships are worth the never ending investment of mental and emotional sweat. Some are better left severed and walked away from.
But no matter where they end up, all relationships have to go through the heart before they go anywhere else; making the heart a sort of filter, a sciv to let the love through and keep the crap out.
Like any machine, hearts are fallible. They aren't perfect. Sometimes they fail. Sometimes they even break. And that is the part that makes us human.
That is what makes our heads kick in and make up the difference when the heart falls short.
And then it's anybody's game because that's where all the crap goes that the heart once filtered out.
That's when we draw on past experience to help us make choices. Decisions. Mistakes.
That is when we have to count on the other person's heart to do what's right and hope that their heart isn't broken too.

Mutiny on the Body

There are so many things that are much easier said than done. Perhaps the one most difficult for me to do is, "Listen to your body."
Listen. To your body.
Most days, my body whines, cries, nags and even screams at me. And I ignore it like a child having a tantrum in the Market.
Shut up, body. I don't have time for you. Your needs are embarrassing me.

I know you are hungry, you don't have to keep telling me. I know you are tired. I know you want to sit down. But we must. Keep. Going. Things to do, people to see. Problems to solve.

 Worlds to conquer.

  I worked out today. When I came home, I walked the dog a mile and a half in 96 degree heat. I took a shower, and then in a moment of mutiny, my body did something it has never done before: it hit me.
I told my body that after the shower, it was time to vacuum, do the morning dishes. Mop, scrub, fold. Write, drive. Show up. And my body knocked my ass out.
 "I give you everything you ask for. Energy. Strength. We are stopping," my body said. And I listened.
 I laid down in bed, the fan whirring overhead. The room was dark and cool, the music turned up far too loud for a nap. And yet I fell hard, hard asleep.
After thirty minutes, I woke up in a panic, certain I had missed the whole afternoon. What do you know, the day was still there, the sun was still in the sky.  All the chores were still there. All my problems, all my worries, all the demands were still there. Even the World, was still there. Nothing died, nothing came to a screeching halt. Anarchy, apocalypse, famine, locust? Nope.  No one fell apart as a result of me listening to my body.
Not even me.

Blessings on the Greener Side

On a recent Facebook status update, I went on for far too many lines complaining about what a long and tiring day I had ahead of myself. Errands, kids,working out, driving, cooking, cleaning, walking the dog. Home repairs, grocery shopping and of course dinner, homework and the night shift.

I'm busy, we all get it.

These are things I do every day, but on that day it just felt like I was touching everything twice. With every click of my seat belt, every time I touched the gear shift, every time the dog jumped on me, a neighbor knocked, I felt like energy and motivation were being sucked out of me. And then it was time to pick someone up at school or turn over the laundry.

As a Homemaker, I find that I am in motion about 15 hours a day. My SUV is in motion for half of that.

It's exhausting. It's thankless.

My friend made a comment on my status implying that I was bragging about my to-do's, the Daily's that he dreams of in his single life. The hustle, the bustle. The chaos of married life. What I considered a long list of complaints, he considered bragging. The idea gave me pause.

My single friend can work late, go out late, drink, play, party. Have girl friends, have guy friends. Leave messes, leave the seat up, leave town any time. Text in the middle of the night. Come and go. No kids to baby sit, no dog to board. No bottomless baskets of laundry. Money can be spent on anything the single person desires. Not handed out as allowance, tooth fairy funds, daycare, field trips, Easter basket building, Halloween costumes. No school supplies and immunizations. No bombarding for snacks, pencils for homework (which all need sharpening of course). If he doesn't make it to the market for a while, that's ok. No one is going to be malnourished except him. A diet of peanut butter from the jar and an over ripe banana is a perfectly balanced meal in the single person's food pyramid.

It's a textbook case of "The Grass is Greener" theory.

Being married with children is a lot like enduring a difficult workout. It burns, it hurts. Sometimes, you even want to quit. It gets hard to breathe, it's uncomfortable, painful even. It's challenging, exhausting. It feels like it will never end and at times it can be a lonely place when you feel overwhelmed by the burden. But all of this could easily be said for the life of a single person, too.

It's uncomfortable. It's painful.

I've been single. I've been married. They each come with their own rewards and disappointments, like anything in life. It's hard no matter what side of the fence you are on. But it's your pasture and you were put there for a reason. As difficult as it is sometimes to exist there, once and a while it's a good idea to take off your shoes and walk around barefoot to remember how good it feels to be there. To connect with the roots and know you are growing, right where you belong.

I read my Facebook post again. Was I whining or celebrating? Giving up, or taking it all in? Would I trade my day for someone else's shade of green? Would my friend?

It's not easy. It's not like anyone else's.

It's perfect.

Say Again?

I sincerely wish I could learn to shut up.

But, since I have tried without success for years to shut up, I sincerely believe that I should have been wired with a DELETE, BACKSPACE or REWIND key. At the very least, I should wear a roll of duct tape on my wrist so I can intercept my own mouth from spewing whatever the hell it feels like.

In lieu of having actual hardware at my disposal to over ride my impulses, I must learn to accept what God gave me. Or didn't give me, in this case, self control.

I know there is a timeless adage used the world over; which is fitting for my projectile word vomit. It was something about being 'slow to think and slower to act,' or something like that. Think before you open your soup cooler.

In some cases, something might be worth thinking about for a long time before reacting to it. It might behoove someone like myself who is usually quick to act, to sleep on a matter and even think on it overnight. Overnight? Let's not get carried away.

In real life, I would never do that.

Because try as I may to hold back my initial emotions, I can't. I may tell my mouth that we are going to think rationally, reasonably, let cool heads prevail; but my mouth will almost always resist the effort.  It's the same reason I can't play poker or keep a birthday surprise. I just can't keep it in. I'm as transparent as Scotch tape.

It's a flaw that more often than not has gotten me in trouble, caused me a relationship or two, hurt someone's feelings, gotten me written up at work or ejected me from bars. My quick words have disappointed other people, and ruined opportunities. Letting my emotions come out in the form of words before my brain has had a chance to translate has rendered me embarrassed, regretful and vulnerable.

In my defense, I think this is largely because I instinctively trust my instinct. In 37 years, it has never failed me. My gut and I have an understanding, and my first feeling, my first instinct is usually spot on. And herein lies my conundrum...Because my instinct is not everyone else's instinct. Therefore, what I say, and even how I feel is not always right by worldly standards.

Sigh.

I am not always right. It was hard to put a period at the end of that sentence. I am not always right. Period.

So until the world becomes magically in tune with my ever-correct gut, or until I learn to think before I speak, please pass the tape.