Clearing Out

I purged my Facebook friends recently. I "de-friended" over 100 people. Anyone I didn't really know or who I couldn't remember when last we communicated was out. It was kind of addicting, actually. Deciding who got to stay and who didn't was very powerful. I think I'm in a purging place in my life, because I'm starting to feel that way about things, too.


With three kids, my home gets overrun with clutter on a regular basis and every once in a while I can't take it anymore. I've hit that point, once again. I have dedicated this summer to getting rid of stuff. Big and small. Whether it's a picture frame somone gave me 11 years ago or a sofa and love seat set that we just don't need anymore, it's outta here! I'm tired of keeping something because I don't want to hurt the feelings of the person who gave it to me. Most of the stuff I classify as "junk" is actually nice stuff. It works, it's pretty, it has a use, just not for me. So, if someone else can use it, I want it to stop taking up space in my home and go be used (or take up space) in theirs.

I know I have said this in previous posts, but things are just things to me. There is very little with which I feel an attachment. My mother-in-law, on the other hand, wraps up memories in things. That's not wrong, but it's different then the way I work. I often feel badly when she offers up something and I say no. She sees memories and meaning, I see one more thing I have to find room for on the basement shelves. The item that first comes to mind is an old fryer that had been in her mother's basment. Cheryl asked if we wanted it. Wade remembered making donoughts with his grandma, but all I saw was something that would be thrown in storage and never used. I was too quick to say no and hurt Cheryl's feelings, which I did feel badly about. But later, when I talked to Wade about it, he agreed that we would never use it and it didn't make sense to move it from her basement to ours.



It's not just my mother-in-law. My mom also gives us things and because she is my mom, it's harder for me to say I don't want it. But, I'm learning that saying no is okay. I just picture where it will be in my home. If it's going to be put to use, I'll take it. If not, no thank you. It's kind of empowering, actually. And I've stopped feeling bad about donating things she has given me. For years I kept clothes in my closet because she bought them for me. How silly! They were old, or didn't fit, or weren't my style. But they would work for someone else, so someone else should have them.



And it's not just stuff that other people gave me. It's stuff we bought, too. Probably the hardest decision I have made in this process is to sell my piano. We bought it off of Craig's List about a year and a half ago for $100. It's about what you would expect a piano for $100 to be, but at the time I thought it was perfect. Over time, however, I realized it's too big for the space, doesn't fit in with the decor of that room and it will cost a lot more than $100 to get it in good working condition. And while I played every day when we first got it, since Lily was born I don't think I have sat down to play more than two or three times. So, it's back on Craig's List. I know we'll have a piano again someday, but that isn't the right piano and this isn't the right time.



I'm struggling, however, with stuff I find during my purging of stuff that we have a plan for, but no actual use for at the moment. And by "plan" I mean something that may or (more likely) may not happen. For instance, in my purging mode I started cleaning out a closet on the finished side of the basement. I found a bunch of stuff that we shoved there when we first moved in 5 years ago and haven't seen or thought about since. When we bought the house Wade thought we could put a bar in the basement. We were new parents then and hadn't quite realized the impact that our one-year-old would have on our house. Fast forward five years and two more kids. I found boxes of Vikings pint glasses, glass boots and tiki cups. And the real kicker, a huge 3 liter Heineken beer bottle (yes, actually filled with beer). I completely agree that all of these things would be fun to have in a bar. Someday. But realistically, are we really going to put a bar in this house? And are these items meaningful enough to justify keeping them for the next 20 years, when we're empty-nesters and might actually have the time/room/space for a bar in our next house? I'm pretty sure I know what my husband's answer will be, but I'm not so sure.



We put our treadmill and elliptical machine on Craig's List. Unlike many people who never use their excercise equipment, there was a time when I used the treadmill every day. But we joined the YMCA awhile back and now I would much rather work out there then in my basement. So, the treadmill is gone and someone is coming to look at the elliptical tomorrow. So whether the buyers use them for exercise or as clothes hangers, I'm happy to have them out of my house. The finished side of our basement is almost going to double in size once the exercise stuff is out! I can't wait!



Funny thing. Even after losing 100 "friends," I haven't missed anyone yet. As a matter of fact, I have more room now for the updates from people I actually care about. I know the same will hold true for the stuff. I won't miss it. And I'll have more room in my house for the people I actually care about!

Three Days

My parents took my two oldest kids, Sophie and Max, up to Rabbit Lake for the rest of the week. I've been looking forward to this ever since my mom casually mentioned taking the kids once school was out and I forced her to pick dates and make it official. Just kidding, sort of. My mom and dad wanted this time with my kids and I think it's good for kids to get away from time to time. And my parent have lots of fun things planned, so I know, from my kids' perspective, these days are going to fly by.

Leading up to this morning, when my parents came to get the kids, I fantasized about what I would do with all of my time. Granted, I still have Lily, so I'm not completely child free, but she's only one kid, and she naps. And she's still fairly easy to take places. I thought about all of the shopping I could do (I'll finally get a rug for the kids' bathroom!) and the projects I can get done around the house (clean out closets and organize the rough side of the basement!). I also thought about the friends I could see now that I have three totally non-scheduled days ahead! Suddenly three days didn't seem like enough time!

And then they left.

Believe it or not, I actually had to fight back tears as they pulled out of the driveway. What am I going to do without my babies, I thought. Who am I going to talk to all day? I started thinking about how funny they are! How sweet. How Sophie likes to write "I love you. Yes I do." on every piece of paper that she finds. Or how Max, in the middle of coloring in his Super Heroes coloring book, will stop and say "Mom, I love you." I'm going to miss watching Sophie ride her bike like a pro, and the way Max forgets he's wearing his helmet and will suddenly realize it when he's watching TV. I miss their hugs and kisses. I miss how they entertain Lily for hours on end. I never really realized it before, but I like my kids. I mean really like them. Not because I have to, but because they're great kids!

Then, after I put Lily down for her nap, I did something I haven't done in years. I sat and watched Young and the Restless. Don't misunderstand, I watch Y&R almost every day. But I never sit and watch it. There wasn't any laundry to fold. No kitchen dishes to wash or put away. No toys to pick up. No one interrupted me to ask if I could get some tape/scissors/gum/water/snacks. I watched the entire thing without getting up once (Adam is alive! I knew it! And what do you think about Billy...does he really love Victoria or is he scamming her?). It felt strange, like I was doing something wrong. I kept looking around as if I heard someone approaching, but no one was there. I kept thinking I should vacuum, but then remembered that the cleaners were here yesterday and my house is spotless. I'd already done my project for the day (cleaning out the front closet), so all that was left to do was relax.

It's a fine balance. My kids aren't here, and I miss them. But when they are here, I miss the freedom to do what I want to do, like sit, when I want to do it. Even though I'm going to enjoy my three-day break (and I am, trust me), more than anything, it's going to be a good reminder of how much I like having my kids around. (Mom, I might need this reminder one or two more times throughout the summer. Just kidding, sort of.)

Good Touch, Bad Touch

A month or so ago a mom in the neighborhood sent out the name and phone number of a babysitter she was using. I have sitters that I trust and that my kids know very well, so I never called this new recommendation. Thankfully. Earlier this week that mom warned us against ever having that babysitter around our children. She said it was the worst we could imagine. The sitter had touched her four-year-old daughter.

Something like this is every parent's nightmare. I have always been hyper aware, maybe too much so, when it comes to other people being around my children. I don't want to instill fear in my kids, but I want them to know that it's not okay for anyone, ever, to touch them inappropriately. And even more importantly, that we don't keep secrets from each other. I know that someday, as teenagers, my babies aren't going to tell me everything. But I believe this is the first step in letting them know that they can. And they aren't teens yet. At this point there is nothing they should be keeping from Wade and me.

I'll never forget when our pediatrician, during Sophie's regular well-check, had to put his hands just under the waistband of her underpants. Before he touched her he told her what he was going to do and then said, "The only reason this is okay is because your mommy is standing right here." I was so grateful that he had handled it that way. It didn't scare her or make her think she needed to be afraid, but it also clearly sent the message that someone touching her "there" was not normally acceptable.

I have had several conversations with Sophie and Max concerning "good touch and bad touch." I, like most parents, have heard to teach your children that no one should touch them where their bathing suit covers. Of course, I agree with that, but I have taken it a step further. I tell my kids that if anyone touches them and it makes them uncomfortable, they need to tell me. I figure, I can decide what's a good touch or a bad touch better then they can. For instance, if someone puts their hand on Sophie's inner thigh, I consider that a "bad touch" (this has never happened, I'm simply making a point). But her swimming suit doesn't cover her inner thigh, so by those rules it's a "good touch." I believe that kids know, instinctively, if something feels out of sync. I also believe that for the creep who is inappropriately touching a child, it's not always about where. So if my son comes to me and says his friend's dad touched his leg and it didn't feel right, I will trust that intuition with all of my being and Max would never be allowed near that man again (once more, this has never happened...and I pray, every time I send my kids to a friend's house, that it won't).

I tell my kids they should never be alone with an adult when they are at a friend's house. I tell them that I will never send someone they don't know to pick them up from school (or anywhere). I tell them if someone tries to take them, it's okay to hit and scream and bite and kick. Never approach someone in a car or a van. I tell my kids that their body is theirs and no one, NO ONE, should touch it in any way that makes them feel uncomfortable. From time to time, in a light-hearted way, I quiz my kids on what to do in certain situations. So far, they give me the right answers.

Unfortunately, the only way to know if I'm handling this in the right way is for one of my kids to come to me and tell me something has happened. So, obviously, I'm praying that all of my worry and preparation will be for naught. But I suppose the almost invisible silver lining for that mom in my neighborhood is that her daughter did tell her about that babysitter. Because if she hadn't, who knows how many kids around here would have fallen victim. Hooray for that brave four-year-old little girl. And kudos to the mom who taught her not to keep a secret.

Bad Hair Day

Lately I have been quite self conscious about my appearance! I know that everyone is staring at me, wondering why I would allow myself to walk around looking this way. It's not completely my fault, and I am doing something about it. I have an appointment at the end of the week that will fix everything, but that's days away. So, I must, we all must deal with it until then. In the mean time, please, don't stare at the hair on my upper lip.

Because of my short locks I have a haircut every 5 weeks or so. I have a routine. Sheena (Hi Sheena!) cuts it a bit shorter than I actually want it cut. So for the first week after the cut I curse her a little bit for listening to me when I told her to take more off (I ALWAYS tell her to take more off). But the next week my hair is perfect. The perfect-ness lasts for about two or three weeks. Eventually I start noticing little things, like it won't lay right or there's a random chunk that points in the wrong direction. It's at this point that I start thinking about contacting Sheena for my next appointment. However, I don't actually do that until the day that I can no longer stand it. So, I send her frantic text messages asking if she can fit me in, or if she'll be home that afternoon for me to stop by with all three of my children to rampage her house while she does my cut and color. That's my very strict routine.

Unfortunately, the hair on my upper lip is on a different schedule. It needs "tending to" more often. Every three to four weeks, maybe. The tricky thing is that by that point I figure I might as well wait until I'm going to see Sheena for my hair. But that leaves a week, now for instance, when I feel like I'm walking around with a handle bar mustache.

But in one visit Sheena will make me feel beautiful. For over six years she has been cutting, coloring and waxing my hair. It started when I walked into Regis Salon in Southdale looking for someone new to cut my hair. Short hair is tricky and not just anyone can cut it. I don't want my dad's haircut (Love you, Dad!) but I do like it short. Very short. The stylist I had been going to previously was moving to California. I seriously considered following her out there so she could continue cutting my hair. Enter Sheena (after I entered Regis, that is). I was pregnant with Sophie and wearing a horrid pink shirt. I don't remember what Sheena was wearing, but I do remember that I liked and trusted her right away. I followed her when she moved to Total Image of Edina (this was a much easier decision then deciding if I should pack up and move to CA). And now I usually just go to her house where she has a salon and our kids can play and stay out of our hair (well, my hair. Ha.).

I see Sheena about once a month, so of course we are more then stylist/client now. I consider her a good friend. We started as young marrieds and now, between us, we have five kids. As a matter of fact, both times Sheena told me she was pregnant, it was while she was leaning over me waxing my lip! She knew I was pregnant with Max before Wade did. We talk about our husbands, houses, jobs and kids. Other than Wade, Sheena was the only person who knew I planned to get a tattoo on my last trip to New York City.

Sheena gives me a fantastic deal. I won't tell you what it is because you would be angry and jealous and I don't want to foster those emotions. But I do have a bit of a dilemma. Obviously, when I started having Sheena cut my hair, I tipped her. Generously, I hope. Like I said, it's difficult for me to find someone who does a good job (tried Great Clips once and literally left in tears) so I'm happy to pay well when I find someone who cuts it the way I like. But over the years, as our friendship has formed, tipping has started to feel strange. It's not about the money, I'm happy to pay. But I feel like tipping has become patronizing. Especially now that I'm usually at her house. On the other hand, I would hate (HATE) for her to think that I don't appreciate her time, effort and talent. We've come to an agreement (although I don't think we've ever actually talked about it) where I write the check out for the amount she tells me. But I still feel a little badly every time.

I am excited to see Sheena at the end of this week. My kids love seeing her boys and we always have lots to talk about. I'm not looking forward to the waxing, but it'll be an easy 5 pounds, gone. And of course, my hair is in desperate need of a trim. In all honestly if Sheena ever moves to California, the decision would be easy. We'd pack up and move in a heartbeat!