Squad Goals: Laundry

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squad-goals

Dear Taylor Swift,

I like you, but your idea of squad goals, and all of these carefully crafted pictures, make me feel like a mushroom turdball. I enjoy the concept of wanting good things for your friends, though. So, Taylor, these are my squad goals: the great, bombastic, luxurious, off the hook things I wish for my friends…. (let’s compare).

  1. I will never make you wear a bikini and jump in the air wrapped in flag towels, but I will expect you to suit up and swim. No matter what your body looks like, you’re good. Just jump in the damn pool and then we’ll have a cocktail.
  2. I wish clean laundry baskets for you. I know you work very hard and most days it seems like you are behind before you ever even get out of bed. Savor the moments when you feel like you have your shit together. (this empty laundry basket lasted 8 minutes tonight).img_0157
  3. I hope you look up from your phones, your computers, your work, and see your peeps that are outside your door waiting to spend time with you. Just close your stuff for 15 minutes and listen to them, really listen. You won’t regret it.
  4. I hope you get time to yourself that is not limited to going to the bathroom or taking a shower. Your squirrel cage needs time to unwind and you deserve to take these moments.
  5. Spending time with your friends is important. Make it happen. We may not dress up in leather mini-skirts and rock the club scene, but we have fun. You need this Miss Mini-van.
  6. Stop scheduling plans, adventures, trips, goals for everyone else. Make your own. You’re worth it.

Taylor, your bar is set pretty high. As you can see, my squad goals are pretty pedestrian. You do you, and I’ll support my squad the best way I know how. As a favor though, if you’re friends with the pixies and the fairies, please tell them to stop stealing all our socks. It’s ridiculous. Can’t we just get along? They take one and leave the other. Insane. They already have enough pony tail holders and missing scotch tape to cross the river Jordan. We just want our socks to match again.

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Thanks, T. You’re the best.

Keep sharing moxie.

Want. Need. Wear. Read.

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The Christmas gift-giving concept is straightforward: something you want, something you need, something to wear, and something to read. It sounds simple. It should be simple.

I pitched my idea to my firstborn and, ever the rule follower, she promptly gave me a bullet point list. 1. Want-Bookniture, furniture made from books. 2. Need-Shopping money for Paris.

I stopped reading at number 2.

I tried with my preschooler. “I want a drone.” What do you need? “I need a drone.” This prompted a discussion on the definitions of want and need.

Is this a hard question? I turned inward. What do I want? What do I need? Nothing, really. My children don’t truly lack for anything, but I don’t either. So what do I want? Time. Uninterrupted time with them, with my sisters, with…my favorites. What do I need? The same thing, time.

I realize that now that my list-making days are over. I’ll be asking for the same thing every Christmas from now until the end. I want time with the people I love. I’m going to be vocal about it, too, so my children start to begin to get the idea that this concept of time is important. As in, “my mom has been asking for time with us for the past 20 years, it’s sooooo obnoxious, it’s all she wants.” I’m not some paragon of sainthood, but I realize that my children will only live under my roof for a short period of time. I will always want more time with them, especially at Christmas, and I’m perfectly comfortable making them feel guilty as hell if I don’t get it. It’s all I’m asking for.

I just spoke with a colleague yesterday that hasn’t had their children all together for 10 years over the holidays. She wants time. There is a lovely young woman in our community that was just diagnosed with cancer. She wants more time, god, she deserves more, please.

Christmas is a magical time for some, for others they’d like to just get through it. It’s financially and socially stressful and is less a celebration of true love and selflessness than it is of consumerism. Grinchy, grinchity, grinch.

When it comes down to it though, our deepest wishes, the theme is often the same. You want more time, you were deprived of more time, or you haven’t found the right people you want to spend time with.

For all of you, dear readers, I hope your Christmas is filled with time. Time with the people that make you laugh till you cry, drive you insane, make you snort with derision, and fill your heart up. Find your tribe. Love them, fiercely. Merry Christmas, friends.

Keep sharing moxie.

 

Christmas Card Competition

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christmas-catString me up by toenails, I mailed out my Christmas cards today. I’m THAT person. The obnoxious one that sends Christmas cards every year. Early. I’m sorry. Before you pelt me with olives, let me assure you, I do not have my crap together in any other way.  

I have posed with a shovel, made my friends take pictures of me when I was single and sent them out with aplomb. If I had a cat in the 90’s, no doubt I would’ve been this super festive twee love pictured to the left.

Somehow, though, my favorite time of year to visit the mailbox has lost a bit of luster. I think it’s gotten a little too competitive. My sister gave me a look of unbridled (yet, well deserved) disgust when I handed out Christmas cards at Thanksgiving last week. The personalized return mailing labels with our family photo emblazoned on them? A bit much, perhaps. My family is not as bright and shiny as we appear on the thick cardstock. Yours isn’t either, precious. None of us are Christmas card perfect. We just aren’t perfect, period. So let’s just write a Christmas card disclaimer, like a surgeon general warning on a pack of ciggies: these photos may be dangerous to your self-esteem. May cause you to vomit a little in your mouth. Smiling is good for your health, so smile, piss ant, and be glad someone mailed you an actual card.

In my heart of hearts, I know that my favorite Christmas cards are the ones that make me laugh, the ones that celebrate joy. The family that mocks themselves a bit. I loved it when a friend of mine had her husband wrestle with a barn cat one year for a photo shoot in striped sweaters. Admittedly, my humor veers towards David Sedaris.

Let’s make our goals certain and true: try to  make people smile and be glad they’re friends with you, rather than wanting to bash your perfect face in when they open up your Christmas card. My labels are pretentious this year, the contents inside- flagrantly braggadocio, hopefully the cover photo redeems the hot mess. So, from my family to yours…Merry Christmas from Bossy Boots & the Pot Stirrer.

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Keep sharing moxie!

 

Thankful for Pickled Beets

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Thanksgiving was my Grandma’s holiday. She owned it like a boss. It was her birthday, plus Thanksgiving, and the mission was clear: fill the Taopi town hall with her family. Grandma is gone now and new traditions have replaced the old trek to the drafty hall. I miss the bent folding chairs and being paraded on the town stage.

I have two feet planted squarely in middle age and have never bought pickled beets till this year, because Grandma isn’t here to make them anymore. I saved her last beets until I needed to google shelf times, safety and canning. My sister made a commemorative batch, but it wasn’t the same. Nothing is as good as the loving original.

Grief is the thing that makes your throat hurt when you’re past the point of crying. I stood in the grocery aisle staring at a jar of beets this week and my throat hurt a little. “Are you finding everything, Ma’am?” My voice cracked on “yes.”.

This month I met with two families that have lost their children and wanted to set up scholarship funds in their memory. And I heard it again, the voice crack. Their throats hurt a little. Those hearts bear scars that they will never show to the world, but will smile this spring giving scholarship money to someone else’s child.

The dark side of holidays is the simple truth that sometimes they suck for others. It’s hard to celebrate when your heart hurts, but celebrate we must. I think it’s important to be thankful for a life well lived, however short or long. It’s also good to give an extra squeeze whenever you hear someone’s voice crack. This Thanksgiving let us be thankful for those that are gathered around our table and the empty chairs that we wish were still filled.

If I were to assemble my favorite meal, it would have Grandma’s pickled beets, my mom’s chocolate cake, Willie’s fish, Jan’s deviled eggs, and my husband’s steak. Some of these people are living and some are not, but I’m thankful for all of them. Who makes your perfect meal? Happy Thanksgiving, friends.

Keep sharing moxie.

Winning & Losing Graciously

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Last weekend I ran (walked) a 5k race with my 4-year old. Once he realized that the race didn’t end at Dairy Queen he started crying. This quickly devolved to the point where he pointed to everyone ahead of us and yelled “They’re cheaters!! They are all FAST CHEATERS!”

I was pissed.

We walked back to the starting line talking about the importance of trying .We discussed that he isn’t going to win every time, no one does. I thought we had an understanding, a good talk, valuable life lesson. Pat on the back, well played, Mom. Wrong.

We got to the end of the race and he started yelling about cheaters again after he saw the racers got medals. Awesome. We hit the high points again. We talked once more before nap. We talked at dinner. His dad talked to him. We will continue to have this conversation again and again until he gets the concept of losing graciously. I will suck it up whenever I lose, because I know he is watching my every move.

Tomorrow it’s election day in the United States. We have had a hotly contested, dichotomous and divisive race. We will have winners and losers tomorrow. It will sting. It will be celebratory. It will still be divisive.

Some lovely, albeit naive, people are talking about how great it will be when the election is over. I fear that it won’t be. We are not a nation that loses graciously. We give out medals to all in order to avoid it. We blame it on other people. “It was THEIR fault.” “It was rigged.” “The (teacher, boss, supervisor, colleague) doesn’t like me.”

I really, really don’t want to debate the merits or weaknesses of anyone in any race at this point. Let’s just get mentally ready that there will be winners and losers tomorrow. If your candidates win, please don’t be obnoxious. If your candidates lose, please don’t be obnoxious. Remember, the preschoolers are watching. Let’s try and set a good example for them. 

Keep sharing moxie. Follow me at http://www.sharingmoxie.com!

Letter of Recommendation

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A heartfelt letter of recommendation is a gift. It’s words on a paper from someone you admire summarizing just how amazing they think you are. Everyone should have one in their back pocket just to pull out when they’re feeling the funk and stuck in the mulligrubs. It’s an adult paper equivalent of gazing upon all your Little League trophies.

I’ve recently had a mash-up of events: attending funerals, writing and receiving letters of recommendation. Professionally, I’m often asked to write letters of recommendation. Usually, it’s a student or an employee, which goes with the territory. Recently, I’ve been asked to write letters of recommendation for colleagues I adore, admire, respect and load of other chest puffing adjectives. It’s left me feeling sad and incredibly grateful to have worked with these friends that have changed my life. I feel the exact same way at funerals.

What if we put the adoration out there for everyone when they were still with us? Before they were ready to leave? Before the final goodbye? What if?

What would you say?

Who would you say it to?

I have witnessed first hand the vacuum suck of underperformance and watched some of the best people “check out”. We’re all familiar with “senior slide”. The students that check out after completing college applications, rest on their laurels and wait for graduation love to shine on them anyway.  I’ve also seen the slow decline of an extremely negative environment and the effect it has on industrious people. The workers start to check out long before they leave. You notice the little things that people don’t do anymore. The unwillingness to put in extra effort because you’ve lost the feeling that you’re aiming for the same shore and mutiny is whispered in the wind.

If you’re sick, and you know your time is limited, you start to focus on what really matters. The people that matter and how you want to spend your final weeks, days and hours. You withdraw from extraneous commitments and measure time as the valuable resource that is. We know the infallible truth that time is limited for everyone, but it’s not until the hourglass is forcibly shoved in your face do you truly acknowledge it. It’s regrettable that our best lessons are usually learned last, too late, and without do-overs.

There are some tangible ways you can turn things around. Tell the people now, today and without delay, how you feel about them, before they withdraw. Whether it’s a student, a colleague or family member. Letters of recommendation usually have a similar arc. It’s a pleasure, how you know them, what you respect and admire, sprinkled with some personal witty touches. They can be formulaic or they can be heartfelt. When you come from a place of truth and vulnerability, putting it all out there, it resonates. Good friends, great employees, and exceptional students are gifts to you and your community. Tell them how much you adore them today. Write it down and stick it in their back pocket.

Keep sharing moxie.

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Confessions from the booth…

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ballotTruth: I have voted in every major election since I was old enough to vote. Confession: I haven’t known half of the candidates that were on the ballot…

Before you slip into your Judgey McJudgey pants, bear with me. I consider myself to be a reasonably informed person. I walk into every polling place with a chipper step, smiling and thanking the election judges for their service. I get into the booth and click through the president, governor, senators. Well done, me. Then, I glance down at the representatives. By the time I get to judges, soil and water conservation supervisors and county coroners, I am sweating. I have no idea who any of these people are and how in the world I am qualified to choose them. Sometimes I pick them based on how I like their names. Who is the incumbent? Why is someone running against them? Sometimes I break out eenie, meanie, miney, mo. I’m not proud of this, but I try to tell the unvarnished truth here, so there it is.

Not this year though, my friends! Much like studying for an exam, I’ve read the book beforehand. I’ve downloaded a sample ballot for my exact address and county, so I’m ready. Bring it, election of 2016. I’d like to recommend this bit of reconnaissance for any of the rest of you that have known the stall of shame at the polling place, walking out wondering who you ended up voting for. (see myballot or ballotpedia)

The presidential race has been crazy pants, but I have every intention of nailing it with the small races where I have a blank slate that needs to be filled with information. To that end, I’m proud to say I’ve been a part of a disparate group that has organized a school board candidate forum in my community tomorrow night. My vote may matter the most in this small election that will shape the educational opportunities of my children for the next four years. If “all politics are local” and “the school is the heart of any community” then spending a night to learn about your own school board candidates, mayoral candidates, and county commissioners might be a better use of time than listening to another soul- crushing hash on the future of America from popular media outlets.

Make change where you can, yourself. Start studying. Soil and water conservation supervisors, by the way? Thank you. You have helped to keep this cheeky girl’s water safe unbeknownst to me for years. Thanks for mitigating pesticide run-off. I know your names now. I’m ready to vote for you.

Keep sharing moxie.

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Piss off, Pinterest.

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I’m looking at you Pinterest, Instagram, Fakebook, and Photoshop. You’ve left me feeling a little bit LESS THAN. You’ve taken the concept of Keeping Up With the Joneses (or Kardashians, blech) to a whole new level, squared. No worries though, I’m throwing in the towel. I’ve decided I can’t keep up and am jumping off that train.

I have found my people… Pinterestfail.com “where good intentions come to die” and Celeste Barber, a hilarious Australian comedian that has recreated celebrity selfies. Take a moment and look this stuff up. Crying. Oh my gosh, these are my people.

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Have you started to feel a bit like you’re in 7th grade again looking at all these airbrushed beauties and their carefully cultivated on-line presence? You know it’s not all real, every day can’t be THAT fabulous for others, but somehow you feel left out? I didn’t love 7th grade. Did ANYONE?! And then…I remembered to laugh. I mean really, people. Life is messy, sometimes beautiful, but often funny.

I identify with Bridget Jones. Do you?  That is one Jones that I could run with. I’ve always wanted to be British, am slightly chubby, prone to failure, and we both love Colin Firth. Who doesn’t? My daughter gave me Colin Firth on a stick a few years ago on Mother’s Day. “What would be the best gift, Mom?” Colin Firth on a stick was always my answer. It remains my favorite gift of all time, but I digress.

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I think somewhere we’ve started to lose the ability to laugh at ourselves. We’ve started keeping score with others daily and thinking it’s a real thing. I fail all the time. I’m not ashamed to admit it. I often share my failures with others, because sometimes they’re hilarious. The picture of the stairs at the beginning of this post? Those are my back steps. Piss off, Pinterest. I couldn’t even get the damn window cling idea to work. I mean, really. Failure at window clings? That’s funny.

Last weekend my niece got married. I showed up to decorate her hotel suite with rose petals, battery operated tea lights, and champagne. I got patted down at the door for bringing liquor into the establishment. I had to wait with the security guard until I confirmed that I was the one paying for the room and wasn’t some deranged drunk trying to ruin someone’s wedding night. Oh my stars, was I embarrassed, but how much did my sisters laugh when I told them? Tears.

So today, tomorrow, and next week let’s all work at laughing more and judging less. Let’s try to remember we’re not in 7th grade. I don’t really care what you have as long as you’re nice to others. Piss off, Pinterest. I’ve found my lunch table and we’re absolutely freaking hilarious. Fail on, friends!

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Lawnmower parents, please stop.

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Dear Lawnmower Parents,

Please stop. We’ve moved on from helicopter parents to you and I don’t like it one bit. Helicopters would hover, but you seek to mow down every obstacle in your child’s path. You aren’t helping, you’re suffocating. Unless you plan to move to college with your kids (if you can get them to leave you), please turn off your engines now to listen for a bit.

I just spent the last few days trying to register kids for a college fair. I am passionate about college and will do what I can to help any child get there. I found around 5 of every 25 students in a room didn’t know their home address or didn’t know their parent’s number. One would think this might be a bit embarrassing for them, not so much. “Just wait, I need to text my mom to find out my address. She usually does all this stuff for me.” These were teenagers that didn’t know where they lived. This wasn’t a remedial class, nor was this a transient population. They were juniors and seniors in a small midwestern town.

I had a conversation with a parent recently that confessed that she had a pen taken out of her hand when she was trying to fill out her daughter’s forms at college. She was told that she wasn’t the student. That’s right. You as a parent are not the student. You aren’t the entry level worker and you aren’t the athlete on the field. Stop acting like you are. Every time you grab the pen, yell at the coach, and demand an answer from a teacher you rob your child of the opportunity to learn something on their own, conflict management.

If our job as parents is to give our children roots and wings, we need to concentrate a little more on the wings part.

Your kids are amazing. They can do great things if you let them. Problem solving is one of the most important skills you can allow your kids to develop. Let them deal with the problems of life, school, work, and sports while they are safe in your home with a soft place to land. Allow them to stumble a bit.

If a teenager doesn’t know where they live, what their parent’s phone number is (unless they look in their contacts) and can’t boil water we have then successfully churned out a generation that has less self-help skills than the generation before them. Granted, they may be able to program your t.v., but if they can’t tell the dispatcher where you live to send the fire trucks…

Your child should be able to complete algebra, write a coherent essay, and pass a citizenship test when they graduate from high school. That is the work of educators and the effort of your children. If your child knows how to wash clothes, make a few meals, mow a lawn, use their manners and remember their home address, that’s on you. Stay off your lawnmower long enough to teach them.

Thank you.

Keep sharing moxie.

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Welcome to the family-

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Dear Newbie,

Today you will take the hand of beautiful girl. Her father will “give her away” today, but that’s not how it really works. You know that, right? She is joining your family and taking your last name, but we had her first.

I have loved this child since the day of her birth. I’ve been blessed that her mom and dad were willing to share her with me. Your parents are sharing today, too. Weddings are beautiful, but they are hard. Something new is beginning, but an entire way of life is ending. This joy stings.

I’ve learned that families become stronger when you open yourself up to others. We have adopted people, friends have become family, and today you are formally joining our family, but it doesn’t happen in a day. Families become what they are over a hundred gatherings of pizza, beer, and scrabble. The easter egg hunts that become legend and the inside jokes that make people laugh so hard they hurt. You’ll learn.

All I can ask is this: strive to be worthy of her. Every day. She’s lovely inside and out. Every family wants the next generation to be all of the good stuff and less of the bad. Her parents and their combined gene pool knocked it out of the park with her. She’s a hell of a lot nicer, kinder, and goodness personified than all of us on our best days. Don’t take this for granted.

You love her. That’s where it all starts. You haven’t been really tested yet, but you will be. Life will eventually throw death, loss, change, and hardship your way. It happens to all of us. How you struggle through it sets the tone for the rest. If you continue to come back to a place of love, you’ll be alright.

Welcome to the swirling vortex that is our tribe. The woman that you are walking down the aisle today used to love to twirl around in dresses. Did you know that? She used to shout out, “Watch me, watch me! Are you watching me?” I’ve been watching since the beginning. I’m honored to watch you both together now. Keep her twirling and you’ll always have a seat at my table. Welcome to the family. We’ve been waiting for you.

Keep sharing moxie.

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