40 and fabulous
When I was a kid, I kept a diary… with a little key. And when I was a teenager, I kept a journal. At some point, I kept a prayer list, which was really just a diary with ‘dear God’ written at the top instead of either ‘dear diary’ or the date. At some point, my friend, Aleece, said to me, ‘you should blog. It’s the same thing as journaling, but your hands don’t cramp up.’ Aleece is a smart friend.
Blogging for me was always about working through things in my head. For a brief period, I entertained a fleeting enjoyment of the idea that people might read my blog and I might have a following, but it soon became clear that in order for that to happen, too much work would be involved. In the last six months or year, I haven’t blogged routinely though I’ve had lots I’ve wanted to work through because people I know in real life… outside of Aleece… now have the blog address and read what I write. And while that is sweet and intimate and kind, it is also a little intimidating. There are some dark and unhappy things swirling about in my head that not everyone need to know. Ya know?
Aleece, always smart, suggested the other day that I start a new, super secret blog. And I considered it. But I love this blog. I love the way it has followed me through the years, the way it reads as the roadmap of my life. And so I’ve decided that it’s time for me to return to blogging and to laying the good and the bad out here. I have always been very honest here. Because this blog is for me, not for mass consumption. And I intend to continue to write that way.
So this post is a bit of a warning of sorts… to those who know me in person… you might not like all that you read in the future… you can always just not. There are some lovely other sites… if you’re shopping, I like Etsy - A Dusty Attic is one of my favorites as is Inspire Me Crafts - and if you’re hungry, you can always check out the foodie links on the sidebar here. Yum.
But anyhoo… I’m thinking 40 is a good time to take a new look at Chel. Because I’m kinda grooving to what I’m seeing as I’m looking.
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a mama ode…
Written by Griff… forced by a teacher he hates… sweet nonetheless…
“When angels sing, my mother woke up. If 3 words could overview my mom, they would be humorous, nurturing, and last, but certainly not least, she’s a little insane. Mom, how about you check out why I love you.
My mom is so humorous. If mom and Jim Carey went in a funny fight she would win. I love when you help me with homework and we critic things like ‘nomadic herding.’ I also think it’s great when we wonder who gave Eliza ’speed.’
She’s also as nurturing as a bird and her egg except she nurture after the egg is hatched. Right now, she’s staying with my dad in the hospital, but also having a sitter for us. Also for us she works a job she constantly says she hates not that’s someone you can count reliable.
Now the insane is not like meniacle its just crazy, a good insane. She says its things that are cool, are ‘groovy’ or something is the bomb diggidy. She also says ‘you are so cute’ to anything.
So I hope this show my mom’s inner beauty. If your mom is humorous, nurturing, and insane, give her back. I love you, mom.
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that’s right…
And today, I am 40.
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We had this really wonderful week with my parents.
They stayed in a hotel (yay!) so we all had enough time to do our own thing and no one felt the pinch of too many people in too small a space. We all enjoyed one another’s company. It was a delightful time.
Right up until it wasn’t.
As they were leaving, my dad pulled me aside and told me how much he and my mom really loved my family and enjoyed spending time with us. And he said that was why he needed to tell me these next few things. He said Griff was really maturing and growing up (which I know) and that sometimes parents don’t notice that because they are too close to the situation. I told him that I do know that because I am close to the situation. We work really hard to make sure that we spend time alone with Griff to help foster his budding maturity. 
He also said they were concerned about Eliza’s weight. I wasn’t overly surprised by that, either, as I had seen him watching her this week. She’s six and admittedly at that awkward age little girls all seem to hit. But she’s active and healthy. He said she was a prime candidate for juvenile diabetes. I said there was no need for them to worry, that she was fine. As I relayed that story to Mike, his comment was that it was no surprise that I have body image issues. I wasn’t much older than Eliza is now when they began to talk with me about my own weight.
And lastly, as if this wasn’t enough, he said we needed to get involved in a church (which we already know, right?) because we need it for our marriage. Now, in this life of mine, nothing has come quite as easily to me as this marriage to Mike. I say that as a compliment to Mike because I cannot possibly be easy to live with or to deal with on a day to day basis. I undoubtedly bring new meaning to the term ‘high-maintenance.’ And while a church would certainly be nice, I think that our marriage is doing ok. But then, in all honesty, my mother has been saying that I was a bad wife to Mike for years now. God bless him, Mike says he’s really the only one who gets to say if I’m a good wife or not.
And while all of this was hurtful and annoying (mostly because I let my guard down and didn’t see it coming… annoyed with myself), I’m pretty much over it already. And I’m choosing to just remember that we all had a good time together.
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a peaceful, easy feeling
It’s that time again. My parents’ bi-annual visit is upon us. They’ll arrive tomorrow. Last visit, I insisted they stay in a hotel, and the visit was so good. This visit, I’m assuming they’re doing the same thing, but they haven’t said, and I haven’t had the energy (been a long, hard few months at work) to ask.
As I approach 40, I think about my parents’ acceptance or lack of it (been thinking about a lot as I approach 40, frankly). And I think they are more accepting of me and mine than they let on. They are, heaven help them, just a little critical by nature. I’m never going to be the woman they want me to be, so if we all accept that as a given, then I think we’re all doing quite well at accepting the woman I actually am. You know, what they know of the woman I actually am.
Because they have been so terribly critical in the past, at some point, I just quit telling them anything overly personal or intimate. It isn’t their fault. It was a choice I made. My mother’s answer to everything is always to pray and that God will provide, and while I completely agree with both of those assertions, they never really met me where I was in my time of need. I tend to be a girl who really needs a real-world person to present an answer and a face to my need. I’m not saying that’s right by any measure, just that it’s who I am. So when she wasn’t really there to hold my hand when really all I needed was a little hand holding and instead chose to mention that my faith might not quite but up to snuff, I quit sharing.
I left home for college at 18, and other than a brief three month period after graduation, I haven’t lived at home or in the same town with my parents since then. I haven’t lived in the same state as the rest of my family since I was 22. And yes, everyone else in my family still lives in the same small town.
With no sharing of intimate details, it’s really hard to remain close 18 years later or even to know one another well. Neither of my parents are on speaking terms with their siblings for various though remarkably similar reasons. I consider it a huge blessing that my brother and my sister-in-law, Nicole, and I are so close.
I wish my parents knew who I am now because I think that - despite the fact that I didn’t turn out to be the stay-home, home-schooling mom they wish I was - they would be proud of the way I respond to people, the way I treat people, of who I am. Of course, as I say that, I think about the fact that I do occasionally curse like a sailor, and I let my son watch tv that features things he might not should see but that is kinda funny anyway, and that don’t clean my house until visitors come over… and then I just try to shove as much as possible into my closet and then just close the door.
Of course, the flip side is also true… I don’t know the people they are today any better than they know the person I am today. I know that the angry man who reared me is calmer, even if he is also less fun than he was when I was younger. I know my mother is consistent. I know that while her method of relating to things isn’t my way, I do respect her for it.
And while all of this is a little saddening, I’m also ok with it. I am grateful for them, that they love us all and enjoy spending time with my kids enough to come visit. I am grateful that we all seem to have come to a peaceful middle ground in our relationship. And really, for me, peaceful is what I’m looking for in all of my relationships.
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