What's in your closet?

Have you heard about Project 333? I’ve written about it before although I’ve never participated. The idea has always intrigued me though, and I’d been considering participating this year.

I was talking about it with Kent and it occurred to me that there’s no corresponding idea for men. I don’t think it’s that no man ever hoarded clothes or has a closet full of clothing with nothing to wear. But I do think there are a couple of reasons why this concept is primarily embraced by women.

If you think about it, we women tend to buy into the idea that we need four discrete seasons of clothing—the item change in terms of fabrics or cut and most definitely shift in terms of color. Think of how summer dresses look and feel compared to winter dresses. Or pants vs. those abominations, capris (sorry if you like them, I cannot abide them at all). Fall colors are typically warmer toned than winter colors, and likewise with spring and summer. Even if the palettes are similar, the color saturation is different (think of summer colors compared to winter colors). Summer clothing is as skimpy as can be (and then we freeze in our overly air conditioned offices) while winter sees us putting on the layers.  So we buy seasonal clothing, which stuffs our closets and then we have a hard time mixing and matching what we’ve got.

I don’t see that same situation with men’s clothing. It’s not really much of an option. Sure, in a business casual environment you’ll see men wearing things like khaki pants rather than tropical wool, and some wear those wretched short sleeve “dress” shirts (dress shirts don’t have short sleeves is all I’m saying) in the summer. But overall, men can wear the same kinds of clothing year round.

So before I start the Project 333 plan, I’d rather take a look at my closet and cull the obvious outliers, the clothes that are strictly intended to be worn in one season. I don’t mean I’ll purge my bathing suit, or have no shorts or sun dresses. But I do think I don’t need three months’ worth of either item. I think if I aim for three season wearing out of all clothing items, then I will need far fewer clothing. And if I choose my colors carefully, sticking with the palette I tend to buy all the time anyway then everything will go together.

What about you, how do you approach buying clothing?

The way things were

Ben, me and Jordan

My timing on life transitions has always been a bit off. I got married incredibly young and had both my children within a couple of years. I’ve always been ahead of the curve for child-oriented milestones. I was 27 when my older child entered first grade, 29 for the younger one, and 39 and 41 respectively for their high school graduations.

Getting divorced in my mid-thirties had an unintended side effect of pushing me into the mostly empty nest phase way ahead of schedule. My ex believed, and I mostly agreed with him, that the boys should be with him. He had a stable job, plus he could be the male role model we both felt they needed. So in spite of my very strong wishes to the contrary, my children didn’t live with me.

Let me tell you, it’s really odd to be a woman, a mother in your mid 30s and not have your children living with you. I experienced a lot of judgment (I must have been a bad mother to “lose” my children or no, maybe I was an unloving, selfish mother who “gave away” her children), I wrote endless bad poetry about how wretched that felt, I questioned my role in life, my identity and my worth because my children lived with their dad.

(They did both end up back with me but that’s not the point. I went through that transition and felt every awful bit of it.)

Now I have friends going through similar big life transitions – divorces, kids moving out, or entering high school or junior high or first grade. I watch them go through the same feelings I did and I’m oddly reassured that what I felt was quite normal.

And I want to tell them what they’re feeling is normal. That yes, you do wonder who and what you are when your children no longer need you 24/7. You wonder if you don’t exist for your children, well then what do you exist for? And how do you fill the time when you don’t need to cook and clean and clean and cook and do endless loads of laundry and drive them around or loan them the car. What do you do?

If they asked, I would tell them to feel their feelings but don’t get stuck there. That’s a dangerous place to be stuck, squarely in the middle of a big “I’m useless” mud puddle. I’d ask them what they did before they had children, who were they then? Because they are still those women today only even more so. After all, they’ve given birth and raised those kids and no one goes through that process unchanged. I’d say the changing is good, the transition – while painful – is also good even if they can’t see it now. And I’d tell them that they will be needed in far different ways as their children move to adulthood, ways they can’t imagine now (or at least I couldn’t), and that being needed by your adult children is even more amazing than raising the helpless babies, getting through the toddler years, and even better than the high school years (which I personally loved).

A disclaimer

My former mother-in-law once gave me a necklace that appeared to be made from all the left-over thread I’d ever used to make oboe reeds. It was colorful, fluffy and not at all to my taste. While I appreciated her generosity, I wasn’t sure what to do with it because I knew I’d never wear it. I ended up tying it around the arm of a dining room chair and let the cats play with it.

Similarly, I have friends whose mothers-in-law either make or buy them gifts they find completely unsuitable. They are grateful for the thoughtfulness but don’t know what to do with the actual gifts.

So here’s my disclaimer: if I ever make or buy you something you would never in a million years get for yourself or even consider wanting for yourself, feel free to ditch whatever it is. Unless it’s my hot fudge sauce in which case (a) what’s wrong with you? And (b), give it back.

I'm posting this because in the last year or so I've made a lot of gifts. And I don't ever want the recipient to feel as though he/she is now saddled with a completely inappropriate gift for the rest of his or her life. That's just silly. Gifts from me are freely given and once given, do what you will with them. 

Words matter

This week on NPR, I heard a story about t-shirts sold at either Forever 21 or Penney’s (I forget which and am too lazy to go look it up) that have slogans like Allergic to Algebra on them. The story described how a mother was disturbed enough by the message on those shirts that she started a tweet campaign against them, and enough people joined in that the shirts were removed from the stores.

What really caught my attention was the sound clip from another woman, also a mother, who basically said she didn’t see what difference a shirt like that made, they’re just kids and it’s just words or something to that effect.

I couldn’t disagree with her more. Words do matter, they matter a lot. What we tell our children has a lot to do with how they see themselves including what they think they can and cannot do. We all have those childhood tapes in our heads—some are positive and sadly, many are not.

If we tell them they are clever and good at something, I think that can influence their behavior. I remember overhearing my mother and first grade teacher talking about me right before Christmas break that year. My mother asked how I was doing and my teacher, Miss Floyd, gave her an update on me. She said that I was in the second reading group but there was no reason I couldn’t be in the top reading group if I wanted to be. That idea was new to me, that I could be in the top reading group and it was almost like I was given permission to get there. So I did. I’m not sure that would have happened without her saying that and me overhearing it.

I wish I’d gotten that message about math too. I didn’t do well in math until I got to college. Partly that’s because I went to five different elementary schools so math was very disjointed for me. I didn’t get the continuity or practice that’s necessary to master basic math skills. I also wasn’t told I could be good at math. Based on how difficult math was for me, I decided I was awful at it and that I hated it.

Flash forward to college. That was the first time I had to do a lot of math, over and over until I mastered the concepts. I realized I was actually quite good at it once I’d had enough practice. I still didn’t particularly love it, well not all of it, although I absolutely adored statistics and computer science math.

My experience with math is why I tell every little girl I see that she will be really good at math and science. Sometimes I get puzzled looks from the adults nearby but I don’t care. I want that message to get out and I want girls to realize they can be cute and also kick ass at algebra.

Edited to add a link to the article Jeanne mentioned in the comments. Go read it!

Cracked

Lately we've been on a boiled egg kick. We'll cook up enough for the week and each take one in our lunch boxes. Thanks to Joy of Cooking, the eggs turn out perfectly cooked every time (I used to cook them far too long and they'd be really rubbery and gross). The only time I have issues with the eggs is if one cracks when I slip it into the water.

Usually one of us will eat the cracked egg while it's still warm. But last night neither of us were hungry so I pitched the cracked egg--but not before taking this picture. Doesn't it look like a chicken in a chef's hat?

Stories

I’m not sure that I can write well enough to say what I want to say without this devolving into something maudlin and sentimental. If it goes there, please pretend it didn't happen because that’s not my intent at all.

People tell me things. Kent says he’s never seen anyone get strangers to talk about themselves the way I do. I don’t agree with him that I have a particular talent in this area although I do make connections with people and they do tell me things. Everyone has a story and almost everyone wants to tell their stories. Mostly I like making those connections because I’ve talked with a lot of exceptionally interesting people. Conversation like that makes flying go by faster.

Yesterday was one of the rare times I sort of wished I hadn’t started a conversation—although as I think back, I’m pretty sure he would have said what he did anyway. On the flight from Minneapolis to Boston, I got the first class upgrade which was perfect timing for me. It’s a lot easier to sleep in first class than in coach. I think the man in 1C also got an upgrade because he came up from coach. I asked him if he lived in the Minneapolis area (he did), and asked what was taking him to Boston. Business, he said, although it was going to be a very short trip. In fact he was returning on Monday, because he needed to go see his son in the burn unit.

Turns out his son is in the burn unit because he’d gotten notice that the bank was foreclosing on his house. The dad said he flipped out and threw himself onto a fire in the back yard. It took four male fire fighters to pull him off.

I know from personal experience that this recession is really bad and affecting a lot of people. Kent and I have both had long periods of unemployment, I have friends who also need jobs, and my younger son had to sell his house in the Detroit area as a short sale which meant he lost everything he’d put down on the house and also lost money on the improvements they made. But I haven’t talked with someone who has been so affected by the recession in the way this man’s son has. And to make things even more horrible, his other son is also losing a house to foreclosure.

Who knows how or why both sons face financial disasters. All I know is that yesterday I sat next to someone who needed to tell his story. The least I could do was listen.

My favorite things and other observations

Here’s a random list of things I miss when I’m gone:

• Kent (this is a no brainer but true nevertheless)
• Eddie sitting on the back of the toilet trying to swat the water as I brush my teeth or wash my face
• Wally chirp-meowing at me in the middle of the night so I’ll roll over on my left side so he can flop on me (the right side doesn’t work for him)
• Our coffee in the morning—Via beats the crap in the hotel rooms but I do prefer to have fresh-brewed stuff in the AM
• Our shower
• Our bed—even though it’s a cheap mattress and topper from Ikea, it’s really comfy
• Taking my lunch to work—we’re good cooks and I like what we make

Weird and/or interesting things I saw on this trip:

• Saw a man with a whole lot of ink, which isn’t unusual. But the tattoo at the base of his neck sure was: it was a very pink lipstick kiss mark.
• Sat near three burly construction guys carrying three enormous boxes of fresh bread from Hilo to Honolulu—plus they had several bags of chocolate
• Got introduced as the only white person in a meeting while in Hilo (it’s true, I was, everyone else was of mostly Hawaiian or Guam or Philippino descent)
• Watched the feral kitties hunt in the exposed rocks at low tide around 4 AM the first day
• Heard a 35-ish year old man call his wife “mommy” (yes they had two children but EW) (apologies if you call your spouse "mommy" or "daddy")

The problem of pain

With apologies to C. S. Lewis regarding the title, this is a slightly different blog entry for me. By the way, he is my favorite author ever; if I could take the collected works of just one author with me into banishment, I’d take his.

A few years ago, I ended up with chronic pain in my abdomen as a result of all the surgery I’ve had. I am apparently a scar tissue growing machine and I’d also developed an incisional hernia from having had six major surgeries. Long story not quite so long, after being on a pain management plan for close to a year, I had a seventh major abdominal surgery to fix that hernia. Post-op, my surgeon told me the reason that surgery took twice as long as he’d anticipated was because he’d removed massive amounts of scar tissue from all parts of my abdomen before he could proceed with the repair.

I’ve had pain off and on since and figure it comes with the territory of being me. Some people get bad joints, others bad backs and I just happen to grow a lot of scar tissue after surgery. Since I’ve had so many, I’ve been able to grow a bumper crop. Last week, I returned to the pre-seventh surgery levels of pain. I’m confident that this pain is from that scar tissue yanking things around inside; I had an unusually physically demanding week in New Jersey doing a lot of movements that require twisting around. Those kinds of movements are no longer kind to me and simply walking was next to impossible.

I’ve been reading the blog of a woman I know from high school; she understands pain from a perspective most of us will hopefully never experience. Returning to that kind of pain last week made me think about something she'd written about pain, how I handle pain, and why I do it that way. Here’s an excerpt from what she wrote:

I started thinking about how poorly in general, society handles people in chronic pain and the glib ways we expect people to deal with it, usually based on our experience with minor or major aches of short duration. There are societally appropriate and inappropriate ways of dealing with pain--1) Silent grimaces or pained smiles are good manners; yelps or verbal expletives are poor manners, 2) Complaining is being whiny, suffering silently is being stoic, 3) Working through (or exercising through) the pain is lauded as admirable; barely functioning (or not functioning at all) is seen as lazy, 4) Taking pain killers for pain means you are morally weak; being proud of not taking pain killers means you are morally strong, and 5) Continuing to have pain and not being able to control it by force of prayer and mind is a sign of poor character; overcoming pain is a sign of good character.

I find that I judge myself most harshly of all when I’m in pain. I feel like I’ve failed to if I admit I’m in pain—even when I’m throwing up because of it. How stupid is that? So most of last week I beat myself up mentally while hurting physically. That is not the kind of woman I want to be.

Now, a week later I am as close to pain free as I ever get these days. The lesson for me is pretty clear: I need to pay attention when things start flaring up and even more, I need to remember that feeling pain isn’t a sign of weakness or moral failing.

In praise of praise

I’ve only run a couple of 5k races, mostly because I am so dang competitive and I lack the physical ability to match my mental competitiveness. But when people cheered me on or hollered that I was looking good or running well, I got a huge boost from that and ran better and felt better.

This happened even during my normal runs in Kansas City. I’d see some of the same people every time I ran and a couple of them would give me a holler or cheer me on—what was really nice was hearing that sort of thing toward the end of a run. I’d have enough energy to finish strong instead of faltering at the end.

This morning I passed a fairly large running group on the first half of my run. Some had on T-shirts which mentioned a marathon and others were pretty clearly trainers or staff support for this running group. When I encountered them again on the second half of my run, they’d divided into three or four groups with a few stragglers in between. You could tell by then who was used to running, who weren’t runners but were still in decent shape and those who probably didn’t work out at all. I should say that I especially admire the folks who aren’t in the best of shape and still get out there and try—it’s not easy to start something like that and that’s doubly true when you’re with folks who are very fit.

So I cheered them on, especially the stragglers. I told them they were looking good, that they could do it, and I loved seeing them pick up their heads a bit more when they heard me.

The value of small talk

Kent likes to brag on my ability to get people to tell me things, and I guess he’s right—they do. But honestly it’s just that everyone has a story and wants to tell it. I happen to like to hear the stories.

A friend of mine asked for help in making small talk and eventually confessed he thought it was too much work and he didn’t see the reward other than maybe not being seen as socially awkward. So this post is my answer to his complaint.

Sunday I l flew from Boston to San Diego and got the first class upgrade for the Boston > Minneapolis leg of the trip. That fact is important for two reasons—it determined the outcome and reduced the audience. I always chit-chat with the flight attendants and Sunday was no exception. As we were served breakfast, I asked the flight attendant (Rick) if he were going to eat. We spoke briefly and then he moved on.

Maybe 15 minutes later, he dropped a note on my tray that said:

List the 4 state capitals that start with the same letter as their states.

Well I was never very good at state capitals but I do enjoy puzzles so I started running through the list of capitals I did know. He stopped by a time or two to see how I was doing and to see if I were playing—and I was. He told me he’d played this game with a group of teachers on one flight and they failed but the Canadian sitting in the same section nailed all four without hesitation. Then he mentioned there might be a prize. Those who know me also know I’m pretty competitive so I worked even harder to come up with all four.

Long story short, I did name all four (and didn’t need to list all 50 states to get there), I had a nice diversion on my flight and walked off the plane with the prize from Rick—a pretty decent bottle of red wine.

No I'm not going to tell you the answers. You can either figure it out or look it up on Google.

I can see clearly now

The rain has gone. No wait, that’s the song by Johnny Nash (which I love). But I can see better first thing in the morning thanks to my new glasses.

I started wearing glasses for nearsightedness at age 12 and moved to contacts just as soon as I possibly could persuade my parents to go along.

In 2004, and following my brother who was both far blinder and far more eager than I to shed his glasses, I had Lasik done. In 2005 I got my first ever unrestricted license and that DL picture is probably the best one of me ever, bar none. I was grinning like crazy, so incredibly happy to be done with glasses. I could have had my eyes corrected to binocular visions with one eye adjusted for distance and the other eye for reading (which Doug did), but I chose not to. Any time I’d had different prescriptions in my lenses, I got incredibly nauseous so I figured I’d deal with reading issues when I got there.

I got there this year. I’m wearing +1, which are the weakest you can get. I feel quite odd having them; getting reading glasses has always seemed to be one of those you are definitely getting older milestones. No matter how disciplined I am about diet and exercise, I can’t exercise or eat my eyes back to perfect vision. I guess it could be worse, I could be both nearsighted and need reading glasses.

But it’s been great this morning reading news online and writing this blog post without strain.

Addendum

The pressures I feel regarding what I’d do should Kent land a job elsewhere are not from him, they are primarily self-imposed. It’s all wrapped up in how I think a supportive wife would act etc, and also includes societal pressure. I do believe that women are socialized to make those sacrifices, and it’s sort of considered run of the mill when we do just that.

However, while we are socialized to build consensus, make compromises and so on, men face their own socialization issues. Kent’s a regular reader of my blog, and yesterday after saying the obvious, that he is not angling for us to move, he mentioned that he struggles with the pressure of the man being the bread winner.

If I recall correctly, this is the first time in his adult life where he won’t be able to support himself. In the 12 years I’ve known him, he was laid off once, but was called back after three weeks. And in his first marriage, he was the breadwinner by a large margin. On July 1, he won’t be earning money, although he will continue to receive a paltry unemployment check that doesn’t even cover the mortgage. So in addition to wrestling with the same issues I did while unemployed (because it’s a hell of a self-esteem wrecker), he’s also confronting the realization that right now he is not the breadwinner.

I know we aren’t the only couple to face issues like that—some of you are facing doozies of your own. I’ll take any hints you have on strategies that have helped you during these times.

Hear me roar?

Quick back story which you can skip if you know it:

I moved here not quite two years ago (June 28, 2008 to be precise), without a job and with no prospects of finding one although I was optimistic. I shouldn’t have been—while I had some contract work in 2008, I didn’t get full time work again until four months ago. As anyone who read my blog over the last 18 months knows, that wasn’t the best of times for me.

To the main point:

Now I’m working in my field at a job I love. And Kent is unemployed.

This morning he told me he’s expanding his job search to New York City. In my rational mind, I get it. NYC is a huge hub for his field and hey, his severance package runs out at the end of this month. True to gender norms and despite my greater level of education, I still don't earn what he did. I'm at about 80% of what he earned pre-bonus AND my commute costs a lot more ($59 a month vs. $430-ish). That means we have a season of budget squeezing upon us, so we could definitely benefit from both of us being employed. (Note: the good news is that I’m doing better than the national income norm, about which you can read here but be warned it's a PDF. According to this PDF, 10 years post college, we women earn about 69% of what men do, and I attribute my 80% of his previous wage to me having earned that master's of science).

Yet I find myself feeling a little cranky about the situation. When I started interviewing for my current job, we already knew Kent was losing his. I told him then that if I took this job, I wasn’t going to move if he got a job elsewhere—to which he said he wouldn’t look on the West Coast (which he had previously, and which is also a good source of jobs in his field).

I know why I feel cranky—I suspect that he will get a job in NYC and then the pressure will be on me to move again. So I fear I’ll get stuck between two competing desires, neither of which is wrong. My marriage is beyond important to me AND I don’t want to crater my career again. I’m damn lucky I pulled things out last time. I’m also not really interested in being judged by others who would choose differently. And I’m faced with the pressure that generally speaking, it’s the woman who makes those concessions and trundles off into something less fulfilling so she can support her husband.

Kent—this isn’t aimed at you. If anything, it’s aimed at societal pressures. And they weigh on me greatly.