Alone time

All marriages consist of give and take.  And compromise.  Lots and lots of compromise.  One of the truths I have come to accept about my marriage is that Dean will not eat tuna and noodles.  It's not a dish he enjoys, and anytime I even mention the words "tuna" and "noodles" in the same sentence a discernible scowl takes over his face.  Let's just say the food brings back some childhood memories in which he ate way too much Tuna Helper.  Apparently it scarred him for life. 

So.  I have a husband who hates tuna and noodles, while I on the other hand love this meal.  Maybe I love it now more than I used to because I never get to eat it, but it pains me every time I get a craving and realize that the other person in the house whom I'm feeding won't even touch the stuff.  So to keep the peace and avoid cooking two dinners, this is a meal we generally never have. 

Now, a slight switch in topic that is still related to the tuna and noodles.  I'm sure that most people in most marriages look forward to that ever elusive alone time.  This is that special treat that comes when you don't necessarily want to be separated from your spouse, but because you are you may as well make the best of it.  This is what I will be faced with this weekend, when my husband leaves for one night to go ice fishing.  Because my idea of fun does not involve standing on a frozen lake in the middle of winter waiting hours for a fish to bite, I will be staying home with my beagles, and taking full advantage of my alone time. 

Number one thing at the top of my list, you may ask?  Cooking up a batch of tuna and noodles.  With Dean off playing in the ice, I have free reign of the kitchen and can cook my tuna and noodles without any judgements or complaints.  I can also finally start watching the third season of Downton Abbey and have a marathon reading session without any interruptions, or requests to change the channel because somewhere on some station a sports program is probably playing. 

Please don't mistake my words for complaining.  I'm simply pointing out the wonderfulness of alone time, and how even when we love our husbands/wives, it's still nice to have some time that is strictly for us, when we don't have to compromise or worry about giving and taking, but instead can just focus on ourselves and have that third helping of tuna and noodles while we wait to find out whether Bates is going to be released from prison (which, my sources tell me, has not happened yet.....)

Every now and then, everyone needs a tiny morsel of alone time.  For me, one night is just enough time to start missing my husband and start getting excited for his return home.  It's also just enough time to gorge on tuna and noodles before I'm ready to again start cooking husband approved dinners. 

It's the little things like this that make life grand.  

How much stuff is too much?

How much stuff do two people really need?  This weekend during the great storage closet remodel and mini-mud room creation, I was faced with that question numerous times.  When the project was complete and it was finally time to move all our boxes and bins back into the closet, I realized that we are literally overflowing with "stuff."

My husband and I are only two people.  We have a four bedroom house and each closet in our house, even the newly remodeled one, are filled to more or less max capacity.  How is this possible?  How can two people need that many items?

The truth is we absolutely don't need that many things, and while we did make quite the haul to Good Will in an effort to create more space, that doesn't change the fact that a lot got left behind.  A lot of "stuff."  We have certainly accumulated a staggering number of possessions since we moved into our first apartment together, a 2-bedroom 1-bathroom summertime sauna apartment with a measly two closets and a living room window that didn't open.  I'd say we have definitely upgraded, and our stockpile has absolutely multiplied. 

I'm not even sure how it happens, this stockpiling of things and random items that you store away and forget about for years on end.  I'm sure we're not the only ones faced with this dilemma.  And I'm sure at some point down the road we'll do another overhaul and get rid of more and more things, only to replace them with seemingly newer and better things.  This seems to be the process, doesn't it?  The sad part is I've always considered myself to be a minimalist, but looking at my closets this past weekend painted an entirely different story.

So in the back of my mind, I'm going to think very carefully from now on before I store something away in the closet.  It's time to start being proactive, and honest, in assessing which items should be kept and which should find a home somewhere else.  On the bright side, our storage closet looks amazing and our new mini-mud room is simply lovely.  And for the time being, all the "stuff" is more or less in order.        

Chit chat

Aside from how much it costs, I love getting my hair cut.  I especially love a good cut and color, one where you can really notice the difference from the before to the after.  I embrace change (most of the time) and find changing my outward appearance to be something of a cathartic experience.  

I have been frequenting the same salon for about six years now and have pretty much gotten the whole hair cut routine down pat.  I'm comfortable with my stylist and the environment of the salon, I know what to expect when I go in for an appointment, and I have always been pleased with the results and the service I receive.  However, there is one aspect of the whole hair cut ritual that I always struggle with, and that is the chit chatting. 

Now remember, I'm a self-proclaimed introvert so this obviously contributes to my struggle, but the whole chat bit involved with getting my hair done usually drains me.  Not to say that my stylist isn't a lovely person who is hard to talk to because that definitely isn't the case, it's just that chatting for the sake of chatting isn't really my thing.  It is, however, part of the whole haircut thing, meaning that like it or not, I have to participate.  Or at least attempt to participate. 

I've only been seeing this stylist for my last four or five appointments, so while we are definitely past the basic get to know you stage, we haven't quite hit the groove that I had with my last stylist, who did my hair for a good four years or more.  I know that talking to clients and keeping up conversation is practically a requirement for any beautician, so I myself feel obligated to talk and ask questions, sometimes more for their sake than for mine.  The crappy thing about that is that most of the time, I'm not the best conversationalist with people I don't know that well.  I always feel like I come off sounding awkward, like my silence might be interpreted as disinterest.   Sometimes I surprise myself and do great at small talk, other times I just don't have it in me.  I rack my brain for things to say, questions to ask, and some days I come up blank.  Maybe my stylist doesn't care or think it's a big deal, but it causes me some stress.  I mean, I don't want to come off as rude, but I also don't want to say something totally off the wall and sound like an idiot.  So you see, it's a fine line to walk successfully. 

I used to watch my mom at the hairdresser and be totally in awe.  She is such a pro at the talking stuff, she could probably list it as a skill on her resume.  She could keep up conversation not through one, but three haircuts.  These were the days when she, my sister and I would all go to our appointments together, and she and our hairdresser would just rattle on and on from one topic to the other.  Of course, it probably helped that they knew a lot of the same people, had known each other for many years, all that kind of stuff.  Regardless of the reasons, it sure made me a happy camper to just sit there in the chair, stare at myself in the mirror, and listen to them talk back and forth.  When I got older and started going to appointments on my own, during lulls in the conversation I would think back on those images of my mom and her effortless ability to carry on a conversation while getting her hair cut.  I realized it was definitely a lot harder than it looked (and sounded), and that I'd better start practicing. 

While conversation in the hair styling chair still isn't one of my strong suits, I do my best to partake in this ritual of the salon.  And if worse comes to worse, maybe I'll just start bringing my mom with me to hair appointments.....just to take the edge off.        

Scent fixation

It's really no big surprise that I ended up with two beagles.  Not only are they absolutely adorable (like me), a bit stubborn (also like me), but they are above all else obsessed with scents and smelling.....which is 100% absolutely like me.  

When I say I am obsessed with scents I don't just mean that I like things that smell pretty, which I do, but I also mean that I have the ability to weed out certain smells with what I like to think is comparable to the skills of a drug sniffing dog.  (On a side note, I feel somewhat strange and possibly a little dorky comparing myself to dogs.  Please don't take this comparison too literally).  But for reals, I have a great smelling ability and am, shall we say, sensitive to the various odors that are often in the air.

Consequently, my obsession with scents kind of drives my husband nuts.  I buy Febreze and other room deodorizers like they're going out of style, in fact I usually have at least one bottle in all the major rooms of the house.  But my real weakness comes with Wallflowers and I have a different one plugged in in all but a few rooms of my house.  I love these things, even though one time some spilled oil from one of these devices ate through some of the varnish on my kitchen table.  Whatever.  That's why we have tablecloths, right?

Candles are another fave.  Sometimes Dean will actually count how many candles I have out just in the upstairs of our house, and at certain times of the year the number is a bit staggering.  Of course the only candles I buy are scented ones, and of course I don't see the silliness of burning a scented candle on top of having a Wallflower scent plugged in.  It creates this wonderful mesh mash potpourri of delectable fragrances, and puts my nose on sensory overload.  Seriously, it's like a drug.   

Yes, I am a scentaholic (yet another made up word).  Much like my dogs I live by my nose and if you ever come to visit my house I hope the different smells that prevail from room to room aren't too much for you to handle.  At times I feel like some kind of scent mixologist.....I'm constantly looking for and experimenting with the perfect blend between all the smells.  And by the way, don't they pay people to do that sort of thing?  I fear my talents are being wasted.         

Not everyone is going to like you....

When I started writing for my college newspaper I learned something very important. 

Not everyone is going to like you. 

I remember opening up the paper one day and reading the first negative Letter to the Editor about one of my columns.  It was a pretty crushing experience, and all day long as I saw people strolling around with their newspapers I just knew that they had seen that letter, and even worse, that they knew it was about me and what I had written. 

This of course is most likely a gross exaggeration.....except for the crushing experience part.  I don't care who you are, criticism hurts.  Especially public criticism.  For me, seeing that letter and reading about how much they disliked my article made me feel no bigger than a grain of sand.  This of course is the risk one runs in having their words published.  Unfortunately, most people don't feel the need to chime in with positive accolades, but instead only want to send in feedback when they read something they ultimately dislike or don't agree with.  That's just the way it is, and over the years I came around to accepting this hard truth, even though those negative letters still touched a nerve.  Still do, by the way.

Not everyone is going to like you.

I'm not afraid to admit that I usually try to win people over and get them to like me.  I don't enjoy being disliked, and while I don't go out of my way to be everyone's best friend I do want people's overall view of me to be a positive one.  Don't we all more or less go that route?  

Many times I have expressed not caring what people think about me or the things I write.  I talk tough, but the truth is it only takes one comment, one bad letter to the editor, to make me feel like I don't know what the hell I'm talking about and why don't I just throw in the towel before even more people join in on the public bashing.  My mind has a way of taking an idea and running with it....things tend to spiral out of control sometimes.   And let's face it, sometimes it can be extremely difficult to stay sure of yourself when faced with an audience that isn't so sure of you.

Not everyone is going to like you.

So, what is the point?  Because as we learned in high school English one must always have a point, a main idea, a theme, you get the gist.  Whether it's writing, debating social issues, or even just your overall demeanor, not everyone out there is going to agree or like what you have to say.  Not everyone is going to sing your praises, and there are a lot of people out there who will try and make themselves feel better by tearing you down.  It's vicious, but it's true.  I constantly need to remind myself not to take things personally, not to internalize everything and make it into more than it really is.  I have a hard time accepting and facing criticism, but if I want to be a writer it's just something I'll have to get used to.  I know this, and yet I haven't quite adopted the tough exterior quite yet.  

Not everyone is going to like you. 

But that doesn't mean that others out there will follow suit.  It doesn't mean that all hope is lost, or that there is something fundamentally wrong with you.  Again, things I have to remind myself of all the time, and not just in regards to my writing.  I have never been the best at standing up for myself, of speaking my mind and believing in myself.  I can be easily intimidated and on more than one occasion have chosen to stay silent for fear of having my thoughts challenged.  I'm not proud of these admissions, but it's the truth.

Not everyone is going to like you. 

I realize that wanting to be a writer, fiction or otherwise, is going to require some toughening up on my part.  I can't be afraid of the general public, of negative feedback, of not being loved by everyone out there.  I also can't be afraid to stand behind my writing, my thoughts and ideas.  Because I am so averse to criticism I will often accept the negative that is pointed out by others and readily agree with it, rather than challenge them with an argument defending my work.

Not everyone is going to like you. 

But a few will.  Much better to focus on that truth.     

Anxiety at 2 a.m.

Fact: I don't do very well with getting waken up in the middle of the night.  I will probably be a horrible mother because of this. 

Early this morning one of my adorable beagles woke me up at 2 a.m. because, apparently, he had to go to the bathroom.  I know, I know, he's quite the responsible dog for actually waking me up and not just relieving himself on the floor, but being startled awake out of a dead sleep kind of made me oblivious to this line of thinking.

Being the responsible pet owner that I am, I dragged myself out of bed, let the dogs out to do their business, and after about 10 minutes settled back into bed to hopefully get a few more hours of sleep.  But there was one tiny (and by tiny I mean big) obstacle standing in my way.  Suddenly, for no reason at all, I was incredibly anxious.  My mind was spinning, I was tossing and turning, and my body temperature was rising right along with my anxiety level.  Sleep could not have been farther away.

Why does every little facet of one's life seem so much more stressful in the early hours of the morning?  What is it about the middle of the night that makes all those buried worries suddenly rise to the surface?

With the help of some Seinfeld reruns, I was finally able to shut my mind down and get maybe an hour and a half more of sleep.  Once I was up and lacing up my shoes to get on the treadmill, I realized that I felt fine.  My stomach wasn't in knots, my head felt clear, and I thought I was somewhat ready to take on the day.  Why hadn't I felt this way a few hours ago?  Where was the clarity I so desperately needed as I lay in bed and watched the minutes on the clock continue to tick by?

This is nothing new for me.  I'm prone to anxiety first thing in the morning, and often any time I am woken up in the middle of the night.  I'm used to it by now, but lately.....lately I feel that my anxiety is becoming a bit too commonplace for my liking.  While this in itself has more than caught my attention, there's still something about the early morning hours that causes my mind to jump from one thing to the next, finding new things to worry about with each transition. 

And now?  I feel fine.  I feel more or less in control of everything I have going on, and more or less confident in my ability to handle everything to varying degrees of success.  It's easy for me to take this stance at 10:13 a.m., but turn the clock back about eight hours and I would be a complete mess.  A giant ball of anxiety.  Unable to stand up straight because of the tight knot continuing to twist in my stomach. 

All I can say is it's a good thing I have plenty of Seinfeld DVD's on hand.  If these late night anxiety sessions continue those reruns could be the only thing that save me.  

Habits

A couple weeks before going on vacation for the holidays, my husband and I started working on a puzzle.  I was thrilled.  I like puzzles. They stimulate and simultaneously frustrate me, and finding that one piece that fits in that one spot after searching for nearly an hour is what I imagine it feels like to discover gold.  Another great thing about the puzzle?  It was a new evening activity we could do together that didn't involve staring at the TV, which was essentially how we spent most of our evenings. 

Since getting back from vacation and setting back into the everyday routine that poor puzzle has sat on our card table, neglected for weeks.  We talk about going downstairs and working on it, until we realize that it's just easier to stay curled up on the couch and watch another episode of Breaking Bad on Netflix.  Every morning as I hurry out the door to work I walk by the puzzle, the edge pieces and a small section of the top all connected together, and I think how badly I want to connect the rest of the pieces and see the finished product.  But by the time evening rolls around and I swear I can feel a headache approaching because I've been staring at a computer screen for five hours straight, I decide I just need to put on my glasses and dish up some ice cream. 

The point of my story is not that I'm a crappy puzzle put togetherer (yes, I made up that word), my point is that habits are hard to break.  They don't even have to be good or bad habits, just habits in general.  Habits of your general routine become so ingrained that the simple act of spending the evening in a different room of your house sometimes seems too foreign to contemplate.  

Everyday routine, the habits we develop because we just get used to doing things a certain way, at a certain time, at a certain place, these are the ones that can be tough for us to recognize and also tough to amend.  My first year after college was very odd to me, because when I got home in the evenings I didn't have papers to write or chapters to read.  I didn't have, well, anything to do that needed to be done, and that just wasn't what I was used to.  

I know for me it's extremely hard to break these everyday routines.  This is why I have such a hard time writing in the evenings, as silly as that sounds.  My evenings are generally spent cooking, eating, talking with Dean, watching TV, and usually reading and snuggling with my dogs.  It is actually hard for me to go downstairs, sit at my computer, and type.  Even when I feel like writing, when I have words that need to get on paper, this is still hard for me to do.  Doesn't that make absolutely no sense??  At first I attributed this phenomenon to laziness, but I think there's more to it than that because I can see this pattern in other aspects of my life, in my day-to-day routine that show me it isn't just writing in the evenings where I notice this aversion. 

Sometimes I get too caught up in looking at the big picture that I miss the small details.  These everyday habits go by unnoticed because, well, we go through them everyday and before long they are just "the way things are."  Which is why my puzzle sits on that card table and the computer in my office hasn't been turned on in weeks.  Trying to break with what is normal, expected, and comfortable can be hard, even if the "break" is something we really want to do.

I'm always classifying my habits as either good or bad, never giving much thought to everything that falls in the middle.  Maybe it's time to readjust my view.