Tuesday, June 21, 2011

The Absence of Guilt

I have been on an unplanned hiatus. I thought I would get right back into the swing of things as soon as I returned from vacation. Turns out life had other plans. 
I was raised a lackadaisical Catholic; and while church was never a regular occurrence for me, guilt certainly was. Even as a housewife I often feel guilty for not getting a household chore done, taking a nap with the dog or getting my homework done 3 days before it is due instead of 5.
Last week was a different story.
I found myself forgoing my daily vacuuming obsession, putting off my homework until the day before it was due (GASP!) and not writing a single sentence. What could have possibly kept me from all that keeps me sane?
As it turns out I like spending time with my husband; much more than gluing my butt to a sofa and cranking out an essay or painstakingly going over every piece of furniture in my house with a lint roller. Throw in some really good friends and you have the recipe for a guilt-free week of, dare I say, fun.
While the daunting tasks I forwent piled up inside my head I told myself I would not forsake quality of time for quantity of task. And I have to admit, it felt a little naughty to rebel against my own stringency.
I will also admit, however, that I find comfort in routine; so going back to the grind this week brings me great solace; but I will try and remind my slightly OCD side to lighten up just a wee bit. I may even put the lint roller back in the closet....at least until tomorrow.

Thursday, June 9, 2011

Gimme a Break

Being a housewife should be a vacation, right? I get to do whatever I please on an everyday basis; so why would there be a need for a getaway?
Turns out housewives do need a break from the everyday. I am finding that out as I spend a week away from the house, “kids” and ‘ol ball and chain.
Do you know what happens when you don’t have to wake up to take care of the pets, make it to your 6:30AM yoga class and complete the 436 tasks you assigned for yourself?
You don’t wake up.
For four days I have enjoyed waking after the sun has already risen, not having to take the dog out or trying figure out what to cook for dinner with the three items left in the fridge. And it’s not like I am basking in the sun on some white sandy beach or exploring new and exotic lands; but you would be amazed what a few days in the country in the good old U-S-of-A will do to recharge your battery.
I realized how exhausted I was a couple of days ago when I could barely lift my head to hold a conversation. Physical and mental stress will follow you if you let them. I made a conscious decision to leave them at home - and my body is thanking me for it.
Turns out, however, four days was about all I needed because guess who was up before the sun rose this morning wondering what in the world I was going to do?
Now I look forward to getting back to my life with renewed vigor - my pre-dawn “me time”; the wet noses that excitedly greet me every morning; and my loving and supportive husband I promise I’ll take with me next time!

Monday, May 30, 2011

The Juggling Act

“I can’t. I have homework to do.”
Never in a million years did I think I’d have to say those words again; but I find myself juggling homework, household duties, volunteering, writing and everything else in between. While my husband would most certainly tell me that my household duties are optional and my standards of cleanliness a little high, a cluttered house equals a cluttered mind.
I struggle keeping up with one class and can’t help but wonder how I will manage when my course load doubles in the Fall. (Yes, all of 2 classes.) I am working hard to keep up with my writing deadlines; deadlines I have made for myself but feel necessary in order to nourish my passion for the craft. Don’t get me wrong, I have an end goal in sight; it just seems quite far-sighted at this point. I am just dipping my feet in the shallow end of the pool waiting for the steep slope to carry me to the deep end.
Floaties anyone?
Perhaps some of my stress comes from the fact that I parlayed my first 2 1/2 years of college back in the olden days (the 90’s) into less than mediocre grades, 50 extra pounds and a penchant for skipping class in order to rack up credit card debt. My 37 year-old self is looking at my 19 year-old self thinking, “Oh no you didn’t!”
Could I be a victim of my own overcompensation?
But isn’t that what we’re supposed to do when we get a chance at a do over; make up for the fact that we blew it the first time?
I can’t really blame myself for stressing, but as a wise Mr. Miyagi once so wisely said, “First learn balance.”
So while yes, it’s okay to be committed; I have to be wary I don't end up committed!

Tuesday, May 24, 2011

Reunited - Does it feel that good?

My 10th year reunion almost a decade ago brought excitement and anticipation. What was everyone up to? Did everyone still look the same? What did I miss being out of the loop for so long?
My questions were quickly answered upon my arrival:
Not much.
Pretty much.
Not missing much.
NOTE: High School Reunion + Alcohol = High School

I recently received an invite via Facebook for my 20th high school reunion. Wasn’t Facebook created so we can find people from our pasts, see what they're up to and move on; a sort of passive reunion if you will?
Don’t we already know all there is to know about one another from our regular status updates and uploaded pictures from family vacations, weddings, births, etc.?
Perhaps my hesitation stems from the fact that I am so past high school I don’t feel the need to revisit. I am at a place in my life where I don’t have anything to prove to anyone anymore. Maybe I did at the last reunion. I had this gorgeous date (who I eventually married) by my side and was eager to show people that Pam is no longer the insecure theatre geek she was ten years before, a sure sign I was still somewhat insecure.
At 37 I am in a peaceful place where the only person I need to prove anything to is myself. I am a writer, a student, a volunteer, a wife and a secure theatre geek - and I‘ve never been happier! 

Tuesday, May 17, 2011

From On Line to Online

On the eve of taking my first college class since I went through my Winona Ryder hair phase I can’t help but feel somewhat out-of-step with modern collegiate life. No newly sharpened pencils as all my work is done on a computer. No new textbook smell as I purchased one used on Amazon.com. There won’t even be any teachers’ dirty looks because I won’t ever see them face-to-face. In fact, I won’t even have to leave the sofa in my house.
Welcome to the world of online learning, a concept so foreign when I was in college as email had barely come to light the last year of my studies. Yes, gone are the days of waiting on long lines to register for class as everything is now done online.
While I do appreciate not being married to a stringent class schedule and the convenience of not having to schlep to class two hours early just to find that last parking space on the complete opposite side of campus I need to be on, there is something lost in not having that camaraderie you share with your fellow student. Perhaps if I weren’t such an extrovert this online concept wouldn't seem so foreign.
For now, however, I wonder if I can get new textbook scent in a spray.

Monday, May 9, 2011

My So-Called Adult Life

I watched the show My So-Called Life religiously as a college senior. Even though the show centered around a high school student, I could relate to the central character’s experiences and often found myself in tears remembering how hard high school was and that college wasn’t much better.
The advent of Netflix has allowed me to revisit this one season classic; only now I find myself relating less to the main character, Angela, and more to her parents. Sure, I love getting lost in in Jordan Catalano’s eyes and remembering just how ahead of his time Ricky Vasquez was; but now I find myself cringing when Angela’s mother makes a backhanded remark to the father or nags him to get him to do some menial chore around the house. Why? Because I have said and done some of the same cringe-worthy things.
Around mid-season Angela’s father, Graham, quits the family printing business in order to take some time for self-discovery and pursue what truly makes him happy.
Was it God nudging me when I decided to revisit this show at this particular transitional time in my life?
As I watched the only season of this show tick away to its end, I never would find out if Graham’s foray into the restaurant business panned out; if he ended up truly happy. I want to contact the writers of the show and ask them what would have happened if the show went on for another season - another episode. Would Graham get his happy ending?
I guess that’s the advantage to existing in the real world - I get to write my own happy ending.

Sunday, May 1, 2011

The Royal Housewife of Ormond Beach

I watched the Royal Wedding on Friday in awe of the pomp and circumstance and a wee bit jealous of the fairy tale Kate Middleton was living out before the world’s eyes. Then I thought about her responsibilities and obligations being a newly crowned duchess, her lack of privacy and the microscope her every word and deed will be under. Her life is seemingly no longer hers as she surrenders to age-old traditions.
Suddenly I was not so jealous.
Then I remembered Princess Diana. Her existence was filled with the same responsibilities until her life took a scandalous turn, and she was scorned in front of the entire world.
Then she made an about face.
She accepted herself as a flawed human being and seemed to begin to live her life as a princess according to her own definition, not the definition according to a centuries-old monarchy. Her life consisted of charity and honoring humanity’s needs instead of humanity honoring hers. She began to redefine what it meant to be a princess; that selflessness can work miracles if guided through the proper channels. She carved out her own niche as the monarchy fell victim to their tradition and lived by example instead of life making an example out of her.
And so, by being true to who I am and bucking tradition, I seek to redefine what it means to be a housewife; that it’s no longer about honoring my husband, but about honoring myself with the loving support of my husband; that it's no longer about being ready to serve dinner as soon as he walks in the door, but about serving a cause or mission that will leave a lasting imprint on this world.

I wish the newly crowned Duchess of Cambridge luck in her new role as a potential trailblazer. Like Diana and I, I hope she seeks to make her life her own. There's something very regal about that.

Monday, April 25, 2011

Turns Out School's Not Out Forever

I remember feeling the pressure of having to know exactly what I wanted to do with my life by the time I was a senior in high school. I look back and think how in the world could I have possibly known what career to choose at 17? I was a mere bushy-browed, awkward teen still trying to figure out how to make boys like me. How was I supposed to know what I wanted to do for the next 50 years of my life?
I am reminded of the Twisted Sister video “I Wanna Rock” when the teacher, veins bubbling from his neck, screams, “WHAT DO YOU WANT TO DO WITH YOUR LIFE?!” As brilliantly cheesy as that moment is, it rings true. How is anyone at 18 supposed to know what they want to do with the rest of their life?
I certainly don’t blame my parents for pressuring me for that’s just the way it was. And so I chose.
I remember hearing - you’ll never end up working in the field you majored in - quite frequently as I neared graduation. Not exactly encouraging words as I ventured out into the big, bad, real world.
The thing is, they were right. I didn’t end up doing what I thought I would be doing mainly because I had no idea what I wanted to do! After four years of core classes, major requirements and living it up, all I was left with was the feeling that I wasn’t ready to make a lifelong commitment to a career. Don’t get me wrong, I tried. I dabbled in this and that, but after 16 years of this and that I found myself unhappy and incomplete.
Last week I registered for classes for the first time since flannel was considered an acceptable form of evening wear; confident that after 20 plus years of trying to figure it all out, I finally know what I want to be when I grow up.
Sure I have those 'if I knew then what I know now' moments; but isn't the journey just as sweet as the destination? My journey has taken a bit longer than I had anticipated...but there is no bitter in this sweet.

Monday, April 18, 2011

Yogasm

I have been practicing yoga more intensely for the last few months. I have never gotten more high off walking into an exceedingly hot room and putting myself into seemingly unnatural positions day in and day out. The funny thing is what seems unnatural at first suddenly starts to feel more and more normal. Every class is a journey through challenging your mind and body to do things you have already told it it couldn’t do. I fully commit myself every morning to give a little more than the day before. And regardless of the end result, I always walk away from class more confident than when I walked in.
Carrying that positive yoga attitude with me throughout my day has been essential in surviving the plight of housewifedom. Having a breakthrough in class translates into having breakthroughs throughout my day; albeit it small or momentous, these moments have been a chance for me to grow.
Case in point, I have been volunteering rehabbing sea and land turtles for the last few years. I get more out of cleaning up turtle poop or getting bitch-slapped by a flipper than I ever did sitting behind a desk. This past weekend I was taught how to tube feed a sea turtle. This means trust and confidence was placed upon me to learn how to delicately work a tube down an endangered sea turtle’s esophagus injecting nutrients into its body in order for it to have a chance at survival. I have witnessed this process many, many times and have been comfortable being a spectator. Here was my chance to stop sitting on the sidelines and be an active participant in my own journey.

The trust placed upon me to nourish this beautiful creature is directly related to the confidence I have gained through my yoga practice; it’s because of this that I am pursuing my passion with renewed vigor and commitment and doing things I never thought I’d be able to do.
The fear of falling on my face is no longer an option. If I fall out of a pose in class I take a deep breath and start over. If the tube doesn’t go down the turtle’s throat the first time, I take a deep breath and start all over.

It’s not a race; it’s a journey. The important thing is that you’re headed in the right direction.

Wednesday, April 13, 2011

Leftovers Anyone?

Leftovers have always been very functional in my house. While working it meant that I didn’t have to go out on my lunch hour. Many times I had enough leftovers to last me a couple of work days. (I’m Puerto Rican - food is love. Lots of food = lots of love.) Now that I am not working it means I have the opportunity to spread the love to someone other than myself.
Meals with friends are difficult during a work week. My husband is not a nine to fiver and dinners often occur later into the evening; not conducive to my friends with school-aged children. So dinner get-togethers are often relegated to Friday or Saturday evenings; not nearly enough face time for a social butterfly such as myself.
Enter the institution of the Leftover Lunch Club - meeting sometime between breakfast and lunch - serving a plethora of day old (sometimes older) fare - Italian, Mexican, Puerto Rican, Asian, and undetermined. Everybody, well me, knows your name, and I’m always glad you came.

That’s the beauty of being a housewife; I can start my own clubs - make my own rules - set the stage for my life that feeds every part of me - my head, my heart, my soul and yes, even my stomach.

Tuesday, April 12, 2011

Major Blockage

Over a week has lapsed since I last blogged, and I’ll tell you why - writer’s block caused by acute PMS.
PMS is this powerful animal that can render a woman hysterical, maniacal, depressed and everywhere in between. So how does this newly crowned housewife handle PMS? By being hysterical, maniacal, depressed and everywhere in between. With no job to distract and soften the monthly blow, I went out of my mind instead of staying in it. I allowed it to be counter-productive feeding into the “She Must Be PMSing” stereotype. I was a walking, talking soap opera. I might has well have been in a bathrobe and fuzzy slippers inhaling Bon Bons by the carton.
I started writing this blog to try and dispel the housewife stereotype and here I was playing right into it. That leads me to this question -
Who am I trying to dispel this stereotype to? You or me?

Saturday, April 2, 2011

I Ain't Missing You At All

Every since I was a little kid I have always dreaded Sunday. Sunday was the dark cloud of my week reminding me that my mundane, meaningless life cycle was about to pass go once again. Even The Smiths understood my pain with the poignant lyrics, “Everyday is like Sunday. Everyday is silent and gray.”
I would leave work elated on Friday afternoons knowing that for 60 hours or so there were no phones to pick up, emails to answer or butts to kiss; but that powerful feeling took a nosedive as soon as late afternoon Sunday rolled around. The knowledge that I had to once again work hard for my money flashed like a warning beacon bringing my 60 hour weekly vacation to a grinding halt.
Now I am finding that there is no one day of the week I dread because I know the following day I will be doing something I want to do, not something somebody wants me to. I am able to go to my yoga classes and not abbreviate final relaxation in order to get to work on time. In fact, I am getting to know my fellow yogis because there’s no need to rush home. I volunteer rehabbing sea turtles and am able to do that more often and consistently because I can and want to. I am a stay-at-home pet mom able to give extra love and receive more snuggles and wet kisses because life is affording me the ability to do so. I even clean the house with more gusto for crying out loud! There is no more meaningless life cycle anymore, rather a constant flow of happy, meaningful moments.

It’s Saturday afternoon as I write this and I am thinking - bring it on, Sunday! I can’t wait for you, Sunday! If only everyday could be like Sunday!
Sunday is the new Friday.

Wednesday, March 30, 2011

About Face

One of my fears about not working was that I would be completely unproductive spending most of my time checking Facebook or catching up on entertainment headlines, my achilles heel. Turns out I guess I was just bored because now the thought of going on Facebook sends little z’s sailing through my mind like a neverending freight train. It just seems like such a chore now; something I have to do rather than want to do.
Instead of starting the day checking the monkey that was once so proudly perched on my back, I am cuddling my babies a little more. Instead of checking to see if anyone’s life has drastically changed in the last hour since I last checked to see if anyone’s life has drastically changed in the last hour, I am changing my own life sweating through a hot yoga class. I am cleaning out decades worth of mementos and mement-no’s instead of finding out who in high school has gotten fat, gone bald or is still the biggest bitch on the planet.
The funny thing is, I spent more time on that site when I was working than when I stopped. That is probably in part due to the advent of iPhones and the like; but now with no firewalls or bored IT guys staring over everyone’s shoulder I am free to like, dislike, comment and poke all I want. So why is there no poking going on?
It sort of reminds me of when I was a kid and would go to a friend’s house after school. Their cupboards were filled with every imaginable, chocolatey, sweet, salty, greasy afternoon snack known to child. It was a treasure trove of taboo, and I wanted a piece of it; I wanted lots of pieces. And I never understood how my friends could not consume every ounce of every piece of forbidden goodies. The only thing to snack on at my house was cheese and crackers - not exactly my ticket to cool. To not want to obliterate a box of Oreos with a chocolate milk chaser was a concept foreign to me. It didn’t matter which friend you would ask, however; they would all basically say the same thing - it’s always around so I guess don’t want it all the time.
Maybe it’s the same with Facebook. It’s at my fingertips every second of everyday with no one pointing their finger telling me I am not utilizing company time wisely. It’s just not sexy and exciting anymore. It’s lost its appeal.
If only Oreos and chocolate milk would lose their appeal....

Wednesday, March 23, 2011

Part-Timer

If my husband is home with me every other week because of his work schedule does that make me a part-time housewife? Does that make him a part-time househusband?

You would think with a part-timer like my husband we would get double the amount accomplished in any given day on his weeks off. No such luck. But is that a bad thing?
Part of the reason I am not working is so that my husband and I can spend those weeks together traveling, doing home projects - basically doing as little or as much as we want. Not such a bad thing, right? So then why the guilt of not getting enough done? I swear the man turned his head for two seconds and I immediately reached for the vacuum.
This is an adventure, remember? I keep having to remind myself of that. 
So if you don’t hear from me too much every other week it’s merely because I am off (hopefully) on some great adventure.

Thursday, March 17, 2011

The Fun Factor

I was sitting down at dinner with my husband after my second day “on the job.” I was very adamant in telling him all I did not accomplish, as if confessing my failures instead of my successes in a job interview. When he could finally get a word in he simply stated - you should try and have some fun. Well, apparently fun is my new f-word because I looked at him in horror. Fun? I should be having fun? Since when is a job fun?
What was wrong with having fun and why did I feel so much guilt about the possibility of enjoying my new life? Was it my guilt-ridden, lackadaisical Catholic upbringing or the fact that I never had a job I considered fun? Is being a housewife a job? Can being a housewife be fun?
Perhaps the problem lies in the very definition of the word “job.” Mr. Webster, if you please...
1. a piece of work, especially a specific task done as part of the routine of one’s occupation or for an agreed price: She gave him the job of mowing the lawn.
2. anything a person is expected of obliged to do; duty; responsibility: It is our job to be on time.
3. the material, project, assignment, etc., being worked upon: The housing project was a long and costly job.
4. the process or requirements, details, etc., of working: It was a tedious job.
5. a public or official act or decision carried through for the sake of improper private gain.
Routine, agreed price, obliges, duty, responsibility, improper private gain...the job of mowing the lawn...our job to be on time...long and costly job...tedious job...
It’s no wonder anyone likes their job considering all the negative connotations associated with the mere definition of the word!
But maybe that’s where my problem lies - considering this new direction my life is taking as a job. Sure I find comfort in routine; I am a stickler for being on time; I am anything but irresponsible; and yeah, I even enjoy mowing the lawn. The difference is that I don’t care if I get paid or not. What brought me to this point in my life is because I found what I wanted to do, my passion; and I want to pursue it with gusto with or without monetary benefit.

So why label being a housewife as a job? Why not call it a fun adventure? Who said being a housewife could be anything but that?
Oh yeah, that was me.

Tuesday, March 15, 2011

The Ides of March

Technically it’s Day 2 of my plunge into housewifedom, but my first day as a housewife was a little busier than I thought. Personally, I would consider Day 1 an epic failure, but according to my Housewife Coach, I did great and advised I best pace myself if I am to survive a stay-at-home existence.
I am a college-educated 30-something who was never without a job for very long; even when in the throes of unemployment I considered myself grossly unsuccessful. I was raised to know exactly what I wanted to do with the rest of my life by the time I was 18 and entered my freshman year of college. Ironically, my father never loved the profession he chose and my mother never graduated college until she was in her 50’s, well after her three daughters had received their diplomas. Mixed message? Perhaps. But don’t all parents want better for their children than they do for themselves - or at least what they think is better?
So I graduated college in the four years allotted by my parents and started working at a job I thought maybe I wanted to do for the rest of my life. That lasted less than a year.
Turns out, for some of us, figuring out what you want to do for the rest of your life takes a whole lot of living to figure out. And so for the better part of 16 years I went from job to job thinking - yes, this is what I want to do - until I realized that it wasn’t.
So what happened when I finally figured out what I did want to do? I denied myself acceptance because it seemed too simple, not lucrative and something I had turned a deaf ear to because - well, because it seemed too simple and not lucrative. So I buried it. And I kept burying it until it started to affect other aspects of my life, namely my marriage.
I am fortunate to have a spouse who recognized my unhappiness and fully supported a change in my lifestyle. This decision to change my situation, however, came after many heart-to-hearts and careful planning in almost every aspect of our lives. I am fortunate enough to be in a position where I don’t have to work; but despite my husband’s full support both emotionally and financially, it took me a long time to actually resign from my most recent job.
Being an employed woman means something to me. It means I am not a failure. It means I am independent. It means I do not need a man even though I am married to one. I allowed my self worth to be tied to being gainfully employed regardless if I was happy in a job or not. Until recently I have followed everything but my heart. Having a supportive spouse has allowed me to lead with my heart for the first time. It feels good, but I would be lying if I said it was easy. Day 2 feels good. Talk to me on Day 100.
Over the course of my musings I hope to convey my successes and struggles in my new role as The Housewife of Ormond Beach with candor, humor and lessons learned. Right now I am trying to keep up with all the goals I have set for myself on a daily basis using the daily planner I brought home from work. Last week’s tasks consisted of marketing meetings, event planning and donor relations. This week it’s trying to map out my errands in a logical order so I don’t have to zig zag across the street; saving money by becoming the vegetarian’s answer to Paula Deen; and being able to eat off my floors despite having three cats and a dog. Anything is possible at this point!