Creativity and the way it spills out

I've always been a creative person. In fact, when I don't get the opportunity to express some creativity I feel a little suffocated. My biggest problem is that I am my own worst enemy. I love to be creative. I'm also painfully obsessed with order and control making it difficult to be creative when I know there's laundry to be done, or dishes in the sink.

My mentor often makes fun of my need for order and control. Mostly because in my line of work there's no way to maintain it. It is an exercise in futility - much like keeping a house in order with two teenagers, a dog and three cats. While the logical and reasonable side of me understands that, the crazy side still wants it all - the perfect clean house, all the time in the world to be creative, happy kids that don't fight, a nutritious Pinterest-worthy dinner, time to play games and have fun, time to read, well you get it. I want it all. Still. Even though I've been fighting with myself for years to let those futile thoughts go. It's my crazy - I've been working on it for years. It's gotten better. But it's who I am.

By some weird universal urging I went through my vacation accrual last week. Apparently I've taken so little vacation since I started this job that I'm to the point that I will no longer accrue it if I don't take it. If you know me, you know I work ALL THE TIME. ALL THE TIME. Even when I'm at the game I'm coaching a steward on filing a grievance. I'm the dick at the movies that's trying to hide my phone under my jacket frantically typing that one last email. I'm the one you're cussing at from behind as I sit at the light too long (*as a side note, with the change of the new law, and Lilly's constant interrogation, I am getting VERY good at disciplining myself not to touch my phone in the car). I care about the folks I represent. I want to make sure I am doing everything I can to maintain their faith in the labor movement; that if they are disenfranchised with something about the Union, it's not because of me.

Funny though, because as little vacation as I take I am constantly arguing with my co-workers, and the members, to take time off. Again, here's my logical side fighting with my crazy. I KNOW that time away from work is essential to maintaining balance. And yet I find it hard to tackle myself. Fortunately, the penny pincher in me is more powerful than the work horse in me - losing vacation equals throwing money away - I was not about to do that!

So I took two days off - for reals - like not answering my phone, not looking or answering emails, not looking at my work FB page. I had planned on working all weekend painting the deck rails. But I just didn't want to do that. Mike and I spent a leisurely weekend (SO incredibly rare for us) relaxing instead. It was something we both desperately needed.

Waking up this morning I thought about how I could spend these next two days. My creativity bug was itching to come out. I had a ton of squash my mom so generously shared from her garden. With the exception of squishing in a half day or so for Christmas baking I can't remember the last time I spent all day in the kitchen. I used to do it often - it satisfies a number of crazies in me: no wasting food, creating, making something yummy for my kids, doing something useful - but rarely spend 20 minutes in the kitchen anymore.

Grabbed my coffee and pulled up Pinterest for some inspiration. I rarely follow recipes, but I do like to look at a few as a basis. I decided to make a few different kinds of breads. Ironic since Mike and I don't eat sweet breads. But the kids like them and I can freeze them. I went to work shredding the squash (I wonder if you can see the results in my biceps yet?). Five or six hours later I'm left with the results of my labor - 23 little loaves of deliciousness.

Oh, and since Mike and I don't eat this stuff, I made us some energy & protein bites.

I feel good. (Maybe that's the wine coolers I've been drinking since 9am? I don't know. C'mon, I'm on VACATION!)

I'm proud of creating something. And I'm happy that I get to share with the ones I love. Wanna loaf?

Surprise! Suprise!

To my Peanut, my Peet, on her 15^th Birthday:

Sometimes life gives us lemons. Sometimes we were the ones that went and picked them off the tree we weren’t supposed to touch. In either case, the opportunity to make lemonade is there.

I wanted to tell you the story of when I, and subsequently your Dad, found out we were going to have you. You know that we hadn’t planned on having kids, but I wonder if you know how head over heels in love we were with each other? How much time we spent together – laughing and arguing and debating and having fun? We had already decided we were going to spend our lives together before we found out about you. We hadn’t made anything official, and there was no wedding planned, or even an explicit conversation. But we knew.

The day I found out the flu I had was going to last another 8 months I experienced a wild ride of emotions. I told you how I took those pregnancy tests, all by myself at home, and watched incredulously as the two pink lines appeared. Was I scared? Yes. Was I prepared? No. Did I question my ability to be a good parent. Yes? Did I ever, for one single second, think of making a choice other than to have you? No. Not even once. Not a single solitary second did even one single thought go through my mind. I knew that this was a done deal. That I was going to be a Mom. So when I hear you talk about how you were an accident, well I guess that depends on how you define accident.

Accidents are simply an event that you didn’t expect, or plan, to occur. It was no secret. And I didn’t want it to be. I didn’t want to lie to you. To tell you that we were married before you came along, as though it was everything we expected and planned. I could only imagine what the impact on you would be if you had thought that, and found out later that things were different. The thing is, life is filled with accidents; some change your life for the better – like the universe giving you a gift that you never knew you wanted, and, of course, sometimes they aren’t so awesome.

But you, my girl, were the best surprise I’ve ever gotten. Nothing and no one could’ve prepared me for what I was to gain by that “accident” - which, if you don’t mind, I’d like to reclassify in your vocabulary as a surprise. Because that’s really what you were.

And as we've travelled down this path to your adulthood, we have faced challenges. And we will continue to face challenges. (Frankly, life would be pretty boring without its challenges.) But I need you to know this, and I need you to feel it deep in your gut, and I need you to understand that with all my being, with all my words, thoughts and feelings, there has never once, not one single tiny little microsecond, been a time when I have regretted the surprise that I got that day.

I knew from the second that I knew that you were a little tiny living peanut in me that I would somehow figure out to give you everything that I ever wanted; to give you all the support, and love, and caring that you would ever need to be happy and successful in this life.

And then, after four days of trying to get you out here to meet us, you finally joined our family in this world, and it only strengthened my conviction. I knew the second I saw that little bloody body held up over the tarp they draped between my face and my belly that there wouldn’t be ANYTHING that I wouldn’t do for you – to protect you, to keep you healthy, to keep you strong and able, to give you or to want for you.

So please, please understand that there is no word that can describe the love a mother has for their child – no matter the circumstances of how they got there. I love you more than you will ever be able to understand. Until maybe you become a mom yourself.

There is nothing else in the universe like it.

I love you and I can’t wait for our journey ahead.

Go Pick a Switch

I really hate disciplining my kids. I really don't like having to think about what the appropriate discipline is. I don't like to see them cry and be upset. I don't like having to deal with them during their grounded time. And I feel like I end up as much grounded as them, and maybe even more.

Growing up I didn't get disciplined much. But then I didn't really do a whole lot to be disciplined for. I remember my mom threatening sometimes. When I was little that meant pulling the string with the attached ball off of those cheap paddle ball toys. But I don't ever remember being spanked. The most clear recollections I have was when I was a teenager and I would lose phone privileges (that's landline phone, with a cord, for those of you who don't remember...). Oh, and that one time, when I was 11 and I shoplifted something from a store. I was grounded for a year. Yep, you read that right: a YEAR.

Now that I have kids of my own, I have expectations. And I think I clearly communicate those expectations. And I don't think they're unfair. And I do expect that they will be met. My wish, if I got those, would be that I would never have to discipline them at all. That they would understand why I set the expectations that I do, and that they would follow my rules.

Do I think that's realistic? No. But we're talking about wishes here people.

I think one of the parts of trying to create decent human beings that I struggle with the most is the appropriate punishment for the crime. I've known people who have gotten all kinds of different punishments. My dad would tell stories of he and his brothers lying over his parent's bed waiting for the belt. I had a friend that, when his kids would act up, he would recall his own childhood, "Go pick a switch. And it better be a good one or it will be worse," his Momma would say. And then I had friends that could get away with murder, and consequently let their children do the same.

So what punishment do you pick?

When the kids were little, Brandon and I would send them to their rooms so that we could calm down, and collectively decide on a punishment. We were die hard in our efforts to be consistent and to present a united front. Today is no different (well, sometimes we yell. Sometimes, when your kid has made such a stupid mistake that you are completely flabbergasted, you yell. You might yell something at her like, "What the fuck were you thinking!?!?!" And then walk to the other room to cry.) even though we are co-parenting in different households now.

Ultimately, even if there was some yelling, we try to sit down and have an honest dialogue. We try to help the kids see our point of view. To help them understand where we are coming from. Maybe why we were so mad. And we always, always tell them that we love them. And we care about them. And that we worry about them. And we just want the best for them.

Some people might be shocked to have witnessed our most recent conversations regarding discipline. Sitting at the dining room table are me, Brandon, Mike and Lilly. Because we are mature adults. And all of us have a stake in this. And all of us have an interest in seeing the kids succeed.

We turned it over to her. We asked her what she thought we needed to do to help her be successful in making good decisions, and improving her judgement. We brainstormed ideas of goals - each of our goals FOR her, and her goals for herself - over the next three years. We talked about how, if those goals are important, then every decision, no matter how critical or insignificant, should be run through a quick question: does the decision I think I'm going to make get me closer to my goals? If the answer is no, then it's not the right decision.

This isn't a concept reserved exclusively for kids. I don't know many adults that wouldn't benefit from applying this same process to their own lives - mine included.  The point is, discipline for the sake of discipline is rarely effective. I should know. A generous portion of my time is spent with "big" kids, who have found themselves in a situation as a result of poor decision making, where I am battling with their employer over the appropriate level of discipline. The thing is, when you simply punish a person (kid or adult), a smack on the ass or a couple days off work, won't fix the problem. It takes a comprehensive review of the root cause of the poor decision in the first place, and a discussion WITH the person's input, to develop a plan to grow and change so that they don't end up in the same position again.

There is no perfect disciplinary recipe book. If there is, I've never seen it. Like the rest of parenting, we'll just continue to stumble through, screwing them up in our own particular way.

What's in a Song?

Back in October I was listening to one of my favorite Podcasts, The Happiness Project, with Gretchen Rubin. The discussion on this day was picking your “Happiness 911” song. As I sat in the 3 hour commute to work, I listened to Gretchen and her sister, and fans, talk about their go-to song when they need a pick-me-up. A Happiness 911 song is a song that gives a little boost - a jumpstart to a better mood, a swing on the pendulum from negative to positive, a ditty that always brings a smile to your face, no matter the difficulties of the day.

I (illegally) started going through my Spotify saves and creating my Happiness 911 playlist. (It’s a 3 hour commute to go 65 miles – give me a break! I think my speedometer read 3mph!) The discussion resonated with me. Because, while I drive a lot, I usually listen to NPR. Or a podcast. Or I’m on the phone with members. Even when I work from home I often sit in silence all day long. No music, no background noise. I don’t know why. The silence just doesn’t bother me. 

Frankly I’m usually too busy to think about turning some music on. And in the car, which is sometimes the only time in my day I get to enjoy any entertainment, I feel like I should be using my time wisely; I should be listening to something to increases my knowledge base, keeps me up to date with what is going on with the world, etc. But music is inspiring. And can absolutely alter a mood. So I pledged to myself that I would spend the following day listening to the songs I chose to be on my Happiness 911 playlist.

My Happy Songs

And then, the next day, work sucked and I was really upset. Really pissed. Really angry. Really incredulous. And I turned on my Happiness 911 playlist. Except I did NOT want to listen to that. No, I wanted to completely surround myself in that anger – just wallow in it. So I picked a different song. And I rocked the fuck out to it. And then I came across another. And then another.

Finally it occurred to me: while a Happiness 911 playlist is an awesome idea (and I listen to mine often. IT WORKS!) Sometimes, just sometimes, you need angry music. I had an innate NEED to lash out, yell a bit, and get some things off my chest (even if it was just to Siri). Sometimes you’ve got to get the aggression out. And music can do that for you too. So I created a new playlist: “Illegitimi non carborundum.”

This phrase came to me by my mentor, my Mr. Miagi, my Dumbledore. He sent it to me that day (after I was whining at him about my experience). Loosely translated it means, “Don’t let the bastards grind you down.” It was prophetic. And perfectly timed. And I love it so much it will be my next tattoo.

Don't Let the Bastards Grind You Down

The value of that podcast has been immeasurable for me. It reminds me to enjoy myself every now and then. It’s great to learn new things – and to listen to the news – but it is equally important to just emote sometimes. And music is the perfect vessel for that. 

A Letter to a Fellow Mother

To the Mother of the boy who jumped out of my daughter’s window last night:

Last night, I searched the internet looking to find the full name of your son. Lucky for me, I used to skip trace at my previous job, and so did Mike. I happen to know some cops and other people who can get information. So now I know who he is. And I know who you are. (The internet is the damnedest thing. You can find ANYTHING on it…IF you know where to look.)

I wanted to come to your house last night. Not because I think that you knew what your son was up to…No, I wanted to come to your house last night to ask you that you kindly tell your son that he is not welcome at my house. Or my daughter’s dad’s house. Or anywhere near my daughter, regardless of her location.

I was angry. REALLY angry. I considered calling the cops. I even asked some of my friends who are cops if I could have your son arrested for trespassing. In retrospect, that was hasty. And my anger took over my rational thought process. While this may have been your son’s idea (according to my daughter, who is prone to lying and whose credibility and integrity is completely shot), I realize that your son may also just be an immature child struggling with boundaries and the way of the world.

And so I found you, and through the miracle of the internet, I have the opportunity to send you a message. And I was going to...Except I couldn’t figure out what I really wanted to say to you. Because you, like me, probably didn’t have any idea that your son was at my daughter’s house. Because you, like me, probably didn’t have any idea that your son and my daughter had devised this secret plot to “hang out”. Because you undoubtedly didn’t know that my daughter was already grounded for “hanging out” with your son on a clandestine meeting at 1am a month ago.

But I wonder: do you, like me, want to know that this is what your son was doing? Because if the situation were flip-flopped, I WOULD want to know.

So I’m going to tell you what happened:

Yesterday I went to the bus stop to pick my daughter up to take her grocery shopping with me (2:30pm). She refused. She didn't want to come. Weird. Because she ALWAYS wants to come. So I drove her and her brother to their dad's house. I dropped them off and drove two doors down and I got a funny feeling. I even sat there for 10 minutes trying to figure out if I should just make her come with me. I was in a bad mood, and figured that was the reason for the hairs standing up on the back of my neck. So I left and went to the grocery store.

About an hour later (3:30pm) I got a text from my son asking if he could go to his friend's house to stay the night. He's been really good, doing very well in school and I had no reason to say no. I just forgot that he had been the only barrier between Lilly and her being left to her own devices. I said ok, we cleared it with his dad, and his friend's dad came to pick him up. Which, because I wasn't even thinking, left Lilly alone.

When my ex-husband, Brandon, got home yesterday evening (approx 5:30pm) there was a strange car parked just past his house. He went to it. There was a boy inside. He knocked on the window and asked if he could help him. The boy lied, "I'm just waiting here for my mom who's in that house right there." Brandon left it alone but apparently it still had his hairs standing on end because he took a picture of the license plate.

He went inside and was promptly greeted by a cheery and chatty daughter (which was weird in and of itself). Something still seemed off and he went into her room, where the window was wide open. He asked her why the window was open and she lied (it's 25 degrees at this point). He walked away, and was still bothered. He took a flashlight outside and there were footprints in the snow out of her window to where the car had been. BUSTED!

At first, she lied about anyone being there, but finally fessed up. It was your son, the same boy that she snuck out to see a month prior with her friend. The boy that my daughter was no longer allowed to see or talk to had been IN HER DAD'S HOUSE!

She doesn't even know your son. She says she had only met him that one other time. She didn’t even know his last name or really anything about him and now they are exchanging bodily fluids with one another.

So I got a phone call. “Can you come over here RIGHT NOW. I think someone has been in my house (this was before she confessed) and I need you to calm me down and keep me away from our daughter.” So I went over to his house. On a Friday evening. Right when I was making my dinner. When I should’ve been relaxing.

That’s what happened first. Here’s what happened next…

I wanted to find out who you are and where you live and pay you a visit. So that you could potentially help me to keep your son from contacting my daughter ever again. And, in fact, when I thought I found out who you were, we DID drive there to confront your son. But we had the wrong name. And the wrong address.

So I had my daughter call your son. I wanted to ask her to set your son up. To tell him that she had gotten out of the house and to meet her somewhere. But I thought better of that. I had her call him and tell him that we were sitting in a car, in Lake Stevens, and that her parents wanted to know his last name and his address. Because we were on our way to his house.

Like any typical teenager he refused. (To be honest, I probably would have, too.) He said he wasn’t home. He begged us not to go to your house because you were at work and your husband was sleeping and had to get up very early. He again refused to give up the information we were seeking. So Brandon took the phone.

Your son confirmed that the car parked at his house, the car we have a picture of the license plate, was YOUR car. A car registered in YOUR name. Brandon told your son that we will find out the information we want, the easy way or the hard way. At that point your son gave up his last name. But would not divulge your address. (He said he didn’t know it – “it’s on 56th St I think?”) He again begged Brandon not to show up at his house. Armed with your last name, and my connections, I found out who your son was. And I found out who you are.

But I was still angry.

And not thinking rationally.

So I haven’t contacted you. And I don’t know if I will.

Brandon and I did, unconditionally, unwelcome your son from either of our houses. We also asked that he stay as far away from our daughter as possible. I hope that he will heed our warning. Frankly, we’d rather never have to deal with him, or you, ever. We’d like you to be able to live a long, healthy, happy and prosperous life without ever having to meet us; to deal with this shit.

Only time will tell how that will end.

Here’s what I wonder about your son:

(I apologize in advance if I seem crass, or uncaring. I’m still pretty angry. Mostly at my daughter – but anger doesn't often accompany rational thought - so I'm mad at your son too.)

First, how desperate is he? He’s a senior in high school. At a big school. With nearly 2000 students. Roughly half of them are girls. Seems like he’s a loser if he can’t find anyone interested in him there. Why is he interested in my 14-year-old, freshman daughter? I can only think of one reason. I mean she’s pretty, and a pretty dynamic human being, but I doubt that is what has him so captivated.

Second, what gives your son the right to come into someone’s house without permission? This, on top of the fact that he knows that my daughter is grounded, in part, because of him! And, for all he knows, the father of this teen-aged girl is armed and dangerous; a man likely to shoot people he finds sneaking in or out of windows in order to protect his family.

Third, does your son lie like my daughter does? Is he a natural manipulator? Does he know that my daughter battles depression and anxiety? Does he know that she struggles very much with acceptance and craves affection? Does he know that she is very gullible with the prospect that someone “actually likes her”? Because if he knows any of those things, and is still manipulating her into “hanging out” with him, then he’s a total piece of shit. And you should be ashamed. (There’s that crass, unfiltered anger I was talking about.)

In some ways, I hope you see this. It’s embarrassing. To me. To my daughter. To our family. But I wonder if it will help even one person. Perhaps a parent, so that they know they are not alone in feeling like a failure (like I do). Or maybe a kid, who might accidentally bump into this post and have an ah-ha moment of clarity and make some adjustment in their life. Or maybe it will help no one but me – because it is cathartic for me to feel like I got to tell you this, even if it never reaches you. (Which, in other ways, I hope it doesn’t.)

Funny, my friend posted a link to this blog post this morning, and part of it said this:

“I think parenting young children (and old ones, I’ve heard) is a little like climbing Mount Everest. Brave, adventurous souls try it because they’ve heard there’s magic in the climb. They try because they believe that finishing, or even attempting the climb are impressive accomplishments. They try because during the climb, if they allow themselves to pause and lift their eyes and minds from the pain and drudgery, the views are breathtaking. They try because even though it hurts and it’s hard, there are moments that make it worth the hard. These moments are so intense and unique that many people who reach the top start planning, almost immediately, to climb again. Even though any climber will tell you that most of the climb is treacherous, exhausting, killer. That they literally cried most of the way up.

And so I think that if there were people stationed, say, every thirty feet along Mount Everest yelling to the climbers – “ARE YOU ENJOYING YOURSELF!? IF NOT, YOU SHOULD BE! ONE DAY YOU’LL BE SORRY YOU DIDN’T!” TRUST US!! IT’LL BE OVER TOO SOON! CARPE DIEM!” – those well-meaning, nostalgic cheerleaders might be physically thrown from the mountain.” (Click here for the link to the full article)

This couldn’t have come at a more apropos time. As I sit at my computer crying, I think this author nailed it. Right now I’m only half way up the mountain. And I want to quit. I want to be warm and comfortable and not struggling to move forward. But I am not a quitter. And I will not quit the hardest, most challenging job I’ve ever been awarded.

And I don’t expect that you will either. We can’t. It’s built into us as mother's to continue to help our kids be successful, decent human beings. But it’s harder to do that when you don’t know what they’re up to.

THIS is the letter I would send, IF I was going to send it. Would you?

My Pantry is so Tumblr....

Inspiration strikes at some of the funniest times, places and circumstances. There are times when you are searching for something in particular; something that will fulfill a need you have – whatever that need might be. And sometimes you’re just stupidly wandering when you’re smacked in the face with an idea.

As I wandered around World Market on Christmas Eve (so that Mikey could grab something in Target I couldn’t see) I came upon this wire rack that hung on the wall. I saw it from across the other side of the store. I was drawn to it. I wanted it. I didn’t know what for. And I do that enough to know that I CANNOT buy something because I think I MIGHT have a use for it. (Incidentally, these are all the really cool things other people end up scoring from me on the BuyNothing site when I finally decide to get rid of them. Sorry Buy Nothing folks, I’m trying to reign myself in.) I walked away. And then I thought of something I could do with it. I have unused space in my pantry! I could put it there, rearrange my kitchen, put all my food in the pantry instead of having it in the cupboards, it would free up space to have easy access to my small kitchen appliances, oh my goodness it would look really cute too….aaaaaannnnnnd, Mikey showed up, “time to go!” And there ended my spiraling idea reel. I said a silent goodbye as I got one last glimpse at the rack….

I COULD NOT stop thinking about it. And, after Christmas, I had EVEN MORE new small kitchen appliances! (As a side note I have made two more meals – one with the InstantPot and one with the zoodler – and both were Ah-mazing.) I told Mikey about my idea. And here’s the thing I love about him: He instantly started asking questions. Where do you want to put it? What will you use it for? How will that help you organize in the kitchen? I had answers to all of those. And so he said, “Well, let’s go look at it.”

After a couple of hours at the thrift store fulfilling our recent book obsession, we ended up at the World Market in Woodinville. At first, I couldn’t find it. But then, hiding in the back corner of the store, was this jewel; this space saving, Tumblr worthy (that’s a term Lil uses – I only pretend to know what it means), fix all my kitchen woes, rack.

Him: (he picks it up and makes a face) “It’s kind of chintzy.”

Me: (in my head) Ugh.

Him: “$129.99! What the fuck?!?!”

Me: (Dreams dashed just a little bit more) “Really, you think it’s chintzy? I like it.”

Him: “I’m sorry sweetheart, I just think it’s overpriced and not well built.”

Me: (in my head) Damn.

And so we meandered back to the front of the store. My pantry wall was doomed to be ugly, bare and useless.

One more stop before we hit home to settle down with a nice charcuterie plate for a quiet New Year’s night. All we wanted at Costco was a package of assorted meats. But my mom had just bought this cat tree, and I thought we should look at them. Maybe that would keep the bastards from clawing up my stair rail. (More on the feline idiots later.) As we walked back to the refrigerated food section we passed by some metal baskets. I picked one up.

Me: “This isn’t chintzy. It’s actually pretty nice. Do you think it would work?”

Him: “These are pretty nice. And they’re less expensive than that chintzy rack.”

Me: “What do you think? They come in pairs…..6?”

Him: “I think we could fit 8. I could definitely affix them to the wall for you.”
Me: “Are you sure? They’re kind of heavy. And I want to put a bunch of food in them.”

Him” “I’m sure. Let’s get them.”

Me: (in my head) YES! Damn I love this man. Pantry bliss is on it’s way!

Who rearranges their kitchen after living in a house for 11 years? I DO! I was so excited to see them going up. I could barely wait for him to have them all installed. I was already pulling everything out of the cupboards and envisioning how I would carefully group everything.

It only took about an hour for Mikey to have it all up and ready to go. He sauntered off to the office to write. I spent the next 2 hours pulling everything out of drawers and cabinets, throwing old stuff away (Seriously? I knew no one ever drank that mixable lemonade but I didn’t know it expired in 2011!), and cleaning out said drawers and cabinets for new kitchen appliance homes (because no one likes moving into a dirty home!)

I can’t thank Mikey enough for not letting me buy the rack from World Market. These baskets hold more, look nicer, are well made and look amazing. Now my pantry’s mission in life is fulfilled: complete usable space. And I get to drink my coffee every morning looking at my Tumblr pantry.

A Reader Lives a Thousand Lives

When I was a little girl my Momma never went anywhere without a book. Some mass market paperback version of the new Stephen King, or Dean Koontz was always tucked in her purse. She bestowed a love of reading on to me at such an early age.

I poured through books as an elementary school kid. I even won a contest in 1^st grade for reading 100 books in one school year! As I became a teenager, when the phone and eventually “hanging out” took over my life, while I would pick up a book now and then, I rarely read past the requirements of my English classes. In college it was even worse. Who the hell has time to read for pleasure in college?!?! When you show up on the first day, listen to lecture, and in your first class are assigned 9 chapters……before TOMORROW? Yeah, no escaping into a love story tonight! (This implies that I always read the material for my class the next day. Sometimes I would – if something better didn’t come along. I mean when your neighbor is having a get-together, you can’t not show, can you?)

After college I would read books every now and then. But I got out of college and had a baby. Ya know, there should be a billboard in front of every high school about babies: Sleep too much? Too much time on your hands? Think about yourself too much? Desire financial responsibility for the rest of your life? Too much time NOT cleaning up bodily fluids? HAVE A BABY! As the kids got older, and would ACTUALLY go to bed at a decent hour, I did read progressively more, but I’ve always been a busybody and have always had too many irons in the fire. For me time has always been like alcohol to an alcoholic, as soon as I have a little bit, I promptly consume it.

When I started the work I’m doing now, all time for books went out the window. I found myself working increasingly more hours and, when I would have time for a book, I was reading contracts, or books on negotiation techniques. I obsess. And, when I find something to obsess over, I go all in. There’s no obsession I work at half ass. If I’ve decided it’s worth doing, it’s worth doing RIGHT.

Now, as I am older, and my kids prefer video games and smart phones to my presence, I find myself with a little more time. Or at least I am attempting to make a little more time in my life. It has become clear to me that the life of obsession, over only one thing, is unsustainable. And so I’m diversifying my obsessions.

Lucky for me, Mikey shares many of these traits. And our obsessions are very similar in so many ways. We recently sat down before the end of the year and brainstormed a list of things we’d like to do in the upcoming year. Over half or more of the things on my list and his matched. One of them was “Read more books.”

In the last six months or so, we find ourselves particularly enjoying spending hours at the thrift store searching through books. For us, owning books seems something akin to collecting antiques. Eventually we figure a book, written on paper, and bound in such an artistic way, will be a thing of the past. And we just aren’t ready to let go of that past. Whether they ever are worth anything? I don’t know, and frankly I don’t care. I love a good book collection – always have. And so we are building ours.

The thing is though, we love books so much, and are interested in so much, that there are times we walk out of there with 2 paper bags full of books. Since we’ve done this a few times now, we talked about limiting ourselves to a weekly trip, with a preset amount to spend: $13.05. That is the price of 5 books (if they are on the high end of the pricing scale). We decided that we will shop as usual and if the combination of the books in our hands at the end of our trip is greater than 5, we will have to start bargaining over which ones to put back. (Fortunate for me that I negotiate for a living – however he’s pretty. damn. good.)

Yesterday, after we hit the gym, we wandered over to see what we could find. Funny, when you’ve bought a hundred books in the last month you’d think there’s nothing left to want to buy. WRONG! We left a couple on the shelf (with no real bickering) and brought 5 home.

And I can’t wait to go back! It could be worse...at least this latest obsession is fairly inexpensive. And we're making reading time a priority - I've already read 3 books in the last 2 weeks!