Shoe-ly you Must be Kidding

It’s been a while since I posted about shoes.  It’s not that there haven’t been shoe-nanigans a foot (Ha! Mom would have loved that one Juj).  It’s just that I’ve been a bit preoccupied with myself lately.

Generally, you can judge my mood based on my choice of shoes.  Hightops? I was willing to commit to the extra effort needed to get my non-bending foot in the shoe.  Not an easy task.  It also means Aaron has not stolen all of my socks.  Low top Converse or my Vans – I recognize the need for shoes but I just can’t totally commit right now.  Flip flops? I HAVE to wear something… No shoes? That can best be described as I have no intention of getting out of the car.

Lately it’s been flip flops or nothing.  Basically, if I have to put on shoes, the answer is no.

The pile of shoes on my porch has grown.   Aaron was asked to clean his room and he did.  Only problem is he bagged up everything as “trash”.  Fearing the worst, I went through every bag before they were disposed of.  I came away with MULTIPLE pairs of perfectly good shoes (including several pairs that were basically new).  For some reason, they are all still on the porch.  I probably should do something about that.  Tomorrow.

The singles are still there as well, including a few additions.  On a recent trip to the Converse store I discovered that they take old shoes and grind them up to make playground surface material.  How cool is that?  Have I taken them down to add them to to the collection box?  Nope.  But I saved this picture on my phone to remind me.

Because the pile of shoes that I literally walk past multiple times every day isn’t a big enough reminder?

For as long as I can remember we’ve had a basket at the front door to collect shoes.  We’re just not a big shoe wearing family and generally the first thing we do is SHOES OFF.  After years of being annoyed with the overflowing basket of shoes (mostly mine – not going to lie), Eric bought this monstrosity.  I FREAKING HATE IT!  Don’t get me wrong, he meant well but… If I could figure out another solution I would.  I swear, as soon as these boys move out, this thing is going, too! And notice, most of the shoes are near it, not on it. Also notice – there is at least one lone shoe there. That would be Aaron.

And, to top it off, the basket is still at the front door.  Actually, the shoes have begun to migrate over.  Apparently, they’re not a fan of the rack either.

Yesterday, Aaron showed up at my office during the break from his dance class looking for food and water.  “Mom, will you drive me back up to my class?” No… wait, where are your shoes?  He left them in class and walked across campus barefoot.  90 degrees plus outside.  Asphalt the whole way.  Dumbass.  Why does he keep doing this????

While we’re talking about Aaron, he got a new job and he’s already planned out what he’s buying with his first check.  Shoes (high heeled drag shoes, but still, shoes.)  The boy who can’t remember to wear shoes is spending his entire net worth on shoes.  It would be like me opting for raisin cookies.  Insanity.

There’s currently a pair of blue seude-ish high heeled boots on my pool deck.  Isn’t that where you keep yours?

It’s not just Aaron though.  Anthony’s taking ceramics over the summer.  Yesterday – “Damn it, I forgot closed toed shoes.” Today, I specifically asked him if he had his shoes before we left.  “YESSSSSS.” Complete with eyeroll.  I even suggested to him that he keep a pair of Aaron’s porch shoes in the car on the off chance he forgot again.  Narrator: indeed he did not have his shoes nor did he put the extras in the car.  As Juli says, “This is me not caring.”

Last week, WWIII broke out over… shoes.  Anthony is convinced that Aaron is stealing the insoles from his work shoes.  Aaron witnessed the dogs eating said insoles (he didn’t stop them but that’s another issue).  We’ve all witnessed the dogs eating insoles and shoes and socks…  I found one of the insoles in the backyard with a guilty looking dog nearby AND the shoes in question were literally chewed on.  Apparently, the dogs like shoes WAY more than the rest of us.  Did any of this abate the fight? Nope.

A week later, I am sure he’s still harboring resentment over Shoegate 2018. Likely because the outcome of his fight with Aaron was a side battle with me that ended in him walking the 2.5 miles to work when I pulled my car over with an ultimatum to let it drop.  Walked to work no big deal.  With no insoles?  You’d think after 19 years he’d know that when I say, “Don’t make me pull this car over”, you should take that shit seriously.  I would have even stopped at the store and bought him replacement insoles if he wasn’t being such an ass.

For the record, if Anthony had used Eric’s  damn shoe closet, the dogs likely would not have eaten the insoles/shoes.  I’m not saying it’s not needed.  I’m just saying it’s an eyesore and I hate it.

So friends, I’ve already kicked off my flip flops for the night. And no, they’re not on the rack. They’re actually in a whole other pile nowhere near the front door. Yeah, I have issues.

This is Anxiety

I’ve really been struggling lately. More rough days than easy. Sigh.

I get asked, “How are you,” by well meaning people. Friends and strangers alike. That’s not a question I feel comfortable answering. Not one I’m likely to be honest about either. I’ve begun avoiding it. Blow past, change the subject. It’s just easier.

Some days, I just can’t people. Not everyone understands that. Those closest to me do and respect my need for space. They’re also not likely to ask the dreaded question. Some times they force me to be together. #thanksjujubee I do my best – I hope they know that.

Yesterday I was asked repeatedly, “Why are you angry?” Yeah, don’t ask that either. I’m not angry, I’m just me and sometimes that’s hard. Stop assuming it’s you or that you can fix it/me.

There’s a lot going on around here. School. No school. New and old jobs for the kids. Backyard construction. Work. My car needs an oil change. The deadline looming to file a claim for the accident two years ago. A family of hawks living on the roof and shitting on my car. Ants. J slicing through his thumb and the resulting ER visit.

Just too much.

I gave up on my MayYouBe challenge. It was too structured for where I’m at right now. At some point I might pick it up again. In the meantime I AM going to TRY to write more. I need to remind myself that writing releases some of the built up pressure. It also gives a voice to anxiety and maybe, just maybe, that might end up helping someone other than myself.

In the meantime, have patience and know that I’m still trudging along. And if you’re struggling, too, know that you’re not alone.

May You Be Grateful

OK so, I’m a day behind. #shocker

Yesterday was full – work and kids and drama and stress.  An emotionally and physically draining day.  No break from 7-6 so when I found myself with the house all to myself for an hour I kind of wanted to check out.

Like so often when that happens though I found myself straightening up the house.  OK… really bitching (WHILE cleaning) about being the maid for four people who really should be able to turn off lights, or sweep up dog hair, or put their dishes in the sink, or their trash in the can, or their dirty clothes in the hamper…

I wasn’t feeling especially grateful.  I was just tired and annoyed.

I bitch a lot about things that other people would be grateful for.  First world problems – we all have them.

I’m working on perspective.

Truth is, I have a life that keeps me busy, a house to clean, people & dogs to share it with me, and occasionally a little time to myself to appreciate it.  I need to be more grateful for that.  It would, at the very least, probably make the tasks more tolerable.

Lately, I’ve been working on showing genuine gratitude to those around me.  Sending thank you notes, just because – not for the receipt of something.  Thanking my co-workers for the little (and sometimes big) things they do that make my job easier. Telling my friends how I much appreciate them always being there for me.  Like the house and the clutter, I was finding myself not appreciating the people that surround me.  And that’s a shame.  I’m getting better at thanking others, and recognizing the part they play in my daily life.  (Not perfect, still working on it.)

All too often, I think that what I do at work or at home or in the world is thankless or not even seen.  That leads to resentment which is what got me to this point in the first place.  So, I’m also trying to thank myself more – recognize and appreciate the role I play in all of this.  True gratitude like so many other things, I am learning, comes from within.

Thank you for being here.  Thank you for taking this journey of self discovery with me.  Thank you for listening.

 

May You Be… Here… Now

Day 2 – Here Now

Two things I’ve been working on lately are active listening and being present in the moment. In general, I continue to fail miserably at both.

ADD brain means I’m usually thinking of a million things at once. I’m generally fifteen steps ahead in a conversation – one that, because of anxiety, I’ve already had in my mind many times over.

Focus – or lack thereof. Something I’ve struggled with even as a small child. Something I still deal with personally x4 if you include the boys. “I hope you have a kid JUST LIKE YOU.” Well played karma. Well played.

Active listening. Stop.  Don’t interrupt – even if I’ll forget what I wanted to say… even if it’s relevant RIGHT NOW… even if… Stop working through the next part of the conversation, stop formulating your arguments and responses during.  Just STOP and listen.  And maybe doodle.

Being present. For the third year in a row my Word of The Year is “here”. I’m CONSTANTLY reminding myself that where I am at, at the moment, is the most important thing. Mentally. Physically. Emotionally. Socially. Technologically.  Chances are, it’ll be my word next year, too.  Heck it’s even the name of my original blog! (There’s some inspired writing over there, you should probably check it out.)

It’s pretty easy for my brain to start dwelling 30 years down the road. I don’t just ponder it and move on, I freaking obsess. I mean, will they EVER move out?  But while I’m obsessing I think I’m missing the joy of the little steps along the long path.  Once again, progress – no matter how small – is still progress.

Anthony this morning: Sheesh Mom, don’t jump to conclusions. Yup, that’s me summed up in six words.

Put down the phone during meals and meetings. Don’t watch tv while reading a book or playing a game. Most people read one book at a time, right? I have 3 going right now. Three. It’s no wonder I, once again, started reading a book that I have already read but didn’t remember reading.  I’m always telling the boys to “be present” why can’t I follow my own declarations?

Enjoy one moment at a time. Why is that SO hard?

May you be…

A few years ago, I happened upon a daily challenge from Project Happiness.  I saved a screenshot of the calendar to my phone and later to my computer.  I’ve had limited success with daily challenges.  Like diets, and resolutions, and well… pretty much everything, good intentions often fall to the wayside of daily life and a limited attention span and my craptastic memory.  There’s also my resounding procrastination.  I’ll get to that… later. (I may have just misspelled “never”.)

So, why now?  Two years after that initial save?

1. It’s my birthday month – the last of my forties.  Pretty soon my age will start with a 5, a half century spent trying to figure out who I am and what mark I want to leave on the Earth. #loftygoals
2. I’m trying to write more.  A month ago, I challenged myself to write daily.  Like all the others before it, that challenge lasted days (maybe).  That needs to change!  Writing helps me think through my chaos much more completely than talking – not that I don’t do a fair share of that, too.  I’m hoping that by putting this out there, I will be held accountable, by myself and others.

I’m not sure I’ll make it to Day 31 – no guarantees.  If I do, my plan is to scrapbook each prompt.  A few years ago, I actually managed to complete the (highly annoying) Month of Gratitude that made the rounds on Facebook.  That layout is one of my favorites to go back and visit – a snapshot of what was important to me then (and for the most part, still is).

I even bought the album (wait for it) TWO YEARS AGO.  I obviously wasn’t ready to undertake this then, I’m hoping I am now.  If not, the prompts will remain on my phone until I am – someday.

Let’s take that first step together…

Day 1 – May You Be Happy

Happy? What does that even mean? I’m really struggling with this one these days.

Holding hands with Aaron (age 18). Rainy days.  Stupid puns and “dad jokes”. Doodling. (Why don’t I do that more?)

Little things. It’s always the little things with me.

 

Amazingly enough, few of the things on either list have changed 15 years later. And FWIW, I still carry around notebooks of grievances. Some things never change.

Some of the things I used to find joy in are just not sparking me – I haven’t scrapbooked in 6 months. I’m behind for the first time since 2010. Partly it’s the chaos of late. Partly it’s the depression. But, I’ve set aside time over the next three months. I’ve even started sorting photos for a crop this weekend. Progress, however slight, is progress.

So, happiness – that elusive goal. There are glimmers of it here and there. It’s not lost forever and neither am I. It’s in here somewhere.

What’s in a Name?

I’ve been asked to be a facilitator at an upcoming equity & multiculturalism workshop.  Eric questioned what expertise I have in this area, something I’ve questioned of myself over the last two years.  What can a middle aged, white girl from the San Fernando Valley bring to the table?

For one thing, I can bring my name – and the stories of the names around me.

I came into this world with not one, but two names.  An English name and a Hebrew one.  Growing up with mostly non-Jewish friends, my Hebrew name was something used only by my grandparents and my Rabbi.  (To this day, I hear “Shayva Rivka” in my grandfather’s Eastern European accented voice.)  It was a name chosen by my mother to honor the memories of people important to her – an Ashkenazi tradition that I continued with my own children.  So why be ashamed?  Growing up, I just wanted to be like everyone else.  Eat the same foods, celebrate the same holidays, have sleepovers on the weekends.  Having another name was just another reminder of how different I was and as a kid (and even as an adult) that was just not cool.  It took intensive cultural training for me to explore this and convince myself that being different was what made me… me – and that was certainly cool.  My Hebrew name and my mother’s wedding ring are the two strongest ties I have to her now that she is gone.

My mother gave the same gifts to my children, selecting each of their Hebrew names even though she knew it was highly unlikely that they would ever use them.  Oddly enough, the most unexpected of the boys does.  My mother named Anthony, Chaim Velvel – Life Wolf.  A name that he has embraced.

Ironically, Anthony’s name is the only one we did not choose.  It came with him – at 3 already a big part of his identity.  It was a part of him and the idea of taking that away never crossed our minds.  We added his middle name in a nod to my father.  A reminder that some things are within our control and somethings are not, and that’s (generally) ok.

28 years ago I gave up my father’s name in lieu of Eric’s. At the time it allowed me strip away years of personal heartache as well as the cultural stereotypes that come from having a “Jewish last name” (remember I was pretty intent on assimilation). I now carry a surname that I have little connection to. A name I often have to correct the pronunciation and spelling of. I am not German like Eric’s ancestors and when asked “what Herchenroeder is” (an odd question in the first place) my first reaction is to be snarky and answer “my husband’s last name”. My connection to the name is in the context of Eric and the boys – TOGETHER we make H5. I have been a Herchenroeder longer than I was a Weisman, and it was only recently that I began using my maiden name publicly in an attempt to find childhood friends (thanks Facebook). After nearly 3 decades, my connection to Weisman is tenuous at best – even my 1st cousins spell it differently, yet another name story.

Having a name that is constantly mispronounced has made me conscious of my spelling and pronunciations of others’. So much so, that I recently took a Spanish course specifically to help me with pronouncing Latino names. I still often butcher them, but I’m trying.

The most amusing (and annoying) part is when a stranger says, “Herchenroeder? Do you know…?” Umm how many of us locally do you really think there are that I wouldn’t be related to all of them? Seriously? It’s not Smith or Brown or… It’s fricking Herchenroeder! And while we’re on the topic complete and total stranger, yes it IS long and no, my children did not struggle to learn how to say or spell it.

When I buried my mother, I made the decision to engrave all of her names on her headstone; her Hebrew name, the name everyone knew her by (Bubbe Malka), and her English name including all of the last names she carried through her life.  Her ties to her childhood, to my father, and to Dan who she cared for in their final years.  Each of these names was a piece of her, and made her who she was – both to herself and to the world.

My grandfather’s last name was Kohen, with a K. His children were all Cohens, with a C. I always assumed he changed his name to avoid the law or a jilted girlfriend, he was a bit of a sketchy character. When I found his naturalization certificate from 1926 I was shocked to see his name spelled with a K. Another name story, this one likely lost forever.

When I started at Chaffey, my boss asked me what I preferred to be called.  Sheri.  “Sorry, that name is already taken by 3 others.  Go by Sheryl – you’ll be the only one.”  So, for the first time in my life someone other than my mother, a school official, or the IRS was calling me Sheryl. It took years for me to realize they were talking to or about me. Now, once again thanks to Facebook, Sheryl is how most people know me.

I have a friend whose daughter is transgender.  As part of her transition, she has changed her name and that got me thinking about how strange the whole idea of naming a child is.  Names are determined by people who have never met you, often long before your entry into the universe.  That name is yours for all your days – and beyond.  How strange is that?  Like something out of Lois Lowery’s The Giver. When people refuse to use a name that a person has chosen for themselves, what are we saying to them?  Your randomly assigned designation is more important than how you see yourself, who you have developed into.

I’m not perfect by any means.  My oldest friend has selected a name for herself.  I call her Omi, because to me that is who she is.  When I introduce her to others I call her by her chosen name, or at least I try to.  I need to be better about that.  I need to honor what she wants and I need to be more diligent about it.  Because, when you love someone that’s what you do.

You can judge what circle someone knows me from based on what they call me. So many names… Sheryl, Sheri, Sher, SherBear, Mrs. H, Mom, Mama. I even have a friend that calls me Herchenroeder – easily the oddest choice. It’s pretty comical when the circles intersect and people are genuinely confused. I get it. I get confused, too.

So who am I? As I near the mid century mark, I’m still figuring that out. Whether that’s in the context of birth name, cultural name, maiden name, married name, or nickname – each has helped to build the woman I am and each is important in its own way.

Right now, THAT is what I bring to the conversation. No longer assimilating – celebrating ALL that I am and each name THAT represents. Hopefully my story inspires my colleagues (and now my followers) to be understanding and empathetic, to address people in their chosen way, to be respectful of cultural differences. To never, ever, rename someone simply out of their own convenience.

And yes, you can still call me Sheryl.

Things I love to hate – 3rd edition

We’re coming up on Thanksgiving or as I like to think of it – let’s pour nasty gravy on all the things. YUCK!  I didn’t grow up in a gravy loving household and it’s not something that I have ever acquired a taste for.  I literally cringe when I have to pass it.  There’s just something about the murky brown swamp-like color, and the way it jelly-like moves in the container, and the SKIN it gets over the top.  UGH – just writing this has me tensing up.

Chick-Fil-A – long before their societal views became public I was already a hater.  It took just one trip there to discover I was not a fan of their food. How can you possibly make chicken nuggets and french fries not appealing?  Couple that with everything else CFA and I have never been back.  I’m not alone – apparently it’s a Cali thing. (TBH – I really could fit in in most of these states based on this survey.)

Red velvet ANYTHING – I grew up in a time when red food dye was BAD, very very bad.  There were no red M&Ms in the bag and even now I think of them (and the blue ones) as abominations.  Red food tastes weird.  It tastes chemically.  It’s just gross.  Chocolate cake should be BROWN not red with cocoa powder added.  EWWW.

boba – WHY on earth would anyone want goo marbles in their drink?  Just the idea of sucking one of those up a straw and having it hit the back of my throat is a surprise I just do not want.  I freak out enough when I accidentally pull up some ice!  Tapioca “pearls” do not belong in my drink – pearls belong in jewelry not drinks! Whole lotta NOPE!

And finally, potato soup.  I’m all alone in the fam on this one.  It’s like mashed potatoes mated with a milkshake and this is their bastard child.  The fact that it’s often topped with green onions doesn’t bode well for it in my book either. Shudder.

The Vicious Circle of Anxiety

I️ have anxiety and that sucks. Big time.

It’s a constant battle.  Most of the time I️ keep it (fairly) in check. This week, not so much.

Lately I’ve been waking up in the middle of the night. Night terrors. Panic. Then the constant stream of worrying thoughts start. I️ can’t stop them. The tools the sleep doctor taught me aren’t working.  Pretty soon it’s 6am and the alarm is going off.

I️ spend my days wired but physically exhausted. Falling asleep isn’t the problem. Staying asleep is.

I’m not hungry either so I’m not eating.  Migraine.

And my eczema is leaving me itchy and irritated. Stress makes it worse. So does poor diet.

So basically, I’m stressed which is leaving me sleep deprived, itchy, and not eating which means I’m unable to appropriately deal with my stress which means I️ wake up at 3 am in a sheer panic which means…

For the most part I️ keep this vicious cycle in check and I️ lead a successful life. High functioning anxiety. For the most part.

In two weeks, E and I️ leave for China. I’ve been looking forward to this trip for a year but the reality of the boys on their own for 10 days has finally hit me. Why is it that leaving three quasi-adults to fend for themselves is causing me more angst that when they were littles?  Oh yeah – their proven track record of stellar life choices.  I️ know I️ need to let this go – getting my overactive brain to actually do that is another story.

I woke up in the middle of the night Monday and apparently I had a conversation with Anthony.  He asked me if I was alright – I guess I answered “no” and walked away.  I have only a vague recollection but it seems plausible and totally accurate.

I am tired, cranky, hangry, & itchy.  And my head hurts.

Just keeping it real.

5 Things I HATE 2.0

Fall is in the air and for some Gd forsaken reason that means candy corn!  What the heck is this crap anyway? Seriously? This should not exist.  This is NOT CANDY! Snickers is candy.  Even Eric’s Big Hunks are candy.  And it’s not corn – it doesn’t even look like corn! This is just GROSS.  Just NO!

And Flamin’ Hot Cheetos? You take everything good about Cheetos and cover them in fluorescent red chili powder! NO!  I have mad respect for the Hot Cheeto dude and his rise from janitor to VP and I totally dig elote but this odd concoction is no bueno to me.

Vince’s – well if you’re an 909er you either love this place or hate it.  I’ve never met a single person that was in the middle.  Seriously, no gray area.  Me? I CAN’T STAND IT!  There is nothing nice I can say… NOTHING! The sauce, the salad, the “soup”, UGH!

And then there’s pepperoni – bleh.  Probably a hold over from not eating it as a kid but between the grease and the flavor, no thank you.  Yes, just one of the things I pick off the pizza in my house because my family does not see the benefit of pepperoni-free pizza.

Finally, Chipotle.  What is everyone’s fascination with this place? Their rice tastes funny and the food is simply ick.  I can’t… I just can’t.

Weigh in – divergent opinions welcome just don’t try to be helpful and deliver this crap to me in hopes I’ll change my mind.  Not going to happen.

You can keep them – all of them!

I don’t know what it is about these things but they actually make me gag. Literally!

• frosting – I want to like it, I really do but I just can’t.  It feels like I’ve coated my throat with Crisco.
• sprinkles – so pretty, it’s even fun to jump into a giant pit of them, but eat them? I’m not even sure they are actually edible!
• potato chips – mostly the sound but even the taste – what is it about these things that make them America’s snackfood? And WHY do the guys insist on eating them anywhere near me? WHY?
• Play-Doh – don’t get me started – the feel, THE SMELL, when it gets hard and you walk on it. UGHx3
• bendy straws – they just can’t be trusted

I know I’ve got issues.  Admit it, you have them, too.

So, I’m going to leave the frosted, sprinkalicious donuts to those that love them (like Aaron) – sprinkles are for lounging in, not eating!

Photo taken at the Museum of Ice Cream