My Monkey Business

Image courtesy of http://mrmarksclassroom.com

My business, your business, our business, monkey business, mind your own business.....I understand all of these concepts. Problem is, I don't always abide by them. Case in point: A close family member was recently in a destructive relationship. Initially, I liked the guy and I honestly didn't know how bad it was for a very long time, but when I became aware, I made it my business. Why? Here are just three of the thousands of reasons. 1) abusive relationships piss me off 2) my family is the most important unit in my life 3) I have a tendency to be very protective. Overly protective. Scary protective.  What did I do? I had a heart to heart with this family member about why she chose to stay, what it was like and whether or not she thought she had options to leave. She was in an emotionally abusive relationship, but she didn't see it. It was too close. When I pointed it out and reminded her of what an amazingly bright and beautiful person she really was, she decided to leave and take control of her life. Was it my business? No. Did I make it my business? Yes. Would I do it again? In a heartbeat. It's a fine line to walk and I would venture to guess that most people would label me as nosey and over protective. I'll wear both badges.

It's all the rage in self-help books these days; mind your own business, let people learn their own lessons, stop being an intrusive bitch....I'm not sure that last one was ever written, but you can keep that idea for free. Most of the time, I agree with them. Social media has made it too easy to be so far up everyone else's ass that you forget wipe your own. We all know how complicated your relationship is, how no one appreciates you and your financial history down to the last penny. I get it, we are all waiting for payday and no, you aren't the only one who eats ramen noodles for dinner. Everything is everyone's business and it takes Jedi manuevers to keep from giving advice or taking advice about every single status update. There are times I have to duct tape my hands to my desk to keep from posting "Stop buying stupid shit" or "Why are you dating guys who are complete fucking tools?". That wouldn't be my business. Those people are acquaintances and their problems are not mine to navigate. But my family? It's different.

It's like I'm Italian the way I feel about family. Mob boss status. I'm the Tony Soprano of la mia famiglia and I mean business when it comes to how my family is treated by other people. Especially people who claim to love them. I tend to go against the teachings of self help gurus and I make it my business. Is it wrong? Maybe. Should I stop? Probably. But I won't. It's a part of my genetic makeup, like my unruly hair and the way my left eye is smaller than my right eye when I smile. Sometimes it's appreciated and sometimes I am loathed, but I know I am always living in my truth. New self-help book idea...."Your Business Unless You're Related To Me". It has an annoying ring about it, don't you think?

Cleaning Lady And The Butter Dish

Image courtesy of http://intodesigninc.wordpress.com/tag/cleaning/

(If I looked like this is an apron, I would burn all the clothes I own and wear this to the grocery store)

We have touched on this before, but here we go again....I like to stay busy. Okay, that is putting it mildly, I am addicted to being busy and I find myself itching to accomplish something even on vacation. When people tout the joys of meditation or a mid-afternoon siesta, all I can think is "How long is that going to take? I have shit to do". Call it OCD or Type A personality or being an oldest child, whatever it is, I have it. When I quit my day job last October to focus on writing and doing payroll for our small business, I was giddy. No more clocking in, cleaning up, uniforms or set schedules. (That's funny considering what I have taken on this week.) While it has been great, it has also made me crazy. I have plenty to do, but most of it involves sitting at a desk.....lots of sitting at a desk. I have gained 10 pounds and realized something about myself, I need to move. Being busy isn't enough, my body needs to be moving and I ache for the socialization that comes from working with other people. People I am not having sex with. It's cool that my husband and I can transition from a work/home relationship, but there is only so much grab ass and fantasy football updates a girl can handle at the office. I was in need of a new job.

This all leads up to what I chose to take on this week.....I have decided to work for a cleaning company two days a week. It was fairly easy to get hired, the owner is this really cool chick who I grew up torturing from the time she was an infant....sisters are the best. My first week was exhausting and it reminded me of why I hate being the newbie at a job. I want to be good from day one, I don't take criticism well and I detest standing by watching someone else work in the name of training. I imagine it was sweet payback for my sister who was able to critique my cleaning style and teach me the right way to do things. I liked it better when I was in charge. Now she's the boss and it's clear why her company has done so well, she is really fucking good at what she does. Hiring a cleaning crew to take over your house can be daunting and you can never be sure about what kind of work you are going to get. People touching your personal shit and having to pay for a clean that doesn't live up to your expectations. When you hire my sister, you never have to worry about any of that. It's top to bottom perfection in every single home she takes on. There is an expectation of quality and integrity that is in short supply at most companies I have worked for. She reminded me on my first day that even a penny on the floor gets put on the closest available, clean surface....never in your apron. She wants every surface touched, cleaned and shined to perfection. At one home, she showed me something I had missed while cleaning the kitchen, a butter dish. I told her that I had moved it, wiped the top and placed it in the correct place.
"That's okay, but we want to wow our clients."
She proceeded to take a piece of paper towel, open the butter dish and wipe around the butter so you could never tell it was used. I thought I had issues. Truth be told, I have a whole new respect for my sister and the people who work for her. I came home after my first day ready to pass out on the dining room floor. I am overwhelmed, excited and I now have a something else to add to my current job line up, cleaning lady. This ain't no desk job, that's for sure.

My Giving Challenge: The End

Day 28: Hello Neighbor and That Body

We dragged the kids out of the house this evening and went for a family bike ride/walk. There are many neighbors on our street who we know, wave to and borrow sugar from and quite a few I have never even seen. As we made our way down the sidewalk, I noticed one of the people I have never met standing on her porch, watering a pot filled with lush, bright colored flowers.
"Your yard looks beautiful. How are you today?" I smiled and slowed my pace.
I'm pretty sure I startled her. She looked at me curiously and finally replied.
"I'm great, thanks."
That was it. My gift was connecting and sharing a smile with someone who is no longer a stranger.

I also began going through my closet to create a bag of donations for homeless women in Salt Lake. I have a sickening amount of clothes that don't fit me anymore and I was finally ready to purge. There is a huge part of me that wants to fit into the size 2 jeans I bought last fall and the low cut denim capris I was going to fit into when I dropped that last 5 pounds. It's an obsession that I am done with. I work out three times a week, eat what I like, drink beer, and I want to have clothes that I can wear comfortably right now. I've spent the summer being angry at my body and not getting dolled up because my shorts didn't fit or the tank top I put on showed my tummy bulge. It's insanity. I have spent so much of my life hating my body and I turn 35 this year. There is no part of my psyche that benefits from my obsession with size or the number on a scale. I'm ready to be happy about my muscular thighs, the belly roll that reminds me I have two great kids and a rear end my husband can't keep his hands off of. I'm ready to love my body.

I sorted out an entire garbage bag full of clothing to donate and I will be delivering it this week. When I set out to purge it was focused on giving some of my stuff away to those who need it, it turned out to be an inspiring moment about loving my body. Loving it the way it looks right now.

Day 29: The Boots

There are very few times in my life where I have spent more than $75 on a pair of shoes, an item of clothing or a purse. Clearance racks and thrift stores are my go-to choices for shopping. Here are the times I have allowed myself to let the dollar bills fly:  I owned a pair of black leather, knee high combat boots in high school that I spend $120 on, I bought a dress on clearance at some fancy boutique two summers ago for $100, last winter I bought my first pair of Frye boots and a few years ago I spent way to much on a pair of knee high Timberland boots that I liked, but never really loved. Other people loved them and the few times I wore them out, they garnered many compliments, but they just never felt like me.

My sister, on the other hand,  loved those boots and put in a request the first time I wore them that if I ever wanted to get rid of them, she would take them off my hands. As I went through my closet this weekend, I found those Timberland boots. I hadn't worn them at all in the last year and there was dust and a wad of cat hair that had made my expensive boots their home. What to do? I could resale them and have a few bucks for myself. I could keep them, which is what I should do considering how much I spent on them. I could give them to my sister. That's what I wanted to do. That would be my gift for the day.

It was harder than I thought to hand them over, to watch her put them on and start planning all the adventures that she and my boots were going to have. But then it was over. My life was just as wonderful as when they were in my closet and yet it had made my sister giddy to get her hands on those boots. That is what this life is about. Giving, sharing, donating, and doing for others. It's been my lesson throughout this entire challenge, I have enough to share with others. Whether it is my time, money, a kind word, a smile or a pair of boots. There is enough for all of us.

Brotherly Love

I'm back!!! Thanks to all of you peeps who came by for a visit from my post on mythirtyspot, I was out of town and without decent Internet so my regular posts took a vacation, too. Here is a link to my article if you missed it and don't forget to enter the giveaway and read some of the other great content on her page.
http://www.mythirtyspot.com/2013/05/why-some-relationships-need-to-end.html

Growing up, my mom would always tell us that one day we would be glad we had siblings. I didn't believe a word of that nonsense. My brother annoyed me and my sister was a shadow I constantly wanted to hide from. We fought and cried and thought it would never end. That's the thing about my mom, she always knows what she's talking about, even when I don't want to hear it.

When my brother was born, I was three years old and I had been promised a baby brother by my dad, so thankfully that worked out for every one. As you can see, he was adorable. We got along just fine before he could talk, which took awhile because I made it my personal quest to talk for him. "Chad needs that." Being the head strong person I am, it pissed me off when our mom wanted him to talk for himself. Clearly, I had it handled. I have been the proverbial bossy big sister ever since.

My brother is one of the smartest people I know and he never belonged in public school, he was too smart for that shit. When he got a new bike for Christmas, he would proceed to take it apart piece by piece and rebuild it just so he knew how it worked. The school kept telling my mom he needed resource classes and when he ended up there, he never fit in because he was 'too well behaved'. His brain was never built for book work and thank god for that. I know too many dip shits who can list off all the great American authors, foreign film directors and the periodical table, and they are the same people who burn up their engine because they never get an oil change. I tend to appreciate real over pretentious, every day of the week.

Growing up, we fought like crazy. Our cousin recently reminded me of one summer afternoon where he witnessed me beat my brother with part of our canister vacuum. I don't remember that particular incident, but it's not of the realm of possibilities. I used to lick the palm of my hand, pull his shirt up and slap his back as hard as humanly possible. He liked to mouth off and I liked to beat the crap out of him. Indian burns, fingernails embedded in his arm and dragging him by his shirt as he tried to flee the scene. To any of you with kids who wonder if they will ever love each other after the shenanigans they pull growing up, I promise they will.

The only time I was farther than 30 miles away from my brother, was when I moved to Vegas for a year. He was 16 at the time and we didn't have a lot in common. I came home to a baby brother who towered over me at 6'5 and made more money in a year than our parents did. I have taken for granted that he would always be close enough to meet for lunch or listen to the weird banging sound my car is making. Every holiday is a house full of laughter and every Sunday we all catch up over brunch. My brother has hilarious derby car stories and he is great at harassing us about car repairs we owe him for. He wouldn't take our money if his life depended on it. He stays late at work to help a buddy fix his brakes and drops his weekend plans to help our dad move. If you wonder what humble looks like, this is it. A man who gives of his time willingly, works hard, loves his family and thinks that it's nothing special. I'm overly protective and I don't have to justify it. It doesn't matter. I'm the oldest and he's my baby brother and no one understands how great he is except me. The end.

This week my brother will be making some big changes in his life and moving across the country to be with his fiance. Sunday brunch won't be the same, my car will have unending rattles and a piece of my heart will be thousands of miles away. I am so happy for him and so sad for me. All those years that I couldn't wait to get rid of my annoying little brother and now I don't know what I'll do without one of the most important people in my life. Mom was right, I am sure glad I have siblings.

I'm Short So F*&% Off

I bought myself a bike for Mother's Day. My husband had attempted a shopping trip on my behalf and it gave me diarrhea just imagining what horrors he would purchase without my detailed list. I have in recent history, received Tweety Bird pajama pants, earrings that double as fishing lures and blue suede ankle boots. He's sweet and not a shopper.  Luckily, he came home empty handed and finally inquired about what I would want. Initially, my thoughts were geared toward relaxation and vanity...a spa day, new clothes, diamond earrings or yoga pants. The latter may seem to be a workout request but it is not, since I wear yoga pants daily regardless of how much yoga really happens. Just thinking about yoga pants makes me comfortable. The bike idea blossomed from a conversation with my kids who were making all sorts of plans for summer riding adventures. They wanted to ride to the pool, to the grocery store for snacks and while they are getting to the age of self-reliance, I couldn't shake the feeling that letting them ride solo all summer would make me eligible for "Worst Summer Parent" award. Our bike options were few, a couple thrift store mountain bikes and metal scooters. As I checked out the adult selection, the Bitch Angel on my shoulder was reminding me of all the times I rode a bike that was too big for me.
"Sore pussy for a week if you try that."
"You can't even get on it without a step stool. Really?"
"That Buzz Lightyear training bike is closer to a yes than any adult bike in here. Try that one, short stack"
I needed a bike.

My sister took me shopping for bicycles because she is bike enthusiast. She drives a Subaru, lives in Sugarhouse and has a chicken coop. Enough said. I, on the other hand, buy bikes at big box stores when they go on sale and realize way too late in the game that I will never ride them. The first stop was a classified ad from an old hippie who had built a business on picking up bikes from the dump and turning a hefty profit on each one. He was asking a whopping $150 for a cruiser that looked as if it had been collecting dust since 1972. My sister saw it and immediately had hesitations about it's size.
"That's too big for you." she chided. "I don't think you'll be comfortable riding it."
I had to prove her wrong by taking it for a spin up and down the residential road. It felt pretty well and I didn't want to admit that the handle bars were a stretch for my T-Rex arms. I could make it work. My sister told him we were looking elsewhere.

After a chat with The Bike Man (his sign said it all) who gave us plenty of info but had no bikes on hand, we were off again to a bicycle store that had a cruiser listed for around $200. When we passed by the front, sister saw aforementioned bike and commented on it's cuteness. Should I have been concerned? Probably. We had an employee unlock that little beauty and I took it for a spin. It fit me perfectly. No arm stretches, no crotch bruising, just a comfy little ride with easy breaking and no extra gears. We asked for a basket and I pulled out my credit card. At this point, my sister is researching the bike for me online. She gets a grin on her face and says "This is a girl's bike, but that's good for you because you're small." Yep, I bought a kid's bike.

My first trip around the block elicited a giggle from one neighbor and an uncomfortable stare from another. I'm not sure if it was my over sized basket, daisy detailing or the sight of a grown woman on a itty bitty cruiser that really got them. I imagine it would be the way I feel seeing a grown man get out of a Volkswagen Bug or the humor I find in clown cars that house fifteen humans. It's unusual and demands attention. While my first instinct was to flip them the bird, I instead kept right on pedalling with a smile on my face.I found comfort in the knowledge that while I may look like an idiot, I'm an idiot who is burning calories and getting nominated to "Funnest Summer Mom Of Life".  So suck on that, ladies.