Compare/Contrast

Last night two of my children, ages 15 and 9, were discussing the books they were reading.  Earlier in the week, the nine year old brought home an assigned book from school that contains more pages and chapters than she has read in the past.  The discussion between these two soon became a competition (typical of my children) over whose book was more difficult.  The 9 year old was certain her book was harder because "there are 46 chapters."  The 15 year old replied, "Yeah, but your chapters are shorter.  How many pages do you have?" 

As my nine year old was trying to prove her point, I interjected.  "Abby, you can't compare yourself to Austin. He's six years older."  She answered with, "Well, I can contrast."  "Oh, yes.  You can certainly do that."

As an English major, I was proud of Abby for making that connection to school.  She's learned how to apply reading comprehension to her everyday life.  But as I was thinking about this statement later, I thought that was such a good point that Abby made.  How often do we try to compare ourselves to those around us?  I know I do this more than I should.  I'll fall into comparing my mothering skills, career, or my children's behavior and how that reflects on me.  How different would I perceive things in my life if I concentrated on the contrast?

No matter what, I am going to be different from everyone around me.  The experiences in my life add to what makes me unique.  I should be content with that fact and celebrate those differences, instead of wondering how I measure up to others around me. 

A Self-Examination of Vanity

Earlier this month, I posted this comment on Twitter:  “You never truly comprehend your own vanity until you discover your first gray hair.” 

Okay, so some of you out there are shaking your head and laughing at me.  Others are nodding in agreement.  If you’ve already experienced this and think I’m just being superficial… well…you’re right.  You’ll just have to bear with me through this post.

I have to tell you, I was completely unprepared for my reaction.  This piece of hair didn't exactly blend in either.  It was wiry and curly.  My first thought, after I spied this three-inch long, shimmery strand, was “How long has that been there?” followed by “What if there are more I can’t see?”  I then went through a myriad of emotions ranging from disbelief to alarm. 

I know I’m getting older.  I’ve had several things in my life lately to remind me, but I have to admit sometimes the little things sneak up on me.  I accepted the “laugh lines” around my eyes when they showed up, and I know I can no longer function on a package of Pop-Tarts and a Coke for breakfast.  I’m okay with that, but by finding that one strand of hair I began to question a few things about myself.

·    Will I still be able to consider myself low-maintenance?  Translated:  Will I color my hair?  I’m very simple (cheap) and try to stay away from things that require upkeep.  In fact, two years ago, I splurged on blond highlights, and I’m still growing them out.  I don’t do pedicures (it’s impossible to make my feet less ugly) and I haven’t done my nails since child number four was born.

·    Does this mean I’m vain?  If I spent so much time contemplating the bullet point above, then what does that say about my character?

 

·    Am I growing old gracefully?  Apparently not.

After all the time I spent pondering the above statements, I showed my husband the strand of hair.  He promptly plucked it from my head.

This morning as I was reading my chapter in Proverbs, I read this verse: 

“The glory of young men is their strength
And the honor of old men is their gray hair.”  Proverbs 20:30. 

I hope I remember that verse when the next one shows up.

Embracing Change (in the kitchen)

Over the Christmas holidays, with all four children at home for two weeks, I wanted to keep things interesting.  I decided to come up with some different ways to break up the monotony.  I thought it would be a nice treat to let each child pick what we would have for dinner one night.  I realized just how easy it can be to please my children when the list included items such as coleslaw from Sam's, Manwich, and chicken nuggets.

When it was Abby’s turn, I asked her about her choice of spaghetti and meatballs.  Spaghetti is a staple in our home, but I rarely add meatballs.  I asked if she wanted me to make meatballs to go with the spaghetti or buy the frozen ones to heat up.  She looked at me and shook her head sheepishly.  Neither.  She wanted her special meal to be a can of Chef Boyardee Spaghetti and Meatballs.

There’s some insight to my mothering skills. 

In the past, I have wished I could do better with domestic activities like cooking and sewing.  For years, I blamed my lack of interest in these areas on having young children, finishing school, or working full-time.  Now that I’m at home full-time, I’ve been able to fill my time with other things.  I still don’t have it in me.  I would rather be doing something other than cook.     

I'm fortunate to have a husband who doesn't mind the same three or four simple dinners, and my oldest daughter loves to bake and decorate for special occasions.  My children don’t mind eating hot dogs or something from a can.  Apparently, it’s preferred.

Then in the month of January, things started to change.  In the interest of improving myself as a runner, I’m trying out new foods.  I tired of buying so many convenience foods for the kids, and with some possible allergen concerns with one family member, I’m now making special meals.  In short, I’m spending more hours in the kitchen than ever before.  I’m trying to do a better job of feeding my family. 

I looked around my kitchen the other day, and it’s starting to become unrecognizable.  New items grace my cabinet shelves such as quinoa, Greek yogurt, mushrooms, and more whole grains.  There are brands from the health food store that I'd never heard of that have taken the place of the boxes of mac and cheese. 

But then I look at the floor next to the refrigerator and see my all too familiar 12-pack case of Diet Coke. 

I haven’t gone totally over the edge yet.