Let the Transition Begin!

Our 2+ weeks with Tim and the kids off from work and school is coming to a close tonight. Everyone is in bed early in hopes that the magical fakeout will result in a good nights rest, but we all know better. That alarm is going to hurt in the morning and we'll be rushed for the first time in weeks. I'm one of those weird people who loves it when my family is home. Don't get me wrong - I love routine and there will be a moment tomorrow after the strangeness of being separated settles that will feel right and normal and good. But this time together also made me realize how glorious it is when my husband isn't working. It's not the same as the weekend where it takes awhile to really check out of office life, sometimes even requiring him to work an extra day. His head isn't fully here sometimes. When you have 2 full weeks at home when no one else is in the office and you're actually expected to hang out with your family (thank you holidays), it is its own deal. And as the quality time person, I could not be more chuffed (as my Irish friends like to say).

When we're in a good place and Tim isn't overwhelmed with work, I am in a special kind of bliss. Everything is easier when he's home. All my responsibilities get cut in half, which makes us both more rested and happy because he's set his aside stuff completely. So we're just hanging out, feeding the kids, taking turns sleeping in and catching up on much needed rest whether that's actual sleep or relaxation (I've probably read 10 books in 14 days and no, I'm not exaggerating). We spend extra money on quality time with the kids (ice skating, movies, sushi) and just get to be together. I know a lot of people love their spouses but also like having separate days. And my introverted husband might be one of those (like I'm dumb enough to ask!) But I could go on like this forever. It's made me want to crank things up a notch with my business and just keep him on hand all the time. 

Savoring this moment for just a bit longer. 

Looking for a Little Chaos Now and Then

This time of year makes me miss my family. Not only my actual family members, but also our communal Christmas experience. I come from a huge family, both immediate and extended and holidays were a mix of crazy and chill. Kids everywhere. Cards. Food. Dominoes. Blaring TV (my dads contribution). Puzzles. The various in-laws hiding in corners reading books. Beautiful, glorious chaos. 
As per family tradition, I married an introvert with only one sibling. We live in the Northwest, 2 hours from my mother-in-law and 3 from my sister-in-law, while my family gathers in San Diego (and in small pockets all around the country). As you can imagine, most of our holidays are spent with my husbands family and local friends. This has been a surprisingly seamless transition. My Sibley family has always been kind to me and I assimilated very early on. I'm so glad to live in the Northwest and am very happy with our life here with Tim's family and our friends. 
That being said, when we're having a small holiday gathering here (10 now, we're growing!) sometimes I miss the hooplah that is my family of origin. On Christmas Eve, we would all sleep at my parents 3 bedroom house, which meant we had people on the floor, in the bathtub, little ones piled 3 deep into beds head to foot. Absolute bliss. And every year, when I climb into bed with my dear husband on Christmas Eve, I can't help but miss all those nights whispering excitedly with my brother about what Santa would bring. Whoever woke up first immediately woke the other and we would open our stockings excitedly. We'd try so hard to go back to sleep as we couldn't get away with waking everyone else until sunrise. There's something so precious about those childhood years with your original family. It was sweet. It was simple. It was always enough.
My brother, Reid, is 3 and half years older than me. For all intents and purposes, he is my opposite and my other. We present very differently. I was always blonde and clean cut. He often had green hair, piercings and a skateboard. But as only Christmas Eve jitters and sharing a room can do, we have a firm attachment. We don't get to see each other often, so when we do, I really try to soak it up. He's very transient and off the grid and that's just him. 
We have so much history between us. Not just the childhood sweetness (and many instances of not-so-sweet...remember when he shot me with his homemade bow and arrow?) but also some very adult seasons as well. Reid is a recovering drug addict. I won't get into specifics because to me, it is not who he is. His life with drugs has had a profound effect on him, of course, but when you start throwing around that label, it puts people in a box. Let me tell you, my brother doesn't fit into any box. 
There were many years when we didn't quite know where he was, fearing that when we did get word, it would come from a newspaper clipping or the police. Despite what you may assume, he's not an asshole. He is just someone who values all experience. He's found light within himself that he can take into really dark places and he is not afraid of anything. Seriously, do you know anyone who's not afraid of ANYTHING. It's mind-blowing and wonderful.
When I drove him home tonight to NE Portland, he was bummed about the plight of his beloved neighborhood (it's gone trendy). He feels most comfortable in dangerous places. He lives with a woman and her motley crew of "family" who, along with her partner, has always given him a home base. She runs a food bank right from her front porch. It's amazing. 
As a caretaker, I used to worry that he was cold and alone somewhere, not knowing how I could help him, but wanting to so desperately. Pulling onto his street tonight reminded me, my brother really is okay. He has like 3 possessions (and they're all books) and he has absolutely everything he needs. He has coffee, work, reading material and a real community. That's more than a lot of people in fancy houses with typical "successful" lives can say. 
Just having him here with us tonight gave me that piece of home I needed to take with me into Christmas Eve. I love how we can talk about anything. He's incredibly well-read, has always been a bit of an anarchist and has the most open mind of anyone I know. Anyone who knows my penchant for deep conversation can imagine my utter delight in two cups of coffee, a couch and a long talk with my brother. 
As a child, I was able to take risks only after I saw him do it first. He'd climb a tree and then reach down and pull me up. He's a rebel in the truest sense of the word. As his rule-following younger sister, he exposed me to a world that was bigger than I would have ever seen on my own. And now that I'm really coming into my own, he reminds me there's still so much to see if I'm willing to just keep climbing that tree.

Perfectionism and the Holidays

Being a perfectionist around the holidays can be a truly terrible affliction. Not just for the perfectionist, for you the whole family of one (and we have two in our house!) It creates this vortex of colossal expectations, one-shot opportunities, stressful expense of energy and money, shame, shame, oh, the shame - So. Much. Pressure. Usually with a lot of people around. 

I've always been the holiday queen in this house. My husband is not really into holidays, though he tries to be a good sport (after we've had many conversations about how much they mean to me). But, I do everything I can physically do myself. This includes putting up our exterior lights and getting down most of the heavy boxes. When I get into "holiday mode" I want everything done my way, on my timetable (now!) and with cheer. This is why I do not wait for my husband. Our dynamic usually requires respect and patience and I don't exude either very well in these crucial holiday prep moments. So I do the classic perfectionist move (passive aggressive) of taking it all on myself so it can be done perfectly. I highly recommend this healthy choice.

I'm very emotionally invested in how all my hard work, dreams and extensive planning plays out. Not only must everything go well (exactly as I imagined), look beautiful, but everyone better have fun and be happy -- or else! The icing on the cake is that my therapist likes to point out that somewhere in all this expectation, exhaustion, total lack of grace for myself and others, I'm truly looking for appreciation. So, I run around hoping that everything goes according to my perfect expectations (very interesting when you remember that this involves two very spirited young children) while expecting every member of my family to be filled with gratitude after I've told them all exactly how and how not to have fun. 

This dynamic has never been more apparent to me than last night. I was in a really bad place to begin with, which is an indication to me that it was probably not a great night to add in all the holiday hooplah involved in decorating the house. But I still operate under the illusions that holidays are fun. Sweet, right? So when I'd had a bad day and I love Christmas, why wouldn't I unknowingly make the mistake of suggesting to your energetic six year old that it's the perfect time to decorate? 

As the usual crazy unfolded, I was also trying to put the baby down for a nap, keep our oldest from digging through the breakables, setting everything out "just so", and of course - secretly prepping our homemade Advent calendar because duh, it's also December 1st. Oh, and a school night. And I had an insane Thanksgiving week filled with hosting, endless cooking, traveling alone with 2 kids, lots of driving, working, shopping, plus a SHITTY day to begin with. All that means is, I didn't have any emotional energy to be patient, kind, generous, calm or gracious to myself or my family. This situation called upon my shame voice, just to be on standby for any human moments. All it takes is one broken treasured item, one terse word exchanged for it to start shouting. "See! It doesn't matter how much you run around. This isn't even fun. You're not having any fun and neither is anyone else." Or this self-pity gem, "Why do you even bother? All you do is make your daughter feel bad when you want to re-do her 6 year old decorating because it's not perfect. Sure, you're trying so hard to rein it in and let her help, but you just can't let everything go. You might as well be a tyrant. You've got to "correct" her sometimes and that hurts her. Look at how she's stomping her foot and turning away from you. Now you're shaming her too." Ha, even my shaming voice shames me about shaming my daughter. Who can win in that situation?  

If you thought I was going to end this post with all these loose ends neatly tied up, loaded with tips on how to simplify your life this Christmas season and all my personal anecdotes on how to give yourself grace and be victorious over perfectionism, you're not gonna get that from me. This was where I was at last night, people. Not much growth happens while you sleep. All I'm prepared to do at this point is identify how unhelpful shame is in this hot mess of unfair expectations, very poor self-care, and a total lack of giving grace. Sometimes just seeing yourself objectively is all you can do to say, huh, this isn't working. 

At least I have a whole 36 hours to figure it out, before we plan on cutting down our tree and decorate that thing too.