Tag Archives: time

Screw Resolutions – 2015: How are you going to spend your time?

31 Dec

Screw Resolutions – 2015: How are you going to spend your time?.

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Screw Resolutions – 2015: How are you going to spend your time?

30 Dec

time

I know I haven’t written lately. I couldn’t. And I cant get into that now, but someday I will, I promise.

But for now, my thoughts are directed to New Years, a passing of time, an indelible marker in our lives, a clear segment that delineates one point in our lives from the next.We don’t realize it when we are younger, but its all about time. Recently, a very wise, insightful and imperfect friend and I had a conversation that is haunting me. He spoke of time, and what it means to spend it on someone. Bear with me on this.

When we are younger, time seems infinite. 20 seems like a loooooong way away, 40 seems even further, and 60 is unimaginable. Most of us don’t even give the concept of time any consideration, and if we do, we think we have lots of time left in our lives, plenty of it. We spend our time playing learning, growing, and having fun as a child, carefree and never thinking about it as a commodity or something to be given away or traded. Most of the time, we are killing time in our teens, waiting for bigger things to happen “Cant wait to get my first car” or “Cant wait till I turn 21, go to college, get married, etc.” Time is spent wishing for bigger things.

Moving on to our 20’s, we will spend our time with anyone fun, vibrant, good looking, entertaining, or interesting with out a thought. Like a millionaire throwing around dollar bills at a nudie bar, we have plenty of time to spend on trivial shit, and its fun to do so. It doesn’t really matter how we spend it, as long as we are enjoying ourselves. In our 30’s we spend our time building our “empire”. Chasing the ultimate house, squirreling away our nest egg, our stock portfolio, our designer handbag collection, obtaining big boy toys, etc. Our time is focused on the build  and the acquisition. Maybe its spent planning your dream wedding, building your perfect McMansion, picking out that granite for the big remodel, raising your beautiful family,  shopping for matching outfits for that family Christmas card photo shoot,  and searching out the latest and greatest video games/toy for your kids to have the picturesque childhood you always wanted. Make that money, watch it burn, as the song says. Spend your time generously.

By the time we hit 40, we realize time is short. We get stingier with it. Friends pass away suddenly, with out warning, healthy one day, gone the next. They have no more time.  Marriages fall apart. Jobs come and go, the company down sizes, and you’re in foreclosure. Life starts smacking you in the face. Your husband leaves, or your dealing with addiction, or your kid gets knocked up, and the other one is arrested for something humiliating, your dad tells you he’s gay, whatever the crisis, there is always a crisis.  It makes you realize, all that time you dumped into building these things was great while it lasted, but nothing is safe from life’s cruel jokes and ironies. The rug gets pulled out. Even if your “aha” moment is from watching someone else’s train wreck, and your lucky enough to never experience the heartbreak and agony of your own, you start to realize that your time is finite, and your most sacred commodity. Unlike money, or a home, or your stock portfolio, or  anything material for that matter, you can not get more. Once its spent, its gone forever. The gift of our time can save someones life, or change it, or make them feel loved or unloved, or worthy or unworthy. Time is our dearest possession, and we just don’t know when we are going to cease to have it.  Time with my deceased mother I will never again get to spend. Time spent as a mother is finite too, as children get older and need you less and less. Time spent nurturing a friendship, or fixing a broken relationship, or nursing an elderly parent or making a craft with your kids kindergarten class is a GIFT from you to the people you chose to love and spend your time and energy on, because you can’t make any more of it, and you can’t get it back, and it may be of short supply, you just don’t know when you’re gonna run out of it.

So this coming New Year, choose your time wisely. Make sure the person, energy spent or behavior is worth it.  Choose your actions seriously. Don’t waste time on people who don’t understand that you’re giving them something you’ll never get back. Don’t give away your life by engaging in meaningless situations which cause you damage and drain your most precious commodity. Don’t entertain friendships that rob you of your time and leave you empty. Debit your time to people and actions that honor it and understand its a valuable, endangered  resource. Make your time count, and make sure who you choose to spend it on loves and appreciates you for it, because time is a limited gift and you never know when its time for your heart to take its final beat, and just like that, your time is up.

So how are you going to spend your time in 2015?

 

This post is dedicated to two people. My friend Coleen Rice Medinger who passed away unexpectedly last week, and whom I will never have time again with. Coleen I enjoyed the gift of your time, and what you shared with me during our mutual struggles with infertility.

And to my imperfect friend, a very flawed man who knows who he is. I appreciate your time, thank you for trusting me to spend it together.

 

Copyrite 2014 livelaughloveliquor.

Thank you for spending your time reading my words, allowing me to connect with you, and please share if it touches you.

 

What I Wish I Knew Then: Mother’s Day Edition

9 May

As a child, Mother’s day was most remembered by the pointed sense of excitement that only cames from the anticipation of giving. Handmade cards, tissue paper flowers, handprints in clay, necklaces made of rolled magazines. These treasures were painstakingly  labored over, given with pure generosity and pride.  It had to be painted the perfect color.  It had to be crafted ‘just so’. It had to be perfect, just like the lucky woman who was destined to be on the receiving end of all these wonderful treasures. The woman who acted like the pet rock I painted was a newly uncovered Picasso. The woman who pretended the dandelion bouquet I gave her was the most fragrant bunch of wilted flowers imaginable.  Pride in those gifts overflowed my little heart back in those days.  My mother was my world and to make her happy, made me happy.

As  a young adult, hoping to one day have children, Mother’s Day became a day of wistful curiosity.  Seeing the mothers at the park strolling their sleepy babies with cupid-bows lips gave me something to ponder.  Would I be a good mother?  Would I enjoy nursing? Would I go back to work? Could I handle it? Does love come automatic? How bad does childbirth hurt? Life was one carefree party after another back then, and my biggest worry was if the asshole I gave my phone number to the night before was going to call, but Mother’s Day always drove those questions home.  Kind like a once a year check up for my biological clock.

At 25 I gave birth to my first child.  Some of my previous questions were answered, but others followed. I discovered love was immediate, and preceded birth. I found out childbirth hurt like holy hell, and  I could and did nurse. I still wasn’t sure I can could handle being a mom, but I was trying my damnedest. When Mother’s Day arrived that first year I felt a sense of pride like no other. I reveled in my little man, my precious boy, and although it is a cliche, the sun indeed did rise and shine upon my child’s sweet head.  There was never a thing more beautiful than my infant son. Mother’s Day meant everything to me, I was proud, I was relishing in every single ray of maternal energy that God gave me. I had this beautiful child and it was ME showing him off at the park that year. ME who held a baby at my breasts and was enchanted by his coos and laughter. I was a mother, and this was my day to celebrate it.

By the time the fruit of my loins was walking  (running), talking (back) and became more independent (trashing the house) I decided Mother’s Day should be about ME. Really about me, as in time to myself. Mani -pedi, a day spent in the park, by myself, with a book.  Dinner (alone) at my favorite little Mediterranean cafe, where the food was not served  bland enough for a 3 years old’s palette, thus unappetizing to mine. 364 days I had someone sticking dirty little fingers into the cream cheese on my bagel, or waking me up by poking my eyeballs with the ballpoint pen his daddy left lying around the night before. I decide that THIS would be MY Mother’s Day. This was for ME.  Every other day I lost who I was, chiseled away with every episode of Barney and every game of duck duck goose. I spent that Mother’s Day just as I described above, and I want to say I was lonely and hated it, but the truth is, I relished and savored every single second of solitude I had that day. It was great.

As my son grew and entered school , Mother’s Day became less stressful, and I looked forward to spending the day honoring the fact that I was his mom.  He was (and still is) a thoughtful and generous person, so he would make sure to pick my favorite flowers (lilacs), or create for me an awesome painting (to this day still talented in the creativity department). There were exalted handmade gifts: spoon rests, pins for my lapel, cards with clever poems, and yes, even the same type of rolled up magazine bead necklaces I gifted my own mother with back in my youth.  These were, and are, some of my life’s greatest treasures, and certainly the box where I keep them is the very 1st object I would grab in event of a fire.

As my son Ryan grew into a preteen, I found myself as a single mom, and Mother’s Day were spent with just he and I.  The years after I divorced his father (he was 6) he spent as an only child with a single working mom. This meant he was surrounded by adults more often than not, and I frequently dragged him places and exposed him to adult like things such as arts and culture early. He developed a palette for various foods, a keen sense of observation and a wicked sense of humor. He did not mind sitting still for 2 hours at a play or going to a museum.  He preferred to sit at the grown up table during holidays and such.  My little man was growing and our Mother’s Day dinners back then did not have to include places like Chuck E. Cheese.  I enjoyed his company on the many Mother’s Days of his youth, on the cusp of manhood, but not quite there yet.

The years rolled on, Mother’s Day came and went, and I found myself remarried with a lovely stepdaughter of whom we had custody of, and thus in need of mothering. This gave me more reason to celebrate, and I was delighted to have someone to embark on Mother’s Day manicures and tea with.  My own son was growing, and withdrawing a bit, in the natural way that all teenagers do. He was secretive, out with friends, and busy with this or that. I always got a nice gift from my first-born, a piece of Lennox, or some jewelry, for which he saved his own money for, but what I really wanted were those years back when Mother’s Day wasn’t just taking off with friends after a ritual brunch. I remember thinking I would have given anything to get a re-do on the Mother’s Day I chose to spend alone when he was a toddler.

A few years later, we were fortunate enough to have 2 additional children, Darla and Delilah, who I often write about. I know now what a dirty thief time is, and how quickly the years disappear. I know that when you are in the trenches battling this weeks case of impetigo, or arguing with the mother whose son threw sand at your princess, that the little things don’t matter. The house doesn’t need to be perfect and the weeds don’t need to be pulled. So what if I wear the same sweats I had on yesterday? None of it matters. What matters is that ever day is a private Mother’s Day, really. Every day is an opportunity to love and teach and hold on tight because they wont be little for long.  Each stage, each phase, is horrible and wonderful all at once, and I’ll miss it once they outgrow it. Its wisdom that my son gave to me, although he didn’t know he was doing so, and knowing all this is the best gift this Mother has ever got. I know now that I don’t need a day to make me feel special, or to honor my relationship with my children because it’s all right here, every day, if I just look for it.

There will come a day, surely sooner than I think, that my own children will become parents, and will need to spend Mother’s Day to commemorate that honor with their own children, or is my son’s case, with his spouse. My days in the limelight are numbered, I know that. Their dependence on me, and the adulation that comes with it, will soon evaporate like steam on a frosty autumn night. But for now I’ll take time each day to celebrate Mother’s Day and all that comes with motherhood. I’ll Count all the sloppy wet kisses, boogie noses,  and pokes at the eyeballs as precious little gifts that once time takes from me, I’ll never get back. Every night when they lay their sleepy, dreamy heads on their pillows and tell me they love me in hushed tones, I will quietly celebrate Mother’s Day and relish in the fragile time we have together.

So today, and every day, I wish you, Happy Mother’s Day. Hold it tight, my friends, it will disappear beneath your feet before you know it.

Thanks for reading!

Copyright 2011 Livelaughloveliquor. All Rights Reserved.  No reproduction in any medium without prior written consent of the author is permitted.

Edited by Annette Garkowski