Money, gifts and OCD

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I tried to research the origins of money within the human race.  Not because I am that lame to google something so random on a Friday night as opposed to doing something more exciting like, oh, I don’t know, um, um – seriously, I don’t know – but because every year at this time my tenuous relationship with money gets pushed to the limit and beyond.  It then drags me down into a deep crevasse full of a murky blend of soiled cotton and linen that adheres to my skin and eats away at my flesh until I become nothing more than a grovelling, whining mass of cells only capable of weeping and scratching out angst-ridden haikus with a broken pencil.

I tried to research it so that I can make some sense of why money has become so bleeping important to nearly every human on our planet – including me.  I say “nearly” because I have a the desirous hope that out there, somewhere exists humans for whom money is of no consequence and not just because they have tons of it.

At what point did we, as a people, decide what was valuable and what wasn’t?  And when did that value begin to supersede all others to where literally no one can live without at least some of it?  There must have been a point in our evolution when we simply lived and shared our abundance together, right?  If I had slain a great mammoth, surely I would have offered its sustenance to my whole clan without requesting something in return, right?  I wouldn’t have tried to apportion out the heat from a communal fire to only those with shiny objects as a trade, would I?

I am not trying to express my hidden desire to be a bleeding heart socialist or hypocritically deny my materialistic leanings when it comes to handbags, laptops, and all things glittery.  I am attempting to rid myself of the shame-filled connection I seem to have between money, lack of money and my o-c-diferous paralysis around gifting to those I love with whatever amount of money I do have.

It takes me hours, days or even weeks to search and discover just the perfect gift that is both economical and exemplifies the right amount of intuitive sentiment that declares that not only do I know you well enough to get you exactly what your heart desires, but also that I love you to the moon and back.  Imagine how difficult my life becomes when I haven’t even begun to shop for the most important gift giving holiday of the year until two weeks prior to the event!  Couple that with the very real constraints on our family budget due to the previous summer’s fence purchase and impending a/c unit replacement before warm weather returns to North Texas and we have all the components necessary to ignite a fireball within my belly hot enough to melt tiles off of the space shuttle.  Let’s not forget my horrific ability to horde anything from baby food jars to empty toilet paper rolls thereby making the thought of purchasing cheap ass toys that will only break or become too boring for play within weeks and end up having to be given away or worse yet, thrown out, much-too-much for me to bear.

So, I bemoan the human race for evolving the concept of money into our DNA, curl up in a fetal position under mounds of blankets and put off Christmas shopping for one more day.

Eating, Swimming and the many fears inbetween

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I ate too much at lunch today.

Then, just when my stomach finally no longer felt painfully full, I sought and scarfed a chocolate covered bear claw.

My son had swim practice tonight and I decided I needed to go and walk the lazy river to compensate for the massive amounts of food.

That meant putting on a bathing suit during winter and exposing holiday blubber to the world.

I tried not to think about my thighs as I quickly slipped into the water to cover them.

I hoped my husband, or any other man at the pool, didn’t get that veiled look in his eyes that screams to me of “if only she’d lose about ten pounds and buy some breasts, she’d be hot.”

I managed to enjoy the time watching my children be children instead of arguing with them about getting their homework done.  My husband smiled at me as I walked towards him out of the pool.  I received no looks of disdain or disgust from anyone at my daring attempt to parade around as if I believed my body was pleasant to look at.

All in all – a good trip to the Nat…

Waiting – meant to post Monday…

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My Dad is 72 years old and has suffered hearing loss for more than a decade, and maybe closing in on two.  He had had always had that “selective hearing” but he also had something called Meniere’s Syndrome.  Meniere’s consists of vertigo, tinnitus, hearing loss and inner ear pressure.  He had surgery years ago to try to mitigate the symptoms, but it actually resulted in the total lost of hearing in his right ear.  He has worn a hearing aide in his left ear for a while now, but it has never given him quite the boost to hear anywhere close to normally.

This has taken a toll on my Dad.  He won’t admit it, I don’t think, but I can see the disappointed look in his eyes when he sees the whole family laughing at something that he has no clue about because he couldn’t hear the conversation.  I can hear his frustration when he is unable to carry on a telephone conversation with any type of success and his heartbreak is palpable when he struggles to understand what his grandkids are saying when they visit.

So, today, after finally qualifying as a good candidate, my Dad is receiving a cochlear implant.  I still don’t understand all of the surgical details or how it will actually work once it is “turned on,” but I am grateful and excited for him to get this new opportunity to restore at least some of his hearing.

I have entered the phase of life where I have begun to swap care-giving roles with my parents.  Don’t get me wrong, my parents aren’t living with me and I am no where near becoming a nurse-maid.  They are still young enough to get by just fine without my help both physically and economically, but feelings have begun to sprout in me more in the parental role towards them instead of coming from them.  Not sure if it’s their age or mine, but I am definitely growing up.

The old triggers of feeling like I’m sixteen again and have done something to get grounded for or receive the “I’m disappointed in you” speech are practically gone.  So too, are the urges to call “mommy and daddy” when I’m in trouble or sick.  I haven’t asked for money in nearly twenty years and major decisions are made with my spouse, not my parents.

Now I’m the Mom my kids look to for love, care and guidance.  I pray every day that I provide more than just the grownup who fixes them the food that they almost always gripe about having to eat or who orders them to clean their rooms or who force feeds them the medicine when they are sick.  I know in many ways I am a pretty cool Mom who lets our daughter dress however she chooses (for now, while she is still extremely modest) and who tries to explain to our son that it is okay to have feelings even ones of anger towards me.

It is not easy and there are many challenges we face and will come across, I’m sure, over the years – both with our kids and my parents.

Hopefully, I’ll continue to be up for the ride.