Monthly Archives: April 2009

Oh, Where Is My Hairbrush?*

April 20, 2009organizingKirsetin

A place for everything and everything in its place.

It sounds so sensible, doesn’t it? And it is. It is! Having a place for everything—a defined place, makes it easier not only to put things away, but to find them, too.

Ah, if only we could find the time to create those magical places.

I have been extremely successful with this philosophy in some areas, and embarrassingly poor at it in others.

The Ones That Have Worked:

Eyeglasses. I didn’t wear glasses until I was 25, so I never had to worry about misplacing them as a kid. As an adult, however, I searched for them on a regular basis. It was my father who suggested creating a “spot” in each room. If I took them off in that room, I should put them in that spot. Then, I would only have to check the designated spots, rather than digging through drawers and handbags at all hours. Brilliant! This suggestion has worked like a charm, and nowadays if I can’t find my glasses, I’m probably wearing them.
Purse. After several scrambling, panicked moments of “where could I have left it?,” I chose a hook near the entryway to keep my purse and, astonishingly, I manage to put it there 95% of the time. The other 5%? I never claimed I was striving for perfection.
Shoes. In a sensible scenario, finding shoes would not be a problem. And really, it’s not finding a pair of shoes that’s difficult, it’s finding the pair of shoes. Which, essentially, means I have too many shoes.
Camera. When we first went digital, we were constantly tossing that tiny camera in our coat pocket or a purse or just carrying it outside for a quick snapshot. No film! No strings! But who knew where to find it later? Camera-hunting was the basis of many an argument. “Well, you had it last. I’m sure.” We finally designated a cabinet to store camera-related equipment only. The videocamera, extra tapes, batteries, and the actual camera can all be found in there. Almost always.

The Ones I Haven’t Figured Out Yet

House Phone. Now this seems silly, doesn’t it? I mean, there is an OBVIOUS place you can put the phone. Somehow, though, ours never seems to be there. Perhaps it’s the price of freedom. No longer tethered to the machine, as I was for all of my talkative youth, I wander aimlessly around, multi-tasking at it’s worst, while jabbering away with my friends. When I’m finished chatting, I simply set the phone down. And when I need it again, the hunt is on. Now where did I put that thing…?
Cell Phone. See #1. I try, I really try, to put this in its “spot.” I think it might have feet.
Credit Card. Okay, sure, this should be in my wallet. But when I need to run into a store quickly, I don’t want to be all heavy laden with my big old mom purse. Who needs all that? I just grab a credit card, a little cash, and my Driver’s License. I stuff them into my pocket, and then…oh, which pocket was it?
Checkbook. Hmmm. Despite the fact that there is a clearly designated place in our desk drawer, I can never, ever find the darned checkbook. As I’m typing this, I’m wondering why 2 of the 4 items I can’t find on a regular basis are related to money. Perhaps I should be one of those cash-only people. Or would I lose the envelopes? Highly likely, I’d say.

So how about you? Am I alone on this one? Are there some things you can always find and some that elude you on a regular basis? Any tips from you uber-organizers out there? Love to hear them.

*This title is borrowed from an old Veggie Tale song.

Ten Years Later

April 17, 2009balance, compromise, life, marriage, nostalgiaKirsetin

Yesterday was an anniversary.

It wasn’t the anniversary of my wedding, or the day I found out I was pregnant. Nothing like that.

Instead, it was the 10-year anniversary of the day my husband quit his job and, along with two friends, created a company. My first son was 2 1/2. My second was only two months old.

It was a leap of faith to do this thing, to create a new entity, to rely on ourselves, with no “real” company to support us. It was exciting, and it was scary.

We have marveled through the years at how this idea, these notes they had on pieces of paper, became real. In the beginning, they worked in our homes, then moved onto Kinko’s. Their first office space was a rented conference room in a large law firm. We can laugh at that, now.

Over the years their business grew. They quickly rented their own office space. They outgrew that building and found a new home. They outgrew that one, too. They created jobs. They supplied services. They even made Inc. Magazine’s list of the 500 fastest growing small companies in America.

It’s been an up-and-down ride, this creating of a business. But today, in a time when our country’s economy is faltering and our state is hemorrhaging jobs, the company he and his friends started employs over 100 people. The idea that families are fed because of the idea they conceived amazes me. It hasn’t been an easy road. I admire all of them. I’m proud of them. And I’m thankful that they’ve persevered. Very thankful.

Happy Anniversary!

I’m Cheering for You Nic Sheff.

April 16, 2009book club, books, celebrities, illness, Parenting, perspective, tweens and teensKirsetin

Nic,

I don’t even know you and you’re breaking my heart. I’m not your mother, or your friend, or your mother’s friend. I don’t live in the same town or the same state; I didn’t go to the same schools; I don’t have any experience with drug addiction. We’re not even close in age – you weren’t born until the year I started high school. There’s really no reason for me to feel connected to you, other than the fact that I have sons. But I do. I do feel connected. And my heart is breaking, all over again.

– Me

About a year ago, I read David Sheff’s book, beautiful boy. In it, he describes the joy he and his wife felt at having their son.

“We are among the first generation of self-conscious parents. Before us, people had kids. We parent. We seek out the best for our children – the best stroller and car seat recommended by Consumer Reports – and fret over every decision about their toys, diapers, clothes, meals, medicine, teething rings, inoculations, and just about everything else.”

He goes on to describe Nic as a toddler:

“Nic is a natural architect and builder, constructing sprawling block, Duplo, and Lego Lilliputs…He scoots around the house on a big-wheeled tricycle and, on the red-brick front patio, in a plastic sky-blue convertible, a gift from my parents, which he powers like a Flintstones car with high-top sneakered feet.”

David Sheff describes reading books to his son over and over again – so often that he memorizes them. He describes a trip to Yosemite and playing board games, and all of the other parent-child interactions we fit into our lives, all of those things, big and little, that we do to help our children grow up into strong and secure adults.

Except Nic didn’t.

David Sheff continues:

“I tried everything I could to prevent my son’s fall into meth addiction. It would have been no easier to have seen him strung out on heroin or cocaine, but as every parent of a meth addict comes to learn, this drug has a unique, horrific quality…Nic claimed that he was searching for meth his entire life. ‘When I tried it for the first time,’ he said, ‘that was that’.”

As you can imagine, I am sobbing before I get through Chapter 1. Sheff does a beautiful job of describing his beautiful boy, and in his description, I see not only Nic, but all boys. I break down in a river of tears, thinking of all of the life and energy and love I have poured into my own three boys. I am reading the now blurry words and wondering if this could happen to one of my sweet babies, too.

Nic Sheff got clean, for awhile, and also wrote a book, in which he tells the story from his point of view. I read Tweak shortly after I finished beautiful boy. In Tweak, Nic describes a childhood spent careening towards addiction, starting with this incident when he was a year younger than my oldest son.

“When I was eleven my family went snowboarding up in Tahoe, and a friend and I snuck into the liquor cabinet after dinner. We poured a little bit from each bottle into a glass, filling it almost three-quarters of the way with the different-colored, sweet-smelling liquid. I was curious to know what it felt like to get good and proper drunk. The taste was awful. My friend drank a little bit and stopped, unable to take anymore. The thing was, I couldn’t stop.

I drank some and then I just had to drink more until the whole glass was drained empty. I’m not sure why. Something was driving me that I couldn’t identify and still don’t comprehend.”

He goes on to vividly describe his fall into the dark underbelly of San Francisco, a city I love like no other. Listening to him struggle, listening to him describe the pain, and ecstasy, of his experience—his life—with such raw emotion, made me weep all over again.

Long after I turned their final pages, these books have stayed with me, haunted me, almost. I have thought about David and Nic and their lives and their struggles; I’ve thought about the whys and the hows and the what ifs; I’ve thought about choices and genetics and fate; I’ve wondered if he’ll ever really be clean.

And today I read this. Nic relapsed last May, and again in December. These are not, by far, his first two, or his worst two, relapses. But the news is discouraging and disheartening. Still. Still relapsing. The whys re-emerge, they grab me and force me to look at my boys with fresh eyes. I am vigilant, fighting for my boys, watching and praying and hoping that they remain unscathed by this horrific mess called meth.

And I’m still cheering for you Nic. Still cheering.