Posts from — February 2010

Apparently, barren can mean an inability to conceive or carry a child as well as high end fashion that retails for $245.

Taken from the Saks Fifth Avenue Website:

Diane von Furstenberg’s Barren Full Skirt

An elegant, Italian design with elastic waist puffs out with a full, flirty flounce.

I will not play at tug o’ war
I’d rather play at hug o’ war,
Where everyone hugs
Instead of tugs
Where everyone giggles
And rolls on the rug,
Where everyone kisses
And everyone grins
And everyone cuddles
And everyone wins.

–Shel Silverstein

As Apolo Ohno moved from the back of pack all the way to the front of line of skaters, shooting past them in the first heat, I grabbed Josh’s arm and shrieked.  And I don’t even know why because I truly don’t care who wins or loses.  If it’s not Apolo Ohno, I’ll shed my happy tears for whichever lithe speedskater is on the podium.  I’m a cheerleading whore.

The fact is that unlike Josh who is such a die-hard Yankee that he pees blue and white-striped urine during baseball season, I’ve never rooted for a team.  If I temporarily align myself with a team at all, it’s usually based on their name or the colour of their uniform.  My love is fickle–once the game is over, I never think about them again.  I have no loyalty to America in the Olympics, even though I’ll also admit that I stand on my bed, cross my heart, and sob when our national anthem is played.  If I have to root for someone on the slopes, I’ll pick the one with the craziest story or the one I read about in a magazine or the one who sort of looks like a Japanese Edward Cullen.  And, again, I’ll usually forget about them by the time I turn off the television.

But even without any sense of loyalty, without the fist pumping or the shouting, I love watching the games and being part of a moment; because, for me, sports have always been about being part of something more than they’ve been about winning or losing.  I just like getting picked for the team–it doesn’t matter to me if I win or lose after the game starts.  This feeling extends to all aspects of life–I just don’t have a competitive side and I don’t know if I fully understand the mentality of trying to best another person.  If I compete at all, it’s against myself and if I fall short of beating my own running time or winning another round of chess, I don’t have an internal reaction.  I simply note it, shrug, and move on.

I separate the idea of winning or losing from the concept of rejection–which I consider a different beast altogether, one that affects me deeply.  My husband and I are both writers, therefore rejection is part of our daily existence.  And it sucks.  It sucks to need to pass through a gatekeeper to get to your happiness whether it’s college or a new job or an article.

Sometimes, losing and rejection (or, on a more positive note, winning and acceptance) are intertwined and not easily separated.  But at its core, rejection is about judgment–your work is either good or bad.  You’re either worthy or unworthy.  If I expect the twins to exist in this world, I will need to teach them that rejection happens and you have two choices–to keep moving forward or to drop the idea altogether.  In some cases, it’s worth plugging away and making attempt after attempt and other times, it’s best to walk away and maintain your sanity.  Judging that threshold is personal to each individual.

But even if I’m going to tell the twins not to take losing badly, in the same breath, I’ll also tell them that they never need to embrace rejection or laugh off rejection or not give rejection its full weight on their heart.  Asking people to do that is cruel.  It’s like asking someone to not mind a good gut punch.  Rejection fucking hurts–it’s painful to place your heart on the table and say, “I want this” and have another person–someone with no more worth than you (and that’s the Juddhist in me seeing all people as inherently equal in status)–shake their head and reject you.  I’ll teach the twins that they’re allowed a long frustrated cry or depending on the level of the rejection, a few days of moping.

But winning or losing is different, even when the stakes are high as they are in the Olympics.  And that is what I’ve been trying to teach the twins in reference to sports and games.  That winning is fine and losing is also fine.  That there’s only so much happiness that can come from winning and what happiness does come is fleeting.  There’s always the next time, the next slope, the next race.  And that is the beauty of places where you can win or lose.  Because even if you lose now, you may win next time.  And vice versa.  It’s too hard to hold onto the happiness of a win–even if it happens at the highest honour in your field–knowing that you will need to compete again in the future.  Winning is not an end point.  It’s only a pause.

Winning or losing is not a question of worth–every single one of those athletes in Vancouver is considered worthy, regardless of rank.  Acceptance is about finding out whether or not you’re worthy of trying.  Winning is about taking the chance you’re given and somehow doing better–based on luck and hard work–than how everyone else did in that same moment.  And while it may be frustrating to know that you can do better and not bring your best performance to the moment, the final results are not based on judgment for the most part.  Either you had the fastest time or you didn’t.  Either you jumped the farthest or you didn’t.  Unlike rejection, there isn’t another human giving their opinion and affecting your life.  The results–with few exceptions–are based on fact rather than opinion.  And those facts could change easily if we held the event again.  The person who won the gold knows that; that if the event repeated itself, they may not come out on top a second time.  And therefore, their win is just that–marking a certain moment in time rather than stating an absolute truth.

I want the twins to take this attitude of enjoying the process; of just being happy to be a part of something.  I want them to have a good time on the playing field without worrying about what the final result will be.  The ChickieNob has already told me that she plans on being an Olympic runner and I think that would rock if she enjoys running and doesn’t just enjoy winning.  The kumbaya Juddhist in me loves the idea of “it’s not who wins or loses, but how you play the game.”  I want them to learn sportsmanship–about not making yourself shine, but being part of the whole, of helping everyone feel good about themselves as they leave the field.  I want them to be good winners–ones who don’t believe that coming in first means they are better humans because of that–and good losers–ones who do not have their self-worth tied up in comparative moments.

So why did I shriek for Ohno as he passed over the finish line?  Because it was the cardinal rule of the non-competitive sportsperson: it’s how he played the game.

For when the One Great Scorer comes
To write against your name,
He marks – not that you won or lost –
But how you played the Game.

–Grantland Rice

This is what she said.  Click here to find out what he said.

*obviously, Josh and I are trying this he said/she said idea.  We’re open to topic ideas for future musings that show both sides of the story.  You can email them to me and I’ll run them by Josh.  As well as feedback about whether this is interesting, enlightening, or a waste of your freakin’ time (but…er…why are you wasting more time telling me that?).

It began before it began.  The twins were climbing out of the bathtub, scrubbed and ready to watch the opening ceremony for the winter Olympics and I knew I had to explain it now, when things were quiet, rather than when the words were spoken before the ceremony.  Because you knew the words were going to be spoken before the ceremony.

“You might hear tonight that a boy died during practice today.  He was doing the luge and he fell off and hit his head and the doctor couldn’t fix him.”

They froze as if I had just told them that I was going to be giving away all their toys.  “Was he doing bad listening?’ the ChickieNob finally asked.

“No.  He was doing everything right, but sometimes accidents happen.”

“Is everyone sad?  Are his mommy and daddy sad?”

“His mommy and daddy are heartbroken.”

The Wolvog curled into my lap in his little towel and we talked about how sometimes people take risks because they’re good risks to take, and how his friends might be so sad that they can’t do the luge when it was originally scheduled, and how they may hear a lot about it when we were watching the Olympics that night.

Because honestly, how could I shield them from it when there was the chance it would be woven into every moment of the games?  I’m glad we talked about it in the quiet moments after the bath, rather than throw this reality at them with the television blaring in the background.  And so their little worlds grew again.

*******

I cried on-and-off through the opening ceremony, thinking about Nodar Kumaritashvili’s parents.  The Proctor and Gamble commercial reminding us these athletes will always be children to their parents didn’t help.  Out of respect for the family, we didn’t watch the continuous coverage of the crash, switching instead to the Food Network and Guy Fieri’s ebullient voice telling us about diners! drive-ins! and dives!.

Josh asked in regard to my crying how the death of Nodar Kumaritashvili was more tragic than the lives lost in Alabama earlier that day–and it wasn’t.  One loss doesn’t trump the other; it isn’t more tragic to lose your life at one job over another.  But there were different triggers bringing out the catharsis, the general public’s agony at watching our worst nightmares come true in two separate places.  I think the average person watching at home, who has no personal connection to Kumaritashvili wasn’t crying just for the fact that a person lost their life.  It is the idea that life is so fragile that you could work your way up to the top–to the pinnacle of success–and while on that mountain, could die before even planting your flag; making your mark.

I mourned the loss in the same way that I cried when the wedding hall collapsed in Jerusalem, killing dozens of people and injuring hundreds.  Because it was a reminder that nowhere in life is completely safe; that we’re not in a giant game of tag where you can catch your breath on home base, knowing you can’t be tagged out while you hold onto the pole.  It is sobering to think that there are no reprises even during the happiness moments of life.  That you can be tagged out at any time–a wedding hall, a university office, a luge track.

*******

Deb told me a great story this week about ski jumpers: “When a skier begins in their training, the coaches hand him/her a small bag filled with marbles.  Each successful jump, the skier hands one back to the coaches.  The goal of the training is to get each one to the point that they completely lost their marbles -and become a ski jumper.”

It seems fitting for a lot of places in life where you must be crazy enough to lose your marbles to take that leap of faith that you not only will live to tell, but be a better person after taking the risk and completing the act.  Maybe that’s why I love to watch the Olympics.  Because while I may not have the guts to take these same risks, it is wonderful to watch others who have taken that deep breath and dedicated their entire lives for this chance.

We are witnesses not just to the bravery of someone willing to hurtle down an ice course at 90 miles per hour or sail through the air on a pair of skis, but the bravery of people following their dreams–of giving up so many other paths in order to take this one that brought them to the Olympics.  For every person on the screen are thousands of others who wanted it just as badly, who trained hard and gave up other paths too, and didn’t make it for whatever reason.  It is the bitter and the sweet–which why I also think those going through infertility are both drawn to and hurt by the sight and stories of women pregnant after infertility.  We all train hard in the emotional sense, and we are both proud of our fellow Iffers for making it to the parenting Olympics and also hurt watching life’s opening ceremonies when we’re not there and we wanted it just as badly.

*******

Maybe it’s the snow that has made me start writing in these small bursts, dividing up the day into themes.  The start of the Olympics was definitely about loss, but then again, it always is if you look at it from a certain angle.  As amazing as it is to watch a convocation of people all in the prime of their athletic prowess, so much was lost on the way to the podium as well as so much gained.  Perhaps, over time–like so many other places in life–if you get a chance to reach the Olympics, you don’t mind what was lost along the way.  The tears or missed opportunities are simply the cost for the chance of standing up there, your national anthem playing, your flag waving above you, and a medal around your neck.

I wanted a printable winter Olympics schedule and couldn’t find one so I made one by going day-by-day through the online schedule.  These times are for EST so check your own listings to make sure these are correct.  Since others asked, I put the Word Doc I created online and you can access it here since I made it a static page: http://tinyurl.com/winterschedule.

Our “can’t miss” events: skeleton, luge, and bobsled.  We’ll even tape them if they are shown late at night.  What are yours?

I can’t believe it has been a week since I’ve left the house (with the exception of the harrowing and pointless trip to the food store).  I feel like I’ve aged fifteen years.  Literally, you don’t want to skype with me and see what my eyebrows look like and how much my hair has greyed.

I would like to return to the words I infamously wrote this time last week:

Snowmageddon is happening at some point today, 24 inches of snow dumped on the greater DC area.  I could not be more excited to be stuck inside our house.  I gleefully stocked up on movies and books from the library, purchased art supplies from the craft store, and braved a two-hour visit to the food store to get baking essentials.  Every two minutes I turn to Josh and crow, “we are going to be snowed in, baaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaybee!”

Can you believe that I was ever that stupid?  Who was that Melissa?  Why was she such an idiot?  This week has seriously sucked my non-functioning ovaries.

*******

The only good thing to come out of being stuck at home is that we did a lot of baking when we weren’t crouching in the corner and wringing our hands over the fear of losing our power.  Which means that it is time to consult the random number generator and see what number it pulls out of its tiny little ass…

Baby Smiling in Back Seat, come on down!  By which I mean, send me your address–you’re getting a big box of cookies and candy.  I will most likely send the box on Wednesday, which means it will be a Friday or weekend delivery.  Or I’ll send the box on Tuesday if the next snow storm (because they have predicted another snow storm for Monday which makes me cry when I think about it) doesn’t shut down the post office.

Didn’t win and are weeping at your desk?  Cali is doing a raffle of another one of my baskets and the money will go to Michell’s FET.  So you possibly get something sweet and you’re doing something very sweet.

*******

Speaking of sweet, I really loved the last Secret Ode Day.  And if you wonder if your words mean something to the person receiving them, all you need to do is read Apron Strings for Emily’s post after reading the kind words someone wrote about her.  She writes:

Wow. That just totally blew me away. I feel like I should be standing up behind the magic mike stand (you know, the one that disappears once the person is done speaking?) to thank the entire blogoverse for allowing me to write as freely as I do. And specifically to thank everyone for actually reading my words.  Oh, and did I mention this was all done anonymously ?! So … seriously, *THANK YOU* to whomever wrote such beautiful words about me. You honestly don’t know how much it means to me …

I do have a critical mass in hand, but that doesn’t mean you can’t still write one or eight or fifteen.  Looking forward to a random Secret Ode Day springing out at you when you least expect it.

*******

I’m still trying to figure out StumbleUpon and loving the process.  I stumbled all the posts in the Roundup (so if you see traffic coming from StumbleUpon, that is why.  It sometimes takes time for it to show up over there).  I installed the toolbar and now I’m stumbling like a crazy woman.  It’s a nice way to honour all the great posts I read that don’t make it into the Roundup and hopefully drive some traffic towards them.

If you are on StumbleUpon and I’m not following you yet, let me know.  And er…follow me?

*******

Weekly What If: Imagine the person on this earth who annoys you the most (and if you have more than one, feel free to pick one from many).  Have that person in your head?  What if you could get a week long, all-expenses vacation to anywhere in the world but the only catch was that you’d be going to this relaxing or exciting place with the person who annoys you the most and you’d be expected to spend at least 20 hours a day together (you could have a four hour break from each other during waking hours, but for 20 hours, it would be just the two of you).  They would not know how much they annoy you, therefore, you’d still have to be polite and friendly on the trip, even though you’re seething on the inside.  By the way, they’re paying, which is how you get to go on this trip.  Would you take the ticket (think of the beaches, the mountains, the museums!) or would you rather stay home knowing there would be no chance to do this trip on your own later (it’s one of those once-in-a-lifetime type trips).

*******

And now, the blogs…

I Can Haz Bebe has a post about internal strength.  After hearing from people who tell her that she’s so strong, she responds with honesty, “I think that I am a person who has had to endure a difficult situation. Have I done so with grace? No. I have been kicking and screaming the entire way. I am jealous. I am angry. I am bitter and resentful.”  But she does something so beautiful in the post that it becomes the yin and yang–the bitter heart chased by the enormous love it also holds.  And perhaps that what strength simply is–allowing those two things to coexist with each other without denying the other’s existence.

Edenland has a post about truths of life.  The wisdom ranges from the profound: “You can’t plan happiness. It happens, unexpectedly, in the oddest of places. And it bubbles over in your soul. And it’s real” to the personal.  And it is an amazingly honest post–the best that blogging can be.

Roots & Wings has a post about those moments before the beta.  It is not just fantastic writing, it is a dissection of that anxiety that is born out of hope–that understanding that while it may not be your chance right now, it equally could also be your chance.  That something could be starting or something might not, but at least there is something to know soon.

Lastly, Communiqué has a post about her father that made me cry.  I don’t know if I can explain it much more than that because it is such a sigh of a post, a tiny moment of a girl remembering.  And it is so beautiful that it will break your heart.

The roundup to the Roundup: We are still snowed in.  There’s a winner for the Purim basket giveaway, but a chance to win another one.  Secret Odes make someone else’s day.  Still trying to figure out StumbleUpon and loving the process.  Answer the Weekly What If.  And great blog posts to read.