On feelings and becoming a fraternity mom
Trips to IKEA, discovering I have feelings and things I am obsessed with
Hello Midlife friends,
Wait. It’s June. And, at least around here, the unofficial start of the summer.
Memorial Day Weekend was a whirlwind of kids. On Saturday, I spent a quiet day with my oldest guy walking around town and talking and looking at all the peonies in full bloom.
On Sunday morning I left early for Philadelphia to spend the day helping my younger daughter move into a new place and do all the things you can only do with a car — namely buy stuff at IKEA and Target. I may not be good for a lot of things but I am really good for move-in shopping. I actually think I could provide that service professionally; I’ve done it so many times by now.
To make some coffee before my journey to Philly, I had to tiptoe through my tiny TV room where three (four?) young men were sardined on my new pullout couch and another was sleeping upright in one of my nice swivel chairs after a night out at the shore hot spot down the road from us. I had wanted to replace my faithful IKEA Ektorp couch with a sofa bed to make a little more sleeping space in the house when all the kids came home for summer weekends and holidays.
But I also wanted my 21yo, who now lives about a half hour away from where he grew up and all his friends, to be able to have those buddies come down and hang out. The pull-out arrived Saturday morning and spent its first night in our home hosting the aforementioned boys sleeping head-to-toe, as well as another guy who used the new cushions as a mattress on the floor — despite me leaving an actual air mattress for them along with a pile of bedding before I went upstairs to my own room that night.
While gathering said bedding, I realized I had thrown a ton away during the move from the old house. So I threw a bunch of things into the cart at IKEA and joked it was for my fraternity beach house. “I’m a house mom!” I told my daughter as I tossed $7 pillows into the shopping cart.
We went back to her new studio apartment in a high rise not far from Center City and deployed many of the items we’d purchased, including a new coffee table with wheels and a fresh cover for the seven-year-old Ektorp and she seems brand new. And when I say we deployed things I pretty much mean I watched my daughter put things together while I moved things around. We ordered some killer sandwiches (kale caesar salad with a thin crispy chicken cutlet on a perfect seeded roll) — which I think is what Philadelphia is good for — and ate them on a blanket and talked and relaxed into the exhaustion of the day. On my way out, my daughter walked me up to the rooftop, which has a killer view of downtown Philly and we stood along the railing together and looked out at the skyline. William Penn teetering on top of the city hall steeple on a hot breezy night.
When not with my kids, I’ve also been doing a lot of inner work, which always seems to come in waves. Something happens. I spiral for a while. And then I start to unpack things with a therapist and go to recovery meetings and somewhere along the way, things start to make sense and allow for growth. Change.
Coincidentally (or maybe not), I also completed a course at work around emotional intelligence and learned all about feelings, and it was like I was Mork coming down from the planet Ork and discovering earthlings didn’t drink water out of a glass with their fingers. Na-nu. Na-nu.
Feelings are a thing, guys! I have them and you have them, too. Who knew?
I told my therapist, with whom I have been working for almost 18 years (which is crazy), that it almost feels like I am learning a new language. It kinda reminds me of when I started my job three years ago for an HR software company and had to drink the proverbial firehose of information about talent acquisition and HR tech and how foreign it all sounded. Like, I understood the separate words but not all of them together in any type of context. That took time for those things to start making any kind of sense.
I listen. I pay attention. I think. I read. I write. And then I do it all again to try to understand what all the words around feelings mean. The rhythm and syncopation of my insides. My heart, maybe?
I chuckled to myself recently because I’d been super hot to learn an actual new language. I really thought hard about messing around with Duolingo and reigniting any French I used to know so I could be conversing en francais when we all go to Paris next May for my son’s wedding. Au contraire. While I might still brush up on those long-ago conversation skills, I think understanding and honoring my emotions might be a better use of my learning energy. Better for me and everyone around me.
Learning about myself so late in the game of life has been interesting. I used to think I was tough and unemotional. But now I am starting to understand that it’s been quite the opposite. That I feel so much and had to close parts of that down to keep from feeling all the sharp jabs of life. But it’s also kept a lot of the softness out, too.
I’ve been like this little hermit crab, just scuttling around in my painted shell trying to stay safe. Now, I’m peeking out from underneath and paying attention to how it all feels. It’s kind of scary, but exciting, too.
I’ll keep you posted.
sunday shares: read + watch + cook + buy
Go bananas for this. I made the Smitten Kitchen banana bread this week to share between my son and our neighbor who’s going through chemo. Guys, she never disappoints. Is it the crunchy sugar topping? I’m not sure but it’s always a sure-fire hit.
All. The. Joy. These planters I bought from WalMart for the ledges on my front steps are perfection. Not heavy. Perfect height. And I looooooove how the lavender and bacopa flowers look all messy and hang over the sides.
Privacy, please. My next-door neighbors are doing a remodel, which included tearing down the trellis and climbing rose situation growing up the side of their porch and eliminating the privacy I had here for two summers. Yikes. To remedy, I ordered inexpensive bamboo shades from Home Depot and while transparent, they definitely give the illusion of seclusion. Plus, I hung them myself, which is a something.
Low-key obsessed. Do you follow Shea McGee on Instagram? I am low-key obsessed with everything she posts. I love her vibe. Validates everything I ever bought of hers at Target.
This update was a favorite! And not because you featured my sweet little painting. xo