If You're Happy and You Know It, Well, Good for You, Captain Sunshine

I swear to Dog, if I stumble across one more blog post telling me that happiness is a choice, I am going to be very unhappy indeed.

Given that this is the season for good will toward all, I will spare you most of my rant. I just ask you to consider this question: if you believe that sexual orientation is NOT something that people choose but rather something that is part of a person's genetic make-up, why would you not also acknowledge that people who deal with depression are wired differently than you, you happy chirpy cheerful lucky accident of genetics, you? Can you choose your height? Your ancestors? Your eye color? And the first smart aleck who makes a crack about colored contacts will get smacked upside the head with a bottle of saline solution.

Would I rather have spent my money and time (literally thousands of dollars and thousands of hours over the last 30 years) in ways other than learning to be grateful and manage my depressive tendencies? Hell, yes -- but THAT is the choice I make. Not to be happy, because no matter what current pop woowoo pseudo-science tells us, that choice is not in my power. Here are the things in my power: I choose to accept my genetics, to notice and alter negative thinking patterns, to stay physically healthy, to get as much exercise and outdoor time as I can, to practice gratitude, to find joy wherever and whenever possible, to investigate every freaky new technique that could potentially help, and to keep a close eye on what I consume in the form of books, movies, food, drinks, and insufferably smug internet posts.

And yet sometimes I get walloped with a totally unexpected string of dark days. It sucks, it's exhausting, it's hard on my family, but it's reality for me and thousands of others. Would you choose to live this way, you obnoxiously self-satisfied internet person and all of your superior-minded comment leavers? Yeah, I didn't think so. I don't choose it, either -- but I do choose to dig out of the hole every time it hits.

For some solid scientific research-based info about genetics and depression, please go here or here.

The Upside of Professional Rejection

Dear Mrs. Ditter: 

I've been self-employed for nearly 15 years, and like most independent contractors, sometimes I'm not busy enough and sometimes I'm too busy.

A few months ago, I wrapped up two long-term projects and now there is NOTHING on the horizon. I'm scrambling to find new clients and am starting to feel anxious, like maybe I'm doing something wrong or new clients might think I'm too old (late 40s) or--who knows? 

I'm not even sure what my question is for you. I guess I'm wondering how to keep my spirits up and not take things personally. The last rejection I got said, "Thanks for your time, but I've developed another solution and thus am set with my project management needs for now." I'm not sure why this bothered me so much, but--HELP!

Sincerely,

Currently Between Projects

Dear CBP,

Here are my words of wisdom: First, take a deep breath and exhale completely. Do that one or two more times. Now you're ready to think, and not feel overwhelmed.

Start by making a list of the reasons why you work for yourself. I don't know about you, but my list starts like this:

1. I choose my own hours (mostly). Other than conducting in-person interviews or client phone calls, as long as I meet my deadlines, I can work any time I want to.

2. I get to work in very, very casual clothes. If not actual jammies, then jammie-adjacent some days.

3. I can take a puppy break any time I need or want to.

4. I get to be in charge of my work life and security, instead of depending on a company to keep me busy (and keep me employed).

So make your own list and sit with it for a few minutes. Try to feel grateful, even though you're really stressed out about not having any clients right now.

Next, I wonder why that email brush-off made you uncomfortable? It actually is kind of a gift, because it tells you exactly what this person, and every other person you'll approach, needs. They need a solution. 

Think about that when you set out on your next round of selling. Potential clients have problems. They need solutions. You, my friend, are that solution.

If you have a standard sales email, look at it with that "problem-solution" idea in mind. And then make sure that your problem-solving ability comes across. It's a first step to getting back to work.

Good luck! 

In Which I Let My Sister Do The Heavy Lifting

I've been silent for several months, not just on this blog, but on all my blogs and in my writing life in general. And so I'm grateful to link you to a really terrific piece written by one of my sisters. Clearing out the deadwood is painful. It's also necessary if you want to move forward with integrity.

Therese and her husband run a retreat house in the Kootenay Mountains of British Columbia. If you're ever up that way, give her a holler. 

Today's Poem from an Annoyed Mother

Bewail we now the loss--no, we shall name it for what it truly is--the theft of our purple comb. Yes. THAT purple comb. 

The one that has, post-shower, teased the snarls from our hair these many mornings. 

And although we could point a finger (or indeed point a whole hand, an empty, combless hand) at a certain young teenager, who under cover of maternal ill health and weakness did dare to remove and retain that comb, that purple comb, from our private hair accessories drawer, 

we shall not. 

For we are not that petty. 

Although perhaps we ARE that petty. For in the dark, angry, hellish places of our heart, we do envision coughing all over her dinner, and then serving it to her with a smile.

A Lesson in Self Acceptance. Or Not.

Law of Public Embarrassment, Part the First:
When you dash to the grocery store sporting soggy hair, no makeup, last year's Old Navy shorts, a three-year-old black Target t-shirt, a hoodie that belongs on a teenager, and dirty Converse, YOU WILL run into a former acquaintance--a gorgeous, brilliant, successful woman who has just moved back from Paris where she ran Something Important for an Upscale Clothing Designer.


Law of Public Embarrassment, Part Next:
YOU WILL feel compelled to say hello to this vision. And when she doesn't recognize you (GEE I WONDER WHY) you blunder on instead of saying, "Whoops, sorry, I thought you were someone else. Leaving now!"


LOPE, Part Can We Be Done, Please?
YOU WILL be certain that this woman will say to her husband, "Wow, guess who I ran into today--she certainly isn't aging very gracefully."


Moment of Enlightenment:
I drove home yelling at myself. This is an old, familiar behavior, where I berate myself in the third person: "YOU IDIOT. Who goes out in public like that? You know you look awful when your hair is damp. Why didn't you do something successful and sophisticated with your life? What on earth were you thinking when you said hello? When you get home, take these clothes off and make a bonfire with them. Why the hell did you walk away from your career? You have wasted your life and now you're too old to do anything about it."


At some point, I remembered two things: 1) This woman is genuinely very nice. 2) I would worry less about what people thought about me if I remembered how seldom they actually did think about me. Which might or might not be comforting.


And then I recognized, once again, how harsh my self-talk is. Do I talk to anyone else the way I talk to myself? No. Did my parents talk to me this way? No. Am I constantly telling myself I'm not good enough? Yes. Where the hell did I learn this? I don't know. When am I going to change this? I don't know that, either.


So today's my birthday 
Wanna give me a gift? For the next seven days, really tune in to your self-talk. Notice every single time you say something about yourself (out loud or in your head) that is mean, or angry, or sarcastic. Just notice. Don't try to change it. Just notice it.


At the end of the week, ask yourself if this is how you want to live the rest of your life. If you want to change, drop me a line. I have ideas about interrupting those patterns, and I'll be working on them for the next few months. 

In Which Mrs. Ditter Writes Movingly, Coherently, and Rationally About the Death of Sunny, her Golden Retriever

Yeah, that's not happening yet. 

There's part of me that is overwhelmingly grateful for the love and goofiness and joy and acceptance that she brought us for so many years. There's part of me that is happy that she's more comfortable now. There's part of me that feels her following me around, just like usual, and sticking her nose into my hand, just like usual, and watching my every move in the kitchen, just like usual.

And then there's the part of me that feels as if someone has ripped off my arm and is beating me over the head with it.

I miss my dog.

Snow!

No big thoughts today...just a huge sense of gratefulness for the morning's snowstorm. Watching the dog run around in it, listening to the kids shriek as those first flakes came down, standing with my face tipped up and feeling the clumps of coldness...it's a wonderful, light-filled break from the drip, drip, drip of the dark winters around here.

I remember my dad, a Seattle native, complaining about the endless snow in the small Lake Michigan town where I grew up. When I said I wouldn't want to live somewhere where it rained all the time, he said, "Well, honey, you don't have to shovel rain. And if you want to see some snow or go skiing, you just drive right up to the mountain."

Dad was right. You don't have to shovel rain. But I wouldn't mind the chance to shovel snow on a more regular basis. 

In the meantime, no big thoughts--just gratitude.

What to Read When You have the Flu

Other than those horrible hours when you're unable to read at all because of the pounding headache, wracking nausea, feverish delirium and quivering limbs (or because you're lying on a sleeping bag in your bathroom shaking and crying and generally being The Cul De Sac's Biggest Drama Queen Ever), having the flu gives you the perfect excuse to hang around in bed and read. Based on recent personal experience, and with the stern reminder that you should be accompanied by tea, crackers, popsicles and household pets (one large snoring dog and two purring cats is optimum) in order to fully enjoy the recovery period, I recommend the following books:


Cleopatra, A Life by Stacy Schiff. Marvelous research--transports you back to that time and makes all the sights and sounds and smells come alive...ooog, the smells. Maybe not such a good choice. Moving on...

Vision in White, by Nora Roberts. Those who read her hard-hitting detective work (written as JD Robb) may not know that Roberts got her start writing romances. Sassy dialogue, good girlfriends, drama queen narcissistic mothers, sexy sex scenes...yuck, not really so great, either. Moving on, again.


Shadows on the Rock, by Willa Cather. Sometimes re-reading a classic, especially one set during the early days of Quebec City (my mom's people arrived on the second boatload over from France, so I love this book for many reasons) is just like comfort food. Until we get to page 156: " A great many people in the town were sick at this time, and Cecile herself caught a cold and was feverish. Her father wrapped her in blankets and made her sit with her feet in a hot mustard bath while she drank a great quantity of sassafras tea." I do NOT need the reminder that people have been getting sick like this for centuries. I wish to wallow in my own personal hell and feel Put Upon by the Universe. Next!


Dark Road to Darjeeling, by Deanna Raybourn. Somewhat spooky, definitely mysterious, perhaps a leetle bit bloody...let's try something else.


The Huffington Post Complete Guide to Blogging by various editors and Ms. 395 Gazillion Dollar AOL Buyout herself, Arianna Huffington. Okay, now my head is spinning again and the nausea is back. And just because I'm feeling pissy, I'm not putting in the link to that book. 


At this point, I did what any sensible person would do: I turned on my laptop and played online Scrabble, losing horribly, of course, and making words such as DOG and RAG and AM. When I'm feeling better, I'll get back to the stack of books on my bedside table, including one I've been saving for months, the newest YA book in the Bartimaeus sequence, written by Jonathon Stroud. "Bartimaeus: The Ring of Solomon" might be just what I need to get my mind off my own little world.

I Don't Want To!

I don't want to.
I woke up one morning last week with those words running through my head. 
As I lay in bed, I let my mind tell me all the things I didn't want to do. The list was long, and petty, and whiny, and persistent:


I don't want to get out of this warm bed.
I don't want to walk down that long driveway with the old dog and get the newspaper in the freezing cold.
I don't want to get the girls up.
I don't want to make breakfasts.
I don't want to make lunches.
I don't want to make peace, if necessary, between siblings warring over the bathroom and personal space and anything else they could think up.
I don't want to drive them to carpools and bus stops.
I don't want to walk the dog in the mud and cold and clean her up afterwards.
I don't want to cook, to do laundry, to scoop the cat boxes, to go to the bus stop, to make dinner.


The entire day stretched in front of me as one big DON'T; the only thing I did want to do was stay in bed all day long.


Reality check: My life is pretty easy; I'm blessed with friends and family and animals and work that I love and a warm house. I can hike with friends and dogs on a regular basis. I can buy food at the grocery store. I can turn the key in my car's ignition and know that it will start. I can afford gas for the car, and insurance, and maintenance costs. My jeans fit and my boots are watertight and my coats are warm and water-resistant. I thought of all these things. I scolded myself with all my blessings. I railed against my ungratefulness.


And yet the parade of DON'Ts continued, finally crashing into I DON'T WANT TO REMEMBER THAT THE ANNIVERSARY OF MY BROTHER'S DEATH IS ALMOST HERE.
All the other DON'T's suddenly made sense, and I felt something shift inside me.
And so I got up and made breakfast, and lunches, and walked the dog, and edited a book, and the sadness lifted.
Year by year by long year, I'm better at being grateful for his life, and not so hooked into mourning his death. I'm not sure what more I can ask for.

Mom's Spiritual Journey

Not much to say about this, other than that it's short (two minutes) and you might get a laugh out of watching my very first movie. Also, happy holidays. May you be calm and peaceful. HAH!

Nanny Tells All!

You've seen it at the grocery store, right? The latest ripped-from-reality expose of famous parents and their kids, told by the nanny/housekeeper/gardener/tutor/insert-function-here.
Makes me think: Is there a single one of us who'd want a member of our family (since most of us don't have staff) to go public with their real life stories? I certainly wouldn't want my temper tantrums, sarcasm, rudeness and occasional immaturity put out into the public arena. 
And yet as human beings, that's what we're drawn to--tales of other people's failings. Is it because we can measure ourselves against outrageous behavior and feel relieved? After all, we're not that bad. I might drop the occasional F-bomb, but at least I'm not allowing my under-age kids to drink. Or to drive one of our many cars around the estate (yeah, okay, we don't have an estate. but still...). 
I'm not that bad.
We're not that bad.
Are we?
Given money and fame and adulation, surrounded by people who we pay to tell us what we want to hear, insulated from many of life's inconveniences, how would we be? Who would we be?
Would we be that bad?

Seven Great Things About Teenagers (and preteens, too)

Yeah, right. But hang on...
1. Teenagers force you to examine your cozy little assumptions.
There you are, going about your daily life, meeting work deadlines, doing laundry, planning next spring's garden, la la la la la---WHAM! Veganism! Laptops for 11-year-olds! Religion! Animal rights! Skateboarders' rights! Politics! Purple hair dye! Clothing! Relationships! 
2. Teenagers are hilarious.
Goofy, occasionally childlike, willing to look ridiculous if it makes them laugh (teens are not above posting video of themselves dressed up as woolly mammoths and cavemen), clever with wordplay, endlessly creative, occasionally sarcastic (see #3, below).
3. Teenagers are cruel.
And when they are, remember, acknowledge, and examine the times in your life when you've been cruel. Great reality check.
4. Teenagers demand accountability.
Don't want them to swear? Stop swearing. Repeat ad infinitum, with everything: eating junk food, lying, cheating, cleaning your room, hanging up your towel, and owning up to that time you broke every rule in the book when you and a few dozen friends snuck into the university pool at 2:00 AM.
5. Teenagers are passionate.
Remember what it was like to get all worked up about stuff? If you can regain that passion (without the exhausting drama and hormones), it can change your life, no matter how old you are, no matter how set in your ways you've become, no matter how scared you are of failing.
6. Teenagers dream big.
Semester at Sea. Juilliard. Harvard, Yale, MIT, Berkeley. Book contracts. Movie contracts. World travel. World transformation. Long-lasting romantic love. Delectable vegan brownies (probably the most impossible item on this list).
7. Teenagers work hard.
Babysitting, lifeguarding, flipping burgers, digging compost, stacking firewood, endless piles of homework, team sports, team projects, being cheerful (remember what hard work that was as a teen? OUCH!), making polite conversation when guests are over for dinner (again: OUCH!), dragging through life sleep-deprived because the teen circadian rhythm is not set to coincide with getting up at Oh Dark Thirty to catch carpool/subway/bus/train/whatever during the school year. 
8. Bonus Item! Teenagers force us to remember and to give thanks.
Remember when the world seemed big and welcoming. Remember when our options seemed wide open. Remember back to when the grooves in our brain weren't worn quite so deeply. And...give thanks for the choices we've made, the options we've turned down, the grooves we've worn, the insight we've gained.


What can you add that's great about teenagers and preteens? Leave it in the comments below. And as always, if you have a question for Mrs. Ditter, leave it in the comments or email at mrsditter@gmail.com. Anonymity guaranteed.

It's Been HOW Long?

Well. All I can say is, between a few unexpected medical issues (one of which required an overnight stay in the hospital which OF COURSE happened when my husband was out of town and yes, thank you, I'm totally fine), a kitchen fire that totally destroyed the microwave and proved just how wonderful firefighters truly are, the typical end of school chaos, the four days devoted to dance recital, the start of swim team, the demand of the 15-year-old to be sent to an early-entrance college program, and an unexpected flurry of extremely quick-turnaround writing projects (note to Universe: I AM NOT COMPLAINING. I AM GRATEFUL FOR THE WORK. PLEASE SEND MORE AS IT SEEMS I MIGHT BE PAYING COLLEGE TUITION THREE YEARS EARLY, ALSO THE CAR NEEDS A LOT OF WORK, AND DID I MENTION THE HOSPITAL BILLS?), it has indeed been three months since I've posted. And we are heading into the middle part of summer, even if this morning it was 52 degrees and raining at swim team practice. 


So anyway, hi to all you wonderful blog readers, and when I think of something profound to write, I will. Until then, be happy that your life is not such that one of your brothers thoughtfully offered to set fire to a kitchen appliance in your honor.

Pre-Summer Mothering Angst, or How Can I Enjoy the Spring Flowers When Summer is Looming Over Me Like a Big Horrible Scary Looming Thing

Dear Mrs. Ditter: Summer is coming. And school will be out. And I am IN TOTAL DREAD of it. I feel terribly guilty, but I feel DOOMED DOOMED DOOMED by the thought of summer and kid(s) at home and everything else that goes with it . . . carpools, constantly changing schedules of camps and lessons, making endless breakfasts, lunches and dinners (for which I have no new ideas), taking the kids to the pool (and having to appear in my swimsuit), "fun" family trips and all the stress those entail. What's wrong with me? I must be a terrible mother. I used to love summer. I should be looking forward to spending all that time with my offspring. . . . in cranky and awful early adolescence, by the way. Should I be fired from this mothering job? Thanks, Ms. Pickle.

Dear Ms. Pickle, HAH! Are you sure you didn't mean "Could I be fired from this mothering job? Please? PLEASE?" and the answer is, "Sorry, honey. You will be a mom until your dying breath, and then probably for quite a while longer. Like, all eternity. So suck it up. Plus, you'd miss them if they weren't around."

Continuing to take your points in backward order, there is nothing wrong with you. At least I don't think there is. But then I could have written this letter myself (note to all loyal readers: No, I don't make up the letters that I answer here. But this one? Totally could have come from me). I do know a few women who love having the long summer; love the unstructured days; love the freedom to do just about anything, any time; love the family trips. I also know that these women have 1) more money than I do, and they 2) travel more than I do, and also that 3) their kids tend to get along with each other really well. I think that last point is more important than the first two. Also, I've noticed that parents who have extended family nearby, or who live in neighborhoods where the kids all run around together, seem to be happier about the long summer vacation. But most of the stay-at-home parents I know struggle with the same feelings you have. So cut yourself some slack.

Next: Of course you used to love summer! You used to be a goofy kid; a teen with no responsibilities; a college student with summers off from school and a no-brainer job; a 20-something with a hot body and lots of energy. Summer was FUN! Summer was the beach and the sun and the smell of Coppertone and hooting at cute young men. Boy, those were great times. *sigh* Is summer still so uncomplicated? No, I didn't think so.

Next, "I should be looking forward to spending all that time with my offspring." No, you shouldn't. You either are, or you aren't (most likely, you're feeling some combination). Telling yourself you SHOULD be feeling something is ridiculous, unproductive, untrue and hurtful. You're feeling what you're feeling. End of story. 

Also next. Just because you take the kids to the pool does not mean you have to appear in a swimsuit. And, reality check: Most of those moms at the pool probably look a little lumpy, a little softer than they used to be, a little...saggy. Stop looking at yourself and just get in the water and have fun. Or hang on a chair and read. Don't worry about anyone looking at you, because they most likely aren't. Remember that old quote: You wouldn't spend so much time worrying about what people thought about you if you realized how seldom they did? That applies here. Take it to heart. It's your path to freedom, poolside.

I'm not going to give you recipes, or camp ideas, or carpool suggestions, other than to point out that if your children are in "early and awful adolescence" they are old enough to prepare at least one of their meals every day (bowl of cereal, sandwich), and perhaps each one of them could make dinner one night a week. Also: teach them how to do laundry this summer. You won't regret it. 

So what are you going to do? You are going to enjoy what's left of the school year (translation: do things for yourself while the kids are in school), realize that you're probably going to have some rough spots this summer, and make sure you have at least one good friend to whom you can moan and complain.

Finally, on June 15th, write the following wise words on the back of your hand in Sharpie: This Too Shall Pass.

As always, thanks for reading. Comments, questions: leave them in the Comments section below, or you can leave me a question at mrsditter@gmail.com.

In Which Mrs. Ditter Feels Totally Confused

Dear Mrs. Ditter, To start, that is the question. How do you keep yourself from not beginning? And then how do you keep yourself from not following through? And what about the middle...the boring stuff it seems, with no gratification at all. I have been putting off posting this for months as I searched and searched and I have not been able to find the answer. I sit, therefore, I am. Is that who I am destined to be?


Okay, Obliquely Questioning One, hang on a moment while I grab some caffeine and ponder your conundrum.
Let's start with the last bit: "I sit, therefore I am. Is that who I am destined to be?"
I would suggest you try out this statement instead: "I am, therefore I am." Because--you are. We all just plain are. Sitting, standing, meditating, eating, walking the dog, hollering at our loved ones, laughing, sweeping the floor --we ARE.
As far as being destined for anything, my own personal jury is out on that one. I'm not entirely certain that we come into this world "destined" to be anyone in particular, other than who we are. And I think who we are is, in large part, up to us to find out. And to create. And to change, if we see the need for change (and sometimes the need for change is a subtle whisper in our ears, and sometimes it's a big guy on a tractor crashing down our front door).
Okay, that was the easy stuff. As far as the first part of your inquiry, hmm. You've got me stumped. As a writer, my problem is NOT with "not following through." The beginnings are easy but the following through presents more challenge.
For what are you searching? The meaning of life? Does life have to have a meaning, or are we free to just live it as best we can, given our circumstances (health, environment, education level, income, genetic predisposition to mood swings, etc.)?
I feel as if I'm totally missing the point here, but I offer the following links for those inclined to explore:


The Work with Byron Katie
The Tapping Solution

Gratefulness.org, a Network for Grateful Living



Let me know how it goes.


Questions? Conundrums? Comments? Leave them in the comments box, below, or email me at mrsditter@gmail.com.


And as always, thanks for reading.

School Friends...Or Not

Dear Mrs. Ditter,
There's this girl who's really nice and we're friends, but this incident keeps happening: I'll ask her, "Hey, do you want to sit together on the bus?" every once in a while, and she'll say "Sure!" and then we'll get on the bus and she'll go and sit with someone else. It's not entirely her fault, because there are these two girls who stick to her like velcro and if she tries to sit with someone else they'll go, "Aw, come on! Sit with us!" and she'll say she'll sit with me next time and then goes and sits with them. I don't want to appear clingy and say "You never sit with me!" but honestly, I'm starting to get pretty pissed with those other two girls. They seriously won't let her sit anywhere but with them!
Signed, Pissed :(


Dear Pissed, Oh, boy. I can see why you're ticked off. I also wonder if you aren't feeling hurt, as well? Even as adults, it hurts when people you think are your friends treat you in a way that you wouldn't treat them (yes, Mrs. Ditter is speaking from experience. Ouch!). 
So just take a deep breath and admit to yourself that while this makes you angry, it also hurts. That's normal and human and totally understandable.
Got that deep breath? Okay, let's tackle this thing.
When I read your letter, three things stuck out: 1) you say this girl is really nice and you're friends with her; 2) you're angry with the other girls; 3) you don't want to look clingy. 
1) I don't know her, so I don't know if she's nice or not. But I have to say that her behavior, at least about the bus-riding, doesn't sound very friendly. She certainly isn't being friendly to you when she says one thing and then does another. Would you treat a friend that way? Probably not. 
I understand that she must have some really good qualities, otherwise you wouldn't like her so much. But it sounds as if she's not very reliable, at least as far as keeping her word about bus-riding goes.
2) Now, moving on to the anger bit: If you're going to be angry with someone, be angry with the person who broke a commitment to you. Take a look at your last sentence: "They seriously won't let her sit anywhere but with them!" Really? Are they in charge of where she sits? Isn't her decision where she sits HER decision, not theirs? If you don't like those other two girls, it's understandable that you'd want to blame them. But it's not their fault (even if they're really obnoxious and you'd like to throw moldy cheese at them).
I wonder why you're not angry with her? Are you scared of being angry with her? Is she one of those really popular kids who everybody likes? 
Sometimes we're scared of being angry with really popular people because we think it says something bad about us. IT DOESN'T. 
3) Finally, you're absolutely right that you don't want to look clingy. Of course you don't want to say something like, "You never sit with me!" No one wants to be a whiner! And you really don't want her to sit with you because she feels guilty. That's not a good basis for a friendship.
So what to do? 
I see several options. Use any or all or none--it's your choice!
A) Stop asking her to sit with you on the bus. Easy. Situation over.
B) Be honest with her. Tell her you feel upset when she says she'll sit with you, and then doesn't. ONLY do this if you can do it calmly. ONLY do this if you can do it without saying mean things about the other two girls. 
C) Take a little bit of time and think about something: If a friend of yours came to you with this exact situation, what would you tell her?
D) Finally, I think it's really important that you remember this: You don't have to stop liking her as a friend, or tell yourself that she's bad, or mean, or anything like that. But you might want to have a bus-riding friend who's a little more dependable and reliable. That might be a girl who isn't the most popular kid in the class...and you may be surprised how much you can grow to like someone whom you're overlooking right now!
Thanks for writing, and please let me know how it goes. I'll be thinking about you.
Questions? Conundrums? Comments? Leave them in the comment box, below, or email me at mrsditter@gmail.com.
And as always, thanks for reading.

Honoring a Deceased Parent's Birthday

Today's topic clearly falls into the "Not That You Asked" category, but I'll bet I'm not the only one who celebrates her parents' birthdays...even though they're no longer living.

My mom would be 90 today if she were still alive, and yes, if you're doing the math, that means she had me late in life. Those seven kids she had before producing me? Clearly, just warm-ups for the main attraction. 

Anyway, where was I? Mom. Right. And her birthday. And what, if anything, I do to commemorate it.

Over the last three years, I've done a variety of things on Mom's birthday. As best I can remember, they include the following:

1. Talk to her. Yeah, I talk to my dead mom. On her birthday, it's usually along the lines of "Thanks for having one last kid, and thanks for all the hard work you put in." Other days, I might be hollering at her for some leftover childhood piece of unfinished business. But I talk to her.

2. Write to her. Same as #1, only in letter form.

3. Email my siblings, who were the backbone of my childhood and are still part of the rock I stand on. Okay, that's an awkward mental image, given that backbones don't usually turn into rocks, but you get the idea.

4. Visit the cemetery and pour a little Starbucks on her grave. Really. She and Dad loved the luxury of going to Starbucks and getting a mocha.

5. Bring flowers from my yard and leave them on the grave.

6. Call her best friend.

7. Light a candle, either in real life or at Gratefulness.org, a terrific online community based on the teachings of Brother David Steindl-Rast and his colleagues. It's a network for grateful living (ANGeL, get it?). Check out this link of Br. David reading a short Billy Collins poem. Which has nothing to do with my mother's birthday, except she LOVED Br. David and loved poetry.

8. Sing "Happy Birthday" to her.

How about you? Any dead parents out there? What, if anything, do you do to remember them on their birthdays? 

Comments, questions, conundrums...leave them in the comments box, below.

You can also contact me at mrsditter@gmail.com.

And as always, thanks for reading.

Not That You Asked: Toxic Friends

Unless you've been hiding under a rock (as I tend to do on rainy days), you've missed some recent media buzz about toxic friends. Check out this video blog by Therese Borchard, who writes the Beyond Blue blog for Belief.net. Or take a look at this article by life coach Cheryl Richardson in the current Oprah Magazine. Or do a quick Google search on "toxic friends" and then choose from the 6.35 MILLION HITS that come up.

What's up with that?

It might just be our cultural propensity to label everything: If you're distractable, you have ADD. If your kids misbehave in public, you're an ineffective parent. And if a person persistently rubs you the wrong way, or if you feel exhausted after spending time with them, or you find yourself avoiding their emails and phone calls, you may be tempted to label them a toxic friend.

Fine. Do it. Slap the label on them.

But then step back and look at yourself from their point of view.

Hmm. Not so pretty, huh? There must be one or two things you've done that would legitimately piss someone off, right? There must be a pattern of annoying behavior that you've engaged in with at least one friend, right? Do you need to label yourself?

Well, do you? 

Does labeling a pattern of interaction change the basics of what happened, or does it just make it easier to get a handle on what happened and then make a decision about how to proceed? Are we more comfortable when we can gather up a basket of sharp-edged incidents and say, "She did this, she did this, OH MY GOD I CAN'T BELIEVE SHE SAID THAT, SHE KNOWS WE DON'T HAVE ANY MONEY RIGHT NOW, THAT WAS SO FUCKING INSENSITIVE, she did this, she said this..." and then take those incidents and label them "toxic"? Is that what we need to do before we can disengage ourselves from a relationship that we just don't want to be in? Do we need to justify leaving a friendship by giving it (and by extension, the other person) a poisonous label?

Why can't we just disengage? No drama, no fussing. No throwing shoes, as the funny and terrific Havi Brooks says. Just...stop.

While I don't disagree with the basic info in either the video blog (Borchard is an unusually honest and talented writer) or the Richardson article, I'm concerned that we're going to see a huge run on people labeling other people TOXIC.

And just what will that accomplish?

I've had friendships (short ones, thank the heavens) that I found emotionally exhausting for a variety of reasons, and I was grateful when those friendships ended. 

On the flip side, I know I was the emotionally exhausting person in other short-lived friendships.

That's human nature. That's just how we are. Sometimes we fit together, sometimes we don't. In the cases I'm thinking of, if I'd paid attention to my inner self screaming "Red light! Red light! Not a good friendship fit!" I would have saved myself time, frustration and hurt feelings. 

But out of those hurt feelings comes growth, and I'm grateful for that.

I just don't see the need to label it.

Questions? Comments? Leave them below, or email me at mrsditter@gmail.com. 

And as always, thanks for reading.

Excessive Worrying and How to Stop

Dear Mrs. D., These days I'm feeling bad about everything. The Republicans, global warming, food additives, cholesterol, eating meat, not composting, not recycling (enough), not giving to Amnesty International, or Emily's List, or The Farmworkers or Morris Dees or the Democratic Party, etc., etc. (can't afford it and who wants to employ charity triage?), going off my diet, my greying hair, my addiction to Hugh Laurie and mindless television, the disgusting state of American culture, pervasive violence against women in this country and all over the world, people who don't know the difference between "its" and "it's", Sarah Palin; I worry about the president, the economy, the terrible psychological toll of the job losses in this country, the greed on Wall Street, the upcoming elections, Sarah Palin, the religious right, Haiti, New Orleans...and much, much more. There doesn't seem to be any place to put my mind where things are good and decent. How many Jimmy Stewart/Henry Fonda/ Gregory Peck movies can a girl watch? Can you help? And please don't tell me about sunsets and rainbows, new babies and chocolate - well, chocolate maybe. Signed, Disconsolate
Oh, dear darling Disconsolate, I usually edit and shorten reader questions. However, yours was so heartfelt and, in its own way, funny, that it's one of the few I've used nearly verbatim (and did you notice the correct use of "its" and "it's" in that sentence? Yes, you're welcome.). 
First off, by all means employ chocolate if that helps. I will NOT tell you to think about sunsets and rainbows, unless those make you happy. Don't think about new babies, because that brings on thoughts of sleep deprivation, massive amounts of laundry, post-partum depression, and years and years of responsibility and heartache and possibly visits to Chuck E. Cheese, none of which will improve your mood.
Seriously, though, there are a ton of things you can do to lift your mood. I'm just going to throw out the list of stuff that I've found helpful.
1. Easy, easy, easy, and profoundly life-changing: Keep a gratitude journal. Mine is an old spiral bound notebook that one of the kids discarded. If you prefer to go shopping for a finely bound, beautiful journal, go for it. But get something to write in, and here's what you do: Every night before you go to bed, write down five things you're grateful for. Anything is game: I'm grateful for the air I breathe. I'm grateful for my bed. For my internet connection. For today's sunshine. For today's birdsong. For Hugh Laurie and mindless television. For the water I just used to brush my teeth. For my toothbrush. For my teeth. You get the idea. I challenge you to do this for three weeks and not feel a lifting of your mood.
I try to do the same thing in the morning, but usually I just roll out of bed, think "Thank you," and get moving. Doing it at night is my current version of saying my nightly prayers, and it's lovely.
2. Walk. Preferably in the fresh air. Even if the fresh air is full of flying water droplets. Every day. Really.
3. If you absolutely MUST feel bad about things, set your timer for five minutes and spend that five minutes listing, out loud, everything you feel  bad about. You could start with the wonderful letter you wrote me and go on from there. Sometimes just naming things takes the sting away.
4. Do NOT try to talk yourself out of your worries. You feel bad about certain stuff. You feel worried. That's reality.
However, don't believe everything you think. 
5. Do NOT try to convince yourself that things will never change. Unless you are Psychic Queen of the Universe, you don't know that six months from now things will still look as bleak as they do today. 
6. If you are feeling really down or anxious, see a psychiatrist and talk about mood-altering meds. Really. No shame in it. The study of brain chemistry is fascinating; the bad news is that the more you think a thought, the more deeply that way of thinking gets grooved into your brain (yup, just like a vinyl record). The excellent, exciting, terrific news is that YOUR BRAIN IS PLASTIC or malleable or whatever term you'd like to use. You can change those grooves with: medication, exercise, meditation, gratitude journals, piano playing, painting, deep breathing, praying, and on and on and on.
7. Increase your intake of water...not tea, not coffee, not Diet Coke. Water. Lots of it.
8. RIGHT NOW, go get a scrap of paper and write down five things you're grateful for. Email them to me, using the comments section below or go to mrsditter@gmail.com.
Questions? Comments? Love to hear what you're all thinking. And as usual, thanks for reading.