Social Stressing Network

My husband sometimes (kiddingly?) accuses me of being "anti-technology." I'm actually not anti-technology at all. I just don't want a Kindle as I perfer the tangible feel and smell of a book in my hands. I like to turn the pages. Books bring me comfort in a way that technology never could. Plus, screens bother whatever it is about me that is inherently "migrainey."

You should also know Fahrenheit 451 is one of my favorite books. It's a quick read if you've never picked it up and it will freak. you. out.

So, now that we've got all that out on the table, let me tell you the latest theory I have for which I am going to be accused of being "anti-technology" *even though I'm not.*

I think social-networking might be women kryptonite.

Women by nature are social creatures. We are pack animals. I look at my facebook page and who's active on it? Largely it's women. Women tend to have friends as men tend to look at us blankly when we say thinks to them like, "who can you lean on in this?" or "which of your friends can you call for advice?" or even "who do you want to invite to the party?" When it comes to social networking, we have Mark Zuckerberg to thank for invention, but we have women to thank for driving the bus.

And women, let's face it, we are freaking emotional beasts. So, as I see it, expanding our social network has become problematic.

Recently I encountered two different women stressed about the same thing: letting go. I spent time with a mom worried about Pre-K starting because "it's the last year she'll be at home. Next year is kkkinnnnddddergarten!!!" (and this is a mom I consider really down to earth). Then I got home to encounter a friend (well, actually "friends" plural but we'll stick to just the one in mind) on facebook who just dropped her firstborn off at college. And it occurred to me, these two particular women don't know one another, but each one of them is active on facebook. They are in totally different phases of life and yet they are feeding off of one another's anxieties.

Worried about your kid leaving for college? Escape to facebook. Brew a cup of coffee, turn on the computer, plop down that metaphorical suitcase full of problems you lug around, and hit up your homepage. And what will you find there? Other people's insecurities just waiting to feed into your own. You'll find photos of newborns swaddled safely in the arms of new mothers wearing hospital gowns. Scroll down your newsfeed as you see dad's playing tee-ball with their little ones, first day photos of every age, and... hey... all of your own child's newborn photos are just one or two little clicks away. See it... right there on the left... that little folder icon contains in it years of photographs just waiting for you to weepily reminisce. An hour or so social networking and your rolling suitcase of worry is a little bit heavier instead of lighter.

Or perhaps you're a young mother. Your child spends pretty much all of her time with you, breaking only to hop in and out of preschool a couple of times a week. You are emotionally worn thin as you sleep little and are needed constantly. Don't worry, facebook is a great escape. Plop down on the couch with a Diet Coke and your own metaphorical hiking backpack of worry and flip on over to facebook. Note the number of times older friends have commented on your child's photo saying things like, "Keep them this young forever!" and "It goes FAST! Savor it!" Scroll through your newsfeed and worry with all of the mothers in agony over sending their children off to college or even worse... kindergarden. You get up to leave the couch and swing that backpack full of worry back onto your shoulder. Did someone add a few rocks into it when you weren't looking?

Moms, what are we doing to ourselves? We are worriers by nature. Yes, it is good for us to worry about our kiddos. That's what keeps them from playing in traffic. But enough is enough. I don't need to be worried about sending my four year old to kindergarten, much less college. I need to be worried about keeping her alive and well today. Period.

I'm not lessening the validity of these worries. I think that worries over "leaving the nest" are incredibly valid. What I'm saying is that long long ago in a galaxy far far away before facebook women actually turned to one another for support and advice. They didn't have the internet. If they felt anxious and worried, they turned to their elders. Now, thanks to the beauty of social networking, the elders are the ones making us anxious. You young moms know what I'm talking about - the friend of your parent that is constantly getting on facebook and telling young moms they barely know to "savor it" or "stop time." Boomers, we love you but you're killing us here. You are adding little pebbles of worry into our baggage, little notes of anxiety telling us that life is better here where we are now than it is there, where we will someday be.

Don't get me wrong: I'm not saying that we shouldn't hide our concerns and fears or pretend they don't exist. I'm just saying that we need to be aware of the fact that facebook is a dumping ground for everyone else's stress and we don't need to pick up theirs. We don't have to delete our facebook accounts or hide from the internet. We just need to be careful to not add to everyone else's anxiety to our own.

Dumping your worry onto facebook doesn't make your worry go away. It makes everyone else anxious too. If you are worried about sending a kid off to college, invite over someone who has been there and done that and make them a cup of coffee. If you're stressed out over kindergarten, don't pour your anxiety over everyone who might also be anxious about that. Call a mom who has passed those days and pick her brain. Facebook is fun. It is social. But pouring out your anxiety on facebook doesn't rid your life of the anxiety, it just spreads it. Real life interactions with real life people, face to face or on the phone at least, that's what will alleviate some of your stress.

I can see all of this anxiety that facebook causes because I get sucked into it. But then I shake my head back into the present and remember that those are not my problems. I've got my own 1950s style clutch that I bring with my cup of coffee when I sign in to the internet, and it doesn't involve anxiety about college. Well, perhaps it does. But for now at least that folder is neatly labeled, fairly empty, and tucked in the back for later.

Ah ha ha ha Stayin' Alive Stayin' Alive

Hey, Blog. I'm alive. I'm kind of sick of my blog and Facebook. Perhaps for no other reason than my grouchy Svendsen gene. I AM related to Ed the Red after all. I don't know. To quote my cousin as a child, "One dalmatian. A hundred dalmatians. Dog. Dog. Dog. I don't know."

After going to the writer's conference recently, and signging up Carolena for ballet ($$$$$) I'm trying to spend my writing time in a more productive manner and sending off to publications. Yes, really. I'm just stumbling around though. I have no real direction or purpose. Maybe that will come someday. Really, I have a degree in theology and should be writing in that capacity... but that's intimidating. Rejection in the theological ring sounds painful. For now, getting rejected from a woman's magazine sounds far less hurtful. Plus, they pay a dollar a word and that sounds like one story would cover ballet. Damn, two would practically cover vacation.

I'm not in a funk or a bad mood. I'm just sick of the summer. *gasp*  say it ain't so! There will come a point in the year when my friends in places farther north are sick of the winter. They'll be ready to go outside and play. That's where we are. I'm ready to be outside again and not sweaty on every single inch of my body. Just getting kids in and out of the car makes us all soaked. I'm ready for fall. You know, fall, when it's still hot but the humidity has dropped just enough for us to sit outside with coffee and not put ice in it.

Last year Kelly told me that it was time for her eldest to either start Kindergarten or find work as a hired hand on a whaling ship. I realize we're talking Pre-K here... but I'm beginning to see what she was talking about. C is sick of summer too. We've exhausted the fun. Too much fun is no longer fun. Plus our friends the Double H's are here: HOT and HUMID. The pool is luke-warm. The splashpad is shooting out lava. C is antsy. She's ready for school to start again. Hell, had it been up to her, we never would have stopped for summer.

We've still got a sizeable chunk of summer in our house as kids don't go back until after Labor Day. So, I've got to think... what would Mr. Toad do...? "Here today, up and off to somewhere else tomorrow! Travel, change, interest, excitement! The whole world before you, and a horizon that's always changing!" Perhaps we need another adventure.

Why? the Workout Edition

Why? Sometimes I find that question terrifying. If I don't know the answer, it feels as if everything I hold to be true can crumble. But I'm finding as life goes on that more often than not the question "why?" is answered with "I don't know." And then the questioning leads to deepening.

A terrible time to ask oneself "why" is at 440am when the alarm is beeping. The appropriate response to such a thing is to hop out of bed, turn off the alarm, turn on the coffee pot, and get moving. Don't ask "why" before 5am. But later in the day... "why?"

Friends rarely (never?) ask me about what drives me. They know that I rise early. They know that I go to Weight Watchers. They know that I exercise three times a week. They don't ask about it. You know who does? People at the gym. And they ask often.

I find myself approached all of the time by people at the gym picking my brain for what motivates me. They want to know what time I wake up. What I eat for breakfast. Do I get up early everyday or just workout days? How do I move up in my weights? How do I stay committed? The questions are varied and constant.

I answer their questions as best I can. I think everyone ultimately has to find what works best for them. I've just found what works for me. For now. I'm happy to share that with people if it will help them to figure out what will work in their lives.

My alarm goes off at 440am on M/W/F and 5 T/TH/Sun at which point I never ask "why?" and if I accidentally do ask the dreaded question then my answer to myself is simple: "because this is who I am." Because this is who I am... that leads to hopping out of bed and walking to the kitchen. All I have to do is plug in the coffee pot because I got it ready to go the night before. I head to the bathroom and put on the workout clothes I left out for myself (or slept in depending on what I'm wearing that day). Then it's back to the kitchen for coffee and a greek yogurt. I leave the house at 5 with my water bottle in hand (that was also made the night before). Always. I do not miss a workout unless I am sick (no, really. migraine or SICK) or out of town. That's the rule. I stick to it.

Then, I make it count. Women are always interested in how I move up in my weights. I am happy to share that advice: I use the wisdom of a dear friend and Nils' godfather, "I just do it."

Oh, need a better explanation than that? Okay, well, I think back to my first weeks in the class. It was hard. Haaarrrddd. Is the class still hard? No? Then put on an extra "baby" weight. At the end of an exercise are your arms shaking and you feel like you are going to drop the weight? No? You could add a baby next time. You don't have to do that for every muscle group. Just pick one or two muscle groups and move up. Women can lift much more than we think. The other thing is this: I didn't move to the front of the class because I got stronger. I moved to the front of the class in order to get stronger. If you stand in the back you can't see yourself in the mirror. You can't watch your form. I stand in the front so that I don't have to pay attention to what I'm doing - I can just hang out and watch that girl in the mirror lift weights. That's a tricky piece of advice though... because spots in the front are limited. Don't take mine. It's funny that people always ask me how to move up in their weights when I'm always trying to move up in mine. I guess weight lifting is the same as anything - there will always be someone richer/poorer, taller/shorter, stronger/weaker than me.

But... why? Yes, why indeed? Last year when my mom and I went to see Jillian Michaels she talked about how everyone has to find their own "why" - their reason for wanting to be healthy, their ultimate motivating factor(s) for eating well, exercising, and taking care of their general well-being. The thing is, you can share yours with people, I can share mine with you (and I will), but you have to find your own. You can borrow other people's for a little while, but I can assure you from experience, when you are covered in sweat and trying to chest press 40lbs for the 100th time in a row (BodyPump!)... someone else's "why" just ain't gonna cut it.

My "whys" - in no particular order other than coming to mind right now:

1. When I was in college I went to class. Pretty much always. For two reasons: 1. If I made a poor grade in a class and I didn't go then I had nothing to blame but that. I didn't go. Done. The same holds true for me with my body. I have to do my best to take care of it. If I am eating well and exercising, then at least the things within my control are at their best. 2. I looked at the people I knew who were skipping class and didn't want to be "one of them." I am a person who goes to class. I feel the same way about exercising and eating well. That is who I am. If a line is drawn on the sand, I am on this side of it.

2. I look at my husband and my children. I love them with all of my heart. And I know that they love me. I have to take care of myself.

3.  Thanksgiving. I am truly thankful for what God has given me and thus I take care of it.

Those are my "why." Those are the things that drive me. Those are my driving factors that don't change. There are other "whys" that come and go. Sometimes my bathing suit matters to me, and honestly sometimes it doesn't. I know bathing suit is a legitimate "why" for many - if that's your "why" - awesome! Go for it! Sometimes an upcoming event matters and can motivate me. I have a wedding later this year and I'm sure that will be a number 4 on the list in a few months. But those top three are always there. "Whys" can be as deep or as shallow as they need to be. It doesn't matter what they are. It's just what moves you.

Jillian Michaels told us hers. Jillian Michaels, Jillian Michaels doesn't like to exercise. Nope, truly. She said she is a "clock-watcher" counting down the minutes until a workout is finished. Want to know why she works out? Because she wants to wear bikinis. Believe her? I have a feeling that's just one of many.

It doesn't matter what your why is as long as you find it and it moves you, even if it changes.

My grandfather Ed the Red inspires me. He ate well and exercised and went to the doctor. He was the picture of good health, and here's what I learned from him. The picture of good heath doesn't mean you don't get sick. Really sick. It doesn't mean you don't have health scares or surgeries. It means when you do, they're more likely to be caught early and the chances are higher that your body is healthy and strong and you can bounce back. It means you feel pretty darn good in your day-to-day life because you are taking care of yourself. It means you spend your eighties traveling and painting and cooking and doing things you love. It means you live to an old age and your eldest grandkids, who knew you well because of said old age, raid your fridge after your funeral and drink all of your beer. That's my plan and I'm sticking to it. Except, you're in luck future grandchildren: I drink bourbon. You're welcome.

PESTO!!!

I always call Carolena "my good helper" around the kitchen. She loves to hop up on the "stand for something" crate and whip up a treat. This morning in the car she leaned over to Nils and said, "Nils, you're my good helper. Did you know that my bud? You're my good helper. I'm Mommy's good helper. And you're my good helper."

It's true. I have a living room covered in toys to prove it.

Hello Audience

Last Saturday I went to my first writers' conference. I say "first" because I hope to attend more in the future..........

I didn't mean to just press the period key that long. Oh well, I'll let it ride.

The conference was great and gave me so much to think about. It was nice to be in a formal learning setting, sitting at a table with a pencil in hand. Although, I forgot to bring a pencil and had to bum a writing implement off the gal beside me (Thanks Mom!).

Among other things to ponder with my love for writing, I have to admit: I never give much thought to audience. I just write. Huh, so... hey there, you. What's happenen' hot stuff?

Hey, speaking of Sixteen Candles, guess what two "look-alikes" Nils gets compared to most often? Prince George (duh) and... JAMES SPADER IN PRETTY IN PINK! WHAT?! You have no idea how often people say this. Which is weird. Why are people referencing Pretty in Pink that often?


I mean, I do dress him like this:

A quick google search came up with this one-liner from that character, "Money really means nothing to me. Do you think I'd treat my parents' house this way if it did?"

Oh, yep, I see it now.

Oh yeah... I'm supposed to be considering my audience. Well, this is awkward... um *cough* I got nothin. If I think about what YOU want to read then I can't write about whatever strikes MY fancy.

Hmph. I have a scrapbook to work on (When was our vacation? We're already planning next year's vacation and I still haven't made this year's book) and some writing contests and submissions etc etc etc to mull over. Wah wah wah.

You're weird. Consider you? I shan't.

Love, Casey

Who Am I?!

Years ago my sister and I invented something we refer to as "the game." I use the term "invented" loosely here as I'm sure it existed already. What is "the game?" I'm glad you asked. Well, it's a game where we decide who everyone in our family would be in a movie. Sounds simple right? But it's not who people in our family would want to be in a movie... it's who they would be. And it's not who they would play if we were acting out the movie... it's who they are in the movie. The rules to this game are somewhat difficult to explain because they are unspoken. You just have to play and you either get it or you don't. And actually, we don't let anyone else play because we are mean... soooo... yeah... awwkkkwarrrddd.

Anyway, when we're together we like to name a movie and then start doling out the parts.

So, for instance, in Austin Powers 3 my mom is Foxy Cleopatra, my dad is Michael Cane (and might always be Michael Cane in this game...?), Hunter is Austin Powers, I'm Goldmember, and Kelly is Henchman arbitrarily turning knobs. For some reason of all of these designations the only person offended is Kelly. I have to live with being Goldmember and she complains about being Henchman arbitrarily turning knobs. I'm not sure it's actually the character designation that bothers her as much as how hard I laugh at that. Every time. Judge's rule on her complaint? I'll allow it. It's the first child's prerogative to whine. It's the second child's prerogative to eat old candy found in the couch.

So, Goldmember, eh? Who else am I?
Well, I'm Miracle Max in The Princess Bride (Kelly is not a witch, she's my wife!).

and this girl in Mean Girls

 

And Anthony in Bottlerocket due primarily to this one scene:
"One morning, over at Elizabeth's beach house, she asked me if I'd rather go water-skiing or lay out. And I realized that not only did I not want to answer THAT question, but I never wanted to answer another water-sports question, or see any of these people again for the rest of my life."

Hilariously Kelly is Future Man in Bottle Rocket. None of us can quite articulate exactly why, but my friend Julie and I started referring to her as Future Man pretty much the instant we saw that movie for the first time in high school and it just stuck. It works. If you haven't seen that movie I provided a clip - but don't watch it with small children or easily offended people nearby.



I need to call Kelly. I'm having an identity crisis and I can't remember who else I am! Although... looking at this list of characters... maybe that's a good thing.