An element in my own destruction…

This morning I plan to destroy my back yard. Intentionally. I’ve been dreading it for over a year. I know it has to happen, but initiating the destruction of something I’ve spent years maintaining is daunting. I find solace that with this project, I’ve taken the time to compare contractors, select colors, and transplant fauna to prevent collateral damage. The decision is not impulsive, but carefully calculated to result in a net gain.

Many times I must be an agent of my own destruction. As my life, like my pool, springs leaks, I contort myself, using my fingers to plug the holes and maintain the status quo. But at some point, my arms become tired and, as I sag, the trickle I’ve avoided begins. When I spend all of my time containing leaks, I constrict myself with no room to grow.

So this morning I’m throwing in the towel. No more plugging leaks. I begin the almost masochistic process of removing the fence sections and barriers before my pool receives the facelift it deserves. Embracing the change is intimidating, but less terrifying than staying the same. At times, destruction is necessary so that something better can form.

Is it easier to confess to strangers? Does it count?

This morning I woke up and realized that I forgot to read Post Secret last Sunday. OK, so it wasn’t an earth shaking revelation – it isn’t like I missed a job interview. But for some reason, I faithfully examine the secrets every week.

I’ve never submitted one. I’ve considered it, but I have no idea what I would want to write. What message is so personal, so important, that it needs to be viewed by the world? And if it is that important, why would I mail it to someone I don’t know, with only a slight chance of being selected at random to actually appear on the site? Obviously it is easier to create a blog – hence a captive audience.

Social media brings our confessions to the forefront. Everyone clamors for attention, spewing their most private, controversial, or intimate thoughts in an attempt to claw their way to the limelight. Scary Mommy, a website I discovered over a year ago, operates on a similar premise, but in real time, providing mothers the chance to escape their lives and commiserate for a few moments during the day.

Sometimes a secret post validates me. Its heartfelt confession lifts the feeling of isolation, if only for a fleeting moment. But when that moment passes, I’m left with no confidant or friend, back in the precarious situation that left me seeking anonymous confessions in the first place.

Why is it less daunting to open my deepest darkest secrets to a stranger than it is to those I care for most? Is it truly attention seeking, or is it that somewhere inside, I can’t confess my true self to those I love most because that tiny voice inside reminds me that no one will ever love the real me?

So today, I send out a different type of challenge. Think of your secret and then, instead of writing it down or illustrating it in some beautiful form, tell your spouse. Or tell your friend. Tell the person whom you want to love you. For once, be brave and vulnerable – not pretty, not preplanned, just real. Maybe you’re embarrassed of your body. Maybe you’re hiding something from your childhood. Maybe its your family. Or maybe it is just an emotion that you can’t contain. But instead of remaining anonymous, be present. Perhaps we could change the world by removing the barriers and confessing to each other.

Who hid my root beer?

This morning a mysterious ring reappeared. This was not the first appearance of said ring, but hopefully will be the last. It first surfaced three weeks ago, hidden behind our DVR – not exactly an obvious location to mistakenly place a ring. We questioned our children repeatedly, trying to determine the source, but to no avail. Did a friend leave it after a play date? Did someone pick it up on the playground? Did someone steal it? No one confessed, so my husband placed it beside our phone handset and continued cleaning the house. Later that evening, the ring was gone.

The following afternoon I noticed the ring on the coffee table, next to a basket of TV remotes. I ignored it, assuming my husband had again examined it, but later that evening he questioned me regarding its location. The ring had again disappeared. We searched under the table, through the sofa, and eventually through the house but is had again vanished into thin air.

So today, my son emerged from our basement, ring in hand. “I found it on the blanket,” is the only explanation I’ve received. This blanket is not nicely folded in a pile, but draped across the floor. Yesterday it was draped across a sofa. The day before that it was a tent. It is not a stationary blanket. And the ring was not regurgitated by a cat, which indicates someone either placed or dropped it there.

My daughter concurs, “He did. I saw it.” I don’t know if that makes me feel better or worse. Is he lying or did he find it? Are they working together?

It is a strange state of affairs when your children begin to deceive you intentionally. I question, did I dream that? Am I losing my mind? Shoes, homework, my little ponies – they all appear and vanish into the void at random. At times I feel like I’m developing Alzheimer’s. Do I punish them so harshly that they feel the need to lie to me? Or am I so lenient that they know they can manipulate me? And what if I know they’re lying, but can’t prove it? Should I be proud or worried that they’re smart enough to cover their tracks and stick together? And what is the appropriate punishment for a lie?

Now, who hid my root beer?

My first blog

This morning, I struggle with snakes. We shelter a plethora of snakes on the drain tiles under our home. While walking to the swing set, our daughter startled one, sending it slithering behind a bush. Snakes can be positive, I remind myself. They eat mice and rats. We've actually never had a mouse or a rat. But they're quiet. You never notice the snake until you're almost on top of it.

Life seems to work the same way - serene on the surface but teeming with snakes beneath. At times, those you trust seem to stab you in the back for no good reason. The duplicity unnerves me because I can't rationalize it. I love a rational argument. There doesn't have to be a winner - you don't need to convince me that you are correct (and probably won't) but I will listen, even to ramblings that I vehemently oppose. They simply confirm my convictions in my mind. And I try to respect others' opinions, to allow the same space for their musings that I expect for my own.

But personalities always create friction. Even unsaid, tension is felt. It can be felt through texts, phone lines, and in person. If someone skates an issue, or glosses over it, there is always a tell. I used to ignore those feelings - push them down and reprimand myself for overreacting. I've spent my life being admonished not to rock the boat.

But, at what point do you draw the line? When someone hurts you, do you confront them? If so, what is to be gained when you know that the mind you approach is already closed? Is it possible to have a meaningful conversation when probability dictates that the closed mind will shut you out and run around town, screaming drama? What if this person is someone your child admires? What if doing so might disappoint your child now? Do I swallow my pride and sit alongside the snake?