The secret to sanity

I usually keep at least one candle lit in the house, saying a prayer when I light it. Candles definitely lend a romantic, mysterious ambiance to any interior. I also keep a candle on the porch; when I'm expecting a visitor or family member who's been traveling, I light the candle to welcome them.

Most parents’ lives aren’t packed with mystery. (“Honey, Baby Bobby’s poopie isn’t so green today!”) But I believe one path to happiness lies through mystery.

I studied Latin with a ballerina named Camille at Indiana University, and I was always amazed at her perfect grades. One day, I asked her how she did it so effortlessly. She confided that she lit candles, played Gregorian chants, and pretended she was a medieval monk translating texts.

Back then, I thought she was a weirdo. Now I think she was a total genius, a visionary. She was using her imagination and embracing humanity’s mysterious past.

The big-deal psychologist Carl Jung lends cred to the need for mystery. Jung said, “Show me a sane man, and I will cure him for you.”

There’s two lessons to take away from this: As a psychologist, Jung exhibited keen business sense by doubling his customer base to include the sane and insane. The second lesson is that it’s crazy to view life totally in factual, scientific terms.

I’ve felt more grounded since I increased my exposure to mystery. I volunteer at the Oriental Institute, a free (!!!) museum in the University of Chicago dealing with adventure and archaeology.

Indiana Jones would’ve studied there–in fact, the character is based on a real OI Egyptologist. At the OI you’ll see artifacts from the place many believe Armageddon will occur, and I’m always relieved to see the end of the world will not occur in a bathroom in my house.

With every artifact I see, I have the same reaction as Chris Farley in Tommy Boy: “That–was–awesome!” Seriously, I stand before a bit of Dead Sea Scroll with my hair blowing like I’m in a shampoo commercial.

If you’re stressed, you may feel you can’t escape an unpleasant situation, but there are many local ways to escape into mystery. Worship and meditation help. So might reading a mystery or ghostly book by Region authors Mark Marimen, Kate Collins, or Scarlett Dean. A drive along Red Arrow and Blue Star highways in Michigan can be mysterious as you wonder what’s beyond each bend.

Museums make you feel you’re investigating a mystery–I love how the fairy castle in the Museum of Science and Industry is deep in the basement, just as the most primitive part of your brain is deep inside.

Turn off the computer, and light a candle. I missed the last issue of Cosmopolitan magazine, but I doubt it featured the article “Kim Kardashian’s Seduction Secrets (Hint: Light-Emitting Diodes!).”

I also think it’s important to lend enchantment to children’s lives. At the OI, I found an Egyptian perfume bottle, where I keep fairy dust to sprinkle on my kids before lights out.

How to win a pickup game

will.i.am’s mix, above, is an awesome picking up song–and the bass solos are suh-weet!

Today’s topic is tidiness. In the countless conversations I’ve had with my girlfriend Gracia, I’ve felt the most profound sisterhood when we discuss keeping the house picked up. When the house is in order, I feel more well-being and control over life. But with four kids age 11 and younger and an aging Jack Russell Terrier, having a picked-up house is an elusive trophy. So here’s what works for me.

If you pick up throughout the day, you will at least keep up with the mess–over time, you’ll eventually conquer it. Many household managers advocate just picking up once or twice during the day, so you’re not constantly irritated by the repetitive, boring task. Either way, remember: We’re not trying to get your house perfect, just better than the day before.

If you schedule a pickup time, make it during your favorite TV show, so the task is done before you know it. You’ll get exercise while enjoying your show.

Pick times of the day when you have lots of physical energy, though you may not need much mental acuity. You’ll be happier and more productive, picking up more toys in less time and saving time for other chores.

Never go anywhere empty handed. I live in a quad-level house, and my kids drag toys and socks and underwear from one level to another. So when I go downstairs, I take diapers to the garbage. When I go upstairs, I take dirty socks to the hamper. Baskets are a good way to collect items to take from one level to another.

Play mind games. When I look around, often so much needs to be picked up, it’d be easy to get frustrated and give up. So when I pass through the area, my rule is to only pick up three items. I know this sounds a little obsessive-compulsive, but bear with me. Three items takes 15 seconds, gives you a feeling of control–and soon, the clutter is all picked up, which reduces your frustration.

Before you let your kids watch TV or play video games, have them do their homework and pick up. If they made a huge mess, have them just pick up five or twenty items each, depending on their ages.

Don’t forget to reward yourself for all your picking up throughout the day–maybe a cup of green tea at night or a bubble bath.

Write me with your strategies for keeping a picked-up house. That way, we know we’re not alone.

Taking time for you when you have no time at all

It only takes a split second to renew yourself.

(Blogger’s note: I received a request today for a column printed in 2009 in The Times; indeed, it does seem relevant as ever, given that we’re in a season in which parents are getting bogged down with work, requests for fund-raisers, fall sports, and the like.)

Today’s column is about taking time out for you. With the advent of beautiful weather, I get outside when I can and take the kids with me. Outdoors, I don’t worry about them watching too much TV or getting too little exercise. I get my workout and keep the mess out of the house.

Last column I discussed making goals. To minimize burnout and maximize your wellness, take a few minutes to determine if your life is balanced as possible. Do you take time for your intellectual development? This can be as simple as picking up the newspaper and reading one article you normally wouldn’t.

Practice your spiritual wellness. Take five minutes to read about faith, pray, or meditate.

Do something today for your physical well-being. Substitute a healthy snack for that candy bar. If you can’t spare the time today, plan to wake early tomorrow to walk around the block before your kids awaken.

Most moms have no problem fulfilling the interpersonal side of life. So think about ways to improve. Start by giving everybody in your family an extra hug today.

Satisfy the vocational element of your life. If you work outside the home, solve a problem at work or join a professional group. If you work inside the home, connect with another home manager to make yourself the best you can be.

Most moms don’t have lots of time to ponder their wholeness. But almost everybody can spare 15 minutes a day, if only after your kids go to bed. And 15 minutes is all it takes to turn around how you feel about your life.

Graduating? You need your sorority more than ever

My legacy

Graduating? You need your sorority more than ever.

Sister, I was a senior too, finding excuses to miss chapter meetings, rolling my eyes and wincing as we clapped and cheered during rush. Twenty years later, I realized the clapping and cheering were seriously awesome.

I was one of 125 women who colonized Indiana University for Tri Sigma in the late ‘80s. Many did burn out—while finding our way, we often had five-hour chapter meetings. (Now I have four small kids, and I call the chance to sit for five hours “the spa.”)

After graduation, I moved thirteen hours from home to St. Paul, Minnesota. I didn’t know the grocery store’s name, let alone how to get there. The five parties a week I took for granted in college dwindled to none a year. Those clusters of purple-and-white balloons I didn’t glance at in senior year would’ve looked incredibly festive to me.

I endured depression for two years until my mother suggested I connect with Tri-Sigma’s St. Paul alumnae chapter; I also joined the Junior League of St. Paul. Suddenly, I had an instant anchor, women whose family had lived in the area for 150 years—women who knew how to show a newcomer a good time.

The same thing that drove me crazy three years before—women expecting me to show up—brought me career satisfaction and personal happiness. When jobs returned me to Indiana, I missed—and still do—those women and the Minnesota they taught me to love.

After graduation, you might move thousands of miles to someplace you know nobody. You will be a blank slate. Few will know your name; nobody will know your values. Some things you take for granted—money, perhaps, or the emotional support of family and friends—will disappear as you learn some people aren’t good at long-distance relationships.

Even if you return home, people will only know the old you, whereas you know your sorority sisters better than you think. Recently, I had drinks with a pledge sister two years older than I—so I didn’t know her well—and I heard her laugh for the first time in two decades. I was stunned to recognize the same laugh and the same whimsical sense of humor.

The moment you graduate, the carrots-on-sticks stop: no more honors, awards, or grants. If you marry or have children immediately, you will be taken for granted. Babies can’t talk, and the most ardent boyfriend turns into a husband who comes home at night too exhausted to talk.

I’ve written before in my blog at http://www.wormsoup.wordpress.com that our culture is based on discontent. So after you cook a five-course, gourmet meal, your partner says, “That was good.”

Good? Some people in this world only eat a handful of rice a day. That meal was great!

But still I didn’t understand the value of cheering until I took my toddlers to Kindermusik. After every activity, we adults cheered, even if our child spent the whole time in the bathroom. We were celebrating progress, however small.

I’ve learned support, encouragement, and cheer are the underpinnings of every sorority relationship. No matter your walk of life, you need that: The world is full of people who tear down others, perhaps because of their own unhappiness, perhaps because they don’t know any better.

Because of our consciousness, every human has an identity, and after you leave your university, you’ll re-establish yours, whether you realize it or not. Now you need your sorority most: One inescapable part of your identity is your sisters once saw and accepted the unfinished you and realized your potential and how special you are. If they saw it, you must see it.

If you uphold the bonds of sisterhood you promised to uphold forever, you’ll cement your confidence to uphold other forever bonds, like marriage and children, and you’ll have access to women who can help you.

Contact your national office, and find your closest alumnae chapter. If you can’t find one, start one—I am, and it takes an average of five minutes a day, every day. (And yes, this is a shameless plug for Northwest Indiana Alumnae Chapter of Sigma Sigma Sigma.)

I’ll be cheering for you.

Pool philosophy

Take that leap--now!

So I’m in the pool at Innsbrook Country Club, and I challenge my son Max, 6, to a hop-like-a-frog race. Immediately, he bobbed to the end of the pool, beating me by at least four yards.

“No fair!” I yelled. “I want a rematch!”

Not until I drank a glass of Pinot did I realize the match *was* fair, after all. I told him we would race, and he began. I wanted to go backward to the opposite edge of the pool and wait for a ceremonial “ready-set-go!” so I could hop my fastest.

By differently interpreting the rules of our race, Max was pretty smart; when he didn’t procrastinate like I did, he didn’t need to race as fast or hop as far.

My son—who incidentally likes to pretend he’s a cat—knows something many sixtysomethings don’t: Don’t wait until you think all conditions are right. Start *now* toward your goals.

I’ve been working on this myself. Instead of telling myself, “Because I cheated on my diet with that Ho-Ho today, I’ll start eating better tomorrow,” I’ve been saying, “I caught myself snacking on that Ho-Ho instead of eating it mindlessly. What an improvement!”

That is, I didn’t make a mistake; I made a start.

I wish I would’ve thought that way when I was 23, in the midst of a recession, and struggling to find a media job in Minneapolis-St. Paul—where everybody in the Northern Hemisphere seemingly also wanted a job.

One day, after getting my sixty-seventh rejection, I lay on the sofa, stared at the ceiling, and cried. On my breaks at my $4.25-an-hour temp jobs, I would call back to the companies who said, “Call back in a few weeks, and maybe–”

I did. One day, a managing editor named Harvey Rockwood (really, that’s his name) blurted, “I’m glad you called. I found out an hour ago that I need a copy editor—fast!”

Now, as I train myself to live more healthfully, I’ve been retraining myself to envision success as a process, not a state. We watch “Cribs” on MTV and think celebrities were born with some celestial tuba’s “oompah” that rendered them superstars.

By the way, not even the fabulous live so fabulously. Frequently they joke on camera about the designer they hired to clean their refrigerator and arrange products on its shelves so you think they really do swill the energy drinks they endorse. We don’t see or consider the years of practice and rejection stars endured to *become.*

Even negatives bring us closer to a positive. Wayne Gretzky said, “You miss 100 percent of the shots you don’t take.” Reverse that statement, and you’ll realize that if you keep trying, eventually, you’ll score a goal.

As a postscript, if you think it’s weird that a woman my age is conducting hop-like-a-frog races, according to livestrong.com, I lost 300 calories playing in the water that day. So there!

Comforting Poems of Life, Love, and Happiness

Once upon a time, someone that cared for me gave me a rose. …

 

Thus begins a poem by my cousin, Waldemar F. Kissel III. My grandparents Kissel had five children, and all love to talk and express themselves. My cousin continues the family tradition with his first book, Comforting Poems of Life, Love, and Happiness. 

 

Wally’s personal warmth shines through each poem, making this the perfect book to curl up with at the end of a long day. Visit http://www.comfortingpoems.com for sample poetry and for on-line booksellers, including http://www.amazon.com and http://www.bn.com, Barnes & Noble’s on-line retailer. Enjoy!

 

 

Vintage German recipe: dumplings

My grandparents owned a butcher shop in Evansville, Ind.–it sounds like it must’ve been an early grocery store–so there was always good eating in their home. Following is a recipe passed to my mom from her mom, Maxine Kissel. I remember being a little girl and watching Mom roll these out–a crucial memory in the success of this recipe, because here’s the thing:

These are the best dumplings ever.

Better than the Amish dumplings in pricey tourist traps, better than the frozen briquettes in the grocery store.

How could one woman’s flour and water differ so dramatically from another’s? There are two secrets. First, remember how I watched my mom roll out dough? She rolled them thick, say, between a fourth and an eighth of an inch. While experimenting with the recipe, I got carried away and rolled them to a half inch. You guessed it: The dumplings swelled in water, and I was left with an inedible pot of damp bread.

The second secret: Boil cheap parts of chicken for these dumplings; fat enhances the flavor. Healthy? No, but remember, my German-American ancestors worked long, hot, hard days: Their food needed to fill and fortify. Eat these dumplings, and you’ll feel like you could conquer a country. Of course, they ate less than we do: The recipe below fed a family of eight; I had to double it to feed two adults and four children. Wonderfully, the dumplings freeze perfectly, so you can thaw them for a home-cooked triumph on your busiest days.

Kissel family recipe dumplings

Mix 1 cup all-purpose flour, 2 teaspoons baking powder, and ½ teaspoon salt. Set aside. Beat 1 egg, stir in 2 tablespoons milk and 2 tablespoons melted butter. Add to flour mixture. Stir until mixed together to form a ball.

If too dry, add more milk. If too wet, add a little flour.

Dust wax paper and rolling pin with flour. Roll out the mixture on the wax paper. Cut in squares with a regular place knife. If time, let them dry. Add them to a pot of boiled chicken and a cup or two of chicken bouillon, boil twenty minutes, and–as my grandparents would’ve said, “Das ist gut!”

Hoosier comfort food: butterscotch, potato chip cookies

Southern Indiana, where I grew up, is big on comfort food. Specifically, I grew up in Newburgh, now a suburb of Evansville. Newburgh is known for its gorgeous houses–and as the first town captured by the Confederacy during the Civil War.

I understand the day wasn’t marked by the gore and bloodshed typical of the War Between the States–how true it is, Axl, that there’s nothing civil about war!–rather, family reunions and tea parties celebrated the takeover. Today, the area is still super southern. Now that I live at the other end of Highway 41 in Indiana, I regard the Evansville area the last stop for good barbecue.

When you can see Kentucky across the Ohio, you’re bound to get some yummy home-cooking, so here’s an old Pfettscher family recipe. I made it for my kids, who inhaled them. Having lots of kids, I automatically double recipes, so if you double the below recipe, you’ll have a huge yield, enough to take to a neighbor or freeze–don’t worry, the potato chips will still be crunchy. This is a great sweet for someone who doesn’t like chocolate, and if you eat them warm, the potato chips and butterscotch will melt together in your mouth.

Yield: about 30 cookies

• 1 cup butter, softened
• 1 cup granulated sugar
• 1 cup firmly packed brown sugar (If you run out of brown sugar, you can substitute regular granulated, but the effect won’t be as buttery.)
• 2 large eggs
• 1 teaspoon vanilla extract
• 2 1/2 cups all-purpose flour
• 1 teaspoon baking soda
• 1/8 teaspoon salt
• 2 cups crushed potato chips
• 1 cup butterscotch flavored chips

Preheat oven to 375°F.

Mix butter, sugar, and brown sugar. Add eggs and vanilla, and beat until smooth. Sift together flour, baking soda, and salt in a separate bowl. Combine. Stir in potato chips and butterscotch chips. Mix well.

Drop by rounded teaspoons 2 inches apart onto baking sheets.

Bake 10 to 12 minutes.

Be the helicopter parent with the mostest

Now that winter weather has finally set in, I’ve continued my daily walks with my dog, Bandit. Although he was neutered, he never got the memo, so it does look a little silly for such a macho dog to wear a green striped sweater that makes him look like his name should be Mr. Whiskers.

I’ve always treated family pets like fuzzy people, something my children picked up. Sometimes, that’s not good. On the master bathroom tub, I keep a large seashell for rinsing my hair. When the children were babies, I washed them with it as a daily reminder of baptism.

Yesterday I saw my daughter run through the house, seashell in hand. My sons sprinted behind her, and my maternal alarm rang. I vaulted up the stairs to see my daughter baptizing our kitten. I delivered the talk that, yes, Piki has a soul, but no, we don’t wash cats.

Situation changes everything.

My mother was perhaps the first helicopter parent; she carted me from ballet to piano to voice to Girl Scouts. At age eight, I remember telling my priest how stressed out I was. Today, many moms still want to give their kids ballet classes that cost $200 every two months. Taking kids to The Right Place enhances Yuppie mom cred.

But different cultures demand different skills. A recent article in the Yemen Times argues women shouldn’t drive cars because only a few have “serious errands, so…they waste money for nothing.” Maged Thabet Al-Kholidy, the article’s author, claims a woman “with a weak heart” fainted after a fender bender he witnessed.

Consider what would happen to your family if Mom couldn’t drive. Your family would probably die.

In our precarious economy, I predict survival will favor people capable of building networks and the community. Helicopter parenting in these conditions would consist of helping others, which costs nothing and teaches children stronger character than $200 ballet lessons.

Many helicopter parents wrongly associate intelligence with book learning, neglecting the work of Howard Gardner, who identified eight types of intelligence. Two are interpersonal–dealing with others–and intrapersonal–understanding yourself.

So start a resolution of teaching children ways to be smart you might have neglected before. During daily walks, take kids to pick up trash around the neighborhood, or bake cookies for the offices of community groups. My girlfriend Gracia Dudlicek takes her sons to the Humane Society to play with the animals.

If you’d like to hear more about what’s going on in the life of this Crazy Mom, feel free to friend me on facebook at http://www.facebook.com/rebecca.e.bailey.

First printed Winter 2009, but seems more relevant today

This image was...interesting, for many reasons.

You’ve heard our economic condition called “the Great Recession,” but I wonder if the Greatest Generation gets offended by our being presumptuous and self-indulgent enough to compare today’s economy to what they endured. Are you wearing cardboard in the soles of your shoes?

I write much about thriving through crisis, and I think one way is to realize how soft our lives today are. But there are many other ways to brighten this darkest part of the year.

First, remember you’re probably not busy. Telling people you’re busy might offend people who are.

How do you know if you’re busy? If you’re caring for a child with Down syndrome or a housebound parent, you’re busy. If you can watch TV for an hour, you’re not. So if you’re not, your life is better than you thought.

When I had four children under age 4, I felt I was serving a life sentence. I felt better when I learned you can be on the mountaintop for one facet of life but in the valley for another—for example, maybe you’re jobless, but your relationships are good.

No experiences go to waste unless they go unexamined. The longer I’m a teacher and parent, the more I realize life isn’t linear, events sequential. Rather, events are linked by memory and meaning.

A new professor recently approached me about her anxiety to guide each student to that “aha!” moment. I told her not to stress—she couldn’t maintain that anxiety for decades.

“You’re not just your students’ teacher for a semester,” I said. “You’ll be teaching them the rest of their lives.”

I remember reading Wordsworth’s poem “Tintern Abbey” when I was 20, but I didn’t get it until I was 30, when it moved me to tears. But how wrong Wordsworth was—passion only gains momentum with wisdom. Time without journey is meaningless.

Back to that new professor. Show the students their goal, what you want them to learn, I said. Show them a few ways to get there. Tell them to keep their minds open that other avenues might exist. Do your best, but realize only the students can journey to that truth.

Journeys are encoded into many religions. The three wise men journeyed to Jesus. Muslims undertake Hajj to Mecca.

Journeys aren’t supposed to be easy. If they were, the three wise men wouldn’t have followed a star; they would’ve teleported to Jesus–nothing resonant about that.

Parents, don’t despair with your children; undertake your journey with them at peace. Teachers, realize you may only teach your students one lesson—but it may be the one lesson they really need.

Amidst these holidays, may your journey begin.