Wednesday, January 2, 2013

Ingrained: Whole Wheat Mush

Me and big sis

I learned a few things about myself yesterday when family came over for a New Year’s Day celebration. Apparently, when I was just three-years-old, I threw up in the middle of the night and then climbed out of my crib, got a towel and went back to mop it up without a fuss (as opposed to my sister going to tell our mother she felt sick and vomiting all over her in bed). Imagine that! Something I’ve always delegated to Pete because I couldn’t stand it, and there I was a mere toddler, cleaning it myself.

Another thing I heard for the first time was something that happened when I was six and my sister was twelve. Our parents were out, or getting ready to go out. My sister decided to fix me a salad. She made a big deal about how yummy it was going to be and then discovered all that was in the refrigerator was lettuce. So the salad was made with lettuce and… green olives. Guess what I did. No, not throw up, but I probably could have. I cried (I much prefer black olives over green, and really don’t care for either one, but cry over olives?). Maybe it was the Thousand Island dressing, I just don’t know. Peas were the only food I’d ever fussed over until I discovered salt and ketchup made them somewhat edible. Still, I ate that salad even though I probably hated it.

I had never heard these stories before, or if I had, I’d blocked them out of my mind. But what they did was reaffirm something I already know about myself. Only now I know it started at a very young age. What is that something, you might ask? Maybe you have guessed. I’m a people pleaser. I’m also sensitive and insecure, and I think all these qualities knead together to create a doughy existence. Mush, squeezable, raw, sticky dough.

I try to work on it though. I want to be a solid fresh-from-the-oven loaf of French bread. No, make that a Kaiser roll. I don't want to worry about what other people think anymore. So what if someone leaves a shitty comment on something I’ve written? Or if someone tries to guilt me into doing something for them? I don't need to consent just because I don't want to make them mad. Must I please others only to make myself miserable? They always let me down anyway.

It’s a new year and every year I choose a word to represent it. I try and focus on that word and use it to become a better person. My word for 2013 is God. I want to work more on doing His will. I want to say no to lettuce and green olive salads. I want to continue making Pete clean up vomit. God’s the only one I need to please.

Do you have any goals for 2013?


Buddah Moskowitz said...

Great memories here, and I like your idea of serving God, I rededicate myself to that process this year.

Happy New Year!

Linda G Hatton said...

Wow! That's a pretty amazing story about cleaning up after yourself at 3 years old! And a funny salad story. If only I could get my kids to eat salad without having to nag them.
I enjoyed reading!