family

The Search for a Shoe Solution

~ Kimberly Yavorski ~ 3 Comments


My family has a shoe problem. Now I like shoes as much as the next girl, but can’t they stay in the closet when not being worn? On an average day, there are no less than nine pairs of shoes in my living room (plus snow boots, just in case). For most of the year, only three people live here. To be clear, everyone in this house has a decent sized closet and some of these closets are also equipped with shoe racks.

Over the summer, there are five of us (two are currently in college), which means there are likely to be well over a dozen pairs of shoes around at any given time. Over the years, my pleas have been ignored, my threats pushed off. Every so often I collect all these shoes into a pile and sit back to see the reaction. There is none. It’s as if no one sees these shoes but me. Other times, I will put them in pairs on the stairs, to be taken up by their respective owners. They still don’t see them.

When do the shoes move? Either when I get tired of seeing them and drop them inside the door of their owner’s bedroom, or when it bothers me enough to complain, loudly. Then I get eye rolls and hear, “But I’m going to wear them,” or “They are not all shoes, those are boots.” Inevitably, when I have caved and put the footwear upstairs, that is the pair that is needed. Then it is my fault that someone is late.My argument that you can only wear one pair at a time is met with sighs. I have tried to institute a rule: No more than two pairs of shoes per person. All others are to be kept in closets. This too gets ignored. Apparently if it matters that much to me, I have to put them there myself.

Why does this matter to me? They tend to be left everywhere. It would be one thing if they were all in an orderly line by the door (which the snow boots tend to be, but that is only because they come off at the door). They are not. They are under the coffee table, next to the couch, behind the chair, under the chair, next to the fireplace, under the dining room table. The flip flops end up under the coach (invariably not as matches.)They end up underfoot when the dog runs past and sends them flying and not infrequently are separated from their mates, causing a scramble to find one shoe when they are needed. The frantic search for a missing shoe is somehow usually my fault.

The shoes make sweeping and vacuuming a challenge. Now I know I need to add to my exercise routine, but bending down to pick up eighteen shoes is not particularly appealing to me. I long for the days when my children were young and would scramble to get everything they valued off the carpet so that the vacuum would not eat it. (It took a while for them to realize exactly how large something had to be to NOT get picked up by this machine.) I have tried to push them out of the way with the vacuum, but realized having to unwind shoelaces stuck on the roller is worse than picking up shoes.

It wasn’t always like this. I did have a brief spell when we had a puppy in the house, one who ate anything on the floor, including shoes (some much-loved pumps were lost this way). Once the puppy grew up and the danger was past, the motivation was gone. I have been at this for years, and see no change coming. So, I continue, picking up shoes, sometimes putting them in a place that I think someone will notice them and put them away, but more often dropping them in the appropriate bedroom.

Maybe I need a puppy.

Today I Am Wondering, Is This a Test?

~ Kimberly Yavorski

sunset-1591599_1280There is a saying, “God doesn’t give us more than we can handle.”

This is something I have lived by. When things get dark and scary, I remind myself of this. Of course there have been days I have looked to the heavens and said, “You put way too much faith in me.”

But guess what? He has always been right.

Last night I went to bed, just before the election was called, reasonably certain of the results.  This morning I woke up to what I have expected for weeks: Discord and anger. Facebook is still being monopolized by politics and the election. As the vote was split pretty evenly, half of our country is disappointed by the results. Because of the way the votes ultimately swung, many are also frightened.

I am proud to live in a diverse community. I feel blessed that my kids went to school with people of many faiths and ethnic heritages. My children have friends whom they consider family with ethnic heritages very unlike our own primarily Irish and British roots.These kids have been welcome guests in my home. My kids have helped them celebrated their religious ceremonies and have been accepted into their families as they have been into ours.

This morning, my children are worried about their friends. They are all adults, so it is not in an abstract, childish way. They have seen racism, sexism and homophobia. They see the fear in their friends’ eyes. They have witnessed bullying and harassment. They have seen how some people treat others as “less than” due to superficial differences.

I worry about this too. I have from the time my children were small. But I know that worry doesn’t inspire change. But prayer does. Speaking up does. Acting on one’s belief does. Practicing all three magnifies the impact.

If this year taught us anything, it is that we need to teach love. We need to fight the darkness. We need to be an example to our children of how to make a difference in the world, in a positive way. We need to watch over those who can’t fight for themselves and make sure that they receive the care and respect they deserve. To effectively do these things, we have to work together. We have to extend a hand to those who have disagreed with us and agree to work toward a common goal. (Without a doubt, we have some common goals.) This won’t necessarily be easy, but things worth fighting for rarely are.

Today the challenge looks daunting, but a group of people working for good can accomplish amazing things. We have seen this over and over again throughout history. We need to keep the faith. He wouldn’t have given us this challenge if we couldn’t succeed.

There IS a Dish Fairy, and Other Lies I Have Convinced My Family Are True

~ Kimberly Yavorski

little-girl-626114_1280Sometimes one can do a job too well. Since I quit my full time job to stay home with my kids, I have seen most household responsibilities as part of my job. Taking care of their health and well being has been my top priority, but the everyday maintenance that comes along with living in a house with a group of people is also part of what I do. Since I accepted these responsibilities, it is perhaps unrealistic of me to expect others to take them on, just because they see that they need doing. (Although that has been part of the problem, they too often do NOT see that these things need doing.) Over time, they have come to see these things as my responsibility, but I also have inadvertently convinced them that certain things are true.

There is a dish fairy

Unless you are willing to spend extra money on disposables and contribute to filling landfills, you have dishes. Dishes need to be washed, generally after each use. (And let’s not forget the pots and pans used before you put the food on the dishes.) With a family of six, the sink fills up. Sometimes I have other, more pressing things to attend to, and the pile sits. I have taken to casually mentioning that we really need the “dish fairy” to show up. This is usually met with a chuckle and life’s busyness goes on. At some point, I empty and fill the dishwasher (which seems to take less time than when anyone else attempts it) and the problem is solved.

Now, I could have started when the kids were little and insisted they do the dishes. In my husband’s family, each child had a dish night; in mine, my sister and I would trade off – one did the dishes and the other the pots. Instead, once my children were tall enough to reach the sink, they also had a crushing amount of homework. Doing well in school is important, so I made the decision that school is their “job” and they could help with dishes and other chores on occasion. They are expected to get their dishes to the sink, but for the most part, their responsibility ends there. (I do have the rule that no food is allowed in bedrooms, so I thankfully have avoided needing a “dish collection fairy” as well.)

I guess this makes ME the dish fairy. (Honestly, most days I don’t mind as the window over the sink provides entertainment with the variety of birds that frequent our birdbath, I just wish sometimes the dish fairy would visit before I get there).

I have nothing to do with my time

Once all the kids were in school, I arranged my daily routine around the school day. They would leave, I would run errands, do household chores, make phone calls, plan events, and hopefully squeeze in some “me time,” like meeting a friend for lunch (and usually running errands before or after). When they got home, I was available to hear about their day, help with homework, and drive them places. After dinner, I tried to minimize personal obligations that did not directly impact my family. Weekends were likewise set aside for kid-centric events or whatever someone else in the family needed or wanted to do.

I realize now that by doing this, I have made it look like I don’t have anything important to do. When they are around, I am there, for whatever is needed at the time. They don’t see all the mundane things I regularly get done while they are away from home. Even when they hear about my day, they have no true concept of how much time it takes up. On unscheduled days off, I have heard complaints that I am “too busy.” Well, that is my “job,” every day.

I have their schedules committed to memory

I have always had a mind for dates and times. I am frequently the go-to person when someone needs the date for a birthday or anniversary. I have four children, spanning ten years, with different interests. The family calendar is color coded, by individual and sometimes by activity. Thanks to the way my brain functions, for the most part, I could keep track of all the comings and goings without too much difficulty. Since kids often need it, I made a habit of providing a warning that “soon” we had somewhere to go.

As they got older, I realized they could be responsible for keeping track of these things themselves. I stopped giving warnings and they managed just fine. Since I no longer had this responsibility, I wasn’t paying as much attention to their calendars and sometimes would forget they had anywhere to be at all. When I showed surprise that they were leaving, or that it was time for me to take them somewhere, they looked at me as if I had lost my mind. I was supposed to remember these things. After all, isn’t that Mom’s job?

I know where everything is

This, I know, is a common mom phenomenon. Almost every family I know looks to Mom when something is missing, whether it be keys, library books, or shin guards. It is reinforced when, more often than not, she tells you where these items are (usually where you left them). When I am scattered myself, and don’t have the answer, I get a strange look and, “But you’re supposed to know, you’re the mom.”

I know when they are out of anything

Things run out, like shampoo, deodorant, clean underwear. I am expected to know when these things are close to running out and make sure a replacement is at hand. This, unfortunately, is something that I have mostly been very good at over the years. I notice details and have a strange sense of when things should be purchased again. I don’t keep written notes (if I did I would likely put them in that elusive “safe” place), sometimes it is as simple as a bottle falls over and I notice it feels light, or I am making a list or looking at coupons and remember to ask, just before something is needed.

On occasion, I have messed this one up, and there is whining and gnashing of teeth. I protest that it is not my job, that one should know when they are using the last ____ , and to let me know so it can be replenished. This is something that they all got better at, especially once they got to college.

Clean clothes magically appear

Laundry is one of those dirty words (pun fully intended). This is one of the chores that is NEVER complete. Again, I have taken this task on, of my own free will. Everyone in my house knows how to do laundry – how to sort it, and how the washer and dryer work. They also know that complaints about something not being clean will result in them being told to do it themselves. Therefore, they have also learned to not complain and to do without.

Like the others, this is a chore I chose. Yes, I could make each child do their own laundry, but then I would lose control of the washing machine. My main argument is that if everyone did their own, we would use more energy as we would be doing more partially full loads each week. This is true, but my hidden agenda is that by letting them all use the washer and dryer, it will likely be full when I want to use it. I really don’t want to have a laundry schedule, where everyone would have assigned times. I don’t want to manage such a schedule, and I want to use my machines when it is convenient for me.

Some people have told me that I let my kids off too easy, that they should have had more responsibilities around the house, starting at a younger age. There may be some truth in this, but I think we are all doing okay. They know how to care for themselves (even though they sometimes pretend they don’t) and are well on their way to becoming productive members of society. I am fortunate to have been in a position where I could do these things and possibly reduce the amount of stress in all their lives. They know that everyone has to pitch in to make society work and are among the first to volunteer when they see a need.

To be fair, my family takes care of me as well. Several years ago, when I sprained my foot, badly, they wouldn’t let me get out of my favorite comfy chair except to go to the dining room table, the bathroom, or to bed for four days. That is how I learned how well the human body can heal itself, if you let it. (I have had not a twinge from it since.) More recent illnesses have also had them stepping up and taking care of the most important, basic needs (the stuff they KNOW I do), while insisting that I rest and get better. At these times, I know that what I do every day is noticed and appreciated. Once I am again healthy, though, taking care of the house and them, well, that is my job.

 

This article first appeared on Parent.co: There IS a Dish Fairy, and Other Lies I Have Convinced My Family Are True

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The Unending Vortex of Helicopter Parenting

~ Kimberly Yavorski ~ 2 Comments

Publication1Helicopter parenting is here to stay. It has taken hold of society in such a way that there may be no going back. Psychologists are now calling 25 the new entrance to adulthood. For many different reasons, adult children continue (or come back) to live with their parents. College professors and administrators are reporting that students are arriving on college campuses less prepared for independent living than prior generations. Why? Fingers are pointing at parents.

It has become a common lament that parents are hovering over their children, doing for them things that their children should be doing themselves. I argue that although this is in some cases true, that we have become a society that encourages such behavior.

I have noticed a shift over the past decade. Many parents are much more involved in their children’s lives and those who are not are treated as if they are neglecting their children.

I guess I was living under a rock, but I was surprised to learn that not only were parents nagging their teens to complete things such as college applications, they were actually completing the applications themselves!  Now I have no issue with proofreading, or even editing an essay, or acting as a sounding board for ideas, but how can a parent take things this far? Setting aside the fact that you are cheating your child out of the opportunity to learn how to handle such tasks on his or her own (after all, they will have job applications in their future), you are teaching them that it is okay to cheat!

I know the intentions are good. Parents want their children to do well, to get into a good school, to get a good job. They may regret decisions they made in their youth and not want their children to mimic their own mistakes.  But the efforts are short-sighted. If they are doing so much for their child to get into college, how will their child be able to handle the rigors of college? Then there is the trickle-down effect. Parents who may not be inclined to do as much feel like they have to, or their child will be left behind.

Recently I heard that that some parents are taking steps to counteract this lack of preparedness for their children in college. I have seen multiple reports from colleges about increased involvement among parents. Parents call professors, complain about grades and even go to class to take notes when their child is ill. Here too, I think some level of assistance is acceptable. My children have asked me to read over papers and give comments before turning them in (they know the value in using available resources). Provided they give me enough notice (11 pm calls for proofreading will be ignored), I am happy to read and give input, which they are then free to accept or reject. (Yes, my comments have been rejected.) But doing someone’s work for them is cheating, and undermines their confidence in their ability to do it on their own.

How did we get here? I think it started when this generation was young. For the past couple decades, parents, not children, have been planning playdates and activities to keep children entertained, to advance their education, to give them an edge over the competition. As a result, many kids never learned to occupy themselves or even how to engage someone in conversation. To be fair, this often came from a place of love. Parents believed they were protecting their children, that the outside world was a dangerous, scary place. Twenty years ago, children would go to a friend’s house to see if they could play. Today, a child (or anyone for that matter) knocking on a door is seen as suspicious.

The overprotectiveness has gotten to a point that I think is ridiculous. The fact that parents are being forced to defend themselves against charges of child endangerment for allowing their children to play at a neighborhood playground demonstrates the societal tightening of reins. Parents who can’t or won’t be over-involved in their children’s lives are facing the very real possibility that their children may be left behind. It has always been true that making noise gets attention, but now it almost seems that it is necessary to make noise just to be seen.

This creates a problem for parents who want to foster independence in their children. Despite the fact that hands-off parents are applauded by school staff and administrators, those who are very much hands-on are accommodated and it seems, almost encouraged by those same people who complain about the lengths some parents will go to help their own kids get ahead. The idea that “This is just the way the world is today” is unacceptable to me. I want it to be different, but am not sure how to affect change, or even if I can.

I am thankful that I made it through the early years before the madness took effect and that I was confident enough to maintain my “old school” beliefs. I do, however, worry about how my children will manage parenting if this trend continues. Even the business world has seen a change in recent hires and is offering special training in interacting with the new generation of workers. I find this all baffling, but think there may be hope. I am seeing a rebellion of sorts: terms like “free range parenting” and articles lamenting the effect “helicoptering” is having on young adults indicate that there is indeed a problem here.  Until there is a societal change, I guess I’ll just keep on shaking my head.

My Worst Fear Came True – I Inherited My Grandmother’s Chest

~ Kimberly Yavorski

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My biggest fear growing up was that someday I would have Grandma’s chest. You may be questioning this statement and picturing some hideous wooden box, however, I am not talking about a Hope Chest or anything of the sort, but the chest she carried beneath her chin and above her waist. Grandma was stacked! Her hugs sometimes made me feel like I was being swallowed. But unlike me, she never seemed to feel uncomfortable about it.

Grandma knew how to get attention. She worked as a singer in nightclubs and had a wardrobe of flashy clothes that showed off her attributes. As a young girl, I was shy and embarrassed, but also somewhat awed by such displays. Now I appreciate the value of having assets and being comfortable with them.

Her bras fascinated me, in a strange sort of way. They were indeed “boulder holders.” I wondered how she stayed upright and didn’t topple over. Walking through crowds had to be a challenge as well. There was no way to avoid noticing her breasts. I secretly thought that they helped her float in the pool.

As I matured, I happily settled in with a comfortable 36B, which was in proportion with my 5’8” medium -build frame. I had no complaints and though I got my share of attention, did not have the problem some of my friends did, that their bosom was expected to carry on a conversation with men.

When I had kids, though, things exploded. I made the choice to nurse my children and soon discovered how large bras could get. I was surprised to observe that my bras were large enough to possibly be used to haul home some of my purchases from the produce section. (I did not try this, for obvious reasons.) I wondered if it was permanent and how long my back could support the additional demands placed on it. I wondered if the young me was right and they could be used as flotation devices. I never got to find out because I couldn’t find a bathing suit that fit right.

I was shocked. How could this have happened? No one told me that they could triple in size! I was going to need an entire new wardrobe. All those cute tops I had were history. Luckily, the demands of caring for children gave me more pressing things to worry about and I was able to push my boob woes to the back of my mind. I resorted to wearing (very) oversize shirts (mostly from the men’s department) since I was completely unwilling to buy any maternity clothes after the baby was here.

Sleeping became a challenge. Any way I tried to position myself was uncomfortable. Laying on my stomach was out of the question and any other position pushed my arms out to uncomfortable angles. I managed to find come positives though. I convinced myself that my waist had shrunk, since I couldn’t see it at all anymore. I also found that at any event with a buffet, I had a built-in shelf for my plate.

My babies grew up and my chest subsided, to a point. Surprisingly, I found that I was happy to not go back to my pre-pregnancy size. I had gotten used to the new look, and although I was not unhappy with the old me, I like the end result.

Despite my acceptance of Grandma’s gift, there are downfalls. All the prettiest things: dresses, shoes, even bras, are designed for tiny people. Finding something pretty in a larger size is a challenge. Designers seem to forget that if you have more on top, you need to have more fabric at the bottom. Shirts and dresses alike are frequently too short for my comfort. Button down shirts that fit right everywhere else gape open several buttons down. Then there is the oft cited lack of attention when speaking to people, particularly men. I do sometimes have the temptation to reach out and lift a chin even so slightly in order to make eye contact.

The chest I possess would not have looked right on the 18-year-old me, but today, the curves suit me. Once it became reality, I came to terms with my fear. After all, short of surgery, what choice do I have? Besides, Grandma was the best; I am happy to be compared to her.