Ruthie Momma

I am in a bad mood.  No, wait.  Don’t stop reading.  This won’t be a sob story about poor little me.  I promise.  This is about dog poop dilemmas.  Or more, if you’re lucky.

Maybe I’m in a bad mood because it’s raining outside.  Maybe it’s because I’m nearly nine months pregnant.  But, more likely, it’s because I’ve been reminded once again that people are selfish and lack sensitivity beyond their own shallow existence.

Yesterday, I arrived home just in time to see my neighbor’s dogs running loose in our postage stamp front yard.  As I drove into our parking space they attempted to run up to the car.  These are small dogs, like Maltese dogs or something.  The last small dog this neighbor had got run over by a car because it was off leash and ran into the street at night.  My neighbor, in spite of this tragedy, still lets the replacement dogs roam around without supervision from time to time.  She has, on the whole, tried to improve her dog tending, but when I arrived home yesterday she was nowhere to be found.  When she did appear, I asked her – in what I thought was a polite tone – if she could check to make sure the dogs didn’t poop in our yard. 

Over the weekend we discovered the hard way that there was dog poop in our yard so I was hoping to avoid a repeat.  Not that her dogs were responsible for the last turds, but she wasn’t out there monitoring them so I had no way of knowing whether they had pooped in our yard or not.  Looking back, even if she had been out there monitoring them, I’m not sure she would’ve picked up the dog poop anyhow.  Still, she balked at my request and became confrontational.  I repeated my request and probably sounded irritated myself at that point because she refused to even look beyond a quick glance at her own feet. 

She – my husband’s nickname for her used to be Vile Beast – wanted to know if I had seen them pooping.  “No,” I said, “I just pulled up and they were in our front yard.  I am just asking you to check to make sure they didn’t poop.”

My neighbor continued to argue with me over the matter and told me that I could find a nicer way to ask her, which just baffled me.  I hadn’t started out asking in a mean tone.  I simply wanted her to make sure they hadn’t pooped.  Given that they aren’t my dogs, I figure she needs to take responsibility for them.  Clearly, I was wrong.  Somehow the fact that she was in the house exonerated her.

In retrospect, I don’t think any tone of voice or way of requesting would have gotten through to her.  She doesn’t want to take responsibility for her dogs.  She doesn’t care if I step in dog poop.  She doesn’t care if my kids step in it or – Heaven forbid – touch it out of toddler curiosity.  She cares only about herself and getting out of life the easy way.  In essence, she wanted me to turn a blind eye to her negligence.

So, I am left to wondering the following:

1) Is it unreasonable for me to expect dog owners to pick up their dog’s poop?  Would it be wiser for me to assume that people won’t pick up their dog’s poop so that when they do I can be happy and feel grateful?  Because right now I feel chronically pissed off at them for routinely failing to scoop the poop, and I’m not enjoying the chronic irritation.  The evidence suggests – pardon the pun - that there are a good number of dog owners who just refuse to pick up their dog’s poop.   Perhaps my expectations should change in accordance, lest I blow my lid every time.

2) But, if I stop expecting people to be responsible, where do I set the bar?  Am I just supposed to roll over, play dead, and let people do whatever they want with their dogs?  Or not do what they don’t want, as the case may be?  Do I pick an arbitrary number of turds and excuse them because the real world dictates imperfection?

3) Am I being unreasonable in wanting my property to be treated with respect?  I mean, that’s how I regard other people’s property.  We are taught to obey the law of the land.  Obviously, not everyone takes those lessons to heart.  But if I stop caring, if I no longer expect others to respect what little property we own then what am I saying about the value of ownership?  It seems foolish to make such a big deal over such a small spot of land, I know, and yet the law (and our HOA agreement) dictates that we take care of it.  How I tend to my postage stamp says a lot about me as a human being.

4) Why am I surprised or frustrated by the inability of the police to enforce the ordinance that people curb their dog’s feces?  I mean, the owners can’t be held accountable without proof.  And how do you have proof in the world of dog poop?  It’s a $200 fine at best if you don’t scoop the poop.  Big whoop in the larger scheme of things, right?  Maybe that’s how the offenders rationalize their offenses.  ‘Hey, man.  It’s just dog poop.  It’s not like I’m murdering anyone.’  Better yet, I can hear them thumbing their noses at the cops, ‘You can’t catch me!  Ha, ha, ha, ha.  Take that, Authority!’

The bottom line is that I find dog poop in my yard offensive and annoying.  If I didn’t, I suppose I wouldn’t be bothered by any of it.  The part that goads me, though, is that I feel powerless to effect change.  If my husband and I go out and buy thousands of dollars worth of cameras and surveillance equipment we might catch the dog owners, but what will we have proven?  Will we have created in these people a sense of personal responsibility?  Will they suddenly “see the light” and become respectful, conscientious neighbors?  Probably not.  So our win would be a shallow win.  A form of tit for tat.  Which I don’t believe gets us anywhere.  It only engages the ego and our personal defenses.  It only antagonizes and escalates animosity.  It, essentially, shuts down the soul.  In my opinion, that’s still a loss.

That being said, I still wish these people would curb their dogs.  From now on maybe I’ll try not getting so upset about it, but beyond practicing a little more tolerance and patience I am at a loss as to how to feel and how to act around my neighbors.  Clearly, the people who act out of disrespect are not individuals with whom I want to maintain any kind of connection.  We could, as a neighborhood, raise HOA dues so that we can hire a dog poop scooper upper.  There is at least one business in our town that will scoop poop for a fee.  I kid you not.  That might alleviate frustration and punish those who don’t follow the rules, but it also lets the dog owners off the hook and might even encourage them to leave more shit on the ground.  It also forces those who do pick up their dog’s poop or who don’t have dogs to pay the price.

Oh, I can hear the outcries now.  Each side beating their chest over who’s right or who has to pay.  In fact, I hear that battle cry a lot these days in countless other areas like politics, religion, education, health care, foreign wars, you name it.  Only the battle cry sounds a lot like whining to me the more I hear it.

Is that it then?  Is that what being a community is all about, People?  Staking your claim and sticking to it at all costs, just to prove you’re right?  It is really just us versus them?  Is that as good as it gets?

Maybe it is.  And that’s why I’m in a bad mood today.  We are so highly UNevolved as a race, as a country.  My heart wants to believe we’re better than that, but maybe I’m wrong.

And, btw, I’m not leaving the comments section open in this format because I only get spammers trying to get lure me to some other website, which just furthers my irritation with the general human population.  Besides, if  you want to comment on this post or discuss the topic more with me, you know how to reach me in other ways.

Both my husband and I are on the brink of making major life changing decisions about where we live and how we live.  For years we’ve longed to live in a place where there is a stronger sense of community and where work is considered something you do, not something you are.  The problem is that we don’t know where that place is and we’re trying to also locate ourselves so that we’ll be close to our respective families.  His is in the midwest while mine is in the southeast.  The end result is that we’ve developed analysis paralysis.

The more we think about it, the more we come to the realization that we are looking for something that perhaps doesn’t exist.  That is, our happiness may be totally unrelated to our surroundings.  Sure, the environment in which we live has some impact on our overall state of well being, but there are other factors that contribute to our happiness.  Maybe we’d feel just as isolated in a small town as we do in the city because the mindset of the locals doesn’t match ours.  If we can’t connect to the people around us, does it matter that we have a single family home and land on which our kids can run around freely?

Job security plays into our difficulties as well.  Small towns just don’t offer as many opportunities as cities.  Truth is that I think a lot of people struggle with finding balance.  There are probably more people that are unsatisfied in their jobs and in their lives than the opposite, more people who long for something more rewarding and personally satisfying, with less stress and isolation.  Maybe it’s time to compare ourselves to the norm rather than the exception.  I mean, I am not going to be a movie star or super model.  Shouldn’t I stop comparing myself to them?  That’s just a recipe for feeling really rotten about myself (though these days movie stars and super models don’t seem to have the best lives either, as countless numbers of them end up in rehab or jail or some other misadventure).

What, then, is our best solution, our best course of action?  I don’t know.  Not a very uplifting message, I know, but it’s the truth.  Right now that’s as good as my answer gets.  Either time will tell or it won’t.

If you’re like me and periodically experience slumps at work, where you have to sit there doing nothing for hours on end in case someone suddenly needs you to do something and also because you’re still tied to that stinkin’ paycheck, you reach the end of your rope with:

•  how many gossip columns you can read (People, Wonderwall),
• how much more bad news or spin you can tolerate reading (CNN, New York Times, Washington Post, truthout, New Yorker) 
• how many creative or food blogs you can browse (AngryChicken, SimpleMom, NotMartha, UndertheHighChair, to name a few)

before you sort of go numb from it all.

I mean, these people are being productive after all, but you are just sitting there feeling aimless, counterproductive even.  You could distract yourself with occasional tweets and Facebook posts if you’re able and not under the watchful eye of your company (which I am).  You could even spend time playing any number of on-line games, none of which ever appeal to me, but apparently appeal to the masses in general.  My dad even plays solitaire sometimes to break up the monotony of work. 

Or, you could be like my husband and get lost on Reddit or Chowhound.  You may even have started perusing smaller news outlets (Highlander, Columbia Tribune, Billings Gazette) in hopes for a different viewpoint.  You’d be surprised how many exciting things happen in a small town.  And, somehow, the fact that these things happen in a small town makes them all the more intriguing. 

Yet there is still something missing from your day.  So, what are you going to do about it?

Here are some suggestions:

1) Connect with other people in your office or in a similar field as you.  You’d be surprised how the simplest exchanges can refocus your energy and put you on a path to a better day.

2) Listen to NPR or put on some music.  There’s nothing like hearing other people discuss news, music, or art to distract you from the humdrum; and music alone can transport you to new emotional landscapes with relatively little effort.

3) Make plans to volunteer in your community.  Giving back to others is a great way to improve your sense of well being.

4) Exercise.  The release of endorphins might inspire you or at least put an extra oomph in your step.

5) Call your mom or best friend.  A chat with someone you love can always boost your outlook on life.

6) Draw pictures for your kids so that they can see you think about them during the day.  They draw pictures for you, after all.  (This probably only works when your children are younger than 12 years of age, though.)

If all else fails, try to find time at some point during the week to do something you love.  It’s a start.  The journey of 1,000 miles always begins with a step.

I have come to the conclusion that at this point in my life looking at magazines is a defeating endeavor.  My house will never look like the cover of Country Home or Elle Decor.  All those fun crafts and activities to do with children I read in Parents magazine or Parenting will never get done.  Or, if they do they will never look as shiny and “together” as the glossy photographs I see.  They will also probably never be as fun to make as the articles suggest.  Most of the time I will end up doing half of the work, jump through hoops to get my kids excited about doing the activity or craft, then bend over backwards to get them to do the craft as instructed, and finally use up the last of my patience and energy cleaning up after them.  Even when they “help” me clean up.

Sure, there is something to be said for trying the craft or activity in the first place.  My kids will probably remember those times as “fun” so I don’t intend to give them up forever.  I just plan on giving up stressing about doing those things.  I intend to stop berating myself when I’m not up for it, especially since our third child is due in just over a month.

Martha Stewart just does not live in my house.  In the long run, I am probably okay with that.  I mean, Martha may be an empire, but she doesn’t seem to be the happiest person on earth.  I can’t imagine trying to be in control as much as she is, to adhere to that same degree of perfection.  And, to be honest, the woman is alone.  She has one child, isn’t married, and can function on five hours of sleep. 

That just isn’t me!

If I didn’t have a husband and only one adult daughter I’m sure I’d have a lot more free time and free space on my hands.  But I love my husband.  And I love my kids and if they come with chaos and messiness and gobs of imperfection and whining then so be it.  I wouldn’t be happy with an immaculate house if it meant being alone.  I’d like a little moderation maybe, but I don’t want to sacrifice kindness and love for the sake of cleanliness and order.

This means that I have to recycle or donate all those magazines I’ve saved, the ones that I thought would inspire me to improve our house or get me creating that next masterpiece or finally bring us together as a happy, creative, cooperative, clean family. 

You know that family, right?  The family who has the clean house, where they serve nutritious home made food that the kids eat without complaint, well-behaved children who work out their problems with words and reason, happy, fulfilled parents who earn enough money to make dreams come true? 

That’s the family everyone is trying to emulate, only in secret I think they are only driving themselves crazy because they are incapable of achieving that image.  It’s like trying to look like a supermodel without the aid of appetite suppressing drugs and plastic surgery and designer clothing and professional photography and airbrushing.  Even if you ARE good looking you just can’t compete with that!

So, I’m dropping out of that race.  I’m giving up June Cleaver in her 1950′s TV set and searching for the messy, dirty, chaotic, crumb-filled places.  I’m looking for the real family that we are.  Because the real us deserves love and happiness, too.  Even if that means we are rough around the edges and still sport ketchup stains on our faces and shirts when someone snaps a photo.  Ragamuffins, as my mother used to call me and my brother.

Somehow we will make it through this middle class life.  We’ll look exactly like all the other struggling families.  We’ll blend in at the restaurant, shopping mall, gas station, grocery store, town hall, you name it.  We’ll be just another grain of sand on the beach, and it’s okay.  Because when you step back you’ll see the whole beach and feel inspired by the beauty that suddenly comes into view.  And when you look real close you’ll marvel at the distance we’ve traveled, the travails we’ve endured, just to get to the shore in the first place.

We will be, like my mother always says, “as ordinary as sunshine.”

I recently purchased a Gaiam yoga mat from Target.  When I unrolled it at my prenatal yoga class, I was surprised to find it smelling like chemicals, particularly because Gaiam touts itself to be eco-friendly.  While being pregnant makes me especially sensitive to weird smells, I am someone who has always been sensitive to smell in general, particularly those of a chemical nature.  (Alas, my sense of smell does not come in handy in the kitchen.)  My classmates in graduate school used to refer to me as the canary in the lab; I always held acids as far away from me as possible even when others weren’t bothered by the smell of them.  I also was the first one to know when a hood wasn’t working properly.

Earlier last week, we had our kitchen updated, which resulted in a house that smelled like various adhesive products.  The chemicals that are used to adhere tile to the floor and granite countertops to the cabinets prompted a week long battle with nausea and difficulty sleeping. 

Due to the heat, the laborers were not able to open all windows to allow proper ventilation.  Even if all the windows had been opened (which I suggested they do) the air was stagnant due to the heat and humidity.  The ceiling fan was circulating on high, but the fumes were not going anywhere.

I shudder to think about the men who work with these products every day, men who generally do not have health insurance either.  And then there are their wives, many who are maids and inhale chemicals from cleaning products all day.  There is a Latino health crisis in this country just waiting to happen.

Once the contractor finished the kitchen update, my husband and I had to wash all the dishes to clean off the dust that had accumulated.  We cut and placed sheets of contact paper onto all the empty shelves, inhaling another round of glue-based fumes.  Luckily for us, we have a small kitchen and limited exposure to these products. 

I can’t help thinking, however, that the price may be — in the long run — too high to pay.  Sure, we updated our kitchen so we can sell our house in a year.  And potential buyers will undoubtedly fall in love with our new set up.  But what about the damage we are doing along the way?

This is the argument in which I always get trapped.  The idealist vs. realist attempt to duke it out: 

Side 1: No one will buy your house unless you update your kitchen, but you don’t have the money to make more environmentally conscious purchases.

Side 2: You are selfish for wanting to sell your house at a decent price while the people helping you are not able to afford health insurance or a house of their own.

And bad things happen to good people.  Usually unwitting people.  Innocent people.  It’s the luck of the draw.  I think the mistake is that we believe we are entitled to more.  When we are born, though, we are born into a cruel world, given gifts and curses regardless of socioeconomic class.

Meanwhile, a new law signed by President Obama will limit the amount of formaldehyde used in the manufacturing of wood.  The EPA is working on writing the rules for the new law, including how products will need to be labeled to show that they comply with the new formaldehyde regulation.  Potentially, it will be difficult to distinguish a low-formaldehyde product from a “green” product in which no formaldehyde was added.  [See the USA Today article for more information on this issue.]

Even so, the measure is comforting to me.  While the world may be a cruel place, people don’t have to be cruel when armed with knowledge.  That’s why we are human beings and not just animals.  Together, slowly but surely, we can make a difference, one that focuses on more than just the bottom line.

I have this weird love affair with the Ideal Mother.  You know, the one who bakes all her food from scratch with only organic ingredients.  The one who sews cute little outfits for her children and makes dainty crafts and quilts.  The one who practices yoga and channels the Earth Goddess in her spare time.  Not to mention writing books and keeping an updated blog with beautiful photos of her daily handiwork.  This is also the Mother who has at least three children, makes her own lotions and detergents so as not to introduce harmful chemicals to her wee ones. 

You know her, right?  She’s out there.  Somewhere.  I see her manifest on other women’s blogs: Angry Chicken, SimpleMom, and countless others that I’m only beginning to find.  I mean, I really want to be Her.  I want to embody Her.  Or, at the very least be exactly like the women who more closely resemble Her.  There’s evidence out there that the modern hippie woman exists and manages to be successful in the world.

It’s just that I can’t be Her.  I can’t even seem to find the patience or the time to let Her root in my life.  My kids are constantly whining or fighting with each other.  Even if I am home with them and we’re hanging out, it’s a continual ploy to play Princess or some other melodrama.  I can’t tell you how many times I’ve been married.  Or how many birthdays I’ve had.  By this point, I probably qualify for mention in the Book of Genesis.

If we do crafts, we are messy and chaotic.  I can’t possibly post those pictures!  Even if something comes out cute, my house is a cluttered mess.  It’s far too easy to tell what a Ragga Muffin Mother I really am.  The gig will be up for sure!  I mean, I can post the pictures, but nobody is going to pay much attention to them.  (Okay, aside from my friends and family.  And thank God for them or I’d really be miserable.  Hugs to you all for reading this.)

My dilemma is that nobody will ask me to write a book about all my fantastic crafty ideas or sell my creations when it’s so obvious that I can hardly stay focused on task long enough to bring my ideas to fruition.  To be honest, I just have the terrible habit of beginning something new and not finishing it.  My children just exacerbate that tendency.

So, why the love affair with Her?  Why do I insist on torturing myself?  Why not replace Her with the Goddess of Mediocre?  The Messy Mother?  Surely She has qualities I can admire.

I don’t know.  I hate giving up entirely, I guess.  Maybe somewhere, deep down, I still think there’s a chance for us.  I’m hopeless, I know.  Because sometimes I feel Her.  Sometimes She IS there. 

Is She just teasing me?  Torturing me?  That’s not like Her, is it?  Or maybe it is and the other women just aren’t talking about Her in that way.

Just me.  Right?  I just have to believe that these other women are imperfect, too, that they sometimes yell at their children, that they buy cheap cosmetics on a whim or because they were impulsive or distracted or frazzled by exhaustion and hunger.  That they throw away a few vegetable scraps in the trash rather than the compost because the walk over to the compost bin is just too far away this time.  That they give in when their children cry and whine for a product Made in China or Pakistan or wherever human rights are probably being violated today.  That sometimes getting them chicken nuggets from a McDonald’s is as good as it gets.  Even though they’ve seen the videos that show what goes into them and vowed they wouldn’t do it.

This is what plagues me.  It’s the slow deterioration of my ideals with reality, with my humanity.  It’s the desire for Her when all I’ve got is me.  I just don’t know how to bring Her into my life more.  I don’t know how to make more space for Her. 

I still believe there’s a chance, though.  For now, that’s good enough for me.

If corporations claim they are trying to  maximize profits for shareholders then we are to blame for 1) the banking crisis, 2) the Massey mine explosion in WV, and 3) the Gulf oil spill. 

That being said, people run corporations.  People make decisions.  Corporations do not.  People are putting money before safety, money before the environment, money before human health.

Furthermore, people are choosing to work in the coal mines and for the oil companies because the money is good.  And, if you say, the reason we mine for coal and drill for oil is because there is demand for it, that people do these things based on our demand for energy, then you clearly don’t know the power of the word no.

No one is forcing them to put profit before safety or to work in risky careers.  People can say no and we will find a way to adapt.  It is greed on all our parts that feeds this vicious cycle.

I find the current bitching by the inhabitants of the affected Gulf Coast — and almost every American — nearly intolerable.  They want it both ways.  They want to be able to fish if they are fisherman and drill if they are working in the oil industry and they don’t want to lose money doing it or assume risk in their endeavors.  They aren’t looking past their noses.  Each person is blaming the government, but I don’t think the government can be solely responsible for their woes.

With respect to the oil spill, the lack of oversight and regulation is clearly an issue.  The Minerals Management Service (MMS) obviously did not do its job, but I also don’t think they were given the power to do their job effectively due to the emphasis on deregulation.  Even if they had tried to fine BP, the oil company would’ve fought back against the fine using lawyers because fighting the citation is cheaper than fixing the problem.  The same happened with Massey.  It was cheaper for them to fight the citations than it was for them to upgrade their technology so they could operate more safely.

If we accept that we are greedy, that we are driven by base human desires and needs, then we will either have the ability to change our outcome.  We can take responsibility for our choices.  You assume risk in choosing profit over safety or a dangerous job over a lesser paying job.  If you don’t like the terms of that risk, do something about it.  Blaming others will not change anything.  Action will.  If enough people stand up and take action, change can happen. 

It requires you to work, though.  It requires you to have faith in something greater.  It requires that you to face fears.  That, I believe, is something humans are terrible at doing.  We are more comfortable with the same-o, same-o.  We’d rather just complain about it and point our fingers at how we were wronged, as if we came into this world with an inherent right to a silver platter and a staff of hundreds to serve us.  We don’t want to hear that this is our lot, that this is as good as it gets.  We’ve bought into the idea that we can always have more, that we have a right to more.  I’m pretty sure that when we came into this world that wasn’t part of the agreement, though.

I am a spoiled American.  Admitting that I am is the first step toward changing my life so that I can live in more peace and with greater purpose.  It will be hard to change my ways and my beliefs, to accept that I might never make it to that next economic level, but I believe that for my children’s sake and for the sake of future generations that I must start down this path, that I must curb my whining and blaming, that I must take responsibility for my actions and for my human existence.

That is the only way change will occur.  Truthfully, maybe the only change that will occur is my outlook.  And that’s okay.  That kind of change has to be enough, too.

For some reason known only to the cycles of the Moon and perhaps  the fashion gods I decided to wear 2″ Tommy Hilfiger heels to work the other day.  Big mistake.  My legs looked fantastic and my ass was high and flat.  So why was my fashion sense a mistake?

My list of reasons:

1) Ow.

2) Ow.

3) Ow.

4) Ow.  Ow.  Ow.

Is this some unique experience known only to me?  Why on earth do other women wear high heels on a regular basis?  I have some friends who only wear 3″ heels.  Am I alone in my pain?  Surely long legs and a nice-looking ass can’t overcome pain, can they?  I would love to hear your thoughts on this one, ladies.  I’m just baffled by the experience.   I mean, my shoes were HOT.  I was kickin’ it.  At least for the first half of the day when I could still walk.

I’m not sure, though, that my hot shoes were really appreciated by the others in my office, though.  And that has me wondering whether practical shoes ought to have more weight in the fashion world.  For one, I work with several older men.  You’d think they’d still be interested in a lady with a nice tush, but they were more interested (or should I say annoyed?) in the fact that my shoes made cloppity sounds on the tiled floors.

There’s no denying it: I’m a fast walker.  My grandmother was 4’8″ and could leave most folks in the dust.  I inherited her fast pace, though I am not quite as petite as she was.  So, as the day progressed I began to feel self-conscious about disrupting everyone’s train of thought as I sped my way noisily down the hall.

Maybe there are other valid reasons for wearing sensible shoes.  Maybe pain isn’t the only factor to consider.  Maybe practical shoes are not just nice for our feet but nice for our neighbors, too.

It’s just too bad they don’t make our legs look so long and lean …

Yesterday I started my first installment of Guerrilla Art in the Office, an idea I got after reading “The Art in the Office: How to Creatively Survive and Thrive Seven Days  a Week” by Summer Pierre.  Everyone should read this book.  Even non-artists.  Really.

Actually, I’ve been doing Guerrilla Art for most of my adult life;  I just thought I was the only one who did it.  When I moved to Santa Fe, NM, in my early 20′s I left little notes in bathroom stalls along I-40.  I referred to them as magical fairy notes.  People who found them probably thought I was nuts.  Which I am.   But in a good way, I hope.

Yesterday, I placed yellow sticky notes with inspirational messages in the stalls of the women’s bathroom and one over the coffeemaker at my office.  They read:

1) Yes.  You make a difference.

2) Keep up the Good Work.

3) This moment is more important than you think.
If nothing else, I get a kick out of seeing them every time I use the bathroom or make coffee.  No one has taken them down so I was happy to at least survived a day on the walls of a federal building.

Next up, mommy cartoons.