Change

Here are a few of my very random thoughts on change...

CHANGE - EXHIBIT A

As I mentioned in my previous post, we've been going through boxes in our garage that have moved with us the billion times we've moved, and I found this comic I cut out for John a long time ago.

I admit it, I used to think I could change my husband. Guilty as charged.

John had his own sense of style when we were dating (he still does). A lot of his clothes had holes in them, he wore baggy jeans with lots of pockets, and he really only had a few outfits. My roommates would joke, "I wonder what John will wear tonight, outfit A, B, or C?" Really. That happened. What's funny is that that was one thing I liked about him. He wasn't concerned about being the nicest dresser (Even though, now I know he probably thought he was a nice dresser in that skater, snowboarder kind of style he was trying to pull off. Right down to his thumb ring. Oh my.), and was confident enough in himself to wear a white shirt to church that he had been wearing for 5 years, holes and all. I knew he wasn't high maintenance and I guess I liked that fact. And, really, I thought I could change him into the preppy dresser I wanted him to be after we got married...

The fact is, the only thing I was able to get rid of were the baggy jeans, the holey clothes, and the thumb ring. (Though he held on to those things for quite some time, he did stop wearing them.) I wasn't able to get rid of his personal likes and dislikes. What's up with that? After we were married, we would be leaving to go to a friends house, dinner, or to church, and I would say, "I'm not leaving until you change your shirt (shoes, belt, socks, etc. whatever it happened to be that time). Really, I did that, I admit it.

A while ago, I heard a few of John's sisters say, "Our other brothers have all changed, but we know Johnny will always be the same." I don't know if that was my wake up call, but I decided to stop trying to change that about my husband. I was wasting our money on clothes he wasn't wearing, and really, I realized I was fighting an unimportant battle. (Kind of like I gave up on keeping his part of the closet organized, it just isn't important enough to fuss over.) Would I still like my husband to be a really nice dresser, or keep his part of the closet organized? Yes, of course. Do I really care anymore? No. (However, I am still trying to get him to change the way he folds clothes, because that is a space issue. The way he folds clothes is not only messy, but you can't fit as much stuff in your drawers. I'm still teaching him after 7.5 years of marriage the CORRECT way to fold clothes. His response? "We aren't in the military." Who knows, maybe one day I'll give that battle up too... but I don't think so.) I think in the early days of our marriage I thought that what John looked like was a reflection of who I was too. Like, he was a part of me, and people might judge me based on what he looked like? Isn't that so lame? Obviously, I don't feel that way anymore, and I think you know how I feel about people judging. I was trying to change him to fit the mold of the kind of dresser I envisioned. I needed to be the one to change and accept his own individual style, and still be attracted to the original fact that he's not high maintenance.

Will I still occasionally comment on what my husband is wearing? Of course. But, only if it's really atrocious, or a blatant mismatch, etc., and I simply state the fact, and that's it. He can wear it if he wants, but I feel like I have to do my wifely duty and tell him that it's not okay to wear pants that have a large tear in the crotch. (he thought no one would be able to see...) I was trying to change my husband, but really it was me that needed to do the changing.

CHANGE - EXHIBIT B

A few weeks ago, I was trying to call my sister, but she didn't answer her cell phone. She now lives in my Dad's empty house, so I tried the land line, and got the nice lady's voice on the phone repeating, "This number is no longer in service..."

I hung up the phone and just sat there on my couch, phone in hand, staring at my orange painted walls. I knew my dad was going to be canceling the phone, but I had forgotten, and it was an odd feeling dialing that familiar number and hearing that recording.

You see, my parents have had the same land line phone number my whole life. Always. I grew up in the same house, and our phone number never changed. No matter where I moved across the country, I knew I could call that number and reach someone; my mom, my dad, a sibling who might be over for dinner, or at least my dad's voice on the answering machine. The same number. It may not seem like a big deal to you, and I can't say it's a BIG deal; but it's different... it's new... it's sad... it's change.

Sad over a phone number? It was weird, okay? There is something about calling the same number your whole life, and all of a sudden it not be there anymore. I mean, I probably could even recite the sounds the buttons make as you dial that number.

I'm sure it's not just the number that makes me a bit nostalgic. It's just another change that has happened from the seemingly trickle down effect of my mother's death. Sure, my dad has a new number if I want to get ahold of him, he's still there, technically speaking. But, in a way he isn't. It's different. He's not leaning against the kitchen cabinets talking on the phone, or sitting on a stool in the kitchen, or lying in his bed, or in the garage. It's like the change of a simple phone number is symbolic of something else. I guess it's hard to describe. But, once again, it's a change.

CHANGE - EXHIBIT C

Last week, I prepped Mallary to give away her pacifiers to a baby at church on Sunday. Sometimes, she would say, "no," and other times she would be on board. I was a little nervous on Sunday morning, and almost forgot to bring her two pacifiers to church.

After I got Mallary from nursery we went to find the baby. I handed the pacifiers to Mallary to give to the baby's mom. I could tell she was a little hesitant as she totally paused looking at them, and I knew she wanted to put one in her mouth. With a bit of prodding and help she handed them over.

We gave her lots of praise, but she was still a little worried about them when we laid her down for a nap after church. It took her longer to fall asleep for her nap, but she just sang and played, and didn't throw a fit for her pacifiers.

It's been a few days, and today when I put her down for her nap she didn't even mention them. For the past couple of days, when we put her to bed she would say, "Baby paci."

I think it's harder for a parent to take away a pacifier than it is for the child. Taking it away seems like your taking away part of what makes your baby a baby. But, she's not a baby anymore. Just more change.

CHANGE - CONCLUSION

Every day we deal with change in one form or another. Today, I dealt with my jeans being a little too tight. (Though, that's one change I'm not really celebrating, but oh well.) Who knows what change I'll be dealing with tomorrow? But, one thing is guaranteed; I'll be presented with another change tomorrow, presented with the opportunity to change, or needing to work on something else I want to change about myself.

Change schmange. :)