Quit yer bitchin'

"Little Man is complaining that his tummy hurts, and is lying on the rug during circle time."

This is the phone call I got from the preschool while enjoying coffee with a friend today, during the one, non-family-benefitting event on my schedule this week, and I had to leave and go pick up my sick child. I thought, "He can't help it if he's sick though." Ignoring the fact that I was planning on grocery shopping and taking the dog to the vet after coffee, I race over to the school.

The moment I set foot in the classroom, I know I've been had.* Little Man, henceforth known in this post as Little Asshole, literally can not keep a straight face while telling me, "My tummy hurts." We get in to the hallway and he breaks into a joyful run, asking me where his Lightning McQueen is. Once out side, I sit him down and ask him, "Are you really sick, buddy?" His reply? "No, I just pretending." Grrrr.

After a serious talk about lying, and informing LA that not only will he not be eating any treats or drinking any juice today because of his bullshit tummy story, he will also be taking a nap and going to bed early. Oh, and there will be no playing with Mommy, as she has shit to do that she normally gets done when you're at school, freeing her up to play with you afterwards. Having The Most Boring Day Ever tends to nip the faking-sick-thing right in the bud, just ask #1 and #2. For I will not have that shit.**

So this is an appropriate beginning to what was supposed to be a post about my efforts to stop complaining, which were tried mightily today. Don't worry, I will still save all my bitching for you guys, hopefully spinning it into comedy, but what I mean is, I am really trying to stop the thoughtless whining I seem to do pretty regularly. Like today, instead of calling H, then S, and possibly my sister, to share my outrage, I just let it go.

It all started after an argument with H, where I was claiming he wasn't supporting my work at the school and with scouts, etc. Yes, I had PMS at the time, and yes, I realize how ridiculously touchy-feely that sentence is, but I wanted him to stop rolling his eyes when I told him about another meeting I have to attend. H asked me a question during our too-long-progesterone-fueled discussion of this topic that really got my wheels turning. "How can I be supportive of something that makes you so miserable and you choose to do it? Do you get anything out of this at all?"

What? I almost gasped in disbelief. I'm doing this for the kids! I love spending time with #2 and her troop, and raising money for the school! Was he serious? But when I really thought about it, all he really hears is kvetching when I talk about the PTA and Girl Scouts, so why would he think I love all this stuff? Why would he be psyched for me to do more of it? That would be insane.

I started thinking about complaining, in general. We all do it. It's a national pastime. We are tired, stressed, overworked - in the office or at home. Think about the last time you asked someone how they were. They probably said "fine" but then your discussion progressed to your both complaining about work or the kids' soccer schedule***. When's the last time someone told you they were "great". If they did, you'd probably tink they were medicated or annoying. It seems we commiserating is the easiest way for us to relate. Why do we feel more connected to others sharing their troubles? I know there's some biological, Darwinian explanation about empathy, etc., but wouldn't it be a whole lot nicer if we all shared our good news without worrying like the other person thinks we took some X with our Wheaties?

Complaining also takes a lot of energy physically and emotionally. Think about an annoying incident you've had recently and retell the story to yourself. As you go through it, you experience the same rise in blood pressure and negative feelings you did the first time. Why do you want to feel that twice? Is another person saying, "Boy, that really sucks", worth it? Unless it involves them making you feel not crazy, which I often do, asking H if my reaction was appropriate to a certain annoying stimulus (the answer is no, more than I think probable). After looking at it though, just every day chatting-while-picking-the-kids-up griping, is really sucking the life out of me.

So my plan is to radically cut back on the day to day moaning. Sure, it might be harder to come up with a positive topic of conversation during my daily interactions, when groaning over the math homework is such comfortable common ground, but perhaps sharinging, instead, how great the Girl Scout camping trip**** was will leave both myself and my conversational partner feeling a little more upbeat.

Will this work? We'll see. So far this week, I feel a lot happier. Plus, as I disclaimed before, I will still keep bitching up a storm here. Don't change my name to Mary Sunshine just yet.


*I posthumously apologize to my mother for the time in second grade I found a quater on the playground and used it to call her office and leave a message for her to come get her daughter at school. In my defense, didn't my mother, or the secretary, think maybe they should call and speak to an actual adult before she came and got me?
**Oh, Tina Fey, how I love thee.
***We are on the field Saturdays from 9-1. What the hell are we going to do when LM starts playing? Build a yurt and live on the field?
****Thankfully, my troop did not stay over as was one of my fears being a troop leader. It was exhausting and awesome. I can barely lift my arms to type though, after rowing a boat full of seven year-olds across a huge lake.