I have to clean my house.
I have to go grocery shopping.
I have to do laundry.
I have to sort thought my personal papers so I can find things when I need them.
I have to clear the space in the kitchen designated as "Homework / Craft Area" so that there is actually space there.
I have to get desks for the boys.
I don't want to do any of this. I don't want to think about any of this. I would like to stay in bed and watch the Amazon Pilots that are out. I would like for someone to bring me coffee and a croissant in bed.
But In stead I need to get up. I need to do those things. But before I do those things I need to feed my children, feed the pets, give the cat his insulin and his thyroid pill. I need to wash the dishes I didn't wash last night (broken dishwasher.)
I need to run.
I'm going for a run.
Not quite a day-long movie marathon with croissant and coffee, but at least I'll be moving. I have this visual image of depression building up in my system, like rust in the pipes, plaque in the veins. It sits there and hardens and the more there is the harder it gets to actually move around or get the right water pressure.
If I get up now, after two days of sitting around feeling sorry for myself and over eating take out, shortbread cookies, and white whine, it's going to feel horrible. Two days ago, I could have jumped on the treadmill and avoided all of this.
But if I do this now, it will be so much easier than if I keep dragging my feet until Tuesday. I need this. I need this run to work the grit of 'depressed' out of my system and get some normalcy back.
If I jump on the treadmill, cleaning my house will be easier.
If I run 3 miles, grocery shopping will feel better.
If my blood flows faster and my heart beats stronger it will clean out the junk sitting in my mind, and I will be able to look at the pile of jump sitting on the hutch in the kitchen without feeling an overwhelming sense of despair. Maybe I'll even be able to make sense of it so the boys can sit at the table and do their homework.
Until their desks get here.
Showing posts with label Grumpy. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Grumpy. Show all posts
Tuesday, September 02, 2014
Saturday, June 07, 2014
Terrible Horrible No Good etc. Day
I had the worst day.
My kids say that all the time. "This is the worst day of my LIFE!" Usually this cry is in response to my taking away screen time. Or declaring that 3 hours is enough screen time. Or saying it's time to practice violin.
In any case, I laugh at the boy who says this because it's an over reaction.
I had the worst day.
Not the worst day of my life. But just, The Worst.
It involved an argument with Steve. In our driveway. In front of our children. Before work / school. So much fun, right? I don't often write about arguments with Steve, but you know, we are getting a divorce, and they do happen. I regret the fact that the argument took place, but not anything I said. Perhaps the timing. But not the substance. And I'm still angry.
The babysitter is ill and had to cancel for the 2nd day in a row. Actually, she asked me if we could play it by ear, but call me crazy, I'm not comfortable with that. I like to know who is going to pick up my child from school before I leave for work.
I showed up at work stressed and blotchy faced. My co-workers were in unusually high spirits. Not a good mesh.
Work was... work. I didn't bring my A game. At the end of the day my back had started hurting. I must have hurt something while working out, or those shoes I wore are not good for standing.
And there are other things. Stupid things. A guy I like basically let me know he wasn't interested. I was surprisingly let down for someone who didn't think she was all that interested. All this culminated in the realization that I simply liked the conversation because I've been lonely. Before Steve I had my friends. My friends are now far far away with their own families, and I find myself watching them all have mini-reunions through facebook photos and wondering how I'm no longer in touch. I don't even know how to make new friends.
Do I sound sorry enough for myself? What do you think? Could I whine a bit more? More of a nasal quality to the font?
By 9pm I was wiped. Exhausted. Sad. But oddly motivated to get back on my diet of healthy foods, to do yoga (for my back and flexibility) and to take life where I have it. It's like when the house gets messier and messier because you can't start the job of cleaning it, and then you finally snap. Only my life is the house. Which isn't to say that one of the things I'm motivated to do isn't fix up the house a bit. I'm all over it. I'm all over lots of things. I'm ready. Bring it.
My kids say that all the time. "This is the worst day of my LIFE!" Usually this cry is in response to my taking away screen time. Or declaring that 3 hours is enough screen time. Or saying it's time to practice violin.
In any case, I laugh at the boy who says this because it's an over reaction.
I had the worst day.
Not the worst day of my life. But just, The Worst.
It involved an argument with Steve. In our driveway. In front of our children. Before work / school. So much fun, right? I don't often write about arguments with Steve, but you know, we are getting a divorce, and they do happen. I regret the fact that the argument took place, but not anything I said. Perhaps the timing. But not the substance. And I'm still angry.
The babysitter is ill and had to cancel for the 2nd day in a row. Actually, she asked me if we could play it by ear, but call me crazy, I'm not comfortable with that. I like to know who is going to pick up my child from school before I leave for work.
I showed up at work stressed and blotchy faced. My co-workers were in unusually high spirits. Not a good mesh.
Work was... work. I didn't bring my A game. At the end of the day my back had started hurting. I must have hurt something while working out, or those shoes I wore are not good for standing.
And there are other things. Stupid things. A guy I like basically let me know he wasn't interested. I was surprisingly let down for someone who didn't think she was all that interested. All this culminated in the realization that I simply liked the conversation because I've been lonely. Before Steve I had my friends. My friends are now far far away with their own families, and I find myself watching them all have mini-reunions through facebook photos and wondering how I'm no longer in touch. I don't even know how to make new friends.
Do I sound sorry enough for myself? What do you think? Could I whine a bit more? More of a nasal quality to the font?
By 9pm I was wiped. Exhausted. Sad. But oddly motivated to get back on my diet of healthy foods, to do yoga (for my back and flexibility) and to take life where I have it. It's like when the house gets messier and messier because you can't start the job of cleaning it, and then you finally snap. Only my life is the house. Which isn't to say that one of the things I'm motivated to do isn't fix up the house a bit. I'm all over it. I'm all over lots of things. I'm ready. Bring it.
Thursday, June 05, 2014
Wakeful Nights
Even when I was a small child I sometimes had trouble sleeping.
Maybe everybody does. Maybe this makes me not special at all. I could just be like everybody else.
When I was a kid I would turn on the light and read until light began creeping in my window. I would do my best not to look outside into the dark, because without leaves the trees shaped themselves into a creature with eyes that never failed to find my in the dark. Also, because I read Salem's Lot when I was really young and I was afraid I'd see a vampire floating out there who would charm me with its eyes and get me to let it in my home.
OK, sometimes I'd run and climb into bed with one of my sisters, but they didn't appreciate that.
This past year, my wakeful nights have become more frequent.
I used to think they were random, or caused by caffeine, sometimes a wine overdose. And I don't think I'd rule those two out as factors 100% of the time.
But these days there's a lot floating through my mind. Paperwork, finances, parental dilemmas, existential crises, all of these pinprick my brain at times it should be resting and sorting through the day's bucket of information.
Also, there's Gunther. Gunther is my dog, and he has recently been returned to the Cone Of Shame, due to the fact that his leg hurts him. Well, his leg hurts him, so he licks it, and then he keeps licking it, and then it becomes a large bloody infected sore. So the vet made us put the cone back on. Gunther has lost most of his hearing, and now he's mostly blind, because of the cone. He's also still in pain, despite the pain meds I try to fool him into swallowing twice a day. This makes him extremely annoying to live with.
I've also lost most of my compassion for Gunther as he has begun to spend his nights doing the crying-whining thing. He gets up, he turns in circles, he pant-cries a bit. He sits back down. He makes odd lapping-licking-slurping noises inside the cone. It's all very loud and unsettling at 1am. I'm never sure what the problem is - does he need to be? Should I let him out? I don't want to do that because if he doesn't have to go sometimes he just walks around out there, wandering and taking his time. He's deaf and mostly blind and it's dark. He can't see, he can't hear, I can't find him in the dark, and I'm tired and would rather be sleeping. Maybe he's just thirsty? Should I go downstairs and make sure he has water? What else can I do? What else is there?
Eventually I try to shut him out of the room, but Gunther then barks to be let back in, undaunted by the fact that it's the middle of the night and the house contains sleeping children.
I'm tired. I'm cranky. I'm sleep deprived. I blame the dog. It's like having an infant that won't sleep. I remember holding Nick and trying to find a way I could get some sleep, setting my eyes on the closet and thinking "You know, if I put him in there and shut the door, I might not even HEAR him cry, so I could sleep then!"
Sleep affects the thinking part of our brains. (I'd like to state here than I never put Nick in the closet. Even sleep deprived, I realized this was not actually a valid option.)
And I would be lying if I tried to pass this all off on the dog. There are nights I simply wake at 2am and can't get back to sleep. I read books. Sometimes I even write a little. Sometimes I just squeeze my eyes shut tight and try to not be awake until dawn creeps through my window and the clock says it's an acceptable time to get up and start working out.
Saturday, December 07, 2013
Dark Days
I have a confession to make.
I think I'm a little depressed.
Now I'm going to step out of myself, here. See me? I'm stepping right out of my post and I'm going to say, in a big, loud, clear voice, " Do not worry about me! I am fine, really! There is no need to be alarmed or call the cavalry! Seriously, this is just a short term thing I happen to be a little embarrassed about!"
On this blog every time I mention that I'm feeling blue I pay for it with hours of well intentioned emails and phone calls making sure I'm OK, or else I listen to another handful of people telling me I sound like I hate my life and I'm a negative person. I do not hate my life. I don't. Please don't freak out and have secret meetings about how to check me into a metal institution. I really am OK. I'm only a little bit down. Not as bad as this description here, which is one of my favorite descriptions of a battle with depression.
But I think I am a little depressed.
It's to be expected, isn't it? Given the situation? In the past, when feel down, I can usually trace it back to something hormonal or to something that has just happened - a fight, a death, the shampoo I use being discontinued... Things like that.
I'm not feeling holiday cheery. I mean, I am. I'm listening to the music and freaking out about shopping as always. I have the date set for getting a tree and the candles are in the window. I'm good. I'm doing the normal December stuff.
But... But...
It's just been so dark. And we've had a couple of days where the sun doesn't seem to come out at all. It's not cold - mid forties. But still, it seems colder. It's getting dark by the time the school bus drops the boys off.
Even on the sunny days in between, I can seem to keep going. Oh, I'm waking up ok, and working out,still. I'm getting the kids on the bus and making sure they've got homework down and all that. I'm even pretty much keeping up with housework. And, of course, checking Job postings daily, just in case the perfect job is out there.
By the time I pick up Andy, I'm knackered. I need a nap. Andy takes forty minutes to eat his lunch, which is usually just a handful of goldfish crackers and a yogurt, while I eat enough to feed a small village. I don't mean to. I eat a small thing, but then he's still not done so I eat another small thing. Then I eat another small thing. By the time Andy's finished his lunch I've ingested half the groceries and need a nap.
And boy, have I been napping! I fall asleep and I don't want to get up. I want to stay in bed and stay in bed and sleep and sleep and sleep. Why should I even get out of bed, I ask?
Usually I have an answer. Because I need to pick up the boys from school and take them to karate. Or I need to to pack the piano bags, start making dinner, fold laundry so the boys will have pants in the morning... stuff like that. I mean, life doesn't stop, yo! I got stuff to do! I know this is a temporary feeling and I need to get over it.
It's just that the getting out of bed is hard. Really really hard. I'm sleeping too much during the day, not enough at night, and I've gained ten pounds in the past six months. I haven't been able to go to choir regularly. Because of Thanksgiving, I missed quite a few workouts. (It sounds obsessive, but they really get the gunk out of the emotional system.)
So...
I need a plan. I need a plan to become un-depressed. I don't think I'm so far gone that I can't snap myself out of it if I try. Work out (a little) more or harder. Eat less garbage (pie / cookies) and more kale. Get to bed earlier. This weekend we're buying a tree and decorating a gingerbread house. I'm going to make plans for the rest of the holiday, including helping the boys with shopping. I'm making it choir, and I'm singing on Christmas Eve. It's going to be a great December.
See? Already I feel better. And now I'm going to get out of this bed, feed the boys and the pets, and hop of the treadmill for a nice long walk before Saturday Karate / therapy / playdate / gingerbread house decorating mayhem!
I think I'm a little depressed.
Now I'm going to step out of myself, here. See me? I'm stepping right out of my post and I'm going to say, in a big, loud, clear voice, " Do not worry about me! I am fine, really! There is no need to be alarmed or call the cavalry! Seriously, this is just a short term thing I happen to be a little embarrassed about!"
On this blog every time I mention that I'm feeling blue I pay for it with hours of well intentioned emails and phone calls making sure I'm OK, or else I listen to another handful of people telling me I sound like I hate my life and I'm a negative person. I do not hate my life. I don't. Please don't freak out and have secret meetings about how to check me into a metal institution. I really am OK. I'm only a little bit down. Not as bad as this description here, which is one of my favorite descriptions of a battle with depression.
But I think I am a little depressed.
It's to be expected, isn't it? Given the situation? In the past, when feel down, I can usually trace it back to something hormonal or to something that has just happened - a fight, a death, the shampoo I use being discontinued... Things like that.
I'm not feeling holiday cheery. I mean, I am. I'm listening to the music and freaking out about shopping as always. I have the date set for getting a tree and the candles are in the window. I'm good. I'm doing the normal December stuff.
But... But...
It's just been so dark. And we've had a couple of days where the sun doesn't seem to come out at all. It's not cold - mid forties. But still, it seems colder. It's getting dark by the time the school bus drops the boys off.
Even on the sunny days in between, I can seem to keep going. Oh, I'm waking up ok, and working out,still. I'm getting the kids on the bus and making sure they've got homework down and all that. I'm even pretty much keeping up with housework. And, of course, checking Job postings daily, just in case the perfect job is out there.
By the time I pick up Andy, I'm knackered. I need a nap. Andy takes forty minutes to eat his lunch, which is usually just a handful of goldfish crackers and a yogurt, while I eat enough to feed a small village. I don't mean to. I eat a small thing, but then he's still not done so I eat another small thing. Then I eat another small thing. By the time Andy's finished his lunch I've ingested half the groceries and need a nap.
And boy, have I been napping! I fall asleep and I don't want to get up. I want to stay in bed and stay in bed and sleep and sleep and sleep. Why should I even get out of bed, I ask?
Usually I have an answer. Because I need to pick up the boys from school and take them to karate. Or I need to to pack the piano bags, start making dinner, fold laundry so the boys will have pants in the morning... stuff like that. I mean, life doesn't stop, yo! I got stuff to do! I know this is a temporary feeling and I need to get over it.
It's just that the getting out of bed is hard. Really really hard. I'm sleeping too much during the day, not enough at night, and I've gained ten pounds in the past six months. I haven't been able to go to choir regularly. Because of Thanksgiving, I missed quite a few workouts. (It sounds obsessive, but they really get the gunk out of the emotional system.)
So...
I need a plan. I need a plan to become un-depressed. I don't think I'm so far gone that I can't snap myself out of it if I try. Work out (a little) more or harder. Eat less garbage (pie / cookies) and more kale. Get to bed earlier. This weekend we're buying a tree and decorating a gingerbread house. I'm going to make plans for the rest of the holiday, including helping the boys with shopping. I'm making it choir, and I'm singing on Christmas Eve. It's going to be a great December.
See? Already I feel better. And now I'm going to get out of this bed, feed the boys and the pets, and hop of the treadmill for a nice long walk before Saturday Karate / therapy / playdate / gingerbread house decorating mayhem!
Tuesday, November 26, 2013
Cone Story
Gunther is wearing the "Cone Of Shame."
No idea what Im talking about? Go watch the movie "Up!" for heaven's sake! At least watch the first ten minutes. It won't help you understand what I'm talking about, but it is required if you want to be my friend.
Um. I'm sorry. I'm a little sleep deprived. Where was I?
Ah, yes, Cone Of Shame. You know, the cone you put on a pet to stop him from licking a wound. Or more specifically, in Gunther's case, to stop him from licking his legs for no reason until he creates wounds.
I have very little sympathy for him in this. He did it. It's his fault.
Anyway, with the cone on, Gunther is a little clumsier than usual. First of all, he has lost all peripheral vision, so he keeps bumping into things. Second of all, the cone keeps getting stuck on things, like the stairs or corners of furniture. Gunther can't figure out what's happening when he does this.
And once he managed to accidentally shut himself into the bathroom.
Where was I going with this? Oh! Yeah....
So last night Gunther started walking around the bedroom.
He sometimes does this when he gets hip pain. It's like he hurts standing and hurts sitting so he just keeps circling. Only he had the cone on, so he was walking around the bedroom very, very loudly, the cone scraping on every available item of furniture.
And then I heard him start to pee.
I might have shot up faster than when I hear unexpected vomiting.
I don't think I was yelling. The boys didn't wake up. I managed to lead Gunther, cone scraping, down the stairs and to the front door, where he could go outside and finish peeing without additional stairs.
While he was out, I prepared an aspirin tablet. Then I looked out the door and saw him disappearing around the side of the house.
I went to the back door and saw him walking to the woods.
And this was when I remembered that I hadn't put his electric collar on, the one that keeps him in the yard. Away from the street and other people's yards. And he has no peripheral vision.
Did I mention the snow on the ground? There was. Did I mention that it was 4:30? AM? And pitch dark?
I decided I had to go out and find him. I put my snow boots on, and my coat, and headed out the front door.
But I didn't see him. I didn't see anything. It was dark.
So I went back inside and grabbed a flashlight, and went out the back door. I still couldn't find him. I saw his footprints go off to the woods, and loop around the swing-set and back around to...
This was when I heard him start barking at the front of the house. Impatiently. Because I wasn't there to let him it RIGHT AWAY when he came back.
If this had been it, I wouldn't be so cranky, but even after the aspirin, even after I cleaned up the pee in my rug, Gunther refused to settle down. And I was too riled up to go back to sleep, especially with the cone scraping and Gunther's loud breathing. Seriously, the panting... I think the cone was acting as a megaphone. And Gunther kept coming over to the bed and looking at me, like I was supposed to do something.
It's not that I don't feel bad for him. I do. But the cone is his fault, and I can't DO anything about any of this.
No idea what Im talking about? Go watch the movie "Up!" for heaven's sake! At least watch the first ten minutes. It won't help you understand what I'm talking about, but it is required if you want to be my friend.
Um. I'm sorry. I'm a little sleep deprived. Where was I?
Ah, yes, Cone Of Shame. You know, the cone you put on a pet to stop him from licking a wound. Or more specifically, in Gunther's case, to stop him from licking his legs for no reason until he creates wounds.
I have very little sympathy for him in this. He did it. It's his fault.
Anyway, with the cone on, Gunther is a little clumsier than usual. First of all, he has lost all peripheral vision, so he keeps bumping into things. Second of all, the cone keeps getting stuck on things, like the stairs or corners of furniture. Gunther can't figure out what's happening when he does this.
And once he managed to accidentally shut himself into the bathroom.
Where was I going with this? Oh! Yeah....
So last night Gunther started walking around the bedroom.
He sometimes does this when he gets hip pain. It's like he hurts standing and hurts sitting so he just keeps circling. Only he had the cone on, so he was walking around the bedroom very, very loudly, the cone scraping on every available item of furniture.
And then I heard him start to pee.
I might have shot up faster than when I hear unexpected vomiting.
I don't think I was yelling. The boys didn't wake up. I managed to lead Gunther, cone scraping, down the stairs and to the front door, where he could go outside and finish peeing without additional stairs.
While he was out, I prepared an aspirin tablet. Then I looked out the door and saw him disappearing around the side of the house.
I went to the back door and saw him walking to the woods.
And this was when I remembered that I hadn't put his electric collar on, the one that keeps him in the yard. Away from the street and other people's yards. And he has no peripheral vision.
Did I mention the snow on the ground? There was. Did I mention that it was 4:30? AM? And pitch dark?
I decided I had to go out and find him. I put my snow boots on, and my coat, and headed out the front door.
But I didn't see him. I didn't see anything. It was dark.
So I went back inside and grabbed a flashlight, and went out the back door. I still couldn't find him. I saw his footprints go off to the woods, and loop around the swing-set and back around to...
This was when I heard him start barking at the front of the house. Impatiently. Because I wasn't there to let him it RIGHT AWAY when he came back.
If this had been it, I wouldn't be so cranky, but even after the aspirin, even after I cleaned up the pee in my rug, Gunther refused to settle down. And I was too riled up to go back to sleep, especially with the cone scraping and Gunther's loud breathing. Seriously, the panting... I think the cone was acting as a megaphone. And Gunther kept coming over to the bed and looking at me, like I was supposed to do something.
It's not that I don't feel bad for him. I do. But the cone is his fault, and I can't DO anything about any of this.
Tuesday, November 19, 2013
Something's Coming
I have a cold.
No. Wait. I don't actually have a cold. Not YET, anyway.
But I can feel it coming.
See, I had kind of a busy weekend that involved staying up late and spending a lot of time in an enclosed place with a lot of people and loud music that I could feel reverberate through every bone in my body.
So last night, when I kept waking up thinking, "Hey! I have a sore throat" I thought is was nothing but a fluke and a reaction to breathing in heated air.
But this morning, as I sit here and think, "Hey. My throat is a little scratchy," I know. I feel it coming for me. The cold.
I can feel it creeping into my nasal passages, making breathing just a little more difficult. I can feel it in my head. I'm really fine, but my head is just a teensy bit heavier, a smidgen foggier. I'm oh so slightly more tired than usual.
When I had the flu last year, I shut down the world. I tried for a little while, getting the boys to school, making meals, trying to hit all of our karate, piano, library commitments. But eventually I just stopped. I declared a state of emergency and shut down all government funded programs (within my home). I sat in bed for days (days!) and watched every single episode of Robin Hood while drifting in and out of consciousness. And the single thought in my head was "I feel like crap. I might never feel normal again. Please let there be a time when I don't feel so awful."
It didn't get so bad as the times I had food poisoning, when I actually found myself thinking death would be preferable to ten more minutes of sitting on the bathroom floor wondering if I was going to throw up again or could crawl back to by bed. But still, my mind was all about how I felt, physically.
Right now I don't feel that bad. I feel pretty OK, except that I can feel what's coming. And the thought in my head isn't about sleeping or feeling better one day. I'm looking around and thinking. "I have a lot of stuff to do. I don't have time for this crap!"
Go away, cold. I don't have time for you.
No. Wait. I don't actually have a cold. Not YET, anyway.
But I can feel it coming.
See, I had kind of a busy weekend that involved staying up late and spending a lot of time in an enclosed place with a lot of people and loud music that I could feel reverberate through every bone in my body.
So last night, when I kept waking up thinking, "Hey! I have a sore throat" I thought is was nothing but a fluke and a reaction to breathing in heated air.
But this morning, as I sit here and think, "Hey. My throat is a little scratchy," I know. I feel it coming for me. The cold.
I can feel it creeping into my nasal passages, making breathing just a little more difficult. I can feel it in my head. I'm really fine, but my head is just a teensy bit heavier, a smidgen foggier. I'm oh so slightly more tired than usual.
When I had the flu last year, I shut down the world. I tried for a little while, getting the boys to school, making meals, trying to hit all of our karate, piano, library commitments. But eventually I just stopped. I declared a state of emergency and shut down all government funded programs (within my home). I sat in bed for days (days!) and watched every single episode of Robin Hood while drifting in and out of consciousness. And the single thought in my head was "I feel like crap. I might never feel normal again. Please let there be a time when I don't feel so awful."
It didn't get so bad as the times I had food poisoning, when I actually found myself thinking death would be preferable to ten more minutes of sitting on the bathroom floor wondering if I was going to throw up again or could crawl back to by bed. But still, my mind was all about how I felt, physically.
Right now I don't feel that bad. I feel pretty OK, except that I can feel what's coming. And the thought in my head isn't about sleeping or feeling better one day. I'm looking around and thinking. "I have a lot of stuff to do. I don't have time for this crap!"
Go away, cold. I don't have time for you.
Wednesday, September 18, 2013
Things Explained
The title is a misnomer.
But I realized why I might have been exhausted in the last post I wrote.
I have a cold. It crept up on me and settled in my right sinus area. I sneezed all day and began coughing lightly in the evening. As soon as the boys were in bed, I climbed in bed, also.
Thank you, Universe. I needed a cold right now.
Yes, that was sarcasm. I'm sorry. I'll do the real gratitude post later.
But I realized why I might have been exhausted in the last post I wrote.
I have a cold. It crept up on me and settled in my right sinus area. I sneezed all day and began coughing lightly in the evening. As soon as the boys were in bed, I climbed in bed, also.
Thank you, Universe. I needed a cold right now.
Yes, that was sarcasm. I'm sorry. I'll do the real gratitude post later.
Tuesday, September 17, 2013
I am weary
So, I know that a person can get tired, physically tired, when things get stressful. Prolonged periods of sadness can do that, too. Ever falling asleep after a really good cry?
I'm exhausted. And even though things are stressful, all things considered, I thought I took it easy these past few days. I saw my friend, I watched a movie with my boys, I ignored a few chores and tasks I've been meaning to get to, like fixing the hole in my wall or doing something about that overgrown area under the porch...
But I'm so sleepy my thinking is getting woozy. And it isn't even 5pm.
I'm exhausted. And even though things are stressful, all things considered, I thought I took it easy these past few days. I saw my friend, I watched a movie with my boys, I ignored a few chores and tasks I've been meaning to get to, like fixing the hole in my wall or doing something about that overgrown area under the porch...
But I'm so sleepy my thinking is getting woozy. And it isn't even 5pm.
Sunday, September 08, 2013
The Wait
I'm waiting for something.
It could be anything, really, any one of a number of things. A job would be nice. Or winning the lottery. To name just two.
The thing is, life seems in a holding pattern. Steve is mid-move out, with many things taken, leaving gaping holes where items and furniture used to be. At the same time, there are still things he hasn't been able to take yet, so I can't simply move things into their place and move on.
I've never been a person with much patience. I want to be patient, and I am, right up to the moment when I snap and shriek "This Is Stupid! Argh!"
The thing is, even though I hate waiting, I think that I'm waiting for a good thing. I'm looking forward to it getting here. (cue song from West Side Story)
I know I sound like a crazy person, or else a very depressed person, on this blog. I just want everyone to know that I'm not. I'm just a very stressed person, and sometimes a very scared person, or hurt person, a lot of the time. Not all of the time. Most of the time, believe it or not, I'm actually 93% certain that everything ill turn out OK. But there isn't a lot I can write about without violating certain people's rights to privacy, or without jinxing myself.
It could be anything, really, any one of a number of things. A job would be nice. Or winning the lottery. To name just two.
The thing is, life seems in a holding pattern. Steve is mid-move out, with many things taken, leaving gaping holes where items and furniture used to be. At the same time, there are still things he hasn't been able to take yet, so I can't simply move things into their place and move on.
I've never been a person with much patience. I want to be patient, and I am, right up to the moment when I snap and shriek "This Is Stupid! Argh!"
The thing is, even though I hate waiting, I think that I'm waiting for a good thing. I'm looking forward to it getting here. (cue song from West Side Story)
I know I sound like a crazy person, or else a very depressed person, on this blog. I just want everyone to know that I'm not. I'm just a very stressed person, and sometimes a very scared person, or hurt person, a lot of the time. Not all of the time. Most of the time, believe it or not, I'm actually 93% certain that everything ill turn out OK. But there isn't a lot I can write about without violating certain people's rights to privacy, or without jinxing myself.
Friday, August 30, 2013
The Glass Is Always Full
It's not that I had a particularly bad day today.
I didn't, really. Nothing extremely bad happened, and by that I mean that we have reached this point, where the boys are in bed, everyone has been fed, we are all safe and fed, and there are no impending disasters.
And yet... yet today would not be considered what I call "an easy day."
Last night Steve spent the night in his new place, which is not too far away. Change isn't always bad, but it's always change, and it takes time to adjust.
One of the boys wet the bed, and it wasn't the one I'd expect. I discovered this later in the day, after the mattress had the chance to soak everything up.
I didn't get a job today. Again.
But I did get to see some of the jobs I applied for previously re-appear on the boards. Meaning that whoever was in charge looked at my application and decided NOT that they were better off hiring a better applicant, but that they were better off hiring NO applicant.
This includes the job as a lunch lady at a nearby school.
Steve and I had a talk about issues surrounding the divorce, and while it wasn't a horrible conversation, it was tense and emotional, and after he left I cried, as I do every single time.
The refrigerator suddenly began leaking water from someplace in the freezer, because what I need now is a broken fridge leaking water all over my kitchen. It occurred to me that I have no idea how the thing is even hooked up. I switched the ice maker off, which stopped the water pouring out the bottom, and vowed to clean under my fridge soon because it's gross down there.
I didn't write the thing I told myself I was going to write today.
I spent 20 minutes arguing with Andy about who was going to use my ipad. (um, me?)
It took the boys forever to get dressed for karate, even though I gave them 45 minutes of heads up.
I lost my car keys just before it was time to leave for karate. After yelling at the boys to hurry up because it took them so long.
In the car, I started thinking.
I used to know some people who were just so pessimistic. Nothing was ever right for these people. Life was, and for some of them is still, a series of unfortunate events. "Why do I have such bad luck?" they moan. I knew a lot of these people in High School - which is to be expected, teen angst and all. Also, I feel that at that age, kids haven't always learned to take responsibility for what happens. (I broke my arm! Dude, you were skateboarding on a wall.) In college I knew a few, too. Some of these people are still this way.
I decided I could very easily be one of those people if I didn't snap out of this really soon.
I've read that we make our own luck. Not by actually doing anything, but with our state of mind. If we can see the good stuff, then we are happier, feel luckier. And to be honest, other people are more likely to smile at you and be nice to you, completing a sort of cycle, when you smile and don't radiate discontent and gloom.
So I started making a list of all the things that went well today.
Nathan lost a tooth.
Andy and I had a really good time sitting in bed playing a hidden object game.
Before that, we went grocery shopping and also had a great time.
I had a nice talk with a local 12 year old who was excited to show me his Magic cards. One was from as far back as 1994. Which, I think, is just about when my friends were all playing Magic. I never understood it, but still loved that this kid was playing.
Tonight, after dinner, I had a glass of wine.
The boys helped me clean up after dinner.
I don't have to get up early tomorrow. For anything.
Some people see the glass as half full, and some see it as half empty. But if you look at things from the right point of view, it's all going to be OK, which is way more important. I feel better now that I've thought about the positives. I feel more in control, more satisfied. More empowered. The glass is always full. It's half liquid, and half air. And air is better than nothing.
I didn't, really. Nothing extremely bad happened, and by that I mean that we have reached this point, where the boys are in bed, everyone has been fed, we are all safe and fed, and there are no impending disasters.
And yet... yet today would not be considered what I call "an easy day."
Last night Steve spent the night in his new place, which is not too far away. Change isn't always bad, but it's always change, and it takes time to adjust.
One of the boys wet the bed, and it wasn't the one I'd expect. I discovered this later in the day, after the mattress had the chance to soak everything up.
I didn't get a job today. Again.
But I did get to see some of the jobs I applied for previously re-appear on the boards. Meaning that whoever was in charge looked at my application and decided NOT that they were better off hiring a better applicant, but that they were better off hiring NO applicant.
This includes the job as a lunch lady at a nearby school.
Steve and I had a talk about issues surrounding the divorce, and while it wasn't a horrible conversation, it was tense and emotional, and after he left I cried, as I do every single time.
The refrigerator suddenly began leaking water from someplace in the freezer, because what I need now is a broken fridge leaking water all over my kitchen. It occurred to me that I have no idea how the thing is even hooked up. I switched the ice maker off, which stopped the water pouring out the bottom, and vowed to clean under my fridge soon because it's gross down there.
I didn't write the thing I told myself I was going to write today.
I spent 20 minutes arguing with Andy about who was going to use my ipad. (um, me?)
It took the boys forever to get dressed for karate, even though I gave them 45 minutes of heads up.
I lost my car keys just before it was time to leave for karate. After yelling at the boys to hurry up because it took them so long.
In the car, I started thinking.
I used to know some people who were just so pessimistic. Nothing was ever right for these people. Life was, and for some of them is still, a series of unfortunate events. "Why do I have such bad luck?" they moan. I knew a lot of these people in High School - which is to be expected, teen angst and all. Also, I feel that at that age, kids haven't always learned to take responsibility for what happens. (I broke my arm! Dude, you were skateboarding on a wall.) In college I knew a few, too. Some of these people are still this way.
I decided I could very easily be one of those people if I didn't snap out of this really soon.
I've read that we make our own luck. Not by actually doing anything, but with our state of mind. If we can see the good stuff, then we are happier, feel luckier. And to be honest, other people are more likely to smile at you and be nice to you, completing a sort of cycle, when you smile and don't radiate discontent and gloom.
So I started making a list of all the things that went well today.
Nathan lost a tooth.
Andy and I had a really good time sitting in bed playing a hidden object game.
Before that, we went grocery shopping and also had a great time.
I had a nice talk with a local 12 year old who was excited to show me his Magic cards. One was from as far back as 1994. Which, I think, is just about when my friends were all playing Magic. I never understood it, but still loved that this kid was playing.
Tonight, after dinner, I had a glass of wine.
The boys helped me clean up after dinner.
I don't have to get up early tomorrow. For anything.
Some people see the glass as half full, and some see it as half empty. But if you look at things from the right point of view, it's all going to be OK, which is way more important. I feel better now that I've thought about the positives. I feel more in control, more satisfied. More empowered. The glass is always full. It's half liquid, and half air. And air is better than nothing.
Saturday, December 22, 2012
This Crazy Garbage
Something happened Thursday night.
The phone must have rung, because I found myself listening to a message. It was one of those messages the schools have started using, they call you with a recorded message and it usually says something like "There is a 90 minute delay this morning due to snow / ice / the power outage." Or sometimes "busses 23, 17, and 8 are running twenty minutes late."
But it was 11:30 at night. and it was not, as far as I knew, snowing.
It was a message from a school district official who was rambling on about some threat to the schools in our town. He had heard about it from some people, and at first they thought it was for same-name town in CT, but then it turned out that no, it was for our town here in NH. And then he went to the police and it turns out the police didn't even KNOW about the threat, so now the town police knew and the state police too, and also the FBI, but don't worry, there would be a police presence at every single one of our schools the next morning.
I know we have to take threat seriously, but this message angered me.
Perhaps it angered me because, moments before getting into bed, I received an "invitation" from the PTA to all PTA volunteers to "man the doors" during school hours. See, after the school shooting last week, they have started locking the doors to the schools, and now they need people standing there opening them. This is called "increased security."
So if you're wondering what that looks like, take a look my way. It's people like me, with no training, with no special skills, just opening doors for however many hours. Forgive me my candor, and my possible coldness. I don't want to be insensitive or rude, but just how is this supposed to stop a crazed killer armed to the gills? I am not a maniac, have never held a gun, get nervous when I think a police officer is carrying when we're in the same room. But even I could figure out how to get past a couple of moms and two school secretaries. Except for the fact that there are only 7 parking spots in a school of over 700, and everyone has to walk a half mile. THAT's your security right there.
Anyway, Steve and I both listened to the message and decided that this threat seemed unfounded. It was... vague. We decided to send our kids in to school.
Actually, the next morning I asked the boys if they wanted to go. It was the last day of school before break, the day of parties and games and crafts. Of course they wanted to go.
So I sent them.
Many, many people kept their kids home. Why chance it? parents asked. I could kind of see how that would work - last day, not missing anything academic. But hey, my kids complain about school so often that any day they want to go I will cling onto, Right?
Besides, I was supposed to be at Nate's party. And I could make Nick's library time.
It was pouring rain. I had to park a half mile away. I was lugging Nate's forgotten library books from earlier that week. When I got to the building, I was met by two police officials and the usual hallway greeter. They asked me for ID. I had forgotten mine in the car. The rain immediately picked up. My bag fell in a puddle. I wasn't wearing a coat. I arrived at the library dripping and freezing cold. I was snippy to the police and the sign in guy and had to apologize when I left.
Half of the kids in Nick's class were missing.
On the flip side, almost all the kids were in Nate's class.
It turned out not to be a viable threat. Because it was all so, "I heard from these people who heard from someone who read on this website" and junior high "he said that she said that SHE said" and it turned out that the threat was, indeed, made for schools in CT. Also, there was some kind of threat tweeting making riot today that was somehow linked to the Mayan calendar actually HAVING AN END instead of, what, going on indefinitely? Don't people think that would be stranger? And I am just so ANGRY at the school district guy for feeling the need to leave a convoluted message RIGHT AWAY, spreading hysteria and causing panic. I'm angry at people for letting themselves be panicked and angry at the stupid stupid thoughtless and heartless people who think this is a laugh a minute and I hope they get what's coming to them, whatever that may be. Preferably life with no electronic devices EVER AGAIN.
I'm glad school is over. I'm glad we are at home for the next couple of weeks. I'm so happy to get to deal with family, but so angry at society and it's stupid rules and stupid laws that says I can't buy too much cough medicine for my kids but hey - I can walk into a Wall MArt and purchase rounds of ammo no problem.
My vacation is from society. I'm out.
Wednesday, December 12, 2012
Cold Or Flu?
Today's episode of Medical Mystery: Is it a cold, or is it the flu?
We've been sick. I think I've mentioned that.
I can't tell you when I wrote the post about us being sick. I've lost track of the days. All I know is that I've been miserable for about... well, for about forever.
For a long time I thought that "The Flu" meant vomiting. A stomach bug. But I was wrong. "The Flu" is actually a lot more like a cold. In fact, the CDC website says it's almost impossible to tell the difference between cold and flu without special tests. The WebMD site says there is a slight difference in fever and muscle aches.
I usually let the indicator be the fever. If there is no fever, it's just a cold. Also, colds are much more common than the dreaded flu, no matter what panicked parents and doctors waiting to jab you with needles say. However...
I've been wondering if what we have could be the flu. I was sticking with Bad Cold, but then my fever spiked at over 101, and I'm the type that commonly registers in at 96.8. It's very high for me, is what I'm getting at. That, and the boys have existed in three states of being: cranky and fighting, zombie, or asleep. Nathan slept for fifteen hours straight this weekend. And even when I thought it was over and sent everyone back to school, I was there 3 hours later picking everyone up again.
So... yeas, I have fever and muscle aches, which makes me think it's the flu. But then again, I'm sneezing and congested, which makes me think it could possibly be a cold. Of course, I'm a bit paranoid, and so I spent a little too much time on the internet researching the sound of the whooping cough, comparing them to the coughs that punctuate our daily lives.
Another thing - Steve is also sick. And a little over a week ago he received his first flu shot in years. So that reduces the chances that it's flu, right?
Except no, it doesn't because every flu virus is different, and the flu shot is merely the prediction of which strain of flu will be most rampant in the population, so if another strain of flu wins out or attacks, you could still get the flu, right? At least, this was what I understood.
In the end, I guess it makes no difference. Except that I like to know. If I can tell people "We all had the flu" they might be more inclined to let us off the hook and not worry about the homework we had to do.
We've been sick. I think I've mentioned that.
I can't tell you when I wrote the post about us being sick. I've lost track of the days. All I know is that I've been miserable for about... well, for about forever.
For a long time I thought that "The Flu" meant vomiting. A stomach bug. But I was wrong. "The Flu" is actually a lot more like a cold. In fact, the CDC website says it's almost impossible to tell the difference between cold and flu without special tests. The WebMD site says there is a slight difference in fever and muscle aches.
I usually let the indicator be the fever. If there is no fever, it's just a cold. Also, colds are much more common than the dreaded flu, no matter what panicked parents and doctors waiting to jab you with needles say. However...
I've been wondering if what we have could be the flu. I was sticking with Bad Cold, but then my fever spiked at over 101, and I'm the type that commonly registers in at 96.8. It's very high for me, is what I'm getting at. That, and the boys have existed in three states of being: cranky and fighting, zombie, or asleep. Nathan slept for fifteen hours straight this weekend. And even when I thought it was over and sent everyone back to school, I was there 3 hours later picking everyone up again.
So... yeas, I have fever and muscle aches, which makes me think it's the flu. But then again, I'm sneezing and congested, which makes me think it could possibly be a cold. Of course, I'm a bit paranoid, and so I spent a little too much time on the internet researching the sound of the whooping cough, comparing them to the coughs that punctuate our daily lives.
Another thing - Steve is also sick. And a little over a week ago he received his first flu shot in years. So that reduces the chances that it's flu, right?
Except no, it doesn't because every flu virus is different, and the flu shot is merely the prediction of which strain of flu will be most rampant in the population, so if another strain of flu wins out or attacks, you could still get the flu, right? At least, this was what I understood.
In the end, I guess it makes no difference. Except that I like to know. If I can tell people "We all had the flu" they might be more inclined to let us off the hook and not worry about the homework we had to do.
Monday, November 26, 2012
The Happening...
I used to sit down and try and write a bunch of blog posts at one time.
When my brain or memory would fail me, I would put up a bunch of photographs. I didn't always have any, but I often did, and if I didn't I'd pull out the camera and take pictures of the boys eating or playing with their DS things, or sometimes my backyard.
So there I was, right after Thanksgiving, ready to put up a bunch pf photos of smiling and eating relatives, and everything seemed to be going according to plan, when...
I got an error message.
It was upbeat. It began with "whoops!"
When I was tracking my running, RunKeeper sometimes gave me error message s that began "Oh Noes!" when their server wasn't functioning properly. And I would get doubly irritated because not only was the server not working, but I'm in no mood for computers trying to act all cute. This time I kind of felt the same way.
Only Blogger wasn't taking any of the blame. Oh no.
The "whoops!" messgae went on to explain that I had reached my free 1GB of free storage space for photos in my online Picasa web album, the one that stores my photos, and that I would have to purchase additional space if I wanted to go on. Or perhaps order some photos or something?
Quite honestly, I don't remember the exact wording of the message. I was upset. And as I am not inclined to pay for web storage nor am I ready to order photos (I just ordered 300 prints from iphoto) I was in kind of a lurch.
So now I'm doing a bit of shuffling around. I'm trying to transfer photos from the Picasa web albums to iPhoto, so I don't lose them (I'll end up having to back them up again, I know. Then, I can go and delete them, one by one. off the Picasa albums.
The downside to this, and it is a real downside, is that when I delete a photo from Picasa, it is no longer available on this blog.
Go back. Take a moment and go back to the earliest of the posts I did, way back in 2006. You'll see that the earliest photos are gone and unviewable. You should view all of them, all of the pictures of Nick as a toddler and Nate as a chubby cheeked baby, go back and see them all now. While you still can.
From this point on it's like some horror film, Back To The Future, maybe, but to me more like Steven King's Langoliers, or The Nothing from The Neverending Story. It has begin, and now, little by little, those old photographs will disappear, gradually picking up speed, until today, too, is eaten by the no-more-photos monster...
Anyway, one of the reasons things have slowed down is that all this shuffling around takes time. Photos will arrive before too long. I appreciate your patience.
When my brain or memory would fail me, I would put up a bunch of photographs. I didn't always have any, but I often did, and if I didn't I'd pull out the camera and take pictures of the boys eating or playing with their DS things, or sometimes my backyard.
So there I was, right after Thanksgiving, ready to put up a bunch pf photos of smiling and eating relatives, and everything seemed to be going according to plan, when...
I got an error message.
It was upbeat. It began with "whoops!"
When I was tracking my running, RunKeeper sometimes gave me error message s that began "Oh Noes!" when their server wasn't functioning properly. And I would get doubly irritated because not only was the server not working, but I'm in no mood for computers trying to act all cute. This time I kind of felt the same way.
Only Blogger wasn't taking any of the blame. Oh no.
The "whoops!" messgae went on to explain that I had reached my free 1GB of free storage space for photos in my online Picasa web album, the one that stores my photos, and that I would have to purchase additional space if I wanted to go on. Or perhaps order some photos or something?
Quite honestly, I don't remember the exact wording of the message. I was upset. And as I am not inclined to pay for web storage nor am I ready to order photos (I just ordered 300 prints from iphoto) I was in kind of a lurch.
So now I'm doing a bit of shuffling around. I'm trying to transfer photos from the Picasa web albums to iPhoto, so I don't lose them (I'll end up having to back them up again, I know. Then, I can go and delete them, one by one. off the Picasa albums.
The downside to this, and it is a real downside, is that when I delete a photo from Picasa, it is no longer available on this blog.
Go back. Take a moment and go back to the earliest of the posts I did, way back in 2006. You'll see that the earliest photos are gone and unviewable. You should view all of them, all of the pictures of Nick as a toddler and Nate as a chubby cheeked baby, go back and see them all now. While you still can.
From this point on it's like some horror film, Back To The Future, maybe, but to me more like Steven King's Langoliers, or The Nothing from The Neverending Story. It has begin, and now, little by little, those old photographs will disappear, gradually picking up speed, until today, too, is eaten by the no-more-photos monster...
Anyway, one of the reasons things have slowed down is that all this shuffling around takes time. Photos will arrive before too long. I appreciate your patience.
Wednesday, November 14, 2012
Curtains for me
For the life of me, I can't figure out why purchasing curtains is so complicated.
Actually, I wasn't even purchasing curtains. It was the hardware. The curtain rods. Oh, I went to Sears and found them. And I looked and selected one that was the right size. And I looked and saw the that the one behind it was also the same size.
And, silly me, since there were longer ones behind them, and shorter ones in from, I them made the assumption that I was selecting ALL THE SAME SIZE.
But I wasn't.
No, instead I have two the correct size, and two ridiculously long curtain rods.
I realized this, of course, only after I had removed our existing curtain rods, drilled new holes in our already very holy walls, and begun the process of hanging the actual curtains up.
I already opened one of the packages.
Now I have to go back tot he store tomorrow. I'm terrified they won't have the kind of curtain rods I need on the size I need, and I'm going to have to drive all over creation trying to find them.
Which is what happened the first time we tried putting curtains up in this room. We had to go to so many stores to find eight panels, and when we got them, one was too short. We hid it behind the TV.
Why is this so complicated? It seriously makes me want to beat someone with the actual curtain rod.
I spent all day on this, and it isn't done. And nothing else got done.
Actually, I wasn't even purchasing curtains. It was the hardware. The curtain rods. Oh, I went to Sears and found them. And I looked and selected one that was the right size. And I looked and saw the that the one behind it was also the same size.
And, silly me, since there were longer ones behind them, and shorter ones in from, I them made the assumption that I was selecting ALL THE SAME SIZE.
But I wasn't.
No, instead I have two the correct size, and two ridiculously long curtain rods.
I realized this, of course, only after I had removed our existing curtain rods, drilled new holes in our already very holy walls, and begun the process of hanging the actual curtains up.
I already opened one of the packages.
Now I have to go back tot he store tomorrow. I'm terrified they won't have the kind of curtain rods I need on the size I need, and I'm going to have to drive all over creation trying to find them.
Which is what happened the first time we tried putting curtains up in this room. We had to go to so many stores to find eight panels, and when we got them, one was too short. We hid it behind the TV.
Why is this so complicated? It seriously makes me want to beat someone with the actual curtain rod.
I spent all day on this, and it isn't done. And nothing else got done.
Monday, September 17, 2012
One Small Step
When I was a kid we always bought our shoes at the same shoe store.
I can picture it so clearly - the storefront display, the shoes all placed just so on either side. The same salesman sold us our shoes for years. I'm not exactly sure when the store closed, but one day the displays were of women's hats and scarves and clunky jewelry.
The store was called Stride Rite.
I love Stride Rite. Yes, the shoes are expensive, considering they get holes within two months, or are outgrown within four. But the less expensive shoes at other places get holes within two weeks, sometimes days, and let's not forget that time in New York I realized Nick's shoes had holes in the soles and water was seeping through his socks! Cheaper isn't always better.
So, for as long as I have been in charge if buying shoes for small children, we've gone over to Stride Rite a few times a year. A very nice saleslady would measure my boys feet, and then the boys would choose usually only one pair of shoes. The main pair of shoes. And then I'd buy a backup at Target. (Sometimes shoes get passed down as backups as well.)
Yesterday I took every pair of shoes the boys own and lined them up in the hallway according to size.
I meant to take a picture, because it was really impressive, but I forgot. What made it more impressive is that we recently inherited five pairs of very gently worn shoes from one of Nick's friends, who happens to have very large feet. Size 4. These are shoes he's outgrown - Nick is just a size 2.
Back to my point - I was trying to figure out who needed what in terms of shoes. But all I was able to find out from the great shoe lineup was that we had a billion size 11 shoes, and that Nick has been wearing Merrells that are a whole size smaller than his new (in June) sneakers.
I needed to know what sizes the boys needed.
So I made a plan, and this morning I packed everyone into the car to go to the mall. To Stride Rite.
We don't go to the mall often anymore. Gone are my teen and pre-teen days, when I would spend hours walking up and down, spending money on GAP attire and music albums (remember those?)
Stride Rite....
...was gone.
Oh, they still exists in other places, but not at OUR mall. No. Now there is a store there called The Good Foot where I think you can buy orthopedic shoes and / or inserts. Boo!
This is when I realized I depended on Stride Rite to keep track of the boys sizes. What was I to do? Ahhhhh!
I spent a very frustrating afternoon walking around the mall until we found another shoe store, one with all the shoes stacked up, and you have to find the shoes yourself, and know what size you are, and while you are searching the employees give you nasty looks as your kids try to tell you what they like, or that they actually do not like either of the two non-sneaker shoes in stock. The employee actually glared at me because the boys were sitting and trying on shoes in the area he was trying to shelve boxes of shoes... I'm sure it was hard for him. I know it was for me.
We actually found those foot measuring devices there, so I was at least able to size the boys and take it from there.
All I know is, with the carousel at the mall now replaced with some basketball throwing machine and the guys trying to sell the flying squirrels, I'm not planning on visiting a mall again for quite some time.
I can picture it so clearly - the storefront display, the shoes all placed just so on either side. The same salesman sold us our shoes for years. I'm not exactly sure when the store closed, but one day the displays were of women's hats and scarves and clunky jewelry.
The store was called Stride Rite.
I love Stride Rite. Yes, the shoes are expensive, considering they get holes within two months, or are outgrown within four. But the less expensive shoes at other places get holes within two weeks, sometimes days, and let's not forget that time in New York I realized Nick's shoes had holes in the soles and water was seeping through his socks! Cheaper isn't always better.
So, for as long as I have been in charge if buying shoes for small children, we've gone over to Stride Rite a few times a year. A very nice saleslady would measure my boys feet, and then the boys would choose usually only one pair of shoes. The main pair of shoes. And then I'd buy a backup at Target. (Sometimes shoes get passed down as backups as well.)
Yesterday I took every pair of shoes the boys own and lined them up in the hallway according to size.
I meant to take a picture, because it was really impressive, but I forgot. What made it more impressive is that we recently inherited five pairs of very gently worn shoes from one of Nick's friends, who happens to have very large feet. Size 4. These are shoes he's outgrown - Nick is just a size 2.
Back to my point - I was trying to figure out who needed what in terms of shoes. But all I was able to find out from the great shoe lineup was that we had a billion size 11 shoes, and that Nick has been wearing Merrells that are a whole size smaller than his new (in June) sneakers.
I needed to know what sizes the boys needed.
So I made a plan, and this morning I packed everyone into the car to go to the mall. To Stride Rite.
We don't go to the mall often anymore. Gone are my teen and pre-teen days, when I would spend hours walking up and down, spending money on GAP attire and music albums (remember those?)
Stride Rite....
...was gone.
Oh, they still exists in other places, but not at OUR mall. No. Now there is a store there called The Good Foot where I think you can buy orthopedic shoes and / or inserts. Boo!
This is when I realized I depended on Stride Rite to keep track of the boys sizes. What was I to do? Ahhhhh!
I spent a very frustrating afternoon walking around the mall until we found another shoe store, one with all the shoes stacked up, and you have to find the shoes yourself, and know what size you are, and while you are searching the employees give you nasty looks as your kids try to tell you what they like, or that they actually do not like either of the two non-sneaker shoes in stock. The employee actually glared at me because the boys were sitting and trying on shoes in the area he was trying to shelve boxes of shoes... I'm sure it was hard for him. I know it was for me.
We actually found those foot measuring devices there, so I was at least able to size the boys and take it from there.
All I know is, with the carousel at the mall now replaced with some basketball throwing machine and the guys trying to sell the flying squirrels, I'm not planning on visiting a mall again for quite some time.
Sunday, August 26, 2012
Sat. Saga: Pants, Keys, Traffic OR The Apple Never Falls...
I have this thing about clothes shopping. I hate it.
I hate everything about it. I hate the idea of going to a place and trying to fing clothing I like. I hate the fact that, once found, the clothing probably will not fit me right, or perhaps it would, if it were actually in my size. I hate that I then have to shell out a ridiculous amount of money for each item of clothing, none of which was made responsibly or in this country, supporting what I feel to be the irresponsible business practices of monster corporations.
All for a pair of pants that will probably be stained with olive oil by the end of the week.
But sometimes, I give in.
I really, really like the store Athleta. This store is part of the GAP empire. But it focuses on activewear, and right now I'm really into that, particularly the kind that will let me look cute. The thing is, until recently, Athleta has been exclusively catalog and internet. It didn't have any actual physical stores.
And then recently, it opened up a few. Including one in Massachusetts. I really really wanted to visit this store, just to see what it was like, to try on some of the clothes I kept seeing, just to know what they would look like on me.
So I asked Steve, very nicely, if he would watch the boys one Saturday while I drove down and checked it out.
Well, Steve had planned to go to the boat on Friday, and spend the night. But he had an idea: the boys love the boat! Why don't I drive down with the boys Saturday morning, and then drop them off. I can then drive back, stop off at the store (which was down there anyway) and have the day to myself.
It sounded like a good idea, even if it was a bit more driving than I had planned on, as the mall I was going to was not exactly at the marina.
So Friday Steve headed out, and I was alone with the kids.
I slept very poorly Friday. I mention this only to give you some idea of my state of mind, a framework for what followed, sleep deprived glasses to put on so that you can see the day unfold the way I did.
At 8:30 AM we pulled out of the driveway, after packing lunch for the boys on the boat, getting all three boys to put on shoes, and one very immature temper tantrum about bringing a DS in the car. (I was calm, and the DS stayed home.)
There was a bit of traffic. I got lost on the way to the marina - I can never remember which exit, and also, once I get off all the turns tend to look the same to me. Some guy ran a stop sign while I was stopped for someone else cutting into the flow of traffic going the other way, and he made me so mad I actually beeped my horn at him. He smiled sarcastically and waved, and I actually flipped him off and yelled profanity out the window WITH MY KIDS IN THE CAR. But finally I calmed down. I found myself, and we were finally there.
And so were a hundred other people. Because the Marina was doing a Show that day, something with booths and tables and chairs and a microphone.
As soon as I got into the parking lot someone told me that only boat owners could park there - I had to explain that I was, in fact, a boat owner, but that I was never myself AT the marina. And that I was looking forward to leaving as soon as I could swap cars with my husband.
Steve showed up to claim the boys, and I smiled and said Great! and held my hands out for his car key... and Steve looked shocked. Oh. The car key. Oh no. It's on the boat. To get it, I'll need to come with them on the launch, and then ride it back.
So we all piled into the launch, which takes a few minutes - for the guy to show up, and then to get out there. Steve walked over and got his key, handed it to me (still on the launch) and waved good-bye. The driver picked up a few people from their boats, and drove us back to the chaos of the marina.
I got into Steve's car, which I should mention here, is not my favorite vehicle to drive, being lower than the minivan, generally dirtier, with none of my stations pre-programmed in. Also, it shudders when you drive about forty miles an hour for some strange reason.
After 20 minutes of driving around, managed to find the highway. I was kind of excited, planning my day in my head. After this store, I might head up to the mall in NH (there is no tax in NH) and get some bras, some shoes, maybe a pair of jeans...
I skipped into the mall and made the ladies room my first stop. Then I reached into my pocket and felt my keys.
MY keys.
Not Steve's keys.
Crap. I never gave Steve the keys to my car.
I was really hopeful that maybe the day could be saved. Maybe he had the other car key with him for some strange reason? I reached for my phone, but it was in Steve's car. So I ran outside to his car, which was parked at the far end of the parking lot.
There was a message from Steve.
It said I still had the car keys.
I called Steve.
Steve was surprised it had taken me that long to get to the mall. "We were actually packing up to go home," he said.
It wasn't even eleven AM.
I dashed to Athleta, determined to take a look around, but my calm, browsy feeling was gone. Instead, I was frantic. "the boys are waiting for me. They are sitting there, waiting for me. The longer I take here, the longer they will be waiting."
I did manage to try on a few things, but was grumpy about it because I'm short, and even the XXS yoga pants brushed the floor. Which is ridiculous! I'm not THAT short. And they didn't come in petite. And even if I could have gotten away with the length, the tighter size did nothing for my assets.
So I got back into the car and drove back east, back toward the marina. There was traffic. I got lost again. I found the marina again. Steve and the boys met me at the end of the street so I didn't even have to deal with the gate or getting in. Then I headed back up to NH.
By the time I got to NH the traffic was crazy. It was 1pm. I found out the Ann Taylor had closed. I tried on some jeans at J.Jill, but they were $90, and I just couldn't. I told myself I would go to Goodwill. But I didn't have the courage to drive up 3 extra exits on the highway, and fight the traffic on that road because they've been replacing pipes there for months and the traffic is always horrible.
So I just went home.
And I had a cup of tea.
And took a nap.
Then had more tea.
Which brings me to right now.
I hate everything about it. I hate the idea of going to a place and trying to fing clothing I like. I hate the fact that, once found, the clothing probably will not fit me right, or perhaps it would, if it were actually in my size. I hate that I then have to shell out a ridiculous amount of money for each item of clothing, none of which was made responsibly or in this country, supporting what I feel to be the irresponsible business practices of monster corporations.
All for a pair of pants that will probably be stained with olive oil by the end of the week.
But sometimes, I give in.
I really, really like the store Athleta. This store is part of the GAP empire. But it focuses on activewear, and right now I'm really into that, particularly the kind that will let me look cute. The thing is, until recently, Athleta has been exclusively catalog and internet. It didn't have any actual physical stores.
And then recently, it opened up a few. Including one in Massachusetts. I really really wanted to visit this store, just to see what it was like, to try on some of the clothes I kept seeing, just to know what they would look like on me.
So I asked Steve, very nicely, if he would watch the boys one Saturday while I drove down and checked it out.
Well, Steve had planned to go to the boat on Friday, and spend the night. But he had an idea: the boys love the boat! Why don't I drive down with the boys Saturday morning, and then drop them off. I can then drive back, stop off at the store (which was down there anyway) and have the day to myself.
It sounded like a good idea, even if it was a bit more driving than I had planned on, as the mall I was going to was not exactly at the marina.
So Friday Steve headed out, and I was alone with the kids.
I slept very poorly Friday. I mention this only to give you some idea of my state of mind, a framework for what followed, sleep deprived glasses to put on so that you can see the day unfold the way I did.
At 8:30 AM we pulled out of the driveway, after packing lunch for the boys on the boat, getting all three boys to put on shoes, and one very immature temper tantrum about bringing a DS in the car. (I was calm, and the DS stayed home.)
There was a bit of traffic. I got lost on the way to the marina - I can never remember which exit, and also, once I get off all the turns tend to look the same to me. Some guy ran a stop sign while I was stopped for someone else cutting into the flow of traffic going the other way, and he made me so mad I actually beeped my horn at him. He smiled sarcastically and waved, and I actually flipped him off and yelled profanity out the window WITH MY KIDS IN THE CAR. But finally I calmed down. I found myself, and we were finally there.
And so were a hundred other people. Because the Marina was doing a Show that day, something with booths and tables and chairs and a microphone.
As soon as I got into the parking lot someone told me that only boat owners could park there - I had to explain that I was, in fact, a boat owner, but that I was never myself AT the marina. And that I was looking forward to leaving as soon as I could swap cars with my husband.
Steve showed up to claim the boys, and I smiled and said Great! and held my hands out for his car key... and Steve looked shocked. Oh. The car key. Oh no. It's on the boat. To get it, I'll need to come with them on the launch, and then ride it back.
So we all piled into the launch, which takes a few minutes - for the guy to show up, and then to get out there. Steve walked over and got his key, handed it to me (still on the launch) and waved good-bye. The driver picked up a few people from their boats, and drove us back to the chaos of the marina.
I got into Steve's car, which I should mention here, is not my favorite vehicle to drive, being lower than the minivan, generally dirtier, with none of my stations pre-programmed in. Also, it shudders when you drive about forty miles an hour for some strange reason.
After 20 minutes of driving around, managed to find the highway. I was kind of excited, planning my day in my head. After this store, I might head up to the mall in NH (there is no tax in NH) and get some bras, some shoes, maybe a pair of jeans...
I skipped into the mall and made the ladies room my first stop. Then I reached into my pocket and felt my keys.
MY keys.
Not Steve's keys.
Crap. I never gave Steve the keys to my car.
I was really hopeful that maybe the day could be saved. Maybe he had the other car key with him for some strange reason? I reached for my phone, but it was in Steve's car. So I ran outside to his car, which was parked at the far end of the parking lot.
There was a message from Steve.
It said I still had the car keys.
I called Steve.
Steve was surprised it had taken me that long to get to the mall. "We were actually packing up to go home," he said.
It wasn't even eleven AM.
I dashed to Athleta, determined to take a look around, but my calm, browsy feeling was gone. Instead, I was frantic. "the boys are waiting for me. They are sitting there, waiting for me. The longer I take here, the longer they will be waiting."
I did manage to try on a few things, but was grumpy about it because I'm short, and even the XXS yoga pants brushed the floor. Which is ridiculous! I'm not THAT short. And they didn't come in petite. And even if I could have gotten away with the length, the tighter size did nothing for my assets.
So I got back into the car and drove back east, back toward the marina. There was traffic. I got lost again. I found the marina again. Steve and the boys met me at the end of the street so I didn't even have to deal with the gate or getting in. Then I headed back up to NH.
By the time I got to NH the traffic was crazy. It was 1pm. I found out the Ann Taylor had closed. I tried on some jeans at J.Jill, but they were $90, and I just couldn't. I told myself I would go to Goodwill. But I didn't have the courage to drive up 3 extra exits on the highway, and fight the traffic on that road because they've been replacing pipes there for months and the traffic is always horrible.
So I just went home.
And I had a cup of tea.
And took a nap.
Then had more tea.
Which brings me to right now.
Wednesday, May 09, 2012
Schedule
This T-ball schedule is throwing everything off.
There have been more evenings that I care to count where the boys have karate until 5:45, and T-ball starts at 6pm. I have have church related meetings and activities at 7pm many nights these past couple of weeks. I've been trying to cook dinners that can be made quickly or ahead of time, and we juggle the kids.
I hate this part. Everything runs into each other. T-ball team photographs are the same day as the church board meeting, and games are never scheduled when we have time. It would be one thing if the weather were half-way decent, but T-ball always seems to be cold and wet.
It all makes me incredibly grumpy.
There have been more evenings that I care to count where the boys have karate until 5:45, and T-ball starts at 6pm. I have have church related meetings and activities at 7pm many nights these past couple of weeks. I've been trying to cook dinners that can be made quickly or ahead of time, and we juggle the kids.
I hate this part. Everything runs into each other. T-ball team photographs are the same day as the church board meeting, and games are never scheduled when we have time. It would be one thing if the weather were half-way decent, but T-ball always seems to be cold and wet.
It all makes me incredibly grumpy.
Monday, February 20, 2012
Volume and Passive Agressiveness
One of the things that drives me crazy about this technology age we're living in is the volume.
Yes, people talking on the phone is annoying. When I'm sitting in this quiet coffee shop and suddenly the guy at the next table starts having a conversation into his headset, speaking as though he were addressing someone sitting across a board room table (not quietly) I find it horribly rude. It's disruptive. Even if someone were sitting at his table, latte in hand, they would be using regular, non shouting voices.
But that's not the worst of it.
Because even though the world is full of cell-phone loud-mouth yappers, I live in a world populated mostly by children. Mostly by boys. And boys play video games.
Video games, in case you didn't know, make noise. They make noise when they shoot, or walk or bump into walls. There is sound effects, background theme music, and general beeping. And no one likes to listen to this stuff unless they are the ones playing.
We always make our kids turn the volume off. Not DOWN, mind you, but OFF. All the way. In the car, in the coffee shop, and even at home. They are welcome to go elsewhere if they wish, like to a bedroom or a playroom. For Christmas, Santa left each of them a pair of children's headphones, the "old fashioned" kind that sit outside the ear instead of in it. They can use those.
Our kids, however, are not the problem.
Right now I am sitting in the coffee shop. I am on the computer. Another parent is at another table at a computer. And someone I think is a grandfather is at another table with his nook. He has two children with him playing a game on an iPad. With the volume all the way up. It is so irritating.
Every once and awhile, after a particularly loud "Bling" the other computer parent will look up and look at the kids before turning back to his work. I have looked up at them several times. The grandfather hasn't moved his eyes from his electronic page. I wonder if he's deaf?
I have found myself here with Andy, and made a point of saying, rather loudly "Andy, make sure the volume is off, no one wants to hear your game." Either they didn't pick up on my rather obvious hint, or they think a little computer game noise blends well in the coffee shop atmosphere.
I just don't want to actually SAY anything. That might, you know, be uncomfortable.
Yes, people talking on the phone is annoying. When I'm sitting in this quiet coffee shop and suddenly the guy at the next table starts having a conversation into his headset, speaking as though he were addressing someone sitting across a board room table (not quietly) I find it horribly rude. It's disruptive. Even if someone were sitting at his table, latte in hand, they would be using regular, non shouting voices.
But that's not the worst of it.
Because even though the world is full of cell-phone loud-mouth yappers, I live in a world populated mostly by children. Mostly by boys. And boys play video games.
Video games, in case you didn't know, make noise. They make noise when they shoot, or walk or bump into walls. There is sound effects, background theme music, and general beeping. And no one likes to listen to this stuff unless they are the ones playing.
We always make our kids turn the volume off. Not DOWN, mind you, but OFF. All the way. In the car, in the coffee shop, and even at home. They are welcome to go elsewhere if they wish, like to a bedroom or a playroom. For Christmas, Santa left each of them a pair of children's headphones, the "old fashioned" kind that sit outside the ear instead of in it. They can use those.
Our kids, however, are not the problem.
Right now I am sitting in the coffee shop. I am on the computer. Another parent is at another table at a computer. And someone I think is a grandfather is at another table with his nook. He has two children with him playing a game on an iPad. With the volume all the way up. It is so irritating.
Every once and awhile, after a particularly loud "Bling" the other computer parent will look up and look at the kids before turning back to his work. I have looked up at them several times. The grandfather hasn't moved his eyes from his electronic page. I wonder if he's deaf?
I have found myself here with Andy, and made a point of saying, rather loudly "Andy, make sure the volume is off, no one wants to hear your game." Either they didn't pick up on my rather obvious hint, or they think a little computer game noise blends well in the coffee shop atmosphere.
I just don't want to actually SAY anything. That might, you know, be uncomfortable.
Saturday, January 28, 2012
Not Running
I haven't been running for over a month.
I haven't been running for over a month and it's making me miserable.
Let's forget, for just a moment, that the scale is creeping upward and my pants are getting a little tight. I certainly haven't become obese overnight.
But I feel so.... not good.
I still wake up early in the morning. Instead of running I have been doing yoga. Yoga is good for you, no matter what the crazy New York Times readers think. Yes, you can hurt yourself. You can also hurt yourself walking or running or chewing your food if you get too enthusiastic and stop paying attention. Yoga is supposed to center you and clam you and be good for your body.
But it doesn't make me sweat. Not usually, anyway. I'm not saying it's not good. It's easier than when I started, certainly, but it's not the same.
And I feel it.
I'm grumpier. I feel more... portly. I eat more junk food, even though I promise myself I won't. Or maybe it's just that we have more chocolate sitting around these days?
At any rate, I feel unwell. I've had to ask myself what I would do if this became a permanent situation instead of the temporary one I've been assuming it to be. The truth is, I really don't know, but I suppose I should figure that out and then try to integrate an alternative into my routine. An alternative that isn't yoga but something that really makes me sweat and give me a good workout but leaves my ankle alone.
Sunday, November 13, 2011
I Guess That's Why They Call It...
Having a hard time. No particular reason. I've just been down a bit lately. I'm sure the last few days being cloudy has nothing to do with it. I'm sure the drop in the temperature is coincidence. It probably has nothing to do with my cat, or with my over-indulging on pie and halloween candy, or having stopped running for a whole week.
It's just that it's all of those things put together.
Along with not measuring up to my own expectations of what I am supposed to be doing with my life. I can't write. I can't sing. I can't finish any project I start. My house is a mess. I cant catch up on laundry. My kids are wild and crazy, and it is probably my fault because I spoil them and I'm also cold and unattentive. I give them too many sweets and make them meals that are so healthy no one wants to eat them. I let them watch too much TV. I don't read to them enough.
I spend all of my time complaining! Which is why I need to go back to bed. Right now. I'm going to stay there until I'm in a better mood. Even if it means pulling the covers over my head for a week!
Someone better tell the kids.
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