First Day

My first day at home, and this is what I did:

- talked to my (only?) stay at home mom friend for like, an hour, catching up since we hadn't talked in years

- stopped at OH's work to bring him lunch; got kisses at 11 am

- went to gymnastics school to pick up schedule for OC

- picked up information and application for vacation camps for OC

- went to car dealer to pick up a part that broke off when I last had a flat tire, and found out why my car was leaking water (a plugged drain hose from the sunroof, and they fixed it for free...at the dealer...Freaky, right?)

- had lunch with OC

- went to a park with fountains that we used to pass every night on our way home; OC checked it out to her satisfaction

- stopped at the frame store to have a poster framed which was a birthday gift for my father-in-law; $200 later, the poster will look great and will be ready in two weeks

- went to Fred Meyer and got odds an ends: a bigger pot for my Norfolk Island Pine, the plant my mom gave me when OC was born (it is growing well, just like OC); a filing cabinet for papers (we are about to be overrun with Important Papers That Must Be Saved But Have No Clue Where They Shall Be Kept); file folders; I forget what else.

Am currently enjoying a glass of red wine and thinking about what to have for dinner. I do not feel stressed out at all, but being gone all day made me feel like I didn't get much done. Oh well, tomorrow is another day.

(Cue music from "Gone With The Wind"...)

I happened across a post from my archives the reminded me why what I am doing is the right thing. It is, and it feels good.

My wineglass is empty, gotta go!

Good Bye, Old Job

Why does leaving a job take two days of packing, cleaning, sorting, and cd-burning?

I've been at this job for 4 years, I guess that's why. I finished all of the above with 15 minutes to spare in the work day, and I have been going nonstop all day. Tonight will be my going away party.

So many people have told me "Congratulations!" and have said how they're so glad for me to be doing this. It feels good to hear that. If I had a nickel for how many times I've thought, "I could come back just for the summer and work part time..." well, I'd have a lot of nickels. I knew I had to make a clean break, and I'm glad I am doing that. It's easy to try and stick around just a little longer, in some capacity, but I can't do that.

Leaving is sad. There are many wonderful people here and it was a good job, fun even, a lot of times. It paid the bills and offered many challenges and opportunities for me to grow as a designer. I've learned so much here. And now, I have cleared my path completely in order to move on to other things. Like BlogHer, and I'm excited about that.

Off to get my drink on!

Community and the Joys of Independent Travel

Last night, OH and I had a date! We went to one of the few nice restaurants in our town and had a late dinner, just the two of us. We split a bottle of wine, had some wonderfully fresh food, and talked. We rarely have moments alone, and so we made the best of it. He surprised me by stopping for ice cream on the way home, too. This is how I know I married the right man: it was HIS idea to stop for ice cream. My god, I am in love!

One of the things we talked about was each of our desire to take trips - separate trips - this summer. I want to go to BlogHer, OH wants to go to watch baseball in Seattle.

OH is planning a baseball trip - two baseball trips, actually - this summer. The first trip came about as a group of friends, but when people in his office found out they thought it would be a fun trip to plan through the company, so now there are two trips. He was worried I would be upset with him for being gone so much. My reaction was more on par with, "What, you're still here?". Let me explain.

I am happy to see him plan activities that he loves, and he loves watching baseball. I told him that when it feels like he is planning to be gone too much, I'd let him know. Right now, the two trips are not too much and furthermore, I think it's healthy for us to do our own things once in a while.

This brings me back around to BlogHer. I mentioned how I really want to go. BAD. The only problem is, I'm soon to be unemployed. That is: She Without a Paycheck. BlogHer is not free, nor is it prohibitively expensive. It is, however, terribly important to me to have the chance to go and meet wonderful people whose words I read on a daily basis (see sidebar). I want to expand my blog, which I'll have time to do when I am not working full-time, so it seems a great opportunity to learn more. OH is all for it, even though it means spending money right before we are on a tight budget. I am so grateful for his support for something that is important to me.

BlogHer was sold out for Day One, but I am attending the Day One cocktail party (meet drunk bloggers, yay!) and Day Two session and cocktail party. It looks to be a great event. I can't believe I'm actually going.

Blogging has already changed my life. Through the experience of writing down what are at times intensely personal thoughts and experiences, and reading other people who have done the same, I have learned that we are all one, big community. We are not in this alone. Motherhood, marriage, relationships, jobs, the daily problems of living; all of it is what brings us together. We can learn from one another and improve our own lives. Stay at home moms no longer have to remain isolated in their homes, nor working moms feel a sense of isolation from other women while in their jobs. We can all share and reach out to one another through this new forum which didn't exist in our mother's time.

In current times where people generally keep to themselves and often live in distant towns from family members, it is a powerfully comforting thing to enjoy this sense of community.

Excellent Linkage

Yesterday got away from me. I was so excited to be linked up to Marathon Mom's blog that I forgot to post! The internet is so great. How else can you meet so many cool people in your pj's? Or at work, while you're working?

It helps to know there are other people doing what you're doing, and found a way to thrive. Amalah, for instance, just quit her job and now has a writing gig. Marathon Mom quite the biotech industry to be home with her kids and has a writing gig. Very Mom has her own business and is home with her kids.

These are just a few examples. It is these people and many more that I read on daily basis doing various things with their lives and making changes to suit their families. It heartens me to know that there are others out there who have made changes and have done so well with the change.

I have something funny to share. My daughter, who I unbiasfully think of as the female Oscar Wilde, delighted me with this last night:

(She had just eaten something, I forget what now)

OC: Does my tongue look pink?

Me: No.

OC: Well, it tastes pink. I thought it would look pink.

**********************************

Okay, maybe it's not quite great wit yet, but to me it's priceless. (Tastes pink! She kills me!) Ahhhhhhhhhhhlrighty then.

Days left of paid employment: 5.

Days left before I have something interesting to say: unknown. But I just know it will happen...

Healing Laughter

If laughter is the best medicine, then I'm getting healed in the best way today.

First, I have been remembering a few things about my brother: when he was a kid he saved farts in a Band Aid box to be pulled out and used later; he made me work really hard not to crack up in front of everyone when I was a bridesmaid at my sister's wedding when he was off to the side making faces and gestures of I don't even know what; who wouldn't miss an opportunity to go out of his way for you or make you laugh. There are so many moments, so many things he would have a hilarious comment about. Normal things were just hilariously funny when he was around to comment upon them.

Those are the good things. To get my mind off the bad, I just listened to two very funny comedy sets, one by Adam Ferrara and another by Daniel Tosh. Go to www.youtube.com and type in "Comedy Central" then scroll for these two names. Listen, and have yourself a laugh. It's good for you!

Hard Day

How did I get this job, anyway? I am retarded. I just scanned five black and white documents, and didn't choose the right options. So instead of being single, two-sided pdfs, they are numbered 1, 3, 5, 7, 9, etc. until it gets to the end, where it goes 119, 121, 122, 120, 118, 116, etc... Argh. (To my coworker who reads this blog: I'm sorry. Soon you will not have to deal with my trifling mistakes, you poor, encumbered soul you!)

Four years ago my brother died after being diagnosed with strep throat, then whoops! it was actually leukemia. (From lame clinic, if we had a soul we would tell you: "We would like to apologize for our laziness and reluctance to spend money on a medical test that would have detected the leukemia before your family member spent 30 days hovering near death in an ICU, it's just that we're HMO motherfuckers and can't be bothered. Thanks.")

Yesterday was his birthday. Or, would have been. What can you say about someone who was once vibrant, full of humor and light, and then died at age 34? It was painful and unfair, but there is nothing to be done now except remember. Remember how life can be taken away so quickly, before you have time doing what you intend to do. Don't put anything off, if you can help it. You never know when the day will come when you CAN'T do what you want with your life.

I know that for me, life sometimes feels like a burden. Too often I find myself thinking, 'How am I going to get through this? I can't take this pain,'. Then on the flip side, I think about how amazing it is that I am here. When you think about the biological odds (millions of sperm, that ONE egg...) and the anthropological history of the world (wars, famine, disease, lack of medical knowledge way back when, etc.) it further boggles the mind that we made it to 2006 when one of our relatives could've easily been killed before creating one of our predecessors. If JUST ONE had not made it, we wouldn't be here.

I don't know what this type of thinking is called, or even what the point of it is, but it does help me get out of my funk to think this way. It makes me appreciate life, even when it's bad. I guess it makes me think that just as there was life for thousands of years before me, there will be life after me. There will even be life for me after the current crisis passes. I guess that if life lessons weren't painful, we wouldn't really notice them, would we?

I know my family is thinking about the same thing today. I think the passage of time has lessened the sting of loss, but the lesson of having lived through it is still there: Don't Put Things Off. Life is Short. Enjoy Life and Your Family Now.

There is one more ingredient that helps, that I could not do without: knowing that I am not alone. That's what the internet has given me, the gift of knowing that I am not suffering alone, or crazy to feel this way. Through both email and the blogs I read, when my powers of positive thinking become eroded to the point that I can't conjure a single good thought, I read stories of other people's troubles and my thoughts turn to how I can help that person. Then I start thinking about how I can reach out, or ask for advice, or just plain commiserate. And that makes it a little bit better, enough to where I can shake off the negative energy that brings me down and become a stronger person for having gone through it.

That's what I want my family to know right now, that I am there for them if they need me; whether they need to talk, listen, or want to commiserate. Life is short, but it is mostly good. And it's even better when you are in good company.

The Other Thing on My Mind

In addition to inhabiting my personal, post-vacation lala land, I have something else on my mind: I'm leaving my job on May 31st. Crap! How will I buy stuff I don't need??

Making this decision to leave my job in order to spend more time with my daughter has been hard for the usual reasons. I like coming to work and interacting with adults; working on graphics projects provides a great opportunity for creativity, albeit not every project or task is exciting; answering people's technical questions and being out in the world makes me feel like I might actually know something and be a useful, productive, and sometimes even interesting human being; this is the best place I've ever worked as far as the co-worker and boss relationship; the paycheck that gets automatically deposited into my checking account is awfully nice validation, especially when converted into a shoe/beauty/fashion/craft validation goodness. It's easy to get nostalgic when I think of all the good things.

What I won't miss are the mornings where I'm late and totally stressed out and feeling guilty over leaving my crying/needy/sleepy/stressed child at daycare when it would have been so nice to just STAY HOME and not panic for a change.

Humans are multi-dimensional, complicated beings (except for Britney Spears) (sorry, cheap celebrity bashing is ugly) and so I have been feeling both sad and excited, among other things, about this new prospect. However, I am not confused by feeling all of the widely disparate emotions, even though this is new territory for me.

I am not normally comfortable being the one to affect change. I am more comfortable and happy knowing I am normal and just like everyone else. That's why I enjoy every instance of a coworker telling me congratulations, and that they wish they had done/could do the same thing. This isn't a work vs. stay at home debate, this is about life and decisions and changes.

My life has been about stress and the bottleneck of time and responsibility. Being somewhere, all the time, with very little personal time. I had a baby 12 months into a new job which, surprise! didn't leave me any vacation time. I was back to work after four short months. I kept working year after year after that (and gratefully so, when I got divorced and was able to support myself) but now things have changed. I look at this change as a gift I am giving my daughter. I'm reducing her stress level by giving her a break from her full-time daycare schedule.

I don't question my decision, and so when the sad pull of remembering what I am leaving behind creeps into my thoughts, I just remember all the stressful mornings and when I felt like my efforts were futile.

The only question I have now is how the heck I am going to finance my fancy French facial product habit. Wait, I think I know: b-u-y r-e-g-u-l-a-r s-o-a-p o-r f-i-n-d a p-a-r-t-t-i-m-e j-o-b, d-u-m-b d-u-m-b!

Back on the Occidental Coast. Of America.

It's good to be back home. We all loved Ireland and had a wonderful experience, but there's something about going away that makes being home again such a relief.

My daughter is a capable, adaptable traveler already, at the tender age of five. She hauled her self and her stuff from Portland to Dallas to Chicago, and then Dublin with nary a complaint:



While waiting to board our Aer Lingus flight in Chicago, an artist made a picture of OC, for a small fee (caption says "Kenny, Chicago, April 25, 2006"):



Our first two nights were spent in Dublin. We got lost on our way back to our hotel after a brief walk a few blocks away near St. Stephen's Green. This was not entirely our fault. The street changed names three times in the space of 200 yards! We were jet lagged, but hadn't lost our sense of direction. We circled around and around where we thought the hotel was (and by circling I mean walking all the while with a five-year old in tow, a very patient but kind of worried-that-her-parents-were-lost-on-the-first-day-in-a-strange-place five-year old...) but kept coming across other streetnames.

Aside number one: I'd like for Ireland to seriously consider updating their street signage. I'm down with how you like to place street signs on buildings even though I am not used to looking for them there, I can adjust. But please, just put them up everywhere and for the love of all that is holy, let a continuous street be named one thing! That would help a lot. Thank you. I know you'll do it for me, for I am your greatest fan. (End of aside.)

Dublin is a cool city: hectic, grimy, old, full of life and people with Irish accents. I loved it. We walked all over the place and had pub food, toured the Guinness Brewery and had our free pint on the top of the building with a view of the city. The city does not contain tall buildings. The tallest buildings were probably 12 stories or so and there aren't many of them, so our view from the top of the seven-story Guinness Brewery was awesome. But who cares about a view, when you've got a cold pint of Guinness in front of you?



View from the (only the seventh floor!) Guinness Brewery:


My favorite thing in Dublin was when we went to Trinity College and saw the Book of Kells. That, and when I bought jewelry from a street vendor. It was nice jewelry, nothing particularly special about it, but it was a great price and come on, it's jewelry!

The Book of Kells was written in 800 A.D. by four monks, and it is the four gospels of the New Testament. Not only that, but every page is highly decorated with images and colors, amazing considering they made their own dye from things like minerals. The paper, which is actually vellum, was made from calfskin. Not an easy task, to say the least. The book is preserved in the library at Trinity College, under a glass case with temperature and humidity controls. They turn the pages every few days or so. The display includes information on how the book was made, and about other writing going on in Ireland at the time. OH didn't think it would be very interesting, but he found himself intrigued with it once he got there. I couldn't get over how amazing it was, and I saw it in person! Wow. It's called an illuminated manuscript, because the illustrations and decorations were so beautiful that they lit up the page; illuminated it. That was cool enough, but it also happened to be the Samuel Beckett centenary, a notable Irish writer and playwright, so there was a display in the library of his writing, letters, and manuscripts which was very interesting. That was a great day.

The Book of Kells is here!


Both OH and I love history, so it was cool being in a place where everything is so old. This is the Christ Church Cathedral, originally founded by Vikings in 1038 A.D. and rebuilt by invaders from Norman in 1240 in a Romanesque style. What you may find interesting is that Ireland was never invaded by the Romans, which was only one of a few places that weren't. (Vikings, Normans, and English, yes; but not the Romans.) Dublin is from Irish Dubh Linn, meaning "dark pool", which was a reference to a dark pool of water created by the River Liffey, on whose banks Dublin was founded. The modern Irish name Baile Atha Cliath means "City of the Ford of the Reed Hurdles".

Christ Church Cathedral:


We also went to Dublin Castle, walked over the Ha'Penny Bridge, window-shopped on the pedestrian Grafton Street, and walked through the trendy Temple Bar area which is the oldest part of Dublin. Oh, and we had beer every day. I found that in addition to Guinness, I like Smithwick's and the Scottish beer Tenent's.

Dublin Castle:




A street in the Temple Bar district:


Aside number two: I know that you Irish are speaking English, but I can't always understand you and I'm sorry for all those dumb looks you received from two stupid American tourists. It's a lovely accent, we just couldn't always catch what you were saying, especially if it contained any slang. What in the world is a 'gammon'? Sorry. And thanks. (End of aside.)

More details of the trip to come!

Greetings From Northern Ireland

Hello! Typing this from a pay-to-use internet station located in the lobby of the Bushmills Whiskey Distillery, Bushmills, Co. Antrim, Northern Ireland. OH just took a tour, but OC was too young to go through. We managed to occupy ourselves while we waited by going into some shops in town.

Ireland is so great, I love it here. We keep saying how great it would be tolive here, for the scenery, weather, food and spirits all suit us perfectly. OC is an awesome traveler! I am so impressed with that girl. We hiked one day in a glen for two hours, and during sightseeing drives, there's rarely a complaint.

I've found I really like these beers: Guinness, Tenent's, Smithwick's. Bushmill's whiskey (quite smoothe, but I'm not a whiskey drinker).

We've both driven here in NI, and after the initial adjustment period, do quite fine with it. I keep wondering if I'll mess up when we get home and drive on the left! The only hard part was in Co. Donegal, where the road signs are in Irish and English, or sometimes only Irish.

We're to leave Co. Antrim tomorrow for three days in Co. Fermanagh, then one more night in the Republic before we fly to the States. It's gone way too quickly...what a wonderful place.

Slainte! (To Your Health)

The Occidental Tourist

The People You See at the Places You Go

Yesterday evening, it was sunny and warm, so OC and I went to the park. We took along her tricycle as there was a nice, flat path around the baseball fields which adjoined the park's playground. The park is her favorite thing to do, ever. Other loves, in descending order: Scooby Doo movies, the color pink, The Simpson's, Thomas the Tank Engine, the color purple.

The park is an interesting place to people-watch. There are the kids playing at the park whose parents or older siblings are playing softball/baseball in the nearby fields, there are the parents of little kids helping them climb and navigate the colorful plastic toddler areas, there are the big kids talking about school/boys/girls/their parents/music on the swings, there are the kids playing tennis on the courts, the kids checking out the creek and looking for frogs, and the overly-enthusiastic theatre-major parents. That last one? Those are the most amusing to watch.

There was a couple at the park last night who both seemed to major in theater in college. They were young, fresh-faced, healthy looking people who were VERY OUTGOING, and who very enthusiastically played with their young son, who looked to be between 12 and 18 months old. They were effervescent. What does "very enthusiastic" look like? It's two people making enormous, wide-eyed faces, sucking in air and saying, "Oh!!!!!!!!!!! I'm gonna get you!!!!!!!!!!!! Oh!!!!!!!! There's daddy!!!!!! OH!!!!!!! Where's my boy!!!!! OHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

Oh. My. God. They were annoying. But also, very sweet. I watched them as they displayed an inhuman level of energy and enthusiasm for being at the park with their child. They BOTH were that way. It was like the newness of having a newborn hadn't worn off yet, and they were still thrilled and unscathed by the challenges of parenthood. I just couldn't relate. I mean, don't get me wrong, I was thrilled to be at the park and enjoying some time with my daughter. Time is so precious, and we were spending it TOGETHER, doing something FUN, I should've been twirling and shouting....but that's just not me. I was not a theater major, and I do not, by default, get bubbly unless I've been drinking.

I don't mean to express displeasure with theater majors. It's just that you're so interesting to watch, what with all the expressiveness going on. I have nothing but love for you.

I had better get used to all the people who go to the park, including SAHM's, because I am quit my job. Yep, just like her, and for many of the same reasons with much of the same feelings of relief.

My last day is May 31st.

I'm Going to Ireland!

If my passport shows up, that is.

Work is going okay, nothing crazy is going on that I have to coordinate or stay late to finish. I am waiting for the weekend to painstakingly pack my clothes. I am determined not to take too much. I think I will do okay with that, as I will remind myself that I need to leave room for things I want to buy and bring home. Yes, threatening and intimidating (myself) about not being able to bring home new purchases works every time. I am such a badass.

I just checked the TSA's website for limitations on knitting needles and read conflicting information. Basically, knitting needles are allowed in both carry-on and checked baggage. BUT! There is also a note that says, "...there is the possibility that the needles can be perceived as a possible weapon by the TSA screener. TSA screeners have the authority to determine if an item could be used as a weapon and may not allow said item to pass through security. TSA recommends...circular needles less than 31 inches in total length...needles made of plastic or bamboo (not metal)...it is recommended that you carry a self addressed envelope so that you can mail your tools back to yourself as opposed to surrendering them at the security check point..."

Oh, my. So, can I bring my needles or not? I have plastic circular needle set, which collectively would equal more than 31 inches, but does a 32-year old graphic designer from Portland with weak upper body strength merit as a threat with my nifty plastic set of knitting needles? I don't think so, but who knows what goes on in the minds of a TSA agent? It goes on further to say, "as a precautionary measure it is recommended that you carry a crochet hook with yarn to save the work you have already done in case your knitting tools are surrendered at the checkpoint."

Gee, thanks! Because that's not inconvenient or ridiculous at all!

Okay, okay, safety for the masses over a little inconvenience for one. All right. But, still... If you knew me, you would not be scared of my knitting needle wielding self. The only one I am capable of intimidating is myself, what with those masterful threats of an overcrowded suitcase.

Other than the TSA bum rushing my show, I'm otherwise very excited to go on vacation. We're going to see some great places, drink beer and whiskey, relax, and bring coolness to the words: "We're from America!" again. We will represent. Except that I really don't want to mention where I'm from, just in case somebody is pissed at us, collectively. I am a wimp that way.

Remember to...

Have courage to keep going when no one else believes in us...

Use vision to see past the fear to where beauty lies...

Listen to our inner truth to see that there is possibility and hope...

The third day is about hope; it's about life, future, possibility. No matter how the first and second days may be filled with agony, suffering, and grief; there is always the promise of the third day and all the good things it holds. The third day is coming. It's there. Just believe, and hold on. Keep trying, and breathe.......

The Full-On, Unpretty Truth in Thought

I am not pregnant, but OH and I have been talking, bantering about the idea of having a child together. What a wonderful idea, I think. I love my husband, I would love to have a baby with a man I am so in love with! Then two milliseconds later, against my will I enter Freakedthefuckoutland, where I am paralyzed and can hardly breathe. This is why:

I have read two separate blog entries recently where mothers describe their children as totally worth the spit-up stained shirts, sleepless nights, and the like. This made me respond in two very disparate ways. On the one hand, I thought how right they are. Babies are so cute, cuddly, and chubby! Love the babies! And then I remembered the crying. Oh god, the endless crying. And the screaming. Endless screaming alternating with endless crying; ongoing physical pain, sleeplessness; not to mention the wild emotional ride of not knowing what that screaming ball of anger wants or needs, or when they will actually stop crying.

What if you agree that it's worth it to sacrifice for a child you already have, but question your ability to do it for a child you in the future? In other words, why is it so hard to get past thinking about how hard it is to have another baby?

When you have a baby, you think it's hard, but you're in it, you're doing it. Sometimes it's not that bad. And then there's all that great chubby, cuddly reward stuff and there's how your heart is all overflowing with love for that wonderful little baby right in front of you. I mean, it's hard enough to work up the enthusiasm needed to go on in the midst of feeding and sleeping problems when your darling baby is right in front of you, but what about an unseen future child? How can you get all excited and geared up for sore boobs, sleep deprivation, and a much more stressful marriage for some future baby whose head you haven't smelled yet? (Because the head smell? Will suck you right in to their little world. I don't know what it is.)

How do parents gear up for the second baby, when this time they have some idea of what they're getting themselves into? Of course, every child is different, but you know right now the little bundle of need is going to eat every two motherfucking hours for weeks at a time, will require dozens of diapers changed per day, all while you endure the physical pain and changes your body will undergo, the likes of which you've known already. And let's face it, now you are older, so it's probably going to be a lot worse.

I am scared. This is all fear. Useless, paralyzing fear. I suspect that I am not ready to ramp up my stress level from happily medicated to batshit crazy, the only kind of batshit crazy that being the parent of a newborn baby can bring. Maybe that's because I want to puke every time I see Tom Cruise and Katie Holmes. Or maybe it's not. Maybe I am internalizing her experience from my outside-looking-in perspective. From there, it looks like she has been absorbed into his life, with no life or separate identity of her own now that she's his personal baby incubator. Maybe it's that, but it could be the sleep thing.

I like my sleep. I also like my sanity. And, and, I have a brain, you know! *sigh*

What I really want to say is, how do you know you're good enough to have another baby, when you've made so many mistakes with the one you've already got? How do you justify it then? Please don't say, "Learn from your mistakes", because, duh! What I mean is, how do you do this again, knowing it's hard and you will make mistakes, and there's no guarantee that you won't make the same mistakes again, or worse this time around? What do you think? What do you tell yourself? How do you know you can do this?

Time, T- Time Time

What didn't come through in that last post is how freaking tired I am of being stressed out and pressed for time. All the time, I am pressed for time. Each day is filled to the brim with scheduled Places To Be and People I Will Disappoint If I Am Not There. I'm not the Queen of England ('cause I know that was your guess) but rather a regular mom with a job. How did this extreme pressure happen? How did it get to be that there are all these places I must be and there's no time for anything else? No time to get together with friends, but rather just Go Here, Go There, And Hurry Up Already. I am so sick of that.

What's more is, the garage still has my crap in it; the house is still messy; it's not all organized from when I moved last October. My husband wants his garage back, like, NOW, and I want to give it to him, like YESTERDAY, and holy mother of geese, WHEN am I going to actually do it?!? Make a difference?!?

I picked up a newsletter freelance thing, which will be great when I'm not working full time. But for now, I have TWO jobs. Plus, the taxes to do. Plus, you know, that little girl that I'm in charge of raising. What time does she get? Whatever time's leftover, is what. Yuck. Then there's that man I married. What about him?

Do you think, "Allright already, stop complaining. You're quitting your job. Problem solved."? Yes, in May. At the end of May. After I explode from being squeezed by all this scheduling. At which point my husband can gather up all the quivering jelly parts of me, put them in a wheelchair, and wheel me up to the table to do some soul-soothing jewelry design with the aid of a robotic arm with computerized voice recognition software.

The problem with working and having a family is and always will be the issue of balance. How to balance work, getting to work, getting ready to work, taking care of child(ren), home life, husband-or-wife-or-partner relationship, and time for (gasp!) yourself. Who is that, anyway, this self-person?

I haven't had time for myself lately, and that very well may be the reason I am going cuckoo at the moment. Oh hell, I take that back. I did do something for myself just last Friday night: I designed a necklace. And redesigned it, and futzed with it, then finally got fed up with it and went to bed. Saturday morning, I got up and redesigned the hell out of it until I was finally satisfied with it. This was what I needed to do, to work with my hands and get absorbed by an activity I actually enjoyed for more than 20 minutes without being interrupted. My soul was soothed by it, and then I had to leave for an all day thing, and then Sunday was work-work-taxes-work-work-bed-wish-for-death-in-order-to-finally-rest.

If I don't get to do something like that, something I enjoy where I can become absorbed and let my body relax and my mind wander and ponder things other than The Schedule And All That I Am Not Doing Well, it does me a lot of good. So how come I feel a little bad for taking this time? How come it has to be taken at the cost of Everything That Is Waiting To Be Done While Your Sorry Ass is Doing Something For Yourself? Because I haven't found that balance I spoke of earlier. I am full-tilt into Go Go Go, and, I hate to use the word, feel somewhat guilty about doing things that soothe me. Why?

That is not a rhetorical question. I actually want to know the answer. And then I just want to smack myself for asking stupid questions.

The Post Which Will Serve as a Reminder of How Badly I Needed to Stop Working and I Will Read When I'm at Home Headed Full Tilt Toward Obscurity

It was just one of those mornings. OC has trouble with transitions, so the whining commenced as soon as she woke up. How I wish I could've sat with her for longer than I did, rubbing her pajama'd back and telling her it was okay. But it was time to get ready to go.

There was some kind of traffic tie-up and it took almost an hour longer to get to work. For once, it was not my fault, but that's time that I'll need to make up nonetheless.

We parked, got our stuff and began to walk to school. We got as far as one block before I realized I had forgotten OC's lunch. It was lucky I noticed, laden as I was with our normal bags plus an umbrella. Back to the car!

Eventually, we got to school where we were met with screams from the other kids. OC is here! Try to compete with a screaming four-year old acting silly, it's tough. I managed to get her stuff put away and her breakfast out amidst the excitement. The good part was, in all that excitement it made it easier for me to leave, because she was occupied.

She keeps saying she doesn't like school. Why? The teachers are wonderful and enthusiastic, the space is large and has lots of room for their different play areas, there are always new projects and things to do. It turns out that there is one girl who drives OC nuts. She's a little different, this girl. I'm not quite sure what is going on with her, but she is developmentally behind. She's loud, fidgety, and has trouble settling down. She looks to OC for friendship, but also they are the only kids there near the same age. The other kids are much younger. During the Christmas show, I was about to go manhandle her away from OC, because she kept backing up and hitting OC with her body, and they were doing ballet. I realized how silly it was to get angry, but still, I was getting annoyed with it. This is what OC deals with on a daily basis. I don't blame her for not wanting to be there. She's not going to be there for much longer. At least there's that.

The weekend was over way too quickly. I went to a bridal shower on Saturday which was fun, but took the whole damn day. Good grief. I was a bit on the periphery of this group, which kind of felt weird but they were all so nice. I like the woman who it was for, and I have to say her family was so welcoming that it really helped get over the awkwardness of feeling a little out of place. And hell, the food was excellent! Plus, there's the M-E-D-I-C-A-T-I-O-N. Yes, indeedy.

Finally, this may give you a big clue as to my true nature: In preparing to open a package of Junior Mints and faced with the end of the box on which is printed, "Open Other End".....I do. To what purpose does this serve, to follow the rules to that end? That's a rhetorical question.

In Which I Discuss My Butt and Also The Lack of Potential That I Suffer From Symptoms of Blood-Related Cancer

Yesterday, I got a sore butt from sitting so long at my desk. I was still feeling crappy and had such low energy that I sat at my desk for much longer than I normally do, eschewing opportunities for small breaks to get up and walk around a little bit and instead opted to hang on to what little energy reserves I might have managed to find. The result of all that sitting, is that my butt. Is. So. Sore. Can you get bedsores from sitting so long?

I'm feeling better today. My throat is still kind of sore, but much better. My energy is much better, too. The diagnosis no longer includes leukemia; the hysterical breakdown has been averted. For now.

Last night, OC and I were playing a game with the bunny grahams (which, you might infer, are little graham crackers shaped like bunnies. Clever!). We had these two bunnies, both named Hopsy, who liked to talk to one another and hop around and such. It was fun. Anyway, pretty soon I had to stop playing with my Hopsy because my arm got tired and I was driving and all, so OC took over for both Hopsies. I handed her some mini carrots to snack on while we were driving home because, Ha! Bunny food! The cleverness never ends.

Not long after that, I hear her say, "Here ya go. One to a customew."

One to a customer??? Where did she hear that? And, what else does she know that I don't know about? I hope she never stops saying her r's as w's. You should hear it, it's the most adorable thing in the world!

Cut to this morning. As we were driving in to work and school, she told me she knows what the inside of a Barbie looks like. Cool, I'm thinking: "They dissected a Barbie doll at school! How did they do that without freaking out the kids? I want to see what a Barbie doll looks like on the inside."

I asked OC what was on the inside, and she said they saw a poster, which I am assuming is of the human body's innards and not, sadly, Barbie's.

She told me, "Bones. And a bag-thingy (points to abdomen), and vine things, like in your legs or something."

I love this time in the car with my daughter. I learn all sorts of useful things, like how my uterus is a bag-thingy and there are vines in my legs.

She's going to get a kick out of this entry when she's older. Especially the part about my sore butt.

Sickly

Hello, I'm sick. Yesterday found me at home with a sore throat, fever, achy body parts, and extreme fatigue. Yes, I've already hypochondriac-ed out and thought I could have leukemia. However, I have put that to rest because there are no bruises, no joint pain, and today I have more energy. I still have a sore throat, though, but I'm back at work.

I'm thinking it's possible that I could be anemic, as I frequently experience fatigue and some shortness of breath. That could also be attributed to my being a full-time working mother of a very chatty 5-year-old with an hour commute and a monster To Do list plus there's the part where I'm slightly out of shape due to a lack of regular exercise. Maybe? Hmmm.

I've been sucking down grape juice and tea, and thinking weird thoughts. Things like, "If your skin gets infections from being submersed in water for hours and days on end, what is it that allows the inside of your mouth to be covered in saliva all the time and remain healthy?" (It's different tissue than skin, yes; saliva is different than water, true; don't go and ruin my fever-induced ruminations with your science, man...)

And then I start thinking how cool and amazing the body is in all it's functions; the checks and balances within itself to regulate and run all those systems. Let's face it, the heart is just freaky when you think about it, contracting all by itself, automatically adjusting the frequency of the contractions to match your movements whether it's more or less.

I start thinking of all of this right before I pass out from the complexity of these thoughts, coupled with my lack of comprehension because dude, I have a sore throat and am slightly feverish. Maybe it's strep throat?

Transformation

A Woman whom I work with lost her husband suddenly while on vacation last month, and today was her first day back to work. She was in line in front of another coworker and myself at the coffee shop this morning. The barista at the coffee shop recognized her, and asked how her trip was, saying that she sure had been gone a long time. There was a terrible pause, and a silence descended to create a vacuum. The grief which seeped into that void was palpable. The Woman had her back to me, but I knew what was happening to her. I knew how she felt inside at that moment, as anybody who's experienced grief would know: like a wrecking ball had just taken aim at your stomach and has squarely met its mark and found the part of you which has just experienced the deepest, most painful type of loss. That in itself is bad enough, but now all of that effort and energy exerted to get herself to work, to try and do something normal like get some coffee when something terribly abnormal has just happened; that tenuous sense of normalcy has now just been ripped to shreds by a single, simple question from a well-meaning, sweet girl just trying to be friendly.

The requirement now? To speak those unthinkable words: the Terrible, Shocking Truth that you have lost a loved one. Saying it out loud can be the hardest thing you will ever be faced with, the shock of the words bringing new waves of grief when you are trying valiantly not to let it overtake you from one moment to the next, and especially while out in public.

I didn't hear what she actually said, but after she said it the barista came around the counter and hugged her. For a long time. After she'd gotten her coffee, the Woman turned around and hugged us, too.

The freshly grieving have such tenuous moments of security. Most of the time, you feel as though your insides just received electric shock therapy. Your mind certainly feels that way.

And then she said something very interesting. While I can't remember her exact wording, it was something like, "It will be interesting to see how this process unfolds." It was an analytical statement, and sounded detached from the grief. Although, she really wasn't. It's just something that pops out of our mouths when other people are trying to be nice and say things like, "I'm sorry" and the like. It's something to fill the space, to give your mind something to think about, other than the Truth. Because when it comes to grief, there's only so much Truth that we can take in a day.

I found a tape I have with my dad's voice on it and listened to it this weekend. I wasn't sure where the tape had ended up since the move to OH's house. It was a short radio interview from five years ago when I nominated him to be recognized for what he did during his two tours of duty in Vietnam for Veteran's Day. He was characteristically humble while telling the story of a terrifying day where he participated in a rescue mission, but I was happy to hear again how he got to receive praise and thanks for what he did which was amazing and noteworthy and he needed to know that.

I listened to it while OH and OC hugged me, while the tears poured out of my eyes even though I was thrilled just to hear his voice again. Lately I've been thinking about how much I miss him. I even thought about what life would be like if he was still alive and my parents still lived nearby, and what he would've thought of my new husband, and how the granddaughters would be able to see him and how great that would be....

I started to think how it's futile and self-defeating to think this way. It did make me sad because it's never going to be that way. He is not alive, and never will be again, and I really hate that.

Then I thought that maybe it's okay to go ahead and admit that I think these things sometimes. I have accepted reality, but the truth is that I miss him a lot, that I do wish he were still here, and I do wish my daughter could have known him longer. That's all true, too; it's okay because I'm not stuck being angry. It doesn't fill my thoughts (anymore). It makes me remember him and makes me think about how I want to live my life. I'm not wallowing in wishes, I'm acknowledging how I feel and letting go. That is the kind of transformation I am experiencing now.

Life is all about transformation. It is the only thing that we can be sure will happen in life. But it is so very hard for the people left behind.

Articulation

What's that word for the process by which allows for the expression of pent-up emotions? That word that is so overused by actors to the point of cliche; and yet, I want to use it because it says exactly what I want to say? Oh, yeah: cathartic.

I wrote a letter to my biological father, and the experience was very cathartic. (Hey, just like writing on a blog can be!) I experienced catharsis after writing this letter. I felt a purging of my emotions after writing of the letter. I now feel lighter and freer; expressed. Ahhhh.....

So, my biological father. There's a long story, but to sum up: he is emotionally very young and incapable of coping with the normal ups and downs of life in a healthy way. He enjoys remembering the past to the point of obliviousness of the here and now. He doesn't understand boundaries, he just does what he feels. Socially, he is awkward and had no idea how to behave around other people. He comes off as quiet, but weird-quiet.

When I was five, my parents got divorced and he didn't move past that point, emotionally. Growing up, he made me responsible for his happiness by telling me he was only happy when I came to visit (every other weekend) and then about how depressed he was. This made me feel useless because even though I was visiting, he would tell me he was depressed, and then of course I would feel it was my fault. I went home and worried about him, not knowing that this really wasn't my problem to solve. Every thing, every situation was all about him, his needs; and all of it was because he didn't know another way to be.

All of this left me feeling totally used up and sucked dry. I knew this was not right, but I had no idea how to cope with it, much less change anything. My solution as a kid was to shrink inside myself so much that what I presented to him was a shell, the real me was buried so deep inside that I dared not let her out to be exposed to that crap.

I didn't have any frame of reference for this. I had friends whose parents were divorced, but none of their fathers acted this way. I felt totally weird and freakish, in addition to the normal weird and freak feelings that accompany adolescence. As I grew older, I used the shell technique with other people and uncomfortable situations. I had learned a useless coping skill and incorporated it into all parts of my life.

Yes, I've had much-needed therapy, thank you very much!

I had some good weekends with him, to be sure. I have good memories. It's important to say that, because it's a fuller picture of what it was like. I think the hardest part about dealing with all of this was that it wasn't as if it was all bad. It wasn't as though he were an alcoholic, which is something that everyone knows about, and for which there is much support available. He was...socially inept and emotionally needy, where's the meetings and support groups and literature for othat? It was a problem that was hard for me to define, which was probably why it was so hard to step outside of it and to cope.

One of the most profound realizations I have had were that the things that have happened to me as a child were not my fault, and that I did the best I could with what I knew at the time. Those two things have lifted innumerable amounts of weight off my shoulders, allowing me to leave those experiences behind and move forward with a lighter heart. To articulate a problem can distance you from it. With distance a realistic perspective is gained while the pressure on yourself to act before you're ready or know what to do is relieved. Allowing yourself the space in which to explore healthier ways to manage or solve a problem is a very valuable gift to give yourself.

Anyway. I spent some years not talking to him. He didn't understand why. (Duh, dude.) But now; now there is the letter! It's short and to the point, imperious, assertive, strong, specific, not to mention way, way overdue. It feels like one of the best things I've ever written. Probably because of all that catharsis.

Le Poopsie

This morning, I asked OC if she thought my necklace went with my outfit. She looked closely at the necklace, which was beaded in an assortment of neutral colored beads of different shapes and sizes, pointed to one bead and said, "I think this one gives it the right touch."

Then, on the way in to work she asked if there was any yogurt in her lunchbox for breakfast. I told her no, that she had Clifford cereal this morning. She was disappointed, and so I said I would pick up some yogurt the next time we went grocery shopping. She brightened at the thought, asked if it could be strawberry yogurt, then said, "Okay, I will be delighted to eat my cereal today!"

I'm so glad she is okay. She's feeling much better today, after getting a good night's sleep last night. She fell asleep in the car on the way home last night, and napped in the evening until bedtime. I got her to eat a snack before I put her to bed. She was out until I went in to wake her at 6:30 this morning. There have been no incidents at daycare where she has gotten reinjured, like I have feared.

Sunday Bloody Sunday

Yesterday, OC and I enjoyed a picnic lunch outside on the driveway, during which there were lots of harmless little black bugs around. A tiny one landed on her jacket.

"Mom, look at this little bug! He looks like he needs some fresh air. I will introduce him to the ground." (Gently scrapes bug off jacket and places on the ground.)

We had sandwiches, chips, and cottage cheese. It was warm in the sunshine but every once in awhile a strong, cold wind blew through reminding us it has only just become spring, and that we have a ways to go before the purely warm days of summer.

I was able to enjoy this day at home with my daughter because of a horrific accident she endured the day before. Horrific for me; painful for her; in the end, she was okay.

We stopped by the grocery store. She wanted to ride on the bottom part of the cart. She tried to fit into the small basket on the bottom, but realized she was too big. She backed out of it and went to stand up, but hit her head on the metal bar underneath the cart - right where a bolt stuck through. It cut her head, and then the blood started to flow. And flow. And flow. And flow.

It's weird how your mind works in an emergency. My thoughts were fast, and so the following took about 2 1/2 seconds to work through: I wanted to get her in the car and go to the hospital, but she was bleeding so much and was scared, and I knew we had to stop the bleeding first; Next, I thought we'd need to go buy hydrogen peroxide and bandages, but we didn't have time to wait in line. Finally, I arrived at taking her to a checkstand and asking for a first aid kit.Which I did.

A man who had just bought his groceries asked if it was my hand that was bleeding or if it was my daughter, and I said it was my daughter. He came right over and said he was a paramedic. I immediately felt relieved, knowing I wasn't alone. Not only were there concerned people around, which was nice, but also, a paramedic! Who, sweetly enough, used to be a box boy at the very same grocery store.

But back to the blood. The store employees got us an icepack, more papertowels, cookies, water, and went out to my car to get my phone so I could call OH to come get us. My left hand was entirely covered in blood, and one boy cleaned it off with a spray bottle and some paper towels, gently moving my watch and ring to get it all, all while I hugged OC and held the icepack with the other hand. They were talking and joking with us, after awhile. How fabulous is that? How great are people when you need help like that?

OH came and we got OC to the emergency room, where she did not require stitches or a shot. The cut is on the back of her head where the scar will never be seen. They cleaned it up, anointed it with polysporin, and sent us along with a discharge sheet that told us to bring her back if she did things like vomited more than twice, behavior changes, headaches that weren't soothed with Tylenol, etc.

She is fine. I am fine. We stayed home one day to have a bath to remove the crusted, caked-on blood, and to give the cut some time to heal. She is back in her preschool/daycare classroom today with all those little monsters. I am worried about her getting reinjured somehow, in all that activity with the other children. On the other hand, she may not. I have to think she is just fine.

Reciprocity

Every time I glanced at the previous post's title, I read it as 'The Old and the Jackass'. I wrote the thing, and still I am like, what was that again? Oh yeah, "jacketless". Allrighty.

Talk about everything in the world being interconnected. Not long ago I was reading Karen Armstrong's Visions of God: Four Medieval Mystics and Their Writings, where I first learned about The Cloud of Unknowing, which is a manual for contemplative spirituality written by an anonymous Englishman in 1375. The book contains simple, brief advice to prepare oneself to experience the Divine. The overwhelming and recurring theme is love, all written in concise chapters with thoughtful advice.

Just today, I started reading The World in a Phrase: A Brief History of the Aphorism by James Geary. You'll never guess what I came across when the author begins with his first of five points about what makes a true aphorism. Beginning on page 9: "If brevity is the soul of wit, as Shakespeare observed in one of his many aphoristic insights, then concision is the aphorism's heart. Aphorisms must work quickly because they are meant for use in emergencies. We're most in need of aphorisms at times of distress or joy, ecstasy or anguish. And in cases of spiritual or emotional urgency, brevity is the best policy. The author of The Cloud of Unknowing, a spiritual instruction manual written by an anonymous English monk in the latter half of the fourteenth century, knew this when he advised his students: Short prayer penetrates heaven."

It goes on another page and a half about The Cloud of Unknowing. I mean, I had just read about this! What are the odds?

I'm enjoying The World in a Phrase very much, because it's been a nice segway from the historical and religious texts which have captured my interest lately. I'm only on page 34 and it's already discussed Lao Tzu, who I have quoted on this blog; the Tao; and now on to Buddha and Confucius.

It's a surprise to find all of this, because I was expecting more of an English textbook-with-anecdotes kind of book, and instead have encountered references to ancient texts and sources of wisdom which I seek to study. The only problem is these books are so packed with thoughtful, meaningful words that reading them goes quite slowly. I get them from the library and often have had to renew them (or return them before I was finished because they were on hold for someone else) in order to try and finish them, not to mention absorb, what they have to say.

One thing I keep learning over and over again, is that Life is all about transformation. It never stops. Ancient sages knew this, and advised people to stop fighting the change and instead find a way to become stable within that change. It's a tough lesson to learn, one of the most important we need to know but one we keep forgetting.

I most enjoy the connections between people, ideas, and experiences. I experience such delight when I come across something I have a familiarity with, and find out how it further relates to something else. And that's what our existence is, really; a multitude of interconnected beings going about the days, mostly unaware of the powerful connections between one another this thing called Life has created. I love it when I find one of those connections. Life is full of them.

The Old and the Jacketless

This morning, I was over halfway into work when I realized I had forgotten my jacket. I can't believe I forgot my jacket. It's barely spring, still right smack in the middle of jacket-needing weather, and I forgot my jacket! What an airhead.

And now, from the category of "I Just Can't Take It Anymore": Last night, I told my boss I want to quit my full time job in a few months. His reaction? "Shit." Which, awww, how sweet!

This wasn't an easy decision to reach. There are so many positive things about working here: I like my job; my coworkers and I work well together and like each other, so much so that we have been going to lunch together once per month for a year voluntarily; I have great health benefits; three weeks of vacation time; great pay that affords an indulgence in yarn, shoes, and wine; and more often than not I really like the work I do. The work here consists of a wide variety of projects. My boss is a combination of a shield from management bullshit while also being a hands-off, non-micromanaging supervisor who will work out conflicting deadlines so you don't have to be the bad guy. There is no ego in our group, no office politics or jealousy; just goofy, somewhat technical-minded, intelligent, creative people of high integrity, working independently. You can see why I have to get the heck out of here!

It's amazingly hard to think about leaving. But, life keeps whispering to me that I need more time and has given me a way to have that time. It's about give and take. In order to get more time, I need to give up something. By giving up something, I move on to something else, which will include days and days of free time with my daughter. We can go to the park! We can go to the library! We can do all those cool activities that are only scheduled during the week so that working parents like me couldn't go to because of all the working. It's time to make a change.

I think my daughter deserves a break after five solid years of 8.5 hours a day five days a week away from me. It'll be nice to be together for a change.

We have so much to look forward to, in addition to the library and the park. How will it feel to just let the days unfold, to not plan ahead but see what we feel like doing each day? We can have the luxury of go ing to new places and discovering new things we might not have otherwise discovered in our usual rush.

Life is smart, knowing when to push and then push harder when I don't listen the first time when it's time to make a change. Life will take care of us. Life is good.

Where I Use Words Like 'Harbinger' and 'Major' and 'Change' and Do Not Explode

In the past, when a time for transition arose I reacted negatively. I tended to fear change and shrink from it, only doing what was necessary to go along with the tide rather than be the harbinger of major change. It felt better to me to do things that way. It might be more accurate to say that I feared being at the helm of sweeping change, because if it turned out badly then I would be responsible, and those around me who were affected would hate me forever and life would end.

What a way to go through life! No wonder I have problems with anxiety, what with the weight of the world on my shoulders and all.

I've learned that the people who truly love me will not abandon me at the drop of a hat; that life is all about change and transformation and that these things are good for us; to go with it only eases my comfort; there is no way to stop the change, only to learn to roll with it better; that when chaos arises there is usually a lesson there if I'd only stop freaking out and hear it.

That is why I am not freaking out today. I have scheduled a meeting later today with my boss to talk with him about some major changes I am making in my life. The wonderful thing is, I am not afraid of these changes. They are necessary, and will allow me to further explore and express my creative side, spend more time with my daughter, and be an all around breath of fresh air in my life and for my family.

There is still an unknown factor which does make me uncomfortable, but I have an overwhelming trust in that, things are the way they should be; I will be okay.

I am going to talk more about the details at a later date. Soon, just not right now. Hang in there with me!

Girl's Lunch

I had lunch with OC today. We went to Good Dog Bad Dog for hot dogs, then to City Hall to apply for her passport.

On the walk over, we tried to see how soon we could spot Portlandia, but she's pretty well hidden behind the Multnomah County Courthouse so you have to wait until you're only a block away before you can really see her. When we first walked into City Hall, OC said, "Wow, this is really cool!" at all the ornate railings, tile, and the glass elevator. I'm not sure which captured her attention. Maybe all of it combined.

On our way out of the office, we spotted the giant red pillow in the atrium. It's a huge circle, probably almost six feet across. We went down and sat on it, and then laid on it and looked up at the art installation above. It was a mixture of white, maroon, gold and silver in colored beads, shell circles, and resin circles; all of this hanging from the atrium ceiling which is four stories tall inside the building, topped with a skylight. It was fun to lie there and watch the clouds pass overhead. The pillow was very comfortable. I wanted to take a nap.

OC cried when I took her back to school. I guess I rate above the Yeti, after all.

She's going to her dad's for a week. Oh, how I will miss that girl! I will be crying tonight. (This parenting thing is not for the faint of heart.)

Grace

It's true that life is everchanging, that life is like a river.

Here in my occidental coast world, change is brewing. I can feel it in the air like you can smell a distant rainstorm on a summer breeze. I have known it was coming, and have been preparing my mind for the uncomfortableness I feel at transitions. The thing is, more than discomfort I am feeling relieved, much like the parched prairie grass is made green again by a life-giving shower. The dry, tiredness of my soul seek cleansing refreshment. I welcome this newness, and also this new attitude toward transformation.

There's only so much you can learn in one place/ The more time that I wait, the more time that I waste/ I haven't got much time to waste I'm gonna make my way/ I'm not afraid of what I'll face but I'm afraid to stay...

--- "Jump" by Madonna, from Confessions on a Dancefloor

Untrue to my normal form, I am not afraid of what I'll face in the future. I have always been scared of change, to be sure, because of the unknown and how that makes me feel insecure. But more than that, now I feel Trust in that what I'll need will be there for me. I don't know how I know it, I just do. Having that Trust trumps the Fear, and makes room for Excitement about Transformation. After all, change can bring about good things, too.

I know that I can no longer stay here. I no longer want to. Bring it on, Life. I am ready.

Chernobyl? We Have a Meltdown

Yesterday, I experienced a meltdown of parental proportions.

OC was tired, hadn't had a nap at school, and was needy and whiney. Every tap and bump she received from her lunchbox, the door, the oppressive air around her, made her whimper in pain. This tends to get on my nerves even on a good day, but yesterday we had SO MUCH TO DO.

It takes me 20 minutes just to get to her school from work, and when I get there she is, more often than not, not excited to see me. I have to ask her repeatedly to get all her stuff together and to get her jacket on while I help her get her stuff because she is busy ignoring me to tell other parents where their kids are, or talking to other kids about needing to pick up or something; then we walk to the car, deal with traffic, stop at the store, and get home so we can make dinner, build a fire, feed the cats, do laundry, deal with the dishes, bathe, jammies, brush teeth, and read a bedtime story.

While I am at the same time annoyed with her, I also, just as forcefully, feel compelled to drop everything and attend to her. Who cares about work and schedules and clean clothes? My daughter needs me!!! Usually, I try to negotiate my way to comfort her while also managing to accomplish only the most necessary things. An example of this is: I'll get down on the floor and hug her and kiss her owies, then tell her I have to start dinner but I'll be right back. This usually falls flat. Upon reflection, this moderate approach probably results in both of us feeling unsatisfied in the way that only getting part of what you need accomplishes.

It's when I am not a comfort to my own child that I feel I have failed as a parent. That is what caused the Chernobyl-like meltdown last night. She has a lot of earwax in one ear, so I stopped to get an earwax removal kit at the store. When we got home, had dinner, we gathered up what we'd need and settled into a chair to begin the process. She was scared that it was going to hurt, so I reassured her I had done it many times before on my own ears and it doesn't hurt at all. It's just like having bathwater in your ears, I said. She was not convinced. (It's not that I expected her to believe me and calmly submit to the earwax-removal process, it's just that I felt that while I was there for her, it might as well have been the Abominable Snowman doing this for as much comfort as it seemed to give her.)

Of course, I immediately thought things like, she's been in daycare since she was four months old, of course she feels disconnected from me. It's further my fault because I have so much to do in the evenings, that I frequently have her do much on her own while I cook, clean, and whatever. I do that TOO much, and so she feels like either a Himalayan Yeti, or her mother, would be fine to administer ear drops. And then I have no one to blame but myself, because even though the situation is such that I work, it is also true that when we ARE together, I push her away. Not meaning to, but that is the result of me trying to get things done.

So I cried and cried and cried, and OH came home and was all, "Holy.... " while I cried some more and tried to explain it to him. It wasn't pure guilt and down-on-myself-edness, it was a realization of what is truly going on.

It wasn't a waste of energy, either. What came out of it is that I recognized the need to change how I interact with my daughter when we are together, at night and on the weekends. I now have the opportunity and the motivation to do things differently. I only hope it is not too late to reestablish a close relationship with her. I keep thinking positively, hoping that my insides will catch up and feel good, too.

Wit and Wisdom

I just talked to my X about several things, one of which is OC's school in the fall when she will start Kindergarten. I want her to attend a private, classical christian school in our town that has an amazing curriculum; emphasis on the classical. (Awesome stuff she will be exposed to: great literature, history, philosophy, writing, science and the historical roots of science, fine arts, music, and classical and foreign languages. Okay, maybe not the literature in Kindergarten, but later on.) What was his response? Without knowing anything about the school, here it is in summary:

"I don't believe private schools are any better than public. You're already paying taxes, and to pay more for school on top of that is unnecessary. A kid will be exposed to enough and learn just fine if they apply themselves, it doesn't matter what school they're at, and if they don't apply themselves at private school, then it's a waste of money."

This is all based on his General Theory of How I Feel About the World, mind you, and not because he's read about the school or looked into our town's public school. I could respect his opinion if it were informed, but as it is, I don't respect his knee-jerk opinions which lack basis in specificity.

I should say that I have nothing against public schools. No. Thing. I went to public school! And look how I turned out, yuk yuk yuk. No, really. I just think the curriculum at This School is so great, and compared to public schools, it affords more opportunity for well-rounded exposure to things that might get cut with the next budget go-round at our beloved public school system. I especially appreciate the emphasis on music, art, literature, and classical languages. The opportunity is so amazing!

So, let's say that it's not any better than public school. Yet, to be exposed to those things at such an early age, how could it be bad? (Sigh.) I don't like being in this position, because of the factors of possibly making future negotiations difficult. If I send her to the school and he hates it, then what? What if he just hates it because I like it? That is a distinct possibility. The man has endless capacity for spite. But! Enough editorializing, that's not helpful. Do any of you have children with an ex? How do you handle it? I could really use some support, or anecdotes, if you have them. Allright, on to other things.

My daughter, the wit. To wit:

The other day I gave her a few slices of jicama to try. She looked it on all sides before taking the tiniest sliver of a bite because, it is a new food after all and new food is always suspect. Turns out, she loved it and asked for more by saying, "Mommy, can I have some more jicam-up?"

And then there was the day we were in the traffic. The light was green but cars were backed up and we did not immediately get to go. OC decides it is time to drive forward, so she says, "Move, suckews!" And they did.

What I Want

Getting home late last night and then for those few nights last week has taken a lot out of me. I'm so tired, I can't think straight. Last night, I was going about getting our lunches ready, building a fire, and putting things away. I kept walking back and forth, forgetting what I was doing. I went to get my medication from the bathroom, then left without taking it. When I got to the kitchen to finish the lunches, there it was in my hand. I picked up my tea and took the pills, then went to the kitchen instead of going to the living room to get OC's lunch box. I think I end up trying to do too much at once, and also switch too rapidly between tasks that I end up going in circles.

I want to write about things that have happened, things we've done, but I can't come up with anythign interesting and end up writing, "we did this then we did that". Ack! Boring.

Plus, I want to knit and I want to read, and there isn't time for that! I fell asleep after one and a half pages of Eat, Pray, Love and it wasn't because it was boring.

Tonight we will get to bed early, and tomorrow should be better. You never know.

The Beginning of a Beautiful Postship

We had a great weekend. How could it not be when there was free wine tasting???

We all went to visit OH's dad for his birthday. It was gorgeous weather: cold, but sunny. There was snow on the ground in patches, the white kind, not the dirty brown junk. We had lunch with my grandma and aunt, who I haven't visited for years, for reasons innumberable. Okay, not really; there's just one reason, and that it they are my biological father's family and since I had a problem with my biological father, I felt like I couldn't communicate with his whole family because they seemed like one big unit, not individuals. But they are individuals, and now I feel like I can make that distinction and proceed to forge relationships with each of them and not feel jeopardized. Does that make sense? If not, suffice it to say there is a lot of history behind why I feel this way. All of which would make for a great post one day.

After lunch, we went to King Estate Winery where there is (free!!!) wine tasting. King Estate is the largest winery in Oregon. We tasted 6 or so wines (for free! free! free!) including a reserve 97 chardonnay, which was creamy and gorgeous; a reserve pinot which was not so good but only because it had just been uncorked and hadn't had time to breathe, which would've displaced the strong flavor it had which it wasn't supposed to have. Listen to me, like I know what I'm talking about! Ha!!

You know what I love? OH's dad is this farmer and logger, yet he defies stereotyping because he also likes wine, history, golf, recycling, and organic farming. He did mostly horse logging, which is much less detrimental to the environment than equipment logging because it doesn't use fossil fuels or damage the ground as badly. He also did a lot of thinning rather than clear-cutting, which is much less invasive to the forest, allowing it to recover and grow anew that much faster.

(Logging is a controversial topic, but to me it's simple: All logging is not bad; using natural and renewable resources is good; bad logging practices are bad; logging practices have much improved in the past several decades; my father-in-law is conscientious about what he does, so much so that he's had numerous back surgeries because horse logging? Is a HARD work for the person, too, and taxes your body a LOT but FIL thought it was the right thing to do and so that's what he did and I totally respect that; humans will always need wood to build houses and things, and it's much better to have people like my FIL showing us how doing it the right way produces a good product, gives people jobs, and preserves the environment, all at the same time. It's GENIUS.)

To be continued...

Return from Absentia

Greetings! I am still alive, you may or may not be glad to know. I have been out of town, staying on Mt. Hood, skiing at Meadows, and attending my grandma's funeral.

I was back to work yesterday but too busy to post. We have had snow here in mild, temperate Portland, and so I ended up having to fumble uncomfortably with, while ultimately succeeding in securing, tire chains. I got in to work two hours late, which I will have to make up sometime before Sunday. OC had a doctor's appointment yesterday afternoon as well, so the day was basically jam-packed, not to mention that at some point, I did some actual work.

Speaking of work...right! Gotta go, kiddies. I won't keep you waiting like that again. Until, you know, I do.

International Relations

So. I went to get lunch yesterday at the Indian food cart. It's so good. Sooooo goooood. You can get a veggie or meat lunch special for $5, including naan. I get the veggie special (or my favorite, channa masala) and make it last two days, cutting the expense to $2.50 per day. Sooo goooood, and cheap!

As I was waiting, two young men walked up to the cart. They turned to me and asked if I was in line, which I said no, I had already ordered. How nice of them, I thought. They were very chatty. And young. Probably college-aged, not more than 19 years old. They were talking to one another in a language I couldn't place, and were asking for certain foods - and food equivalents - from Sandu, the Indian food cart owner who, by the way, is awesome and nice and gives me free samples of tea sometimes and also calls me "friend" because I have frequented his food cart so often.

Anyway, so the two guys: One mentioned something about "where I come from" and something about how hot it was. "The sun here is nice," he said. "It doesn't beat down on you like where I come from."

"Oh," I said. "Where is that?" He said, "Guess."

Oh great, I thought. I am terrible at guessing games. Like the game where people ask you to guess their age? I hate that game, and not because I never get it right. I hate it because there is no way to win unless you are very, very lucky. If you guess the age as being too high, then you are an ass. If you guess too low, well, that's insulting, too. So I guess I do hate it because I rarely/never get it right and usually end up offending the other person who, let's be honest, is an abject risk-taker to play that game with me in the first place. I am not going to lose sleep over offending adventurists who ask me to guess something like their age over which they may be offended. Now that that's settled...

I was afraid I would offend these nice men who were so polite to me, and not like a politically correct way but in a basic, common sense kind of way. So I said, "No, I have no idea. Please just tell me." *please oh please oh please oh please!*

They were like, no. I reluctantly said, "Okay, it's an Arab country, right?" Because they had said something about how Arab food is, and how they hadn't found much here as an equivalent of what they were used to. Lebanese food is close, as is Indian food, but each was way more spicey and not quite the same thing.

"Okay, uhhhhhhhhhhh................... *breathes, says prayer asking for an inoffensive answer - not politically uncorrect but just basic, human-decency-factor answer, and also quickly drawing a mental map of the Middle East, which frankly, wasn't quite complete, which was why I said*

"Kuwait?"

"No, but you're close."

"Oh. Iraq?"

"No, but it's very near there."

"Iran?"

"No, okay we'll tell you. (You poor thing who we are torturing with our guessing game!) Saudi Arabia."

(Holy shit! That's where women are less than dirt and stuff, and like, that doesn't happen anywhere else. But they are being nice to me and not treating me like dirt. Does this mean that not all men from Saudi Arabia treat strange women badly, except maybe to torture them with guessing games? Hmmm. I'm thinking my world just expanded a tiny bit.)

This is where I tell you that I had a friend at my last place of employment who went to Saudi Arabia for a job she held previously and was part of a group staying and working for a few months. She said it was awful trying to work with the men there. She told me about how she had gone to the front desk and asked them to fax something, or whatever, and they had completely ignored her. This experience was my only exposure to someone's personal experience of that country, the rest I know was learned from the teevee.

Just then my food was ready and so I said goodbye, nice talking to you, enjoy the sun, and have a good day. They each shook my hand, introduced themselves, and then also said goodbye.

It was an interesting encounter, because I think about the path that brought those two to that food cart that day. They traveled a lot of miles to get there. I was in a city that I've never lived more than 45 miles away from, much less moved to a different country to attend college (I assume they were here for college, anyway). Thinking about that was pretty cool. The world is so big, yet small. (No, I will not now begin a rendition of 'It's a Small World'.)

Another thing was this morning, and the beautiful Asian woman who made my caramel mocha. I was admiring her shiny black hair, and the artful way she had made her ponytails. They were not little-girley, but grownup ponytails. She had two down her back, with several red holders at short intervals. It looked very sleek and cool. I liked her hair and also the way she put caramel sauce on top of my coffee without my having to ask, even though she was the only barista making coffee and they were busy.

It's true that odd things can really bring people together, like food, caramel sauce and hair. And other things, but those are my offerings.

Quotable

"I saw yellow in the distance and I was like, Oh mommy! We have daffodils!"

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
What a way to start the day. When OC noticed the daffodils were blooming, she exclaimed about it ever so sweetly.

This morning I used my neti pot to help clear my nose. I take Trazodone to help me sleep, and it dries up my sinuses. I'm still willing to use it because it works so well, but I hate the drying effect. The neti pot does an absolute wonderful job of moistening the tissue and helping to clear out whatever junk is stuck up there.

Aren't you glad I shared? After all, a blog is good for many things, one of which could be learning the intimate details of the inner workings of someone's sinus cavity. It could be worse. I could talk about poop. But poop? Is not my style. Snot, however, is right up my alley.

Me and my dry, snotty nose, along with my family, are headed to Walla Walla on Sunday for the funeral of my grandma. It promises to be interesting, with all kinds of relatives there to mingle, many of whom I go to great pains to avoid. But, that's what funerals are for: bringing people together who otherwise would assume not to see one another. Ahhh, family. You gotta love it. I do look forward to seeing my Aunt and my mom, and a couple of my cousins.

But before this, there is a loooooong list of things To Do. Oh, my! Before we go to Walla Walla, we had planned to meet some friends and stay at Mt. Hood so we could ski this weekend. OC can't go skiing, as she's still got her phlegmy cough. I'm hoping OH and I can split a day pass and switch off staying with OC inside the cabin while the other goes skiing. I don't mind, as I love to ski but also will bring my knitting along and watch movies with her. Not a bad way to relax before a funeral.

I keep thinking I need to add pictures to the blog. All this text is probably boring the snot (HA!) out of you. Allright, I'll get you some pictures. Soon.

Bad Things Come In Threes

My bad things are:

1) My grandma died.
2) My biological father had a stroke and is in the hospital, his left side paralyzed.
3) OC is sick again, this time with much mucous in her lungs.

I am feeling tired and overly emotional today, so I did the only thing I could think of that might help: I placed an order at Gap.com. I feel a little bit better.

Dealing with death is hard, and the level of complicated emotions felt when the death of a family member occurs are, I think, proportional to the level of complications experienced in the relationship.

I am still marinating in my own thoughts, not yet ready (or able) to articulate very thoroughly how I'm feeling and what I'm thinking. I suppose I am letting it all stew so I can make sense of it. That's what I do: think, ponder and make sense of the entire thing so I can expound on it. That is when I am able to talk about it, because that is when I begin to understand it myself.

I really liked something I read recently. It's a beautiful metaphor for life, perfect for when you are in the mood for contemplation. This is it, from DatingGod, and was written by Paulo Coelho:

A river never passes the same place twice,” says a philosopher. “Life is like a river,” says another philosopher, and we draw the conclusion that this is the metaphor that comes closest to the meaning of life. Consequently, it is always good to remember during all the year to come:

A] We are always doing things for the first time. While we move between our source (birth) to our destination (death), the landscape will always be new. We should face these novelties with joy, not with fear – because it is useless to fear what cannot be avoided. A river never stops running.

B] In a valley we walk slower. When everything around us becomes easier, the waters grow calm, we become more open, fuller and more generous.

C] Our banks are always fertile. Vegetation only grows where there is water. Whoever comes into contact with us needs to understand that we are there to give the thirsty something to drink.

D] Stones should be avoided. It is obvious that water is stronger than granite, but it takes time for this to happen. It is no good letting yourself be overcome by stronger obstacles, or trying to fight against them - that is a useless waste of energy. It is best to understand where the way out is, and then move forward.

E] Hollows call for patience. All of a sudden the river enters a sort of hole and stops running as joyfully as before. At such moments the only way out is to count on the help of time. When the right moment comes the hollow fills up and the water can flow ahead. In the place of the ugly, lifeless hole there now stands a lake that others can contemplate with joy.

F] We are one. We were born in a place that was meant for us, which will always keep us supplied with enough water so that when confronted with obstacles or depression we have the necessary patience or strength to move forward. We begin our course in a soft and fragile manner, where even a simple leaf can stop us. Nevertheless, as we respect the mystery of the source that gave us life, and trust in His eternal wisdom, little by little we gain all that we need to pursue our path.

F] Although we are one, soon we shall be many. As we travel on, the waters of other springs come closer, because that is the best path to follow. Then we are no longer just one, but many – and there comes a moment when we feel lost. However, as the Bible says, “all rivers flow to the sea.” It is impossible to remain in our solitude, no matter how romantic that may seem. When we accept the inevitable encounter with other springs, we eventually understand that this makes us much stronger, we get around obstacles or fill in the hollows in far less time and with greater ease.

G] We are a means of transportation; Of leaves, boats, ideas. May our waters always be generous, may we always be able to carry ahead everything or everyone that needs our help.

H] We are a source of inspiration.

And so, let us leave the final words to the Brazilian poet Manuel Bandeira, “To be like a river that flows silent through the night, not fearing the darkness and reflecting any stars high in the sky."

Peaceful. And lovely.

Correction!

Ah, but I was premature in writing the post titled "The Blahs", for there is another item to add to that list: My grandma died.

She's had Alzheimer's, and several illnesses in the past few years. My mom and she had a terrible relationship over the years. I was sort of close to her when I was young, but this eroded or was never quite, and we weren't close in recent years. She never met OC.

There's a long story here, of course, but I don't think I'm ready to tell it.

I have been feeling okay; have been thinking about what I want to do and then doing those things. Now, I'm feeling tired. I've been a trooper, and I need a break.

I need comfort, support, to not have to be strong, just for a little while...

The Blahs

How was your weekend? Mine was blah.

Went yarn shopping, hooray! Spent much money at yarn store, blah. Then there was blah blah cleaning, blah blah laundry, blah blah bringing in firewood, blah blah my dad had a stroke and is in the hospital. And, my uncle is having health problems, resisting going to the doctor, for further blahs.

My biological father had a blockage of his right carotid artery, and he had a stroke which has paralyzed his left side. How permanently he is paralyzed, I don't know. There is talk of performing surgery to remove the blockage, and of physical therapy. There is a danger, however, of the blockage becoming dislodged which would kill him instantly.

My uncle has heart problems, and had a heart attack in December, which I didn't know about until recently. I don't know many of the details, except that my aunt is very worried and is having a hard time because he is very resistant to going to the doctor. I haven't visited them yet. I must make a plan to do so very soon.

My biological father and I, we don't have a great relationship. Visiting a relative in the hospital with whom you have a great relationship? Awkward. Can be difficult to come up with things to talk about, mostly because of the hospital milieu. Visiting a relative in the hospital with whom your relationship is tenuous? Very, very awkward and strange and weird, which becomes more so when you run out of things to talk about.

I've had several people say that it did him a lot of good for me to visit. I know the people who said this meant well. I'm even willing to agree. My reaction, however, was that I don't want to hear this. Why? After much meditation and soul searching (which means half a second later, because it's not deep but rather, simmers on the surface) I realized it's because I don't want to be made responsible for his happiness again. I feel particularly sensitive to any suggestion to that effect, no matter how normal a thing it might be to say to someone else.

As a kid, I was made to feel responsible for his happiness and I believed it. Since my parents were divorced and I visited my dad every other weekend, and he spent a lot of time feeling depressed and telling me how depressed he felt, I, in turn, felt like a failure. This is not a feeling I want to relive, and so I'm very sensitive to it. It has taken me many many years to learn how to cope with that feeling, and to come to the realization that it was not my fault, and that it was unfair to do that to a kid, and that my feelings are perfectly normal. It's a little too soon for me to stick my toe in those old waters again, even though I have new information and coping skills.

Of course, I can see how in a given situation, a visit from a relative would do someone in the hospital a lot of good. It is a normal thing for most people, but it is not normal for me. I want very badly to implement my fabulous/crappy Avoidance Tactic. That works well, except when the people whom you are avoiding, die. Then you have lost your chance to talk to them and are then left with bad, unfinished feelings.

Honestly, who the hell am I kidding? It's a sucky tactic. I am having a hard time handling it right now.

A Streetcar Named "Bite Me"

The streetcar and I don't get along. I am usually a half block away, perpendicular to the tracks with buildings in the line of sight so I don't know it's there until it lurches forward, leaving the stop I had almost reached and cheerfully blowing raspberries as it departs. There are usually 18 minutes between trains, which is too long to wait.

Lately I have walked, more often than not, the 22 blocks between OC's school and my office. That part has been good, as it gives me 30 minutes of exercise twice a day. Hey, isn't that what you're supposed to get? Anyway, my butt is grateful for it. And, for the most part, it hasn't rained during the walks so it's nice. The only thing is......what, you thought I might get through a post without complaining? Have we met? Right.

I bring my knitting with me to work on during lunch. When I can outsmart the streetcar and actually catch it, it's a great way to spend those 15 minutes of travel time. Hey, every little bit of free time in which I can do something fun, I take advantage. It's better than mindlessly flapping my gums on the phone like so many dear young things like to do at high volume while riding to wherever they go. There is nothing like looking forward to a peaceful ride to work and instead being forced to overhear conversations like, "He talked to that other girl....and oh my god can you believe it....she is really ugly......that is so boring......oh my god!" Yeah. Not fun.

I will be starting a new knitting project this weekend! That will bring my knitting project total up to two. Currently, I am working on making the scarf which was my practice piece. I also have two crochet projects going as well, in case you thought I was a slacker.

There is a local store that is well known for their sewing and quilting supplies, which I found out has just opened a knitting store. There is even a place for kids to play! Those people are geniuses. I just hope their yarn is reasonably priced, but if not, never fear! I'll use my travel Visa so that the purchase will go toward points to buy a plane ticket the next time we go on vacation (after Ireland). That just makes good sense. How frugal and thrifty is that???

Don't answer that...

I Give Up Titling Today

Since we were home on Monday, it totally ruined the cats' sleeping schedule. They tolerate our constant presence on Saturdays and Sundays because they know they have five days to make up for it. An extra day to put up with their humans proved to be taxing and tedious for their delicate, fluffy sensibilities. Poor Dakota was sacked out by Monday afternoon, completely exhausted from all the awake time.

I've got nothing interesting to report today (as opposed to what? ha.) so enjoy my daughter's five-year old witticisms:

"Mommy, it smells like Princess!"

(This was in response to smelling her new handsoap, which was decorated with a Disney princess character. What does a Princess smell like? This soap, apparently. And by the way, what isn't decorated with some kind of character anymore? Sheesh.)

* * * * * * * * * *

OC: Mommy, I'm coloring.

Me: Oh, that's good honey.

OC: I haven't colored in a long time. Not in 60 months.

(OC's favorite numbers are 1600 and 60. I have no idea why, but everything is either 1600 minutes or 60 hours/days/whatever. P.S. She is 62 months old.)


* * * * * * * * * *

This is me now:

One more thing, please take a moment to look through the links list, titled "visit these", because I updated them to include the new blogs I'm enjoying.

That's it. The only other thing I have to say is, thank goodness it's almost Friday.