Tonight after I put Thomas to bed, Ruthie and I ‘snuggled for a bit,’ as she says. Snuggled under my covers, we caught the opening credits of Stuart Little on the Disney Channel. And holy cow, but can guess who wrote the screenplay for Stuart Little?
Can you?
Can you guess?
Think of the most OPPOSITE GENRE of film from Stuart Little, and you MIGHT get close to guessing the right person.
I’d make you post your guesses in comments, but I know you’ll just look it up on IMDB, anyway.
I’ve been super busy finishing up the painting in Bryan’s new office, so all my spare time has been devoted to that and the mounds of laundry that piled up after traveling for two weeks. With Bryan gone so much I’m left with little energy for things that re-create me, and spend most of my time lying on the couch or soaking in the bath. I’m not even watching t.v. or reading my blogs!
I’ve been feeling lethargic, weepy, impatient, and unmotivated again lately. I should probably mention that I weaned completely off my Zoloft while we were at the ocean (going into the week I had been taking 25mg every other day), so I’m probably feeling the effects of that. I’ve replaced my medication with Vitamin C and a B Complex, and Omega 3. At first I felt great on the vitamins – full of energy, and pretty stable emotionally. But now I’m back to sitting in the dark and taking long hot baths and losing it with my children.
But the good news is, I’ve scheduled an appointment with a Naturopathic Doctor who will help my body get back into health again.
Bryan is still traveling a lot, but I’ve been keeping busy with play dates to break up the time alone. The other night my friend’s girls spent the night and we watched Meet the Fockers, and other friends have been coming over for dinner every night because they haven’t installed a stove in their new home yet. Frankly, I look forward to those dinners every night, because by the time they arrive I’m exhausted and they are the kind of friends who don’t take any shit from sassy three-year-olds. Paul said to Ruthie the other night, “I’m your mommy’s friend and I don’t like it when you talk to her that way.â€
I may sneak into their house and cut the gas line to their stove to delay its installation another few days!
It’s interesting being on the other side of a bout of depression, feeling like I may be mildly depressed again. I don’t feel panicked or doomed. It just is what it is. I’m trying to do less, take care of myself more, and just be okay that things may not be getting done.
My parents have been to Europe, like, three times, and whenever they came back I had to watch their slide shows – the kind on an actual screen with an actual projector. These are my PARENTS and I had a difficult time staying captivated.
And you? I may not even know you. So I will not be offended if you skip the rest of this post. These photos are for people who like this sort of thing.
Wind
Water
Sand
I think I may have stumbled upon a revolutionary new tool to aid me in Getting Things Done. Recently my watch broke, and while I was in Minnesota I bought a new one at Target. Today I discovered that, among many other cool features, it has a TIMER function, which makes Ruthie’s Time-Outs so much more portable and spontaneous because I don’t have to march from room to room looking for where I last set the kitchen timer.
But ALSO, since I am the Queen of Distraction when it comes to staying on task, I set the timer for 15 minutes today while I raced around the living room picking up all the clutter from our return home yesterday. Then, since I was on such a roll, I set the timer for another 15 minutes and cleaned off the front porch which was beginning to look more like a storage closet than a welcoming extension of my house.
And now I am rewarding myself by taking a break to put my feet up and surf my blog reads… with my timer set.
It’s all very Flylady.
Speaking of blog reads, I fiddled a little with my template again. I figured out how to add my Bloglines feed list directly into the sidebar, so now you have complete access to the influences in my head. And whenever I update this list in my Bloglines account, it automatically updates the list you see in my side bar! I love html.
I have mixed feelings about writing this post. Part of me wants to wear the mask depicting our lovely weekend family getaway and avoid writing about the shitty attitude I have right now, because my shitty attitude doesn’t make me look very good. But it’s what’s on my mind so you, the Internet, get to walk through it with me.
We had a great week at the ocean. There were parts of it that were relaxing – the parts when both kids were out cold and I read an entire book. The rest of it was a bit overwhelming – mostly because Ruthie is continuing to test limits and blatantly disobey.
What upsets me most, though, is that out of all the fun stuff that happened – INCLUDING the friends that drove all the way down from Seattle FOR THE DAY – I’m fixating on all the frustrating battles with Ruthie, and on the one sentence Bryan spoke to me at breakfast this morning which hurt my feelings and caused us to drive four hours home in silence.
That one sentence sent me into a spiral of doubt during the whole drive home. All I could think about was the façade of happiness I must have been wearing the last few months, while all the while our disappointment with and mistrust of one another was only a few unguarded words away.
His comment stung because there were only two ways for me to interpret it: either he’s a complete ass and has NO CONCEPT of what I deal with all day, or he’s right and I completely SUCK at managing my home and caring for my children. Do you see my dilemma? Either way, one of us is lazy or clueless, and the other one is the lucky bastard who landed this prizewinning catch.
Not a whole lot of options for a win-win outcome.
Bryan apologized for what he said, in the I-meant-what-I-said-but-I’m-sorry-it-came-out-like-that sort of way, which I truly do appreciate in a I-get-that-you-love-me-in-your-own-way sort of way, but it wasn’t enough to stave off the dark hole of my emotional spiral.
I’m open to the possibility that I’m over-reacting to all of this in a very irrational way. I did, after all, finally wean off my medication, so Crazy Jen could be back. (I would be remiss in not revealing this sort of information as you weigh all the facts and take sides in your mind.) This very real possibility is the reason I did not pack my bags and move to Cape Cod the minute we returned to Seattle.
There’s that, plus the construction crew is returning tomorrow to trim out the new windows.
This morning we woke to a beautiful blue sky and warmer temperatures than yesterday. The population in Cannon Beach swelled with the coming of Saturday, and all the little ice cream shops and saltwater taffy shops were finally open.
Friends drove down for the day, as it was the annual kite festival in Cannon Beach – the reason we came here in the first place. The wind was so strong today that one of the lines on Bryan’s stunt kite broke, and sand was plastered to my son’s face via fresh sunscreen. It was just too windy to do anything, and the kids were miserable, so we moved the party to the grassy yard outside our motel door. We shared good conversation and dinner, then they were off into the night for the long drive back to Seattle.
I finished my book yesterday – after just a week! Amazing what you can accomplish when you don’t watch t.v. I will reserve any specific comments for our book club, but I will say that I appreciated how the author described the aimless wandering, the overwhelming nature of everyday things, and the depressive state of mind as she struggled through the grief of losing her brother. She was able to beautifully put words to nothings, to voids, to the numbness of experiencing loss. I think the next time someone asks me what it’s like to lose someone (not that anyone ever HAS asked me that) I will hand them a copy of this book.
Did I mention that I love it here? How could I not? It’s against the law to pump your own gas, and I HATE pumping gas. If I lived here I would joyfully fill my gas tank each week. And yours, too. And yours. And I would never even have to leave the car.
And not only are dogs allowed on the beaches – an accommodation not provided for in Washington state – but they are allowed on the beach OFF LEASH, which means my little Scout can run barefoot and carefree through the surf and sand.
Yes, I think I could live here and do all my shopping tax free.
This will be a short post – the wine is poured, the fire is burning, and my cute daughter is begging me to come sit with her. We are on vacation this week at a little motel just off the beach in Cannon Beach, OR. It’s heaven. It is so heavenly I may not post much. We’ll see.
I was surfing YouTube last night and came across this video – a very serious matter. I implore everyone who reads this, to watch and find some way to contribute to this worthy cause. Won’t you please help us save the rock?
Also, I caught my fair share of baseball this last weekend, and I have to say the Twins are a much more fun team to watch than the Mariners. The actually get excited when good things happen – it’s like they’re little kids playing in the neighborhood, only they kick ass on the Yankees.
Anyhow, in this article in the Star Tribune, Patrick Reusse calls out a sensitive issue the pitcher faced during the game:
Baker’s other distressing moment came in the second, when his jockstrap broke on a 3-2 foul ball by Jorge Posada. His protective cup came free and started sliding down his leg.
Baker motioned catcher Joe Mauer toward the mound. When Mauer arrived, he said, “Joe, my cup’s down by my knee.”
Mauer, always a young man of common sense, replied: “What do you want me to do about it?”
Baker went to the dugout, removed the cup, retired Posada to end the inning, then raced up the steps to get a new jockstrap to secure the cup.
You didn’t want to face this Yankees lineup without proper protection? “Not a chance,” Baker said.
On a family note, my lovely daughter dropped the F-bomb in my 70-year-old Baptist mother’s presence over the weekend (gee, I wonder where she picked up THAT language). I thought I handled it quite well despite Marge’s near-fatal gasp of shock. To be honest, it doesn’t really bother me when she swears. And to her credit, she used the word in THE most appropriate scenario: she was frustrated – no, dare I say PISSED – and acting out in rebellion against me, and I was trying to reign her in. I can’t say I wouldn’t have said the same thing in her shoes.
In fact, after Marge passed out I reminded Ruthie that Mama uses that word when she does not have a Happy Heart, and wasn’t it true that in using that word it means RUTHIE doesn’t have a happy heart? And to my complete joy she ACTUALLY GOT IT. I do believe I’m raising a genius despite myself.
“What you did in Jesus’ resurrection proves that you can do absolutely anything.â€
– Pastor Leith Anderson in prayer, Wooddale Church, Easter morning 2006.
I hadn’t spent much time preparing for Easter this year in a spiritual sense. I was traveling, visiting family, the weather was warm and sunny, and there were many fun activities distracting us.
It seems we weren’t really prepared for the other aspects of Easter, either. On Saturday night while the kids were sleeping, the three of us – my mom, my sister, and I – we lounged in the living room reading and watching the Twins beat the Yankees. The kitchen was still a mess from the day, the dining table was piled high with purses and books, and the contents of the kids’ Easter baskets were still in a Target bag under mom’s bed.
There we were, three ladies and no men. The house seemed large and empty without the presence of Gordy. On Friday night mom decided to grill hamburgers, and I said, “Really?†Gordy had done all the grilling. Mom and Jody fumbled with the controls on the gas grill until they finally got it working (I don’t do gas grills or car batteries), and we had some juicy burgers.
And now, on the Saturday before Easter, there was no bustle of activity in preparation of a big ham dinner. Without the bellies of men to fill, mom decided to prepare a light brunch. So there we sat, watching baseball.
Then, like three peas in a pod, we all got our second wind about 11:30. Mom found the plastic grass, we broke open the bag of jelly beans, and we shuffled around all the clutter to make way for a nice meal the next day.
Easter morning we attended my mom’s church. It was the church I grew up in, though it wasn’t this large when I lived at home. I guess you might call it a mega-church, but a church of this size is not uncommon in the Midwest. Many churches in the Bible belt of the Midwest have over a thousand attenders each week.
Now, when I attend church with my mom, I miss Gordy. As an employee of the church and a member of the building committee, he is everywhere in that building. I look up at the ceiling to the light bulbs at nose-bleed height and I remember how he’d notice one burned out during the service. I watch the choir sing and I remember him walking me through the choir loft as it was being built, helping me imagine beyond the gravel and concrete. He was so very proud of that building. He took such great care of the house of God.
On Easter morning as the choir sang a medley of hymns, I felt emotion welling up in me. Longing for Gordy, remembrance of Christ’s sacrifice – it all came back into focus as the intensity of the orchestra and choir swelled. We were celebrating, and I was remembering why.
Christ has risen. Christ is alive. And because of this, Gordy is alive as well.
Normally vacations with children are not really vacations. They are just transplanted chaos without the chores. But when vacations involve doting Grandmas and Aunties with grown children, the week comes very close to a vacation for me. I have spent hours reading books, catching up on rss feeds, and updating my website.
I’ve brought back the Book Pile section in my side bar. Thanks to the Harambee women’s book club and the Diva’s book club, I’m back into reading again. Being introduced to new books and new genres has been so rewarding for me that the blog posts are piling up in my feed reader.
The next Harambee book club I’ll be attending is May 22nd, and we’ll be discussing Name All the Animals, by Alison Smith. Then on June 19th I’m hosting Harambee’s book club discussion on About Grace, by Anthony Doerv. If you’d like to join us for either of these discussions, send me an email!
Someone flipped the Obstinate switch on in Ruthie’s brain today. From the moment she woke up (do you want cereal for breakfast? NO!), to the minute she went to bed (would you like to take a book with you? NO!) she expressed not a word of voluntary cooperation. Every question, even every request, met with her resolute NO! answer.
By dinner time I was losing my mind.
This morning my sister, my mom, and I took the kids to Como Park Zoo. Shortly after walking through our first indoor exhibit – the primates – Ruthie ran ahead of us to a wrought iron fence that separated the zoo from the amusement park, which was currently not in operation. I didn’t think much of it. The curve of the fence cupped her in and there wasn’t anywhere she could go.
Or so I thought.
I caught a glimpse of my mother shouting at and running toward Ruthie. I panicked as I saw the upper half of her body wedged through a gap between the fence and a gate. Her cap fell off, and she grabbed it in her hand as she tried to shimmy the rest of the way through the gate. I raced toward her and yelled, “Ruthie! Stop!†like I have so. many. times. It never seems to work. It didn’t work today, either.
In a split second, as I raced faster than I thought my flab could take me, a montage of images flickered in my mind: My screaming at Ruthie to come back. Ruthie’s blatant disregard for my authority. Calling for help as my three-year-old wanders alone through an empty amusement park. Wondering if I’ll ever see her again. Furious that the little bitch was ignoring me again. It was a mixture of fear and rage.
The scene played out like the climax of a movie. The more I yelled at her to stop, the faster she shimmied. I reached the fence just as her last leg disappeared, and I reached through the bars and caught a handful of shirt at the nape of her neck.
Ruthie turned and saw the look on my face and instantly began to cry. I had scared her. I’m not sure if the look itself (murder, death, dismemberment) scared her, or if she finally realized the scariness of her situation, but it was obvious she was suddenly scared.
Later, in an unrelated spurt of self-expression, she took her cap off and tossed it over the fence into the lion’s yard. I closed my eyes and gripped the fence to avert my will from tossing her in after it. This behavior went on all day, and it exhausted me.
Now, as I lay in bed, I am tense and wound up. Today I didn’t lost my temper, I didn’t speak disrespectfully to her, I never grabbed her or spanked her inappropriately, and I still managed to have moments of fun and affection with her. I am a different mother today than I was a few months ago. Yet, without the expression of my rage I feel anxious and full of nervous energy.
It was a taxing day, but I’m trying to see life through the victories. Today I was a good mother, despite having a bad, bad daughter.
After the initial panicked rush of getting out the door on time, EVERYTHING about our trip fell into place. I was able to fit my laptop, a few books, and some snacks into one backpack, I checked our luggage at the curb, and getting through security was a breeze. We ate some lunch at the gate while we waited for our plane, and the kids had fun looking at all the airplanes out the window.
And the flight? I mean, really. I actually READ A BOOK for almost two hours because Thomas went to sleep in the empty seat next to me, and Ruthie watched the Lion King on my laptop, nearly falling asleep herself. I never knew flying with kids could be so easy.
Last Sunday I decided to keep the kids home from church because a couple of her little friends had the flu the previous week. Since you don’t always know who’s going to come down with it next, I didn’t want them exposed to the potential Yuk just before getting on a plane. Lord knows we didn’t need to repeat The Great Puking Incident of 2005.
I felt somewhat embarrassed by my paranoia, but as it turns out, it may have been a wise decision!
