Just now when Ruthie went pee on the potty she waved goodbye to her toilet paper as it flushed away, and she said to me, “Her going to see her mommy?”
I chuckled and said, “Hm, maybe so!”
She’s always very concerned that everyone who leaves her presence is going to see her mommy.
Except for our housemate, James, who goes to see The Man every morning.
This was the week I was to start back up at the gym. I even worked it into my calendar so I wouldn’t be tempted to brush it off. But alas, my children both came down with congested, croup-y coughs last night making me unable to leave them in the gym’s childcare room.
But despite that disappointment we are having a fantastic day. I have alternated between busy-work and playing with Ruthie, a routine I cooked up last week that has been a winner for both of us. Now I can set her in a chair with a pile of books while I clean the kitchen, because she knows that when I am done we will play dress-up. After playing for a bit I sit her at the table to color while I sweep and mop, then we have a snack together. And so on.
I feel amazing these days. The old, fun, Jennifer seems to have returned. I am full of energy, emotional clarity, motivation, and determination. We watch a lot less t.v. There are aspects of my temper I will never overcome simply because I am not perfect, but these days when I find myself on the edge of an explosion I can somehow communicate to Ruthie in the moment that she needs to shush and just give mommy a minute, at which point I walk away and take a few breaths.
But even these explosions are coming fewer and farther between as I seem to be irritated by less. It used to be when Ruthie asked for a Band-Aid for her imaginary scrapes I scolded her for even asking. I don’t know why it bugged me so much, but I became ENRAGED at the mere INQUIRY of a Band-Aid. But just yesterday Ruthie and I were silly and put band-aids on all our fingers.
I can’t explain this change. Maybe it’s a God-thing, maybe the hormones shifted after weaning Thomas, maybe time has just settled and I am officially no longer Post Partum. Likely, it is all of the above. All I know is that I am now on a quest to get off this godforsaken medication that leaves me feeling like a ten year old girl – totally in love with Bryan, completely in favor of snuggling and hanging out at the movies, but oh so uninterested in the Marital Dance.
Yesterday I started talking half pills of the Zoloft, which Bryan is in full support of. He’d definitely like to ditch the ten year old and get his wife back.
As I sit here watching Desperate Housewives there is a swarm of police cruisers posted on every block within a mile radius of my house looking for a suspect in a police shooting. Just moments ago I could hear helicopters. You can read about the breaking news here.
And by the way, the ‘strip mall south of the renton airport’ the article refers to is just a couple blocks from here.
Ahhh, life in the city.
I DO see the new year as a time of fresh starts, do-overs, and resets. But by the time January 1st rolls around I am thanking the good Lord Almighty that the holidays are over and I can finally have my life back. This return to Normal usually allows for some tweaking, you know what I mean?
Yes, you do. You know exactly what I mean. While you’re thinking about Normal and all that entails you think to yourself, I haven’t been to the gym for awhile, Maybe I should try to get back there a couple times a week now that I have my life back. And there it is: something new and refreshing added to your routine sometime around the vicinity of January 1st.
But to call it a ‘resolution?’ That’s just so absolute, so firm, so lacking in any sort of back door escape. The only way out of a resolution is to fail.
Back in The Day I associated my Fresh Starts with the fall. It was crisp, and cool, and I had fresh, virgin, spiral notebooks and new shoes, and with the new school year came a new schedule and a new routine and life was innocent and simple once again.
Life is complicated, now. I fuck up so much more, and when I do, so much more is at stake. I don’t have the same beginnings and endings that I did when school started and finals and term papers consumed my life. I had summers to look forward to, and spring breaks, and Christmas – periods of time without responsibility or work. Now, the days and months and years just blur together for me so all I have left is that godforsaken New Year’s Resolution.
So in honor of January, and in keeping with the More Clarity to Jen vibes that have been coming my way, here are a few of my Fresh Starts:
1. I will brush my teeth at least once a day.
2. I will give Ruthie the opportunity to potty train instead of saying, ‘not right now, bitch, I’m too lazy to get off my ass’ when she asks to go pee.
3. I will stop eating chocolate (HA! HA! Just kidding! I just threw that one in there to see if you were paying attention).
4. I will resume my club membership and go at least twice a week.
5. I will try to eat something besides cereal (this may be a stretch, but we’ll give it a whirl).
Very profound, don’t you think?
I called my mom today to see how she was doing on this, the first anniversary of Gordy’s death. Turns out she’s throwing a party! Yes, ‘the gang’ is coming over for a baked potato bar, and this will mark the first time my mother has truly entertained since the summer before Gordy died. I’m sure there will be lots of tears and for sure some laughter, as no one in that group is NOT funny. I miss him, and have these photos to share with you as I remember him, too.
Last year when New Year’s Eve fell on a Friday, and most businesses were closed that day, our furnace crapped out on us Thursday night around dinner time. We were left with no heat in our home over a long holiday weekend, which also happened to be the coldest weekend of the winter that year.
This year on Thursday night Bryan overshot a parking curb in the church parking lot and punctured a hole in the oil pan, which drained all the oil from the car. And, in keeping with tradition, by the time we had the car towed to a mechanic they were too busy to get to it before Monday.
And much like the coincidence of having no heat on the coldest day of the year, I was left with no car during a weekend in which Bryan attended a conference from 9am until after 10pm each night, leaving me alone with two small children and the voices in my head.
I often go days without leaving the house, but there is something about knowing I CAN’T leave the house EVEN IF I WANTED TO that makes me crazy. By the time Sunday rolled around and my kids were still hanging on to their pink-eye contagions, I voted myself Most Likely to Go Insane and went to church alone while Bryan stayed home with the kids.
However, aside from the morning I woke up on the wrong side of the bed and dropped the F-Bomb when Ruthie woke up at the same time I did (leaving me with no alone time for the coffee and Zoloft to kick in), I think I fared on the side of having a better attitude than in the past.
I think expensive therapy and reality checks from friends go a long way to put my life into perspective, and I take them both very seriously.
When a therapist informs you that you have a tendency to fall into Victim mode when things don’t go your way, and when a friend reminds you she NEVER has a car and she lives across the hall from drug dealers who run a meth lab out of their apartment, you could either become pissy and bitter, or you could pull your head out of your ass and recognize there is more to this universe than yourself.
I am learning to embrace Option B.
Options B doesn’t come easily to me. It’s much easier for me to complain about how bad I’ve got it and how unfair my life is. Sometimes I wonder why my friends even keep me around, I get so bitchy. They say it’s because I make them laugh, but I think it’s because I have cable t.v.
I read this great post by Finslippy over the weekend. It was a very well written post about the frustration of trying to get anything done while raising a preschooler, about how everything about you seems to get sucked into the vortex of toddler land, and about how easy it is to become bitter and resentful under those circumstances.
I could have written that post, yet in reading those words as expressed by someone outside of myself, I felt icky that I could have written that post.
At any rate, as I felt the stress coming on this weekend and was on the edge of grouching out at my kids, I did that praying thing Christians are supposed to do, and I tried to take myself less seriously. In this way I feel as if I’ve turned over a new leaf. Not like a new year’s resolution, but more like a shift in perspective.
The other day I woke up feeling different, less overwhelmed, more in control of my emotions. I weaned Thomas over our vacation, which came with a dose of regret and sadness, but I wonder if it ushered in a change in hormonal balance. I feel as if new and wonderful things are in store for me this year. I feel hope that my old self is still in here somewhere. I feel strong for the battle to attack my demons.
Happy New Year, friend and stranger. I wish you hope and peace.
I can’t recall the last time I rented a car on a vacation before, since my vacations usually involve visiting family members who seem to have extra cars lying around. However, on this most recent visit to Southern California to visit family, we couldn’t figure out who had a big enough vehicle to pick us up from the airport so my mother-in-law offered to rent us a mini-van for the week.
Hallelujah.
God bless Alamo, because they sent me out to their car lot and said to me, “pick one!†So I skipped down the row marked ‘vans’ and chose me a Dodge Grand Caravan, which was not as exciting as I was anticipating. I thought I would have more choices on models, but it was really only a decision between the black, white, or silver Dodge. Still, it was fun to have someone plunk me in the middle of a car lot and say, “Pick one!†and for just a moment imagine I was pickin’ me a new Cadillac Escalade.
Once in the car (after my handsome baggage handler loaded our mountain of luggage – which is another story), Ruthie announced we were on our way to Uncle Bad’s house, which is a fairly accurate description of my brother-in-law, Brad’s, personality.
Ruthie had been announcing each phase of our trip as it occurred, beginning with the tragic tears of sorrow as she watched her car seat ride away on the conveyor belt toward the belly of the plane. “I WANT MY CAR SEAT!†she sobbed, as she watched it disappear. But soon, the tragic loss of the car seat was forgotten as she saw airplanes out the window of the terminal and began chanting, “I WANNA GO ON A BOAT!†over and over again, even as I tried to explain we were actually flying in an AIRPLANE.
Once in CA we (and by ‘we’ I mean Bryan, the handsome baggage handler) loaded and unloaded our mountain of luggage no less than five times as we made our way from the baggage terminal, onto a shuttle, to the car rental building which was NOT onsite at the terminal as I had been told on the phone.
By the time we got to the rental lot and the guy said, “Pick one!†I turned to Bryan to see if he wanted to pick and he growled, “JUST DO IT, ALREADY!†as he wiped the sweat from his forehead.
In the future, when I think of all the times I get stuck running around after children while he obliviously buries his head in a book, I will remember how I DIDN’T have to load and unload four pieces of luggage, a car seat, and two carry-ons no less than five times in one day.
My brother owns a sporting goods store in Valencia, CA. I still enjoy walking in there on my visits and seeing his handwriting all over the store. He has such cute handwriting!
This morning I stopped into my locally owned and family operated hardware store to pick up some supplies for a weekend project I’ll be undertaking sometime in the next month. When I asked A Guy to point me in the right direction, this was the comical exchange that followed:
Me: I’m looking for grout to repair some corroded areas in my shower.
Him: Do you know what color he wants?
Me: [smirking] I think it’s gray.
Him: Sanded or non-sanded?
Me: Hmmm, I’m not sure…
Him: Well you could always buy one box of each. Is there any way you can get a hold of the guy to ask him which one he wants?
Me: [smirking and trying to not laugh at the absurdity of such an assumption] I’m pretty sure the grout that’s already in there is rough.
Him: Then he’ll want sanded.
Me: Thanks. Uh… oh, never mind.
We’re finally back from ‘vacation,’ which I put in quotations because Ruthie woke up between 5:00 and 6:00 am every morning and I did about 25 loads of laundry due to all the puking on me, on couches, on blankets, in beds, and on rugs.
While spending time with family we haven’t seen in two years was fun, I have to say this was probably the most stressful trip I’ve ever taken.
And I’ve spent three months in the jungle before, so that’s saying a lot.
I thought about writing a list of all the horrific things that happened while we were gone, but I couldn’t figure out a way to make it work and not sound like I was complaining. We really did have a good time despite the stress, and the weather was sunny and in the 80’s.
The only reason I would describe the litany of events is simply so you will take me seriously when I say IT WAS A REALLY STRESSFUL TRIP, and not just write me off as a whiney mom. But even if I did describe everything to you, I really don’t think you would believe me. I think you would probably assume I was exaggerating for drama, but I assure you that last week needed no extra drama inserted.
I will say this, though: the trip ended in style as Thomas barfed all over me on the airplane, and as his puke oozed down my neck and into the cleavage of my womanhood, and soaked into the hair on the nape of my neck, Bryan and I had nothing left in us but laughter for the absurdity of such an act.
God bless flight attendants, every last one of you.
Bryan and I have a reputation among both our families for being extreme coffee drinkers. I’m not sure how, exactly, we came to have this distinction since we really only drink coffee in the morning, but when they all hear the Zugs are coming to town special preparations are made.
Bryan’s brother went out and bought a coffee maker for us because they didn’t even have one, nor did he know what kind of coffee to buy. Thankfully they left this decision up to us, because if he would have asked my mother-in-law she would have brought over a can of Folgers.
Yesterday morning when my brother took his first swig of the coffee Bryan had brewed he shuddered a little and said, “Nothing like a good cup of coffee to chew. The Seattlites must be in town.â€
This vacation sure started off with a bang.
On Sunday morning Ruthie showed symptoms of pink eye. I called our clinic in Seattle to see if her pediatrician would order a prescription from a pharmacy here in California, but of course nothing could be that easy. She needed to be seen by a doctor so we were told to take her into the emergency room.
We spent two hours waiting for the five minutes it took Dr. Steven Stephens (!!!) to shine a light in her eye and tell me she had Conjunctivitis.
I tried to act surprised.
I was overwhelmed Monday morning at the daunting task of trying to keep a two year old from rubbing her pussy eye or touching everything within her reach. At the time we were staying with my brother-in-law’s family who has a very adorable six month old. Ruthie is very tender and sweet with babies — liberal with kisses and hugs, bringing toys, patting them on the head, all those lovely traits that relatives are overjoyed by when your daughter doesn’t have a pussy eye of goo.
Thankfully, my sister-in-law was very understanding and accommodating.
So, other than the pink-eye and the two times Ruthie threw up all over everything, we’ve had a great vacation.
Well, I just finished 8 loads of laundry in preparation for our trip to California tomorrow. Yuk.
The good news is, our Christmas weather will look like this:
Sadly, for those of you here in Seattle, your weather will look like this:
You may not hear from me for awhile. My in-laws live in a time and place without computers. Since I have a secret love affair with my Starbucks internet account, I may say a brief hello here and there.
Peace to you and Merry Christmas, too.
Please allow me to be a little sappy tonight.
I am awash with love for all things friendship right now. I’m lying in bed with a homemade warm, aromatic, herbal heating pad keeping my toes warm, listening to the ultimate friend gift – a mix ‘tape’ (a CD actually, but like just like I can’t say anything BUT ‘roll’ down the car window, I also can’t say anything BUT mix ‘tape.’). I also have in my possession a lovely reminder that in the midst of great depression I can still find JOY.
These are all gifts from friends who love, who listen, who pay attention.
These are gifts that are not only the perfect gift FOR me, but they also reflect the personality of the giver. Each one comes with its own special way of beckoning me to smile, to think about the giver, and to see myself the way others see me, which is usually better than how I see myself.
These are the women who stay after, like the friends of Sally Field in Steel Magnolias who follow her down the road after Julia Roberts’ funeral in anticipation of being needed. They don’t need to be asked, they are just there.
I have SO not been into Christmas this year. I unpacked all the decorations and they still sit on the table. I let the tree die and all its needles are falling off. I piled a bunch of clutter in front of the manger scene. I didn’t start thinking about Christmas presents until yesterday.
These gifts given to me, and the friendships they represent, bring me hope and joy during a time of great emotional weight and apathy – not because they are things to behold, but because the act of giving came from a love that reflects a Greater love.
Thank you, from the deepest part of my heart, thank you.