I'm up too late. I've been bad about that over the past few weeks, staying up late knowing that it will make me less happy and less productive the next day. It's a special brand of self-sabotage; if I make sure I haven't had enough sleep, I have something on which to blame my bad attitude and lack of discipline.
I've been struck lately, sometimes prompted and sometimes out of the blue, by random memories of times of unexpected joy, life experiences that were just more than I expected they would be. The unexpected pureness of those events makes for vivid detail and utter clarity. I have lots of memories like this from college, one of the most intense and overall positive times in my life. I have a few memories like this from Peace Corps, although many of my Peace Corps recollections are shrouded in a haze of loneliness and unhappiness that I was not fully aware of at the time.
I've seen a lot of college friends over the past week, which is perhaps what's bringing these memories to the surface. It's great to see everyone and their families, spend time with people who have known me for so long and who got to know me at at such a transformational time in my life. While I might not be in frequent touch with many of them, whenever I have the chance to see them, I feel like they understand me in a way that many other people don't.
The memories and the time together have, though, made temporarily deeper a constant struggle I have, that of trying to be content with the life I have rather than regretful of the life I thought I would have, or jealous of the life I think I want. It's not that I don't appreciate the many good things in my life. I do. Truly, I do. But my life is not what I imagined it would be. If I could order a life off of a menu, it's not the one I'd choose.
I'm sure this is true for many people. Most people. All people? For certain, no one's life is perfect, and for certain, no one's life is constant pure joy. But it's still hard for me to be around friends with their spouses and partners and kids and watch them interact in seamless and intimate ways and not to feel that my life is less for what I lost. Not that it's not good, no, it is. I've created a thoughtful and meaningful life for myself and my family in John's absence. I have Maddie and Riley, and there are the rest of my family and bountiful friends and a good job and a city that is my home. We have enough food and we have a car and a house and really, in terms of the physical, we want for nothing. I want for nothing. I'm at peace with what my life is and with the many things for which I am grateful.
But yet, it is less than I want, less than I feel I deserve, as though that's how life works. And it's a struggle for me, especially right now, for whatever reason, to be at peace with that.
28 March 2010
26 March 2010
And so it goes.
I have the emotional control of a toddler. In fact, my toddlers (are they even toddlers anymore?) often exhibit more emotional control than I do. The point is that keeping my feelings to myself is not a strength of mine.
This is a way in which I have fundamentally changed since John died. Until John got his diagnosis, my life had been all about keeping my feeling under wraps. I grew up being tacitly taught (oh how ironic that it was tacit!) that showing negative emotion was a sign of weakness. There was to be no crying, no stormy anger, no pissy sulking, no nerves. It was acceptable to show joy or exuberance, I suppose, but certainly the negative was to be kept hidden at all times. We were A Family Who Was Always Fine or Better.
To some extent, that served me well into adulthood, especially in the workplace. That training has made me even-handed and cool under pressure. Growing up avoiding conflict has turned me into someone who seeks peace and tries to resolve tension. I'm incredibly optimistic by nature—something that has perhaps surprisingly not changed since John died—and I think some of that optimism comes from a sense that life is supposed to be good, that the negative is fleeting and best ignored.
Finding out that your spouse is terminally ill just a few weeks after you marry is shocking to the point of near-incomprehensibility. That diagnosis awakened in me a range of emotions that was not going to be relegated to the back burner or ignored until it faded away. I cried buckets of tears and did a lot of yelling; the tears were private and public, the yelling all behind closed doors. I found that I didn't even know how to identify some of the things I was feeling, and was shocked to discover just how broad the "Wow, this is crappy" spectrum truly is.
Over the course of John's illness, through our experiences with various doctors and counselors, as we muddled through a lifetime's worth of living in just over two years, I got better at identifying how I was feeling. As I got better at naming my emotions, I found myself identifying how I felt not only in the context of all-encompassing grief, but also in my day-to-day life. I was shocked to discover that I felt angry all the time! Sure, some of that was feeling grief all the time, but some of it was an awakening to the fact that I'd been feeling negative emotions my whole life, I just hadn't been acknowledging them. And as I stumbled through life in those years feeling bitter about my crappy hand, emboldened by the recognition of my feelings, I became less and less willing to hide them. I no longer felt like I had anything to lose by going public with what I felt. The spouses of the terminally ill are given a lot of latitude to behave in ways outside what is tolerated in the general public, and I took full advantage. It became a habit.
So here I am, 38 years old, completely incapable of keeping my feelings to myself. Good or bad, they are all out there for the world to see. It's the no bullshit philosophy of living at it's finest. Why waste time pretending you feel one way when really, you feel another? Oh, sure, I'm still able to keep a lid on it when called for at work, for the most part. But outside work, it's a free-for-all.
The good news is that I'm generally pretty happy. I'm also generally pretty tolerant and open-minded. The bad thing is that I find myself to be a short-tempered parent (as has been well documented here) and somewhat volatile friend. I've gone from conflict avoider to someone who'd rather have a knock-'em-down, drag-'em-out fight, only to forgive and forget. I relish releasing negative feelings so that I can get to what I really think rather than having what I really think obscured by a bunch of repressed gunk. I'm quick to anger but equally quick to give a sincere apology.
Processing emotions in this way has made this week—which was Spectacularly Crappy with a Side of Awful—both more difficult and easier to deal with. It's been more difficult because I truly feel the bad in a way I never did before. I shielded myself from that in the past. Now I really feel it. And it's not pleasant in the moment. The payoff is that I get greater peace on the other side, and I get through the bad faster for just allowing it to take me over. But wow: it's both wretched and exhausting while it's happening.
We've had two students die at Reed in the past two weeks. I didn't know either of them personally, but as a now-sensitive soul, a parent, and a member of a small, intense community, I found both deaths disturbing. The most recent was earlier this week, a senior who accidentally overdosed on heroin. He was close friends with a student who works in my office, and between that connection, my mom instincts, and my glaring naïveté about all matters drug, I was pretty rattled on Tuesday morning. I work in the public affairs office, and while my job is shielded from media contact, my coworkers were under fire.
Also on the work front, a project to which I'd devoted considerable blood, sweat, and tears was shelved. I'd handled the editorial process poorly, but recovered and managed to find a way to work well with a challenging colleague only to have our labor cast aside. In the grand scheme of things, not such a big deal, but in the context of an already emotional work situation, it was that much worse.
And then. And then! On the flip side of the craptastic craptasticness of dead students and feeling like an inadequate worker, I was on a total Mr. Brady high. The thing about not having any emotional control is that it works both ways. When I feel shitty, I feel really shitty. But when I feel good, I feel really, really good. All that feeling good can make me impulsive and the intensity of the high can be freaky for anyone who's invited to the party.
And so the charming, witty, adorable Mr. Brady and I had been exchanging e-mail and we went out again this past Saturday and it was intense and fun and probably a little reckless, and just what I needed. The aftermath left me feeling a little awkward, but ready to see what happened next.
Except that what happened next was that Mr. Brady gave me the "just friends" spiel. That was a possibility that had not crossed my clueless little mind. He told me that on Tuesday on a midday, post-lunch walk, when I was completely reeling from the news of the student dying from a drug overdose. And even if I hadn't been reeling, I was completely caught off guard, and all I heard was the "wah, wah, wah" sound of the teacher in Charlie Brown specials, and then I said something, rather loudly, as we walked down the street, about being really angry, followed by the pronouncement, "OK! So! This is really awkward! And I'm too angry to be rational right now! I'm leaving!" and I did.
I've gone from keeping too much in to, at times, letting too much out. My interest in Mr. Brady was obvious and genuine. I'm not into the games. I don't think he is, either. But it was perhaps less obvious that my genuine interest was not the same as a need for things to be instantly serious. In the end, we went out on two fabulous dates and it didn't work out. The end. Yet I find myself analyzing, wondering if it was my emotional oversharing that forced the hand. I find myself thinking about finding a balance between keeping things in and letting things out, and about recognizing that letting it all out is going to freak some people the fuck out. In fairnesss, my emotional transparency was not what Mr. Brady cited as the reason for backing off. But I can't help but wonder if at some level, recognized or not, it was just too much too fast.
I also find myself thinking about what I even want from a relationship. It was unreal fun to go out with someone who was smart, funny, and charming. It was a great distraction to think about what to wear, what to say, to send flirty e-mails. It was fun to feel like woman, not a mom or a worker. I've joked with friends that what I really want in a relationship right now is to have that kind of interaction every two weeks or so, no expectations that it becomes something serious but no prohibition against it, either. I just want to enjoy that exhilarating, dating part, the getting-to-know-you part. The part about going to the movies and eating at restaurants and feeling giddy. I need to figure out how to enjoy that without getting so carried away by it that all I can do is feel, feel, feel. 'Cos I think the feel, feel, feel is pretty scary, scary, scary for most people.
What an exhilarating, draining, crazy week. Maddie, Riley, and I are headed down to my dad's house tomorrow; he's been out of town quite a bit and we're all having Plain Ba withdrawal. The plan is to get up, put gas in the car, hit Grand Central, and head out of town. I'm hoping for some sun and for some calm, for a plateau amidst the highs and lows of this last week.
This is a way in which I have fundamentally changed since John died. Until John got his diagnosis, my life had been all about keeping my feeling under wraps. I grew up being tacitly taught (oh how ironic that it was tacit!) that showing negative emotion was a sign of weakness. There was to be no crying, no stormy anger, no pissy sulking, no nerves. It was acceptable to show joy or exuberance, I suppose, but certainly the negative was to be kept hidden at all times. We were A Family Who Was Always Fine or Better.
To some extent, that served me well into adulthood, especially in the workplace. That training has made me even-handed and cool under pressure. Growing up avoiding conflict has turned me into someone who seeks peace and tries to resolve tension. I'm incredibly optimistic by nature—something that has perhaps surprisingly not changed since John died—and I think some of that optimism comes from a sense that life is supposed to be good, that the negative is fleeting and best ignored.
Finding out that your spouse is terminally ill just a few weeks after you marry is shocking to the point of near-incomprehensibility. That diagnosis awakened in me a range of emotions that was not going to be relegated to the back burner or ignored until it faded away. I cried buckets of tears and did a lot of yelling; the tears were private and public, the yelling all behind closed doors. I found that I didn't even know how to identify some of the things I was feeling, and was shocked to discover just how broad the "Wow, this is crappy" spectrum truly is.
Over the course of John's illness, through our experiences with various doctors and counselors, as we muddled through a lifetime's worth of living in just over two years, I got better at identifying how I was feeling. As I got better at naming my emotions, I found myself identifying how I felt not only in the context of all-encompassing grief, but also in my day-to-day life. I was shocked to discover that I felt angry all the time! Sure, some of that was feeling grief all the time, but some of it was an awakening to the fact that I'd been feeling negative emotions my whole life, I just hadn't been acknowledging them. And as I stumbled through life in those years feeling bitter about my crappy hand, emboldened by the recognition of my feelings, I became less and less willing to hide them. I no longer felt like I had anything to lose by going public with what I felt. The spouses of the terminally ill are given a lot of latitude to behave in ways outside what is tolerated in the general public, and I took full advantage. It became a habit.
So here I am, 38 years old, completely incapable of keeping my feelings to myself. Good or bad, they are all out there for the world to see. It's the no bullshit philosophy of living at it's finest. Why waste time pretending you feel one way when really, you feel another? Oh, sure, I'm still able to keep a lid on it when called for at work, for the most part. But outside work, it's a free-for-all.
The good news is that I'm generally pretty happy. I'm also generally pretty tolerant and open-minded. The bad thing is that I find myself to be a short-tempered parent (as has been well documented here) and somewhat volatile friend. I've gone from conflict avoider to someone who'd rather have a knock-'em-down, drag-'em-out fight, only to forgive and forget. I relish releasing negative feelings so that I can get to what I really think rather than having what I really think obscured by a bunch of repressed gunk. I'm quick to anger but equally quick to give a sincere apology.
Processing emotions in this way has made this week—which was Spectacularly Crappy with a Side of Awful—both more difficult and easier to deal with. It's been more difficult because I truly feel the bad in a way I never did before. I shielded myself from that in the past. Now I really feel it. And it's not pleasant in the moment. The payoff is that I get greater peace on the other side, and I get through the bad faster for just allowing it to take me over. But wow: it's both wretched and exhausting while it's happening.
We've had two students die at Reed in the past two weeks. I didn't know either of them personally, but as a now-sensitive soul, a parent, and a member of a small, intense community, I found both deaths disturbing. The most recent was earlier this week, a senior who accidentally overdosed on heroin. He was close friends with a student who works in my office, and between that connection, my mom instincts, and my glaring naïveté about all matters drug, I was pretty rattled on Tuesday morning. I work in the public affairs office, and while my job is shielded from media contact, my coworkers were under fire.
Also on the work front, a project to which I'd devoted considerable blood, sweat, and tears was shelved. I'd handled the editorial process poorly, but recovered and managed to find a way to work well with a challenging colleague only to have our labor cast aside. In the grand scheme of things, not such a big deal, but in the context of an already emotional work situation, it was that much worse.
And then. And then! On the flip side of the craptastic craptasticness of dead students and feeling like an inadequate worker, I was on a total Mr. Brady high. The thing about not having any emotional control is that it works both ways. When I feel shitty, I feel really shitty. But when I feel good, I feel really, really good. All that feeling good can make me impulsive and the intensity of the high can be freaky for anyone who's invited to the party.
And so the charming, witty, adorable Mr. Brady and I had been exchanging e-mail and we went out again this past Saturday and it was intense and fun and probably a little reckless, and just what I needed. The aftermath left me feeling a little awkward, but ready to see what happened next.
Except that what happened next was that Mr. Brady gave me the "just friends" spiel. That was a possibility that had not crossed my clueless little mind. He told me that on Tuesday on a midday, post-lunch walk, when I was completely reeling from the news of the student dying from a drug overdose. And even if I hadn't been reeling, I was completely caught off guard, and all I heard was the "wah, wah, wah" sound of the teacher in Charlie Brown specials, and then I said something, rather loudly, as we walked down the street, about being really angry, followed by the pronouncement, "OK! So! This is really awkward! And I'm too angry to be rational right now! I'm leaving!" and I did.
I've gone from keeping too much in to, at times, letting too much out. My interest in Mr. Brady was obvious and genuine. I'm not into the games. I don't think he is, either. But it was perhaps less obvious that my genuine interest was not the same as a need for things to be instantly serious. In the end, we went out on two fabulous dates and it didn't work out. The end. Yet I find myself analyzing, wondering if it was my emotional oversharing that forced the hand. I find myself thinking about finding a balance between keeping things in and letting things out, and about recognizing that letting it all out is going to freak some people the fuck out. In fairnesss, my emotional transparency was not what Mr. Brady cited as the reason for backing off. But I can't help but wonder if at some level, recognized or not, it was just too much too fast.
I also find myself thinking about what I even want from a relationship. It was unreal fun to go out with someone who was smart, funny, and charming. It was a great distraction to think about what to wear, what to say, to send flirty e-mails. It was fun to feel like woman, not a mom or a worker. I've joked with friends that what I really want in a relationship right now is to have that kind of interaction every two weeks or so, no expectations that it becomes something serious but no prohibition against it, either. I just want to enjoy that exhilarating, dating part, the getting-to-know-you part. The part about going to the movies and eating at restaurants and feeling giddy. I need to figure out how to enjoy that without getting so carried away by it that all I can do is feel, feel, feel. 'Cos I think the feel, feel, feel is pretty scary, scary, scary for most people.
What an exhilarating, draining, crazy week. Maddie, Riley, and I are headed down to my dad's house tomorrow; he's been out of town quite a bit and we're all having Plain Ba withdrawal. The plan is to get up, put gas in the car, hit Grand Central, and head out of town. I'm hoping for some sun and for some calm, for a plateau amidst the highs and lows of this last week.
23 March 2010
Overheard
[around 6:45 a.m., over the monitor]
Maddie: Riley, a is a vowel and a consonant!
Riley: No, Maddie, no. A is vowel. Q is a consonant.
Maddie: Yes, yes, q is a consonant. O is a vowel.
Riley: Q is a consonant but u is a vowel. They are a team.
Maddie: But a, a is a vowel and a consonant, Riley. It is both. THAT IS CRAZY.
Riley: I'm not sure, Maddie. I'm not sure.
Maddie: P says /p/. Say it Riley, /p/. And o says /o/. /p/, /o/. They rhyme! They have the same sound at the beginning, but not at the end.
Riley [losing interest in this thread]: Maddie, it is spring break. Spring is gone right now, but it will be back.
***********************
I am having a monumentally sucky day on both a work and personal level. Neither situation is really bloggable. I'm drinking a lot of coffee as a coping mechanism. It's not helping.
It seems to me that life can take two paths. It can either be pretty much flat—stable, safe, maybe even a little boring. Or it can have higher highs that, with them, bring lower lows. I think the highs and lows, and the attendant risks, make for a more rewarding path than plodding along in the safety zone. But getting through the lows is no fun, no fun at all.
Wish I could be less vague. Wish this day were over.
Maddie: Riley, a is a vowel and a consonant!
Riley: No, Maddie, no. A is vowel. Q is a consonant.
Maddie: Yes, yes, q is a consonant. O is a vowel.
Riley: Q is a consonant but u is a vowel. They are a team.
Maddie: But a, a is a vowel and a consonant, Riley. It is both. THAT IS CRAZY.
Riley: I'm not sure, Maddie. I'm not sure.
Maddie: P says /p/. Say it Riley, /p/. And o says /o/. /p/, /o/. They rhyme! They have the same sound at the beginning, but not at the end.
Riley [losing interest in this thread]: Maddie, it is spring break. Spring is gone right now, but it will be back.
***********************
I am having a monumentally sucky day on both a work and personal level. Neither situation is really bloggable. I'm drinking a lot of coffee as a coping mechanism. It's not helping.
It seems to me that life can take two paths. It can either be pretty much flat—stable, safe, maybe even a little boring. Or it can have higher highs that, with them, bring lower lows. I think the highs and lows, and the attendant risks, make for a more rewarding path than plodding along in the safety zone. But getting through the lows is no fun, no fun at all.
Wish I could be less vague. Wish this day were over.
19 March 2010
Inspiration
One of the great joys of moving back to Portland has been reconnecting with old friends. Many of these people are folks I've thought about often over the years but have not been in regular touch with, save updates from my parents who run into their parents in the neighborhood. A number of these friends have kids close in age to Maddie and Riley, and all of them have turned into interesting, insightful people, so it's been fun to reconnect.
One of these friends is Amy Moore Paterson. I have known Amy since we were in fourth grade. We were fairly close through grade school and high school, although we'd not been in regular touch since high school graduation. I knew that she'd graduated from college, married a great guy, settled back in Portland, enjoyed a successful career, and had a son.
I also knew she'd been diagnosed with breast cancer when her son was a toddler. If memory serves, Amy was in treatment when John was, although I think her cancer experience was unfolding as his was coming to a close. What I remember for sure is that when my mom told me about Amy's diagnosis, it hit too close to home. I was brimming with empathy, yet paralyzed about reaching out. I thought about Amy a lot, although she probably didn't know that.
But this post is not about my guilt. This post is about how amazing Amy is. She is one of those people who used her cancer experience as a catalyst for action. One of the things that struck her as she went through her treatments was how hard it was to arrange for childcare during all of her appointments. She thought it would be nice if hospitals could offer that service. And, working with a friend, she found a hospital that was willing to back her vision and create My Little Waiting Room.
I remember one time that John had one of those awful, unrelenting nosebleeds. It had been going on for hours, and as night became day, it was clear that he needed to go to the ER. The twins were probably around eight months old. Why we didn't call 911 or at least call a friend to stay with the twins, I don't know, but we didn't. Instead, we packed ourselves, the twins, their stroller, the diaper bag, and who knows what all else into the car and drove to one of the downtown Boston hospitals. There, we paid some ungodly amount of money to park and hauled our sorry selves into the ER. We were quite a sight with our double decker stroller and bloody towels and wide-eyed babies.
Once John got checked in and settled, I packed Maddie and Riley up and took them to their daycare, which was, by then, open. Then I went back downtown to be with John. How nice it would have been to leave M&R at a child care center right there in the hospital! There's something so comforting about having your whole family together in a time of crisis like that; perhaps that's why we all trooped downtown together in the first place. We managed, but onsite care for the twins would have certainly made things easier.
Last night, I had the privilege of attending the dedication of My Little Waiting Room's space. I'm so excited for Amy, and proud of her accomplishments. I know so many amazing people, with so many amazing ideas. I'm so happy to see Amy's idea become reality, and so happy for the families who will benefit. Thanks, Amy.
One of these friends is Amy Moore Paterson. I have known Amy since we were in fourth grade. We were fairly close through grade school and high school, although we'd not been in regular touch since high school graduation. I knew that she'd graduated from college, married a great guy, settled back in Portland, enjoyed a successful career, and had a son.
I also knew she'd been diagnosed with breast cancer when her son was a toddler. If memory serves, Amy was in treatment when John was, although I think her cancer experience was unfolding as his was coming to a close. What I remember for sure is that when my mom told me about Amy's diagnosis, it hit too close to home. I was brimming with empathy, yet paralyzed about reaching out. I thought about Amy a lot, although she probably didn't know that.
But this post is not about my guilt. This post is about how amazing Amy is. She is one of those people who used her cancer experience as a catalyst for action. One of the things that struck her as she went through her treatments was how hard it was to arrange for childcare during all of her appointments. She thought it would be nice if hospitals could offer that service. And, working with a friend, she found a hospital that was willing to back her vision and create My Little Waiting Room.
I remember one time that John had one of those awful, unrelenting nosebleeds. It had been going on for hours, and as night became day, it was clear that he needed to go to the ER. The twins were probably around eight months old. Why we didn't call 911 or at least call a friend to stay with the twins, I don't know, but we didn't. Instead, we packed ourselves, the twins, their stroller, the diaper bag, and who knows what all else into the car and drove to one of the downtown Boston hospitals. There, we paid some ungodly amount of money to park and hauled our sorry selves into the ER. We were quite a sight with our double decker stroller and bloody towels and wide-eyed babies.
Once John got checked in and settled, I packed Maddie and Riley up and took them to their daycare, which was, by then, open. Then I went back downtown to be with John. How nice it would have been to leave M&R at a child care center right there in the hospital! There's something so comforting about having your whole family together in a time of crisis like that; perhaps that's why we all trooped downtown together in the first place. We managed, but onsite care for the twins would have certainly made things easier.
Last night, I had the privilege of attending the dedication of My Little Waiting Room's space. I'm so excited for Amy, and proud of her accomplishments. I know so many amazing people, with so many amazing ideas. I'm so happy to see Amy's idea become reality, and so happy for the families who will benefit. Thanks, Amy.
15 March 2010
At least I have my health, at least I have my health . . .
I actually say that to myself sometimes, when I'm really stressed and having a hard time finding anything to feel truly grateful about. And it's true: I've been lucky to be be pretty healthy. I'd like to give myself some credit for eating well and exercising, both of which I do, but some of it is just good luck, and for that, I do give thanks.
Like many people, I tend to book my yearly doctor and dentist appointments in the new year, and I've just finished up making my rounds. This year, I have all new doctors, which is tough. I absolutely loved my doctors in Boston, and establishing that relationship is difficult. But I lucked out with both my GP and my OB/GYN here, so that's a relief.
What's not a relief is that all the tests that the doctors ordered for me came back wacky to one degree or another. I have a history of high (like 225+ high) cholesterol, so my doc wanted to check that. As expected, my numbers were elevated, 225. It's genetic, and my good cholesterol is off the charts while my bad cholesterol and triglycerides are normal or low. So that's not unexpected or a big deal, although it is annoying to be cursed with the bad cholesterol genes.
While she was at it, my doc ordered a fasting glucose test. I've never had an issue with glucose levels, so I'm not sure why she ordered the test, but she did, and so I got it at the same time as the cholesterol test—also fasting—was done. Those numbers came back in the "prediabetic" range.
WTF???
About this, I am indignant rather than resigned. I eat well. I exercise. My BMI is normal. I control my lifestyle factors. In addition, I have no real family history of diabetes; I don't think the overweight smokers who don't watch what they eat and have onset in their 60s really count here. Psychologically, this result is a blow because diabetes = insulin = pancreas = NO FUCKING WAY IS MY PANCREAS LETTING ME DOWN. The other pancreas, so to speak, in my life already did that.
I'm getting retested; this might have been a fluke. No matter what, it's irritating. I take good care of myself, and yet my body lets me down. This test result, minor as it truly is, gives me the smallest glimpse into how John must have felt when he was diagnosed with cancer. His body failed him in the gravest possible way. If I'm this annoyed about a test result that might not even be meaningful, I can't begin to imagine the anger he felt at his own being when we got his diagnosis.
Also in the queue is an ultrasound for what the OB/GYN thinks is either a return of the fibroids or an ovarian cyst + a do-over on my pap as it, too, was abnormal but so marginally so as to almost certainly be a false positive.
Despite all that, I have my health. I do. But I'm still annoyed.
Like many people, I tend to book my yearly doctor and dentist appointments in the new year, and I've just finished up making my rounds. This year, I have all new doctors, which is tough. I absolutely loved my doctors in Boston, and establishing that relationship is difficult. But I lucked out with both my GP and my OB/GYN here, so that's a relief.
What's not a relief is that all the tests that the doctors ordered for me came back wacky to one degree or another. I have a history of high (like 225+ high) cholesterol, so my doc wanted to check that. As expected, my numbers were elevated, 225. It's genetic, and my good cholesterol is off the charts while my bad cholesterol and triglycerides are normal or low. So that's not unexpected or a big deal, although it is annoying to be cursed with the bad cholesterol genes.
While she was at it, my doc ordered a fasting glucose test. I've never had an issue with glucose levels, so I'm not sure why she ordered the test, but she did, and so I got it at the same time as the cholesterol test—also fasting—was done. Those numbers came back in the "prediabetic" range.
WTF???
About this, I am indignant rather than resigned. I eat well. I exercise. My BMI is normal. I control my lifestyle factors. In addition, I have no real family history of diabetes; I don't think the overweight smokers who don't watch what they eat and have onset in their 60s really count here. Psychologically, this result is a blow because diabetes = insulin = pancreas = NO FUCKING WAY IS MY PANCREAS LETTING ME DOWN. The other pancreas, so to speak, in my life already did that.
I'm getting retested; this might have been a fluke. No matter what, it's irritating. I take good care of myself, and yet my body lets me down. This test result, minor as it truly is, gives me the smallest glimpse into how John must have felt when he was diagnosed with cancer. His body failed him in the gravest possible way. If I'm this annoyed about a test result that might not even be meaningful, I can't begin to imagine the anger he felt at his own being when we got his diagnosis.
Also in the queue is an ultrasound for what the OB/GYN thinks is either a return of the fibroids or an ovarian cyst + a do-over on my pap as it, too, was abnormal but so marginally so as to almost certainly be a false positive.
Despite all that, I have my health. I do. But I'm still annoyed.
Singin' the Time Change Blues
This stupid time change messed up the Kims something fierce.
Maddie and Riley made virtually no adjustment to their wakeup time on Sunday morning, so they were ready to go at 6:15 a.m. The new 6:15 a.m., or the old 5:15 a.m. Gar. I was not so ready, but I pretended I was ready and all was well until around 1:00 p.m. when everyone fell apart. We were all tired and cranky, we smelled like smoke from a failed attempt at a fire in the fireplace, no one felt like eating meals at the right time so everyone was hungry (but I didn't figure that out until much later), and while it had some real high spots, it was generally just a blah of an early afternoon.
Needless to say, we jumped on the chance for an imprompu invite from a friend to go hang out for a while, and that helped to boost everyone's spirits. Until, that is, both Maddie and Riley fell asleep in the car on the way home—at 5:30 p.m.—and could barely be roused to eat a bit of dinner and read some stories and collapse into bed, falling immediately asleep, at 7:00 p.m. They slept through, more or less, until 6:30 a.m., although both seem to have colds, which probably played into their bad moods yesterday.
All of this is a long boring way of saying that I wish we would just skip all of this time changing and keep the clocks in the same position all year round. Perhaps I will start a Facebook page dedicated to this cause. Or tweet about it. That'll get things done, right? That's taking things to the top! Ha.
But the weekend was far from all bad. There was park time, a great church service, good times with friends and family, and cookie baking. Oh, and a call from Mr. Brady. We'll be going out again on Saturday, details TBD. It's nice to have something to look forward to outside the usual day-to-day.
Maddie and Riley made virtually no adjustment to their wakeup time on Sunday morning, so they were ready to go at 6:15 a.m. The new 6:15 a.m., or the old 5:15 a.m. Gar. I was not so ready, but I pretended I was ready and all was well until around 1:00 p.m. when everyone fell apart. We were all tired and cranky, we smelled like smoke from a failed attempt at a fire in the fireplace, no one felt like eating meals at the right time so everyone was hungry (but I didn't figure that out until much later), and while it had some real high spots, it was generally just a blah of an early afternoon.
Needless to say, we jumped on the chance for an imprompu invite from a friend to go hang out for a while, and that helped to boost everyone's spirits. Until, that is, both Maddie and Riley fell asleep in the car on the way home—at 5:30 p.m.—and could barely be roused to eat a bit of dinner and read some stories and collapse into bed, falling immediately asleep, at 7:00 p.m. They slept through, more or less, until 6:30 a.m., although both seem to have colds, which probably played into their bad moods yesterday.
All of this is a long boring way of saying that I wish we would just skip all of this time changing and keep the clocks in the same position all year round. Perhaps I will start a Facebook page dedicated to this cause. Or tweet about it. That'll get things done, right? That's taking things to the top! Ha.
But the weekend was far from all bad. There was park time, a great church service, good times with friends and family, and cookie baking. Oh, and a call from Mr. Brady. We'll be going out again on Saturday, details TBD. It's nice to have something to look forward to outside the usual day-to-day.
12 March 2010
Back Out There
When I was in the process of interviewing for my current job, I had a really hard time blogging. I worried that blogging about it would jinx it, and in general, I feel like blogging about work—even potential work—is unwise. But thinking about the job and its possibilities took up so much of my brainspace that I couldn't blog about anything else, either.
I'm in the same situation now. No, I'm not changing jobs, not even thinking about it. My job is exactly what I need right now. But my brain is occupied by something that I'm not comfortable blogging about yet, so I'm left with nothing at all to say.
See, I went on a date on Wednesday night. And it was a good date.
A really good date.
But the person with whom I was out, let's call him Mr. Brady, is aware of my blog, and has read at least some of it. I don't know if he's keeping tabs here, but just in case, I don't think it would be wise to opt for total snickollet candor. I didn't ask him if he's comfortable with being blog fodder. And I don't know if he needs to be in on the girly overanalysis of our night out.
So I'll just say that Mr. Brady was charming, witty, cute, and a total gentleman. I am pretty sure we're going to see each other again. I'll be disappointed if we don't, which makes this experience different from others I've had since John died. Yes, I had an unhealthy infatuation with Mr. Coffee, but in my heart I always knew that he was a Mr. Wow I'm a Lot of Fun for Right Now—Seriously, A LOT of Fun. Ultimately, though, any of the dates I've been on since John died have left me wondering if dating is worth the effort.
That's not how I felt when I got home on Wednesday night. I have no idea what will happen next, but I'm happy to be reminded that it's worth it. It's definitely worth it.
I'm in the same situation now. No, I'm not changing jobs, not even thinking about it. My job is exactly what I need right now. But my brain is occupied by something that I'm not comfortable blogging about yet, so I'm left with nothing at all to say.
See, I went on a date on Wednesday night. And it was a good date.
A really good date.
But the person with whom I was out, let's call him Mr. Brady, is aware of my blog, and has read at least some of it. I don't know if he's keeping tabs here, but just in case, I don't think it would be wise to opt for total snickollet candor. I didn't ask him if he's comfortable with being blog fodder. And I don't know if he needs to be in on the girly overanalysis of our night out.
So I'll just say that Mr. Brady was charming, witty, cute, and a total gentleman. I am pretty sure we're going to see each other again. I'll be disappointed if we don't, which makes this experience different from others I've had since John died. Yes, I had an unhealthy infatuation with Mr. Coffee, but in my heart I always knew that he was a Mr. Wow I'm a Lot of Fun for Right Now—Seriously, A LOT of Fun. Ultimately, though, any of the dates I've been on since John died have left me wondering if dating is worth the effort.
That's not how I felt when I got home on Wednesday night. I have no idea what will happen next, but I'm happy to be reminded that it's worth it. It's definitely worth it.
08 March 2010
Boys and Girls
Our weekend at the beach was amazing. The weather was warm and sunny and we all enjoyed a change of scene and lots of time outside.
We spend most of Saturday afternoon on the rocky edge where land becomes beach. Riley spent over an hour digging up rocks and hurling them into a little basin. At one point, he stopped toiling long enough to look up and me and say, "Mama! This is SO MUCH FUN!" Then he was back to work, talking to himself the whole time. He had some kind of strict selection criteria for the rocks; they had to be just the right size (meaning not too small), and some were rejected for being too dirty. Considering how absolutely filthy he got during this process, I'm not sure what qualified as making some rocks "too dirty" and others OK, but no matter. He had an absolute blast and we had to drag him away at dinnertime.
Maddie, on the other hand, wanted to explore the shoreline with me or just sit and talk. She made up a game of finding smooth, flat chips of shell and saying that they were "tickets"; she'd gather a bunch of them and stuff them into my shoe, then go on a train ride on my lap. At one point in her digging, she found a worm, which brought her much delight. She held it in her hand and watched it squirm. "That worm is wigging a lot! It really likes me!" she proclaimed.
Riley and Maddie's beach play choices are indicative of their general demeanor. Riley is activity focused. If he enjoys doing something, he really enjoys doing something and will do it for a long time and on his own. He generally welcomes company, but he makes his choices about what to do based on the activity and then lets others join in as they wish. And if no one chooses to play with him, he's totally fine on his own.
Maddie is the opposite. She chooses the person or people, then builds an activity around them. Or she chooses what to do based on who else is engaged in a specific activity. The activity itself is secondary for her. At school, she's a queen bee and ringleader, the one who rallies everyone and works the crowd.
I often wonder how much the activity v. people-seeking behavior is just Riley v. Maddie and how much of it is gender-based. My own biases push me towards thinking that Riley's seemingly inherent love of trucks and rocks and things over people is "just the way boys are." Maddie's desperate need to be social and to be accepted strikes me as feminine. As I acknowledge that, much as I try to fight them, I have biases regarding the gender-roles around their choices, I must also acknowledge that perhaps I pushed them into these roles without meaning to. And society in general probably helped me.
I find myself pulled into the boy/girl trap all the more because of having boy/girl twins. It's all too easy to ascribe differences in their behavior to their gender since it's the most obvious difference between them. I do my best to avoid this, but it's not easy. When people want to get them gifts, most are inclined to get the "princess" version for Maddie and the "truck" version for Riley. Maddie gets a Dora cup, Riley gets Diego. And while yes, that seems to be what they want, how much of that was created rather than being inhernet?
The twins do remain in some ways charmingly gender blind. Riley still wears "girl clothes" many, if not most, days. And Maddie is likewise often found in "boy" outfits. But their play is becoming increasingly gendered. When the play together, they find creative ways to blend their two styles, pushing each other around on toy trucks, building places for Maddie's dolls to rest. But they are Maddie's dolls, not Riley's. Riley's trucks, not Maddie's. I tell them all the time that the toys all belong to both of them, but even when they are clomping around the house in dress-up princess mules, we all know they are wearing Maddie's shoes.
I'm not looking to change or fix this situation, just to be aware of it. I don't want either Maddie or Riley to feel confined by their gender, but it's naïve to think that their gender won't play a role in defining who they both turn out to be.
**************************
If you'd asked me back in September, I would have told you without hesitation that Maddie would be the one reading and writing first of the twins.
So much for mother's intuition.
Riley read his first word just over a week ago. After dinner on a Friday night, he picked up a lid that had the word "CUP" on it. "kkkkkkk . . . kkkkk . . . C! p-p-p-p . . . P! kkkk . . .p-p-p-p . . . CUP!" He got a little bit lucky with the vowel, but he totally went through the process of identifying the letters and sounds and putting them together. He's since sounded out a few more words, including HOT and DOG. (Did I mention that he's a fiend for SmartDogs these days?)
Maddie remains as interested as ever in being read to, looking at books, and "writing" letters and cards to her friends. But she has made little to no evident progress in associating letters with sounds or in writing identifiable graphemes. She has a more proper grip on a pen, but it's Riley's caveman-like grasp that forges letters that people besides his mom can recognize. Maddie is way too busy figuring out how people interact and understanding the complex rules of human behavior. Riley, on the other hand, has spent the past few months working intently at school on the letter-sound relationship, helped by his teachers who don't push him but are happy to give him the support he craves. I'm so proud of him, and he's so proud of himself. I hear him making letter-sound associations in bed before he falls asleep and first thing when he wakes up in the morning. Watching the twins learn is one of my favorite things about parenting.
We spend most of Saturday afternoon on the rocky edge where land becomes beach. Riley spent over an hour digging up rocks and hurling them into a little basin. At one point, he stopped toiling long enough to look up and me and say, "Mama! This is SO MUCH FUN!" Then he was back to work, talking to himself the whole time. He had some kind of strict selection criteria for the rocks; they had to be just the right size (meaning not too small), and some were rejected for being too dirty. Considering how absolutely filthy he got during this process, I'm not sure what qualified as making some rocks "too dirty" and others OK, but no matter. He had an absolute blast and we had to drag him away at dinnertime.
Maddie, on the other hand, wanted to explore the shoreline with me or just sit and talk. She made up a game of finding smooth, flat chips of shell and saying that they were "tickets"; she'd gather a bunch of them and stuff them into my shoe, then go on a train ride on my lap. At one point in her digging, she found a worm, which brought her much delight. She held it in her hand and watched it squirm. "That worm is wigging a lot! It really likes me!" she proclaimed.
Riley and Maddie's beach play choices are indicative of their general demeanor. Riley is activity focused. If he enjoys doing something, he really enjoys doing something and will do it for a long time and on his own. He generally welcomes company, but he makes his choices about what to do based on the activity and then lets others join in as they wish. And if no one chooses to play with him, he's totally fine on his own.
Maddie is the opposite. She chooses the person or people, then builds an activity around them. Or she chooses what to do based on who else is engaged in a specific activity. The activity itself is secondary for her. At school, she's a queen bee and ringleader, the one who rallies everyone and works the crowd.
I often wonder how much the activity v. people-seeking behavior is just Riley v. Maddie and how much of it is gender-based. My own biases push me towards thinking that Riley's seemingly inherent love of trucks and rocks and things over people is "just the way boys are." Maddie's desperate need to be social and to be accepted strikes me as feminine. As I acknowledge that, much as I try to fight them, I have biases regarding the gender-roles around their choices, I must also acknowledge that perhaps I pushed them into these roles without meaning to. And society in general probably helped me.
I find myself pulled into the boy/girl trap all the more because of having boy/girl twins. It's all too easy to ascribe differences in their behavior to their gender since it's the most obvious difference between them. I do my best to avoid this, but it's not easy. When people want to get them gifts, most are inclined to get the "princess" version for Maddie and the "truck" version for Riley. Maddie gets a Dora cup, Riley gets Diego. And while yes, that seems to be what they want, how much of that was created rather than being inhernet?
The twins do remain in some ways charmingly gender blind. Riley still wears "girl clothes" many, if not most, days. And Maddie is likewise often found in "boy" outfits. But their play is becoming increasingly gendered. When the play together, they find creative ways to blend their two styles, pushing each other around on toy trucks, building places for Maddie's dolls to rest. But they are Maddie's dolls, not Riley's. Riley's trucks, not Maddie's. I tell them all the time that the toys all belong to both of them, but even when they are clomping around the house in dress-up princess mules, we all know they are wearing Maddie's shoes.
I'm not looking to change or fix this situation, just to be aware of it. I don't want either Maddie or Riley to feel confined by their gender, but it's naïve to think that their gender won't play a role in defining who they both turn out to be.
**************************
If you'd asked me back in September, I would have told you without hesitation that Maddie would be the one reading and writing first of the twins.
So much for mother's intuition.
Riley read his first word just over a week ago. After dinner on a Friday night, he picked up a lid that had the word "CUP" on it. "kkkkkkk . . . kkkkk . . . C! p-p-p-p . . . P! kkkk . . .p-p-p-p . . . CUP!" He got a little bit lucky with the vowel, but he totally went through the process of identifying the letters and sounds and putting them together. He's since sounded out a few more words, including HOT and DOG. (Did I mention that he's a fiend for SmartDogs these days?)
Maddie remains as interested as ever in being read to, looking at books, and "writing" letters and cards to her friends. But she has made little to no evident progress in associating letters with sounds or in writing identifiable graphemes. She has a more proper grip on a pen, but it's Riley's caveman-like grasp that forges letters that people besides his mom can recognize. Maddie is way too busy figuring out how people interact and understanding the complex rules of human behavior. Riley, on the other hand, has spent the past few months working intently at school on the letter-sound relationship, helped by his teachers who don't push him but are happy to give him the support he craves. I'm so proud of him, and he's so proud of himself. I hear him making letter-sound associations in bed before he falls asleep and first thing when he wakes up in the morning. Watching the twins learn is one of my favorite things about parenting.
05 March 2010
Fretting
I'm fretting today.
I don't blog much about work because, well, we all know the perils of that. Plus, for the most part, my work is pretty non-blog-worthy. But things have been pretty stressful around one particular project for the past couple of weeks. There are things I didn't handle well, things the other people involved didn't handle well, and in my attempts to get things right, it all imploded. Gar. Before I head out for my weekend at the beach, I have two meetings about the project that promise to be uncomfortable, but will hopefully be productive.
Wow, is blogging about work boring or what? But it's taking up a lot of my brain to understand what role I played in things taking a major wrong turn and what I can do to get it all back on course. Working with a whole lot of really smart, talented people is, for the most part, a major plus of my job. But it can make things challenging to be toiling in an environment where everything has to be intellectualized and nothing is too small for debate. Not to mention that all parties involved are skilled debaters. It can be exhausting.
When writing is involved, the egos and stakes tend to be even higher than normal. Talking about writing can so quickly feel personal, and authors (myself included) tend to harbor emotional ties to their text even when they know they need to be—or at least try to be—impartial. I enjoy working collaboratively on writing projects when everyone can be respectful, but so far on this project, that hasn't always been the case.
Two hours 'til the beach. And hopefully two hours of worthwhile work on this project. And really hopefully no more boring work-related bloggin, ugh.
I don't blog much about work because, well, we all know the perils of that. Plus, for the most part, my work is pretty non-blog-worthy. But things have been pretty stressful around one particular project for the past couple of weeks. There are things I didn't handle well, things the other people involved didn't handle well, and in my attempts to get things right, it all imploded. Gar. Before I head out for my weekend at the beach, I have two meetings about the project that promise to be uncomfortable, but will hopefully be productive.
Wow, is blogging about work boring or what? But it's taking up a lot of my brain to understand what role I played in things taking a major wrong turn and what I can do to get it all back on course. Working with a whole lot of really smart, talented people is, for the most part, a major plus of my job. But it can make things challenging to be toiling in an environment where everything has to be intellectualized and nothing is too small for debate. Not to mention that all parties involved are skilled debaters. It can be exhausting.
When writing is involved, the egos and stakes tend to be even higher than normal. Talking about writing can so quickly feel personal, and authors (myself included) tend to harbor emotional ties to their text even when they know they need to be—or at least try to be—impartial. I enjoy working collaboratively on writing projects when everyone can be respectful, but so far on this project, that hasn't always been the case.
Two hours 'til the beach. And hopefully two hours of worthwhile work on this project. And really hopefully no more boring work-related bloggin, ugh.
02 March 2010
Special Post for Parents of Three Year Olds
I have a friend who is a developmental psychologist. Her area of specialty is imaginary companions. I know! How cool is that? I had imaginary companions when I was growing up, twin boys named, inexplicably, Quaker and Dagger. Go figure.
Tracy does work outside the realm of imaginary companions, though, and I was lucky enough to participate in her latest research endeavor. She and some colleagues have put together a survey that aims to help them better understand what makes three year olds the way they are. To that end, they want some parents of three year olds to tell them—totally anonymously and in a multiple choice way—about some of their child's early experiences.
Not only will you be furthering science and our understanding of what early parenting behaviors shape Three into what we know and love, you will also have a chance to win a $100 Amazon gift card by participating. Nifty.
The survey took me about 20 totally painless minutes to complete, far fewer than their advertised 45 minutes. Not sure what that says about me or my early parenting experiences. There are questions about discipline, snuggle time, and feeding, among others. Please, if you have a three year old, help Tracy to help science. Here's her ad:
Tracy does work outside the realm of imaginary companions, though, and I was lucky enough to participate in her latest research endeavor. She and some colleagues have put together a survey that aims to help them better understand what makes three year olds the way they are. To that end, they want some parents of three year olds to tell them—totally anonymously and in a multiple choice way—about some of their child's early experiences.
Not only will you be furthering science and our understanding of what early parenting behaviors shape Three into what we know and love, you will also have a chance to win a $100 Amazon gift card by participating. Nifty.
The survey took me about 20 totally painless minutes to complete, far fewer than their advertised 45 minutes. Not sure what that says about me or my early parenting experiences. There are questions about discipline, snuggle time, and feeding, among others. Please, if you have a three year old, help Tracy to help science. Here's her ad:
Mothers with 3-year-old children: Win $100!
Complete parenting survey which will help a university center with its new research.
Answer questions about you and your child’s early experience (anonymous data collection).
As part of your participation, you can enter a lottery for a $100 Amazon gift certificate.
The survey takes about 45 minutes in one sitting.
Please click the link below to go to the survey:
FamilyLifeSurveyEntry
If you have trouble with the link, copy and paste
http://nd.edu/%7Ednarvaez/FamilyLifeSurveyEntry.htm
Complete parenting survey which will help a university center with its new research.
Answer questions about you and your child’s early experience (anonymous data collection).
As part of your participation, you can enter a lottery for a $100 Amazon gift certificate.
The survey takes about 45 minutes in one sitting.
Please click the link below to go to the survey:
FamilyLifeSurveyEntry
If you have trouble with the link, copy and paste
http://nd.edu/%7Ednarvaez/FamilyLifeSurveyEntry.htm
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