Look at me, blogging instead of packing! I'm an experienced traveler, but that does *not* mean that I am a good packer. Wow. Packing sucks.
Quick update on possible Detroit meetup: thanks to those who have expressed interest here on the blog or via email. I'm still not sure what will work, but hope to make a decision by Friday and post the plan then. I need to touch base with the inlaws once we arrive to see what will work. Stay tuned.
The kids are so excited about their trip that they decided to go ahead and pack their loveys before bed so as not to risk forgetting them in the morning and traveling without them. My mom will be here at the unholy hour of 4:15 a.m. to pick us up and go to the airport. We are checked in, boarding passes are printed, and two pieces of checked luggage are prepaid. I just need to go put some clothes in a bag for myself and pull together some snacks. Think anyone would notice if I just wore the same outfit for six days? Even if it's yoga pants and a hoodie?
Fine, I'll pack at least one change of clothes. You people are so pushy.
Happy travels to all those traveling. Happy not traveling to those who are staying home.
Next post from Michigan.
23 November 2010
20 November 2010
Detroit-area meetup?
A commenter asked about the possibility of a Detroit-area meetup . . . I modestly had not even considered that there might be enough interest to do such a thing! So I'm here to find out if there is interest. It would need to be Sunday or Monday because of our Friday night trip to Frankenmuth, and could be with our without kids.
Anyone game? Preference on day or place?
I reserve the right to decide against doing this, not because of a lack of interest in meeting readers, because I've always found that to be totally awesome. It's just that I'm relying on the love and generosity of my in-laws for transportation while I'm there, plus the trip is primarily for Maddie, Riley, and I to spend time with John's family, so I don't want to overextend.
All that said, I'd love to meet people if we can make it work. Who's in if we do? Feel free to leave a comment or send me an email.
Anyone game? Preference on day or place?
I reserve the right to decide against doing this, not because of a lack of interest in meeting readers, because I've always found that to be totally awesome. It's just that I'm relying on the love and generosity of my in-laws for transportation while I'm there, plus the trip is primarily for Maddie, Riley, and I to spend time with John's family, so I don't want to overextend.
All that said, I'd love to meet people if we can make it work. Who's in if we do? Feel free to leave a comment or send me an email.
19 November 2010
Advice Needed from Detroit-Area Readers
Maddie, Riley, and I are headed to Michigan next week to spend the Thanksgiving holiday with John's family in greater Detroit.
Now that the twins are old enough to really enjoy getting out and exploring, I'm looking for recommendations on preschooler-friendly things to do in the area. What of these activities are worthwhile for the four-year-old set? What else do those of you who know the area recommend?
Detroit Children's Museum
Detroit Science Center
Arts & Scraps
Cranbrook Institute of Science
Detroit Zoo
We arrive on Wednesday evening, and Thursday will be dedicated to Thanksgiving and (for Riley, at least) football. We'll be spending Friday night in Frankenmuth, which should be a lot of fun, then we're back in Detroit until Tuesday morning.
What say you, Detroit experts?
Now that the twins are old enough to really enjoy getting out and exploring, I'm looking for recommendations on preschooler-friendly things to do in the area. What of these activities are worthwhile for the four-year-old set? What else do those of you who know the area recommend?
Detroit Children's Museum
Detroit Science Center
Arts & Scraps
Cranbrook Institute of Science
Detroit Zoo
We arrive on Wednesday evening, and Thursday will be dedicated to Thanksgiving and (for Riley, at least) football. We'll be spending Friday night in Frankenmuth, which should be a lot of fun, then we're back in Detroit until Tuesday morning.
What say you, Detroit experts?
16 November 2010
Pow! Bang! Kerblam!
I feel like everything is exploding these days.
Work is a total disaster zone. I don't like to blog about work, so I'll just say that I have too much to do, too little time to do it in, and too many personnel issues keeping me from the tasks at hand. Why can't we all get along? Sigh.
My immediate family is in good shape, thank goodness. Going home each night is a joy, even when the kids are not joyous. In truth, the kids are often defiant these days, testing limits and struggling with the transition to having another person live in our house. The Z situation is without a doubt to the good, but it's a change, and change is hard, and when you're four, when things are hard, you whine a lot and pitch fits about things that to an adult are totally inconsequential, and you save all of your crappy emotions for your safe person, which for M&R is, of course, me. Sigh. But still, being home is truly a refuge for me right now. Z is lovely and helpful and I'm beyond thrilled that this situation that I had so long desired is everything I had hoped it would be and then some. Maddie and Riley are completely hilarious, sometimes even when they are pitching fits. The home front is keeping me going right now.
Outside our little nuclear family, the broader but still pretty immediate family struggles. My stepbrother and his wife are on the skids, which has repercussions for my mom and stepdad. I feel for all of them. We're gearing up for our annual pilgrimage to see John's family in Michigan, which is searingly emotional every year, and although it's ultimately positive, it's certainly intense and draining.
An old friend of John's called me the other day out of the blue. He and his wife are people I have always admired and enjoyed, although we have not spent much time together. They are just good people, the kind of people who upon meeting, you know you can immediately trust and respect. His call was a ray of sunshine, but from behind a dark cloud: his brother has metastatic pancreatic cancer. It's like a knife to the heart. To make it all even that much more intense, his brother just got married a month ago.
My whole body aches with empathy. I gave John's friend—my friend, our friend—the URL to my blog to give to his sister in law, with the warning that it might be too much for her to deal with right away. John's friend is a doctor, so they don't need any medical advice, not that I'm qualified to give it, but John had access to some (at the time) pretty cutting edge chemo that not everyone could then get, so when I've heard from others facing a pancreatic cancer diagnosis, I've often shared that information. These friends don't need that. They need friends. I'm glad they felt they could reach out to me; I hope I can give them some of what they need.
These are not the only friends dealing with cancer. They are just the most recent. We're too young for this. Or are we? Is this just a part—the crappy part—of being in your late 30s? Is this when you suddenly wake up to find that your parents are not young, just young for their age, and that you and your friends are not immune to the scourge of disease and the tolls of time on the body? When does it stop being a fluke, a mistake, and when is it a horrible but unavoidable part of life? In the end, no matter. It's not fair, and it's devastating.
Maddie and Riley are reaching a point where it's a real challenge for me to pick them up and hold them for any length of time. I have not been sentimental in bidding farewell to babyhood, but this transition feels as huge as the weight of their cumbersome bodies. To pick them up and carry them, this is to be the mother of a small child. To no longer be able to do so is to be the parent of a big kid, official. Like so many other things in life, this is a painful if ultimately good transition.
I'm nostalgic these days, for my old body, for small children, for John, for the invincibility and endlessness of life in my 20s. I don't want to go back; what was difficult and painful on that journey to where I am now would be too much to bear again. I would make the same choices. I am without regret. But I am overwhelmed by the fullness of it all, and how that fullness it seems to be bursting out in uncontrolled and uncontainable negative ways. We were reminded in church on Sunday to slow down, and there is wisdom there, I think. I am walking rather than running these days, doing less in the evening, sleeping more, getting by on the minimum. I feel a need to hoard my reserves; each day draws on them in unexpected ways.
Work is a total disaster zone. I don't like to blog about work, so I'll just say that I have too much to do, too little time to do it in, and too many personnel issues keeping me from the tasks at hand. Why can't we all get along? Sigh.
My immediate family is in good shape, thank goodness. Going home each night is a joy, even when the kids are not joyous. In truth, the kids are often defiant these days, testing limits and struggling with the transition to having another person live in our house. The Z situation is without a doubt to the good, but it's a change, and change is hard, and when you're four, when things are hard, you whine a lot and pitch fits about things that to an adult are totally inconsequential, and you save all of your crappy emotions for your safe person, which for M&R is, of course, me. Sigh. But still, being home is truly a refuge for me right now. Z is lovely and helpful and I'm beyond thrilled that this situation that I had so long desired is everything I had hoped it would be and then some. Maddie and Riley are completely hilarious, sometimes even when they are pitching fits. The home front is keeping me going right now.
Outside our little nuclear family, the broader but still pretty immediate family struggles. My stepbrother and his wife are on the skids, which has repercussions for my mom and stepdad. I feel for all of them. We're gearing up for our annual pilgrimage to see John's family in Michigan, which is searingly emotional every year, and although it's ultimately positive, it's certainly intense and draining.
An old friend of John's called me the other day out of the blue. He and his wife are people I have always admired and enjoyed, although we have not spent much time together. They are just good people, the kind of people who upon meeting, you know you can immediately trust and respect. His call was a ray of sunshine, but from behind a dark cloud: his brother has metastatic pancreatic cancer. It's like a knife to the heart. To make it all even that much more intense, his brother just got married a month ago.
My whole body aches with empathy. I gave John's friend—my friend, our friend—the URL to my blog to give to his sister in law, with the warning that it might be too much for her to deal with right away. John's friend is a doctor, so they don't need any medical advice, not that I'm qualified to give it, but John had access to some (at the time) pretty cutting edge chemo that not everyone could then get, so when I've heard from others facing a pancreatic cancer diagnosis, I've often shared that information. These friends don't need that. They need friends. I'm glad they felt they could reach out to me; I hope I can give them some of what they need.
These are not the only friends dealing with cancer. They are just the most recent. We're too young for this. Or are we? Is this just a part—the crappy part—of being in your late 30s? Is this when you suddenly wake up to find that your parents are not young, just young for their age, and that you and your friends are not immune to the scourge of disease and the tolls of time on the body? When does it stop being a fluke, a mistake, and when is it a horrible but unavoidable part of life? In the end, no matter. It's not fair, and it's devastating.
Maddie and Riley are reaching a point where it's a real challenge for me to pick them up and hold them for any length of time. I have not been sentimental in bidding farewell to babyhood, but this transition feels as huge as the weight of their cumbersome bodies. To pick them up and carry them, this is to be the mother of a small child. To no longer be able to do so is to be the parent of a big kid, official. Like so many other things in life, this is a painful if ultimately good transition.
I'm nostalgic these days, for my old body, for small children, for John, for the invincibility and endlessness of life in my 20s. I don't want to go back; what was difficult and painful on that journey to where I am now would be too much to bear again. I would make the same choices. I am without regret. But I am overwhelmed by the fullness of it all, and how that fullness it seems to be bursting out in uncontrolled and uncontainable negative ways. We were reminded in church on Sunday to slow down, and there is wisdom there, I think. I am walking rather than running these days, doing less in the evening, sleeping more, getting by on the minimum. I feel a need to hoard my reserves; each day draws on them in unexpected ways.
14 November 2010
"You're a [fill in the blank]-head!"
It's the dawn of a new and unpleasant (if you're me) or hilarious (if you're Maddie and Riley) era: that of the "You're a [fill in the blank]-head" taunts.
I place the blame for this squarely on a new habit of Maddie and Riley's that I find otherwise utterly endearing. They have fallen in love with audiobooks. They are bonkers for them. They beg me to put them on in the car and at home. It makes our car rides bilssfully conflict-free and gives us all some down time at home. Overall, audiobooks get a definite two thumbs up.
However.
One of the books we got on CD most recently at the library is the first in the Ivy and Bean series. In it, Bean calls her older sister Nancy a boogerhead. Maddie and Riley both latched right on to that, and since then, they have called each other various silly things like spoonhead and lamphead and bookhead and applehead, and other less funny things like stupidhead and butthead and, of course, boogerhead.
Sigh.
As a language professional, and as a person who finds language to be a great release for all kinds of emotions, both positive and negative, I am loathe to have "forbidden words." I don't want to fetishize language and I also don't want to end up encouraging Maddie and Riley to say "bad" words anytime I'm not around. At the same time, it's clearly not OK for my four-year-olds to say fuck or shit or damn or even stupidhead. In terms of how I set limits around the house, we're pretty much a safe, respectful, and kind house, so I have some pretty broad latitude there. Certainly calling people stupidheads is not kind or respectful, and I've asked M&R to stop using such words under those auspices.
I have two problems, though. One is that the distinction between calling someone a carrothead and calling someone an uglyhead is pretty fine for Maddie and Riley. Also, they don't say any of this in an insulting sense, exactly. It usually starts with a listing of any old object they see laying around ("You glue stick head! You rulerhead!") and degenerates into the more insulting stuff. I'm not sure how clearly the understand the line between silly and unkind.
I'm also not sure where to set the limit. Is carrothead OK, but stupidhead is not? What about diaperhead? I mean, yuck, but . . . It seems to me that the problem is more of motivation rather than of language. Are they slinging words to hurt, or just to play with language, explore words, and get a kick out of the fact that it just never gets old to say butt? Can four year olds understand the nuance of the motivation? How can I assess their motivation and punish accordingly? What's an appropriate punishment for calling your friend a butthead?
How do the rest of you handle these kinds of language-testing, limit-testing, word-based behavior problems? I need some ideas, 'cos here's what's just not cutting it: "Sweetie, it's unkind to call your friend a stupidhead. If you do that again, I'm going to have to give you a timeout," followed by the always necessary timeout once the insult is hooted again through gales of laughter.
I place the blame for this squarely on a new habit of Maddie and Riley's that I find otherwise utterly endearing. They have fallen in love with audiobooks. They are bonkers for them. They beg me to put them on in the car and at home. It makes our car rides bilssfully conflict-free and gives us all some down time at home. Overall, audiobooks get a definite two thumbs up.
However.
One of the books we got on CD most recently at the library is the first in the Ivy and Bean series. In it, Bean calls her older sister Nancy a boogerhead. Maddie and Riley both latched right on to that, and since then, they have called each other various silly things like spoonhead and lamphead and bookhead and applehead, and other less funny things like stupidhead and butthead and, of course, boogerhead.
Sigh.
As a language professional, and as a person who finds language to be a great release for all kinds of emotions, both positive and negative, I am loathe to have "forbidden words." I don't want to fetishize language and I also don't want to end up encouraging Maddie and Riley to say "bad" words anytime I'm not around. At the same time, it's clearly not OK for my four-year-olds to say fuck or shit or damn or even stupidhead. In terms of how I set limits around the house, we're pretty much a safe, respectful, and kind house, so I have some pretty broad latitude there. Certainly calling people stupidheads is not kind or respectful, and I've asked M&R to stop using such words under those auspices.
I have two problems, though. One is that the distinction between calling someone a carrothead and calling someone an uglyhead is pretty fine for Maddie and Riley. Also, they don't say any of this in an insulting sense, exactly. It usually starts with a listing of any old object they see laying around ("You glue stick head! You rulerhead!") and degenerates into the more insulting stuff. I'm not sure how clearly the understand the line between silly and unkind.
I'm also not sure where to set the limit. Is carrothead OK, but stupidhead is not? What about diaperhead? I mean, yuck, but . . . It seems to me that the problem is more of motivation rather than of language. Are they slinging words to hurt, or just to play with language, explore words, and get a kick out of the fact that it just never gets old to say butt? Can four year olds understand the nuance of the motivation? How can I assess their motivation and punish accordingly? What's an appropriate punishment for calling your friend a butthead?
How do the rest of you handle these kinds of language-testing, limit-testing, word-based behavior problems? I need some ideas, 'cos here's what's just not cutting it: "Sweetie, it's unkind to call your friend a stupidhead. If you do that again, I'm going to have to give you a timeout," followed by the always necessary timeout once the insult is hooted again through gales of laughter.
13 November 2010
Speechless
Today is my dad's 65th birthday. Happy birthday, Plain Ba! We lured him up here to celebrate and we had a rockin' good day that involved the twins sleeping until 6:30 a.m. (late!), breakfast at Grand Central, college football on TV, a bike ride (me and the kids), and dinner at the Old Spaghetti Factory. After dinner, we sent him on his way home with a six-pack of homemade chocolate cupcakes with chocolate frosting and lots of sprinkles; we'd hoped he would spend a couple of more nights with us, but he had to get home to view the last Formula One race of the season with his racing buddies, live on TV at 4:30 a.m. tomorrow morning. That's dedication.
It was an Oregon day today. It was chilly, and it rained nonstop, never hard, usually barely qualifying as rain, in fact, more of a steady mist. I started to get cabin feverish around 2 p.m. and decided to head out for a bike ride with Maddie. Then Riley decided to come along, so we were a full load on the three-bike. The twins are imprervious to cold and damp and I was happy to get the fresh air. We had a lovely ride of 6 or 7 easy miles. There was one lost (and found) scarf along the way plus two stops: one to pick "wildflowers" (some kind of flowering weed?) and one to admire a lovely flowering garden. We sang some songs and waved at other bikers and it seemed to be refreshing for us all.
Oregon is a very bike-friendly town. I bike commuted to work for a while when I lived in Boston, and I regularly had unpleasant interactions with car drivers, ranging from a complete lack of awareness of my presence to a complete lack of understanding of bicycle rules of the road to outright hostility that I'd have the right to be on the road in the first place. Sometimes it was a combination of those three things. Here in Portland, I've encountered very little of that type of behavior. Some of that is due to the large and ever-expanding selection of well planned bike routes around the city (a mix of dedicated bike lanes, bike boulevards) and a higher than typical general awareness awareness of bikes on the road. Some of it is that there's just less congestion in the areas in which I ride, so there's less chance for a negative encounter. Some of it is just luck, I suppose.
Our route today forced us to spend just two blocks on a somewhat narrow and somewhat busy somewhat major street. Some people were getting out of their street-parked car as we went by; I checked behind me (no traffic) and then moved out to go around them as they got out of their vehicle. I was well within my lane, and was not in violation of any laws. They people in the car waved at M&R, who are like little neighborhood ambassadors on the back of the bike. A vehicle was approaching in the oncoming lane, which barely registered for me since I was not in any way impeding its passage and was about to take a right turn off the main drag anyway. But the oncoming vehicle slowed, the window came down, and a gruff male voice yelled, "STUPID BITCH!" before the SUV picked up speed and continued its journey.
He was clearly talking to me. The people who had just waved at Maddie and Riley exchanged puzzled looks with me, we turned, and it was over. I don't even think M&R noticed. I am sure I was not disobeying any laws, and I have no idea what the guy was even thinking. Am I stupid for riding a bike at all? For riding it on the street? For having kids on the back of the bike? For wearing a helmet? For being out in the rain? For existing? Who knows. There's certainly no reason at all that a complete stranger in a car should be able to judge whether or not I'm a bitch.
It's probably just one of those instances of car/bike hostility. He probably has no ideas what the rules of the road are for a cyclist. That certainly doesn't make it right to yell derogatory jeers at someone. It would be easy to shake off if the guy hadn't yelled such a thing at me with my children on the back of the bike. I'm glad they were focused on other things.
My life contains many instances of the good of humanity. It's so disconcerting to be reminded of the bad and the ugly.
It was an Oregon day today. It was chilly, and it rained nonstop, never hard, usually barely qualifying as rain, in fact, more of a steady mist. I started to get cabin feverish around 2 p.m. and decided to head out for a bike ride with Maddie. Then Riley decided to come along, so we were a full load on the three-bike. The twins are imprervious to cold and damp and I was happy to get the fresh air. We had a lovely ride of 6 or 7 easy miles. There was one lost (and found) scarf along the way plus two stops: one to pick "wildflowers" (some kind of flowering weed?) and one to admire a lovely flowering garden. We sang some songs and waved at other bikers and it seemed to be refreshing for us all.
Oregon is a very bike-friendly town. I bike commuted to work for a while when I lived in Boston, and I regularly had unpleasant interactions with car drivers, ranging from a complete lack of awareness of my presence to a complete lack of understanding of bicycle rules of the road to outright hostility that I'd have the right to be on the road in the first place. Sometimes it was a combination of those three things. Here in Portland, I've encountered very little of that type of behavior. Some of that is due to the large and ever-expanding selection of well planned bike routes around the city (a mix of dedicated bike lanes, bike boulevards) and a higher than typical general awareness awareness of bikes on the road. Some of it is that there's just less congestion in the areas in which I ride, so there's less chance for a negative encounter. Some of it is just luck, I suppose.
Our route today forced us to spend just two blocks on a somewhat narrow and somewhat busy somewhat major street. Some people were getting out of their street-parked car as we went by; I checked behind me (no traffic) and then moved out to go around them as they got out of their vehicle. I was well within my lane, and was not in violation of any laws. They people in the car waved at M&R, who are like little neighborhood ambassadors on the back of the bike. A vehicle was approaching in the oncoming lane, which barely registered for me since I was not in any way impeding its passage and was about to take a right turn off the main drag anyway. But the oncoming vehicle slowed, the window came down, and a gruff male voice yelled, "STUPID BITCH!" before the SUV picked up speed and continued its journey.
He was clearly talking to me. The people who had just waved at Maddie and Riley exchanged puzzled looks with me, we turned, and it was over. I don't even think M&R noticed. I am sure I was not disobeying any laws, and I have no idea what the guy was even thinking. Am I stupid for riding a bike at all? For riding it on the street? For having kids on the back of the bike? For wearing a helmet? For being out in the rain? For existing? Who knows. There's certainly no reason at all that a complete stranger in a car should be able to judge whether or not I'm a bitch.
It's probably just one of those instances of car/bike hostility. He probably has no ideas what the rules of the road are for a cyclist. That certainly doesn't make it right to yell derogatory jeers at someone. It would be easy to shake off if the guy hadn't yelled such a thing at me with my children on the back of the bike. I'm glad they were focused on other things.
My life contains many instances of the good of humanity. It's so disconcerting to be reminded of the bad and the ugly.
12 November 2010
11 November 2010
Body
I've been struggling lately with my body. I wish I could be liberated and emancipated and unconcerned about my weight and shape; I with that it were enough for me to eat well and exercise and accept what my body looks like when I take care of it in that way. Because I do eat well (with some indulgences) and I do exercise (regularly, although sometimes more regularly than others), and I'm healthy and strong and fit. Shouldn't that be enough? I want it to be enough.
It's not enough, however, for the perfectionist in me. I could be eating even better! I could be exercising even more! I could be stronger and faster! I could be cleansing! For the perfectionist, it's never enough. I've gotten at lot better at ignoring the perfectionist about some things. I've stopped timing myself when I go running, for example, and I actually haven't stepped on a scale outside a doctor's office in months. Sure, the perfectionist has a figure in mind that she'd like to see on the scale—a perfectly unrealistic one, at that—but I generally don't worry a bit about The Number.
Or do I? Rather than worry about The Number, I worry about how my clothes fit. When John and I were dating, my clothes didn't fit very well at all. There was lots of eating out, not a lot of routine. Things got dire enough that I joined Weight Watchers, which I quite enjoyed in the sense that it really pushed me to eat consciously and to change some bad habits. Consequently, I lost a lot of weight. When my clothes got too big, I bought a new Tiny Person wardrobe. Then I had the twins. Post-twins, I transitioned fairly quickly back into my Tiny Person clothes . . . sort of. They never fit the way they had pre-twins; my weight was back down to the previous Number, but the distribution and density were different enough that things just didn't fit the way they used to. Being too cheap to buy new clothes again, I stuffed myself into the Tiny Person outfits, which made me feel gross and probably didn't look great and was a complete affront to my perfectionism.
In the four years since the twins were born, I have kept some of the Tiny Person clothes, augmented with some Medium Person clothes, gotten back into regular exercising, and come to recognize that the only way to really get the Tiny Person back would be to spend way more time than I want to spend monitoring how much I eat and work out. I may have recognized that fact, but I have not really accepted it. Well, I've accepted it insomuch as I have done nothing to change it, but I can tell you right now that I'm not at peace with it, and internally, I beat myself up about it.
I'm not overweight. I'm also not thin. Part of me wants to be thin. I want to be that Tiny Person again without having to work as hard as I did in those days to maintain that shape. This make me an unrealistic perfectionist, which is, in fact, redundant.
Being a Tiny Person again is just a part of the overall issue. My body in my late thirties, after a twin pregnancy and the emotional repercussions of watching my spouse die, is just not what it was back in my twenties. Like many people, I look back on how I treated my body in my twenties—I never exercised, I didn't eat that well, I never got enough sleep—with some sense of regret. Even treating myself like that, back in the day, I still looked . . . youthful, at the very least. Firmer. With more glow. Now I make a point to eat well and work out and sleep when I can and I'm still rounder, looser, droopier. I'm older, and sometimes that's hard for me to accept. The size, the age, their relationship, I grapple with this.
I clearly remember the first time I saw a photo of myself in which I looked, well, if not OLD, than like a real grown up as opposed to a young adult. The picture was taken shortly after we got John's cancer diagnosis. I don't think he'd even started treatment yet. We were headed out to dinner, in an attempt to take our minds off things [insert maniacal laughter here]. It's a closeup of our faces, and I easily look ten years older than I had the week before. It ages you, an emotional experience like that. At that point, I was as Tiny as I ever got, but in some ways I looked older than I do now. Tiny and young are not synonymous; neither are fat and old. Yet tiny and young are the more desirable, or so I have been taught, and so I seem to believe, despite desires not to.
My body can't do what it used to, at least not as easily. Being Tiny is harder. Running fast is harder. Getting more fit takes more effort. Maintaining the level of fitness I have requires more commitment. Those last five—who are we kidding, TEN—pounds might be a permanent part of my body unless I'm willing to live on lettuce and broth. Some days, I'm gentle with myself about this. Some days, I'm not.
If I dig one layer deeper into this complex relationship of young/old, fat/thin, I find that it's all wrapped up into being single. If I were an (assumedly) happy married woman, if I had someone there day after day, in the most intimate relationship in my life, either telling me that I'm aging gracefully or cheering me on to be Tiny again if there were my choice, I think I'd feel more relaxed. Instead, I sometimes feel like dating, sometimes don't, but know that whether I like it or not, how I look and how I feel about how I look are a part of dating. Inner beauty is more important than outer beauty, for sure, but I would expect a partner to be respectful of his body, to take care of it, and I expect the same of myself. And I do take care of it. I just want better results for what I'm putting in. At the end of the day, I worry that my body is not attractive enough, fit enough, strong enough, for myself and my own ideals, for those of a partner.
It's hard to admit that I care so much, both about my own appearance and what others think about it. I just need to keep my focus in the right place: I care about being healthy. I care about eating food that is good for me. I care about exercising. I care about sleeping well. I want to model these behaviors for my children. I want them to be comfortable in their skins, to take care of themselves and love the results, even if the results are not what is reflected back to them in magazines and on TV. I'm doing these things. I want them to be enough to quiet the inner perfectionist.
It's not enough, however, for the perfectionist in me. I could be eating even better! I could be exercising even more! I could be stronger and faster! I could be cleansing! For the perfectionist, it's never enough. I've gotten at lot better at ignoring the perfectionist about some things. I've stopped timing myself when I go running, for example, and I actually haven't stepped on a scale outside a doctor's office in months. Sure, the perfectionist has a figure in mind that she'd like to see on the scale—a perfectly unrealistic one, at that—but I generally don't worry a bit about The Number.
Or do I? Rather than worry about The Number, I worry about how my clothes fit. When John and I were dating, my clothes didn't fit very well at all. There was lots of eating out, not a lot of routine. Things got dire enough that I joined Weight Watchers, which I quite enjoyed in the sense that it really pushed me to eat consciously and to change some bad habits. Consequently, I lost a lot of weight. When my clothes got too big, I bought a new Tiny Person wardrobe. Then I had the twins. Post-twins, I transitioned fairly quickly back into my Tiny Person clothes . . . sort of. They never fit the way they had pre-twins; my weight was back down to the previous Number, but the distribution and density were different enough that things just didn't fit the way they used to. Being too cheap to buy new clothes again, I stuffed myself into the Tiny Person outfits, which made me feel gross and probably didn't look great and was a complete affront to my perfectionism.
In the four years since the twins were born, I have kept some of the Tiny Person clothes, augmented with some Medium Person clothes, gotten back into regular exercising, and come to recognize that the only way to really get the Tiny Person back would be to spend way more time than I want to spend monitoring how much I eat and work out. I may have recognized that fact, but I have not really accepted it. Well, I've accepted it insomuch as I have done nothing to change it, but I can tell you right now that I'm not at peace with it, and internally, I beat myself up about it.
I'm not overweight. I'm also not thin. Part of me wants to be thin. I want to be that Tiny Person again without having to work as hard as I did in those days to maintain that shape. This make me an unrealistic perfectionist, which is, in fact, redundant.
Being a Tiny Person again is just a part of the overall issue. My body in my late thirties, after a twin pregnancy and the emotional repercussions of watching my spouse die, is just not what it was back in my twenties. Like many people, I look back on how I treated my body in my twenties—I never exercised, I didn't eat that well, I never got enough sleep—with some sense of regret. Even treating myself like that, back in the day, I still looked . . . youthful, at the very least. Firmer. With more glow. Now I make a point to eat well and work out and sleep when I can and I'm still rounder, looser, droopier. I'm older, and sometimes that's hard for me to accept. The size, the age, their relationship, I grapple with this.
I clearly remember the first time I saw a photo of myself in which I looked, well, if not OLD, than like a real grown up as opposed to a young adult. The picture was taken shortly after we got John's cancer diagnosis. I don't think he'd even started treatment yet. We were headed out to dinner, in an attempt to take our minds off things [insert maniacal laughter here]. It's a closeup of our faces, and I easily look ten years older than I had the week before. It ages you, an emotional experience like that. At that point, I was as Tiny as I ever got, but in some ways I looked older than I do now. Tiny and young are not synonymous; neither are fat and old. Yet tiny and young are the more desirable, or so I have been taught, and so I seem to believe, despite desires not to.
My body can't do what it used to, at least not as easily. Being Tiny is harder. Running fast is harder. Getting more fit takes more effort. Maintaining the level of fitness I have requires more commitment. Those last five—who are we kidding, TEN—pounds might be a permanent part of my body unless I'm willing to live on lettuce and broth. Some days, I'm gentle with myself about this. Some days, I'm not.
If I dig one layer deeper into this complex relationship of young/old, fat/thin, I find that it's all wrapped up into being single. If I were an (assumedly) happy married woman, if I had someone there day after day, in the most intimate relationship in my life, either telling me that I'm aging gracefully or cheering me on to be Tiny again if there were my choice, I think I'd feel more relaxed. Instead, I sometimes feel like dating, sometimes don't, but know that whether I like it or not, how I look and how I feel about how I look are a part of dating. Inner beauty is more important than outer beauty, for sure, but I would expect a partner to be respectful of his body, to take care of it, and I expect the same of myself. And I do take care of it. I just want better results for what I'm putting in. At the end of the day, I worry that my body is not attractive enough, fit enough, strong enough, for myself and my own ideals, for those of a partner.
It's hard to admit that I care so much, both about my own appearance and what others think about it. I just need to keep my focus in the right place: I care about being healthy. I care about eating food that is good for me. I care about exercising. I care about sleeping well. I want to model these behaviors for my children. I want them to be comfortable in their skins, to take care of themselves and love the results, even if the results are not what is reflected back to them in magazines and on TV. I'm doing these things. I want them to be enough to quiet the inner perfectionist.
10 November 2010
Day 1: SUCCESS!
I headed off to work today, leaving Z in charge of the kids without me for the first time. I told her to call or text with any problems. I checked my phone a lot. Nothing.
I got home a bit late (grr, traffic) and found everyone in the living room, listening to a book on tape. My arrival home was a total nonevent for M&R. Good sign. Z was all smiles. It seems that everyone had a great day. We had a nice dinner together, I solved a "problem" with the dryer (you have to hold the button in to get it to start; a quick push is not enough), and sweet Maddie was begging to go to bed at 7 p.m. I heard Maddie and Riley speaking more Spanish tonight than I have in a long time, and Z reports that they used quite a bit of Spanish with her today, which seems to have helped them all.
I gave Z a little gift tonight in honor of a successful first day: two chocolate bars and a compact, folding polka-dot umbrella. She'll need both in the days ahead. Today gives me the sense that we're all where we're supposed to be.
I got home a bit late (grr, traffic) and found everyone in the living room, listening to a book on tape. My arrival home was a total nonevent for M&R. Good sign. Z was all smiles. It seems that everyone had a great day. We had a nice dinner together, I solved a "problem" with the dryer (you have to hold the button in to get it to start; a quick push is not enough), and sweet Maddie was begging to go to bed at 7 p.m. I heard Maddie and Riley speaking more Spanish tonight than I have in a long time, and Z reports that they used quite a bit of Spanish with her today, which seems to have helped them all.
I gave Z a little gift tonight in honor of a successful first day: two chocolate bars and a compact, folding polka-dot umbrella. She'll need both in the days ahead. Today gives me the sense that we're all where we're supposed to be.
09 November 2010
Boys
Riley used to wear a lot of girl clothes. He still wears girl clothes sometimes, but not nearly as much as he once did. Most days, he wears sweatpants and a t-shirt and he lives for the days when his football shirt is clean.
He's always been a really sweet, sensitive boy, my Ri-Man. He's not crazy emotionally intuitive like Maddie, but he has always been a gentle soul, much the way his dad was.
Since starting public school in September, I've noticed a big change in Riley. Please note: this is not a rant about public school, and I think some of the changes I've noticed are simply related to age and developmental milestones. That said, it's true that in the past few months my sweet, active-but-not-physical boy has become more . . . aggressive. He's constantly pushing and tackling his sometimes patient sister. He hits and kicks, in play, but too hard, too much, without understanding how it feels to the one being pummeled. He's more verbally aggressive, too. He talks back, he refuses, he is impertinent and impatient. We're deep in the poop, pee, and butt "joke" phase (although I confess that my inner seventh-grader has rediscovered just how funny the word butt really is).
Riley's class has 13 boys and 7 girls in it. I've occasionally observed the kids in class or on the playground after school, and it seem clear to me that the exposure to not only the kids in his class but the other—older—kids on the playground has brought on some of these changes in Riley earlier than I would have expected. This is nothing more than an observation on my part, something that's on my mind as I watch Maddie and Riley grow and change and start to become more independent of each other and of me. I can see in these changes the beginnings of the lifelong negotiation of self v. other, of individual v. herd. I wonder how much of Riley's earlier inclination towards the feminine came from nurture v. nature, how much of what he's trying on now is nature v. nurture.
I wonder who he will turn out to be. I hope he will always carry some of the conundrum he his now, the nightgown wearing boy who is obsessed with football, the pink Crocs lined with purple fleece and the football shirt, the constant want for snuggles after an hour-long session of let's-knock-each-other-over in the yard.
He's always been a really sweet, sensitive boy, my Ri-Man. He's not crazy emotionally intuitive like Maddie, but he has always been a gentle soul, much the way his dad was.
Since starting public school in September, I've noticed a big change in Riley. Please note: this is not a rant about public school, and I think some of the changes I've noticed are simply related to age and developmental milestones. That said, it's true that in the past few months my sweet, active-but-not-physical boy has become more . . . aggressive. He's constantly pushing and tackling his sometimes patient sister. He hits and kicks, in play, but too hard, too much, without understanding how it feels to the one being pummeled. He's more verbally aggressive, too. He talks back, he refuses, he is impertinent and impatient. We're deep in the poop, pee, and butt "joke" phase (although I confess that my inner seventh-grader has rediscovered just how funny the word butt really is).
Riley's class has 13 boys and 7 girls in it. I've occasionally observed the kids in class or on the playground after school, and it seem clear to me that the exposure to not only the kids in his class but the other—older—kids on the playground has brought on some of these changes in Riley earlier than I would have expected. This is nothing more than an observation on my part, something that's on my mind as I watch Maddie and Riley grow and change and start to become more independent of each other and of me. I can see in these changes the beginnings of the lifelong negotiation of self v. other, of individual v. herd. I wonder how much of Riley's earlier inclination towards the feminine came from nurture v. nature, how much of what he's trying on now is nature v. nurture.
I wonder who he will turn out to be. I hope he will always carry some of the conundrum he his now, the nightgown wearing boy who is obsessed with football, the pink Crocs lined with purple fleece and the football shirt, the constant want for snuggles after an hour-long session of let's-knock-each-other-over in the yard.
08 November 2010
Put a Fork in Me
I'm done!
Does that expression mean that I'm tired? Because that's what I'm implying. Having Z here is wonderful so far, just wonderful, but also exhausting. Today was our first day of the regular routine, although an irregular version thereof because I was home. But it was a school day for the kids and our first chance to show the newest inhabitant of our home what a typical morning breakfast looks like, where to drop Maddie and Riley off for school, what happens at the playground post-preschool. During the time the kids were at preschool, Z and I tried to get her a Social Security card (no-go; for some reason we need to contact the Department of Homeland Security. Huh.) and successfully got her a cell phone. By the time we took care of those two errands and then swung by the grocery store, the 2.75 little hours the kids spend in school were over. Poof! That goes by fast, for sure.
We had a nice dinner together this evening, then the kids and I went over to watch Monday Night Football with the neighbors for a bit. Now the kids are in bed and I'm not far behind, not far behind at all.
I've already missed a day or two of NaBloPoMo, but I'm still going to try to be more regular in my posting for this month. Posts like this feel kind of like throwaways to me, but the habit of more regular writing is good even on days when the content is subpar. I'm also somewhat motivated to keep a record of sorts of this au pair year.
For now, though, I'm motivated to go to bed. It's not even 9 p.m.! I've always loved going to bed early, especially if I'm reading a good book. My current read is Chronic City, which I'm enjoying but having a hard time getting through; it's one of those very character-driven books with little in the way of a story, at least thus far (150 pages in). This format does not seem to work very well in 15-minute bites, which I all I usually have the energy for once I crawl into bed to read each night. Perhaps a 9 p.m. bedtime will get me a little further along this evening.
/end navel gazing, at least for tonight/
Does that expression mean that I'm tired? Because that's what I'm implying. Having Z here is wonderful so far, just wonderful, but also exhausting. Today was our first day of the regular routine, although an irregular version thereof because I was home. But it was a school day for the kids and our first chance to show the newest inhabitant of our home what a typical morning breakfast looks like, where to drop Maddie and Riley off for school, what happens at the playground post-preschool. During the time the kids were at preschool, Z and I tried to get her a Social Security card (no-go; for some reason we need to contact the Department of Homeland Security. Huh.) and successfully got her a cell phone. By the time we took care of those two errands and then swung by the grocery store, the 2.75 little hours the kids spend in school were over. Poof! That goes by fast, for sure.
We had a nice dinner together this evening, then the kids and I went over to watch Monday Night Football with the neighbors for a bit. Now the kids are in bed and I'm not far behind, not far behind at all.
I've already missed a day or two of NaBloPoMo, but I'm still going to try to be more regular in my posting for this month. Posts like this feel kind of like throwaways to me, but the habit of more regular writing is good even on days when the content is subpar. I'm also somewhat motivated to keep a record of sorts of this au pair year.
For now, though, I'm motivated to go to bed. It's not even 9 p.m.! I've always loved going to bed early, especially if I'm reading a good book. My current read is Chronic City, which I'm enjoying but having a hard time getting through; it's one of those very character-driven books with little in the way of a story, at least thus far (150 pages in). This format does not seem to work very well in 15-minute bites, which I all I usually have the energy for once I crawl into bed to read each night. Perhaps a 9 p.m. bedtime will get me a little further along this evening.
/end navel gazing, at least for tonight/
05 November 2010
Au Pairing
We have an au pair!
I would say that it's her fault that I have already missed a day of NaBloPoMo, but that just seems rude given how lovely she is, so I won't put that on her. It is, however, true that last night was dedicated to last-minute preparations for her arrival plus a girls' night with my mom to keep me awake before I went to the airport to pick up the newest member of our family (let's call her Z for now).
She had a smile on her face as she came through security and tears in her eyes as she gave me a big hug, and she pretty much hasn't stopped smiling since she arrived. She was up with the Maddie and Riley birds, has been completely hands-on all day, and just projects an air of caring and joy. Maddie and Riley have taken to her immediately—granted, they are pretty loving—and it all just feels right.
Sure, there's bound to be a honeymoon period and of course there will be bumps along the way. But the first 24 hours leave me reassured that the decision to host an au pair for a year is the right one for our family right now, and that this is the start of something good.
*****************************
UPDATE: Discussion of difficulty in reaching Bolivia by telephone follows. Thanks to those who gave suggestions on ways to resolve this. Looks like MagicJack wins for now!
It turns out that calling Bolivia, Z's home country, is no easy feat. Sure, it's easy enough to pick up a land-line phone and dial a number there, but (a) it can take a few times to get connected, (b) it's expensive as all hell, and (c) I don't have a land line, nor do I want to get one.
I had been counting on Z being able to Skype to video chat for free with her family and friends, and I think that will work with a subset of those she wants to be in touch with back home. But there is a good-sized cohort of folks in Bolivia, including her parents, that either aren't online at home at all or aren't online regularly. Having lived overseas myself, I know that having a reliable way to be in touch with family and friends is critical to good mental health, so I'm trying to figure out a relatively simple way for Z to stay connected.
My first thought was to use Skype for Z to call cell and land lines from her comptuer, and that's still an option. It's not free, of course, but I figured the $15/month for their monthly unlimited worldwide plan was a fine tradeoff for Z's mental health. Well, of course, Bolivia is not on their unlimited worldwide monthly calling plans, and the pay-per-minute rates hover around $0.20.
Calling cards are OK, but the 800-number access line on the one we bought today would not work when dialed from my cell, so if land-line is required for calling cards to work, that's not a real option. My dad pointed out that perhaps it's less cost-prohibitive for Z's family to call from Bolivia to the States, so now I'm thinking that we can get her set up with a Skype Online Number for her friends and family to use to call her, but it looks like that's only valid for calls coming from the country in which you set up the number, grrr. (I'm having a hard time understanding the logistics of that setup.)
I'm not sure how Bolivia has been left behind when it comes to modern telecommunications, but there you have it. At worst, Z will be able to call Bolivian cell and landlines from within Skype at rates that strike me as ridiculously high rates; I'll have to figure out if I can/should pay for some amount of those calls. If family can also call her, all the better, but I'm not sure about that part.
For today, though, I've thought about it enough. I need some sleep! We've got a whole lot of nothing planned for tomorrow, then Sunday we'll spend some time with my mom and stepdad. I'm off work Monday and Tuesday to help with the settling in and to oversee the first two days of normal schedule school dropoff/pickup. Maybe by then we'll have the calling sorted out. Advice appreciated.
I would say that it's her fault that I have already missed a day of NaBloPoMo, but that just seems rude given how lovely she is, so I won't put that on her. It is, however, true that last night was dedicated to last-minute preparations for her arrival plus a girls' night with my mom to keep me awake before I went to the airport to pick up the newest member of our family (let's call her Z for now).
She had a smile on her face as she came through security and tears in her eyes as she gave me a big hug, and she pretty much hasn't stopped smiling since she arrived. She was up with the Maddie and Riley birds, has been completely hands-on all day, and just projects an air of caring and joy. Maddie and Riley have taken to her immediately—granted, they are pretty loving—and it all just feels right.
Sure, there's bound to be a honeymoon period and of course there will be bumps along the way. But the first 24 hours leave me reassured that the decision to host an au pair for a year is the right one for our family right now, and that this is the start of something good.
*****************************
UPDATE: Discussion of difficulty in reaching Bolivia by telephone follows. Thanks to those who gave suggestions on ways to resolve this. Looks like MagicJack wins for now!
It turns out that calling Bolivia, Z's home country, is no easy feat. Sure, it's easy enough to pick up a land-line phone and dial a number there, but (a) it can take a few times to get connected, (b) it's expensive as all hell, and (c) I don't have a land line, nor do I want to get one.
I had been counting on Z being able to Skype to video chat for free with her family and friends, and I think that will work with a subset of those she wants to be in touch with back home. But there is a good-sized cohort of folks in Bolivia, including her parents, that either aren't online at home at all or aren't online regularly. Having lived overseas myself, I know that having a reliable way to be in touch with family and friends is critical to good mental health, so I'm trying to figure out a relatively simple way for Z to stay connected.
My first thought was to use Skype for Z to call cell and land lines from her comptuer, and that's still an option. It's not free, of course, but I figured the $15/month for their monthly unlimited worldwide plan was a fine tradeoff for Z's mental health. Well, of course, Bolivia is not on their unlimited worldwide monthly calling plans, and the pay-per-minute rates hover around $0.20.
Calling cards are OK, but the 800-number access line on the one we bought today would not work when dialed from my cell, so if land-line is required for calling cards to work, that's not a real option. My dad pointed out that perhaps it's less cost-prohibitive for Z's family to call from Bolivia to the States, so now I'm thinking that we can get her set up with a Skype Online Number for her friends and family to use to call her, but it looks like that's only valid for calls coming from the country in which you set up the number, grrr. (I'm having a hard time understanding the logistics of that setup.)
I'm not sure how Bolivia has been left behind when it comes to modern telecommunications, but there you have it. At worst, Z will be able to call Bolivian cell and landlines from within Skype at rates that strike me as ridiculously high rates; I'll have to figure out if I can/should pay for some amount of those calls. If family can also call her, all the better, but I'm not sure about that part.
For today, though, I've thought about it enough. I need some sleep! We've got a whole lot of nothing planned for tomorrow, then Sunday we'll spend some time with my mom and stepdad. I'm off work Monday and Tuesday to help with the settling in and to oversee the first two days of normal schedule school dropoff/pickup. Maybe by then we'll have the calling sorted out. Advice appreciated.
03 November 2010
Cleansing
[Well, crap. Blogger just ate most of a post. Grrrr. Redoing. Sigh.]
Warning: girly talk ahead.
Cleansing diets seem to be all the rage these days. From lifestyle changes to three-week detoxes to elimination diets to pinpoint food sensitivities, everyone seems to be cleansing.
Cleanses fall into two broad categories to me: 1. Can't hurt, might help, and 2. Stuff white people like. (I've not seen cleansing diets on that site, and I don't follow that site closely, but it seems like cleanses would be a good candidate for inclusion.) My friends who have cleansed for the most part find the experience rough, but worth it, purporting to feel healthier and, uh, less toxic when it's over.
Part of me wants to jump on the bandwagon. I could eat better, for sure. I do OK with fresh fruits and veggies, but I also do OK with chocolate, ice cream, and an "occasional" bowl of chips with a glass of wine at the end of the day. I've weighed less in my adult life; I've also weighed more, but I don't like the effort it takes to button many of my pants, it's true. After years of being migraine-free, I've been getting them again over the past few months. And I like a food reward. I don't care what the New Age gurus say: ice cream makes me feel better at the end of certain bad days, better than herbal tea and better than going to bed early and better than doing yoga. I'm old-fashioned like that, but I know that's also just a habit that I've not been interested in breaking.
The real question is will the cleanse help get rid of the migraines, make me feel more energetic, help my pants fit better, and help me find a better reward system for myself? Seems like a tall order. Also, my friends in real life are probably quaking in their boots at the idea of me doing a cleansing diet because oooooooh, boy, I am not fun when I'm hungry, and I think any of the cleansing diets are going to involve some level of hunger or feeling of deprivation.
I think that what I should probably consider is giving up soda (I drink a good-sized diet soda four or five times/week), cutting back on the junk food, and being good about going to bed on time. A moderate approach rather than a radical, if brief, regime. But maybe there's something to the cleansing that makes a radical approach worth it?
Who out there has cleansed? Which cleanse did you do? Why did you do it and how did it make you feel? Help me out, Internets. I know you have experience and opinions, and I want to hear them.
Warning: girly talk ahead.
Cleansing diets seem to be all the rage these days. From lifestyle changes to three-week detoxes to elimination diets to pinpoint food sensitivities, everyone seems to be cleansing.
Cleanses fall into two broad categories to me: 1. Can't hurt, might help, and 2. Stuff white people like. (I've not seen cleansing diets on that site, and I don't follow that site closely, but it seems like cleanses would be a good candidate for inclusion.) My friends who have cleansed for the most part find the experience rough, but worth it, purporting to feel healthier and, uh, less toxic when it's over.
Part of me wants to jump on the bandwagon. I could eat better, for sure. I do OK with fresh fruits and veggies, but I also do OK with chocolate, ice cream, and an "occasional" bowl of chips with a glass of wine at the end of the day. I've weighed less in my adult life; I've also weighed more, but I don't like the effort it takes to button many of my pants, it's true. After years of being migraine-free, I've been getting them again over the past few months. And I like a food reward. I don't care what the New Age gurus say: ice cream makes me feel better at the end of certain bad days, better than herbal tea and better than going to bed early and better than doing yoga. I'm old-fashioned like that, but I know that's also just a habit that I've not been interested in breaking.
The real question is will the cleanse help get rid of the migraines, make me feel more energetic, help my pants fit better, and help me find a better reward system for myself? Seems like a tall order. Also, my friends in real life are probably quaking in their boots at the idea of me doing a cleansing diet because oooooooh, boy, I am not fun when I'm hungry, and I think any of the cleansing diets are going to involve some level of hunger or feeling of deprivation.
I think that what I should probably consider is giving up soda (I drink a good-sized diet soda four or five times/week), cutting back on the junk food, and being good about going to bed on time. A moderate approach rather than a radical, if brief, regime. But maybe there's something to the cleansing that makes a radical approach worth it?
Who out there has cleansed? Which cleanse did you do? Why did you do it and how did it make you feel? Help me out, Internets. I know you have experience and opinions, and I want to hear them.
02 November 2010
Looking Back
I've been thinking about the past a lot lately, about the time that John was sick. A coworker's grandson has leukemia and is getting ready to start chemo. Another friend has had surgery to remove a tumor on his kidney. Another is preparing for surgery as the first step in treatment for breast cancer. When I hear about these things, my stomach flips and I can smell the hospital, hear the beeping of the IV machines, feel the adrenaline that powered me through those crazy 2.5 years course through my veins.
I was selfish back then. Maybe I'm still selfish now, but I was certainly selfish back then. John got his diagnosis three weeks after we got married. We'd only really known each other for sixteen months before that. Most everyone else in his life had known him longer, some I'm sure loved him as deeply if not deeper than I did. When he got his diagnosis, I was overwhelmed by emotions, one of the main ones being jealousy of everyone who had known John longer than I had. Everyone who had had the chance to spend more time with him when he was healthy and vibrant. Many, likely most, of them appreciated that time when they had it, just as I appreciated the time John and I had, healthy or well. But so many people got so much more than me, and I was envious and angry about it.
That jealousy made me selfish. Since I had not gotten that time in the past, I was going to get as much of it as I could until he died. Not that it was my decision; I respected John's wishes, of course, and I think we worked together to find a balance of time for each other and time with family and friends. Lots of people loved John. There was much about him to love, that's for sure.
Part of moving on in grief is getting the perspective of the passing of time. I can look back now and see just how blindered I was by our situation, how completely immersed I was in our cancer world. Once the twins came along, it was the cancer and parenting world. And then it was the grief and parenting world. It was all so much to bear. I wanted to be grateful to everyone who helped me through those times, and I thought I did a decent job of it. But I can see now that I often had the energy to think only about John, Maddie, Riley, and myself.
The conversations I've had relatively recently about things being all about me, all the time, have had me thinking about all this. Both of those conversations were with people I respect and love, and so they have stuck with me and I've been working them over in the back of my mind more than I even knew I was. I see where both were coming from, I do. At the same time, I also know that I did the best I could—that I've been doing the best I can—in situations that have ranged from Completely Shitty to Pretty Good, but Still Damn Hard. At times, my best has been lower than my own standards, and often it's been lower than the standards of others. But it's been the imperfect best I can do.
Maddie and Riley and I rode our three bike through the darkness tonight to the ATM so that I could get money to pay the three people who have been caring for them this week. It was a short ride, just a quick after-dinner jaunt that centered me and brought me some moments of calm and of knowing that I'm doing the right things. I'm taking care of Maddie and Riley. I'm taking care of myself. I'm trying to do better at those things when my emotional and physical resources allow. I write this post over and over, a broken record, the same refrain, the need to say it enough that it is real.
I was selfish back then. Maybe I'm still selfish now, but I was certainly selfish back then. John got his diagnosis three weeks after we got married. We'd only really known each other for sixteen months before that. Most everyone else in his life had known him longer, some I'm sure loved him as deeply if not deeper than I did. When he got his diagnosis, I was overwhelmed by emotions, one of the main ones being jealousy of everyone who had known John longer than I had. Everyone who had had the chance to spend more time with him when he was healthy and vibrant. Many, likely most, of them appreciated that time when they had it, just as I appreciated the time John and I had, healthy or well. But so many people got so much more than me, and I was envious and angry about it.
That jealousy made me selfish. Since I had not gotten that time in the past, I was going to get as much of it as I could until he died. Not that it was my decision; I respected John's wishes, of course, and I think we worked together to find a balance of time for each other and time with family and friends. Lots of people loved John. There was much about him to love, that's for sure.
Part of moving on in grief is getting the perspective of the passing of time. I can look back now and see just how blindered I was by our situation, how completely immersed I was in our cancer world. Once the twins came along, it was the cancer and parenting world. And then it was the grief and parenting world. It was all so much to bear. I wanted to be grateful to everyone who helped me through those times, and I thought I did a decent job of it. But I can see now that I often had the energy to think only about John, Maddie, Riley, and myself.
The conversations I've had relatively recently about things being all about me, all the time, have had me thinking about all this. Both of those conversations were with people I respect and love, and so they have stuck with me and I've been working them over in the back of my mind more than I even knew I was. I see where both were coming from, I do. At the same time, I also know that I did the best I could—that I've been doing the best I can—in situations that have ranged from Completely Shitty to Pretty Good, but Still Damn Hard. At times, my best has been lower than my own standards, and often it's been lower than the standards of others. But it's been the imperfect best I can do.
Maddie and Riley and I rode our three bike through the darkness tonight to the ATM so that I could get money to pay the three people who have been caring for them this week. It was a short ride, just a quick after-dinner jaunt that centered me and brought me some moments of calm and of knowing that I'm doing the right things. I'm taking care of Maddie and Riley. I'm taking care of myself. I'm trying to do better at those things when my emotional and physical resources allow. I write this post over and over, a broken record, the same refrain, the need to say it enough that it is real.
01 November 2010
Just in Case
If I post today, then there's a chance that I will do NaBloPoMo, so here's a post, you know, just in case.
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