I don't know if I've been coming across as preoccupied in my entries or I'm just hyper-aware of it in real life, but you might have picked up that something's been going on with me and today I'm going to write about it. The Cliff Notes version: I've been having headaches for the past four weeks. Not debilitatingly painful or constant, but enough that I've been concerned because they came out of nowhere and I want make sure they're not a sign of something else. I've been to the doctor twice, the first time resulting in a diagnosis of tension headaches because they seemed to progress during the day. The second time I visited because they were coming at all different times, not just in the afternoon, and there have been a few other symptoms to which I might not have given credence if I didn't prioritize being around into HR's adulthood. On my second visit my PC decided this was out of her area of expertise and referred me to a neurologist, who I will see in a few weeks (the soonest she could get an appointment). I'm not taking this as a sign that something's dreadfully wrong, necessarily, merely that someone who specializes in the cranial area might have a better idea of what's going on. And that's cool. The sooner we get someone who knows what's what, the better.
My boss has a saying, "When you hear hooves, think horses, not zebras."
Which I think is supposed to mean, don't automatically jump to the worst
conclusion, or panic before you know for sure what you're panicking
about. For most of my life I've been very skilled at living within this mindset. I'm not a worrier as a natural disposition. I can't help worrying sometimes, but I can usually keep it at bay until I have something to really worry about. This situation has presented a challenge. The truth is I have a lot of feelings about it. To which I am entitled, of course, but I'm trying to go about my life as normally and peacefully as possible until I know what I'm dealing with. I can't help indulging in wild speculation about what it could be and what might happen. Sure, I know that there's no point in living in fear of the unknown, it's wasted time and energy. But even being aware of that doesn't keep a zebra from galloping into the picture now and again. Mostly I'm doing OK, give or take the odd panic attack.
I haven't written about it before now because, a) BORING. Oh, your head hurts? How thrilling. It's a snooze to write about as well. B) I'm not trolling for diagnoses. I don't want to know what anyone thinks it might be. I've already talked everything through with my doctor from my birth control method to potential head injury to any and all migraine symptoms, and I'm comfortable that she's competent and so will the neuro be. C) I'm pretty sure that everyone who reads this knows me, and most care about me at least a little, so I didn't want to worry anyone. I'm also sensitive about coming across as overly dramatic. Headaches could be anything, and nothing. I'm not in so much pain that I can't do my job at work or do my job at home or even hang out and have fun. Some days are worse than others, but nothing's been so drastic that I've taken to my fainting couch. Overall, something's just not right, and so I'm getting help. (Also please still don't worry, ok? XO)
I have an MRI on Monday morning (I've never had one before and I'm trying to put off that freakout until the last minute), then see the neuro mid-March. Best case, it turns out to be nothing at all, just a freak thing I can live with. Medium case, it's something on a sliding scale from minor to serious that can be treated. Worst case - I can't actually say what that is, both because I'm loath to conjure it and, frankly, from what I've seen, there are things worse than dying. The point is, whatever it is, I can handle it, because I am mentally strong, and I am fortunate enough to have a huge and awesome support system as well as decent health insurance. I'll keep you posted.
Until then...
Thursday, February 28, 2013
Tuesday, February 26, 2013
Dear Huggies, GFY
"There are all sorts of great ways to spend Rewards Points. You've bought, you've entered, you've earned. Now it's time to Reward yourself, Mom. Go ahead, you deserve it."
Yes Huggies! I'm the only one who purchases or changes diapers in my home, and then I kick back on my couch in my extremely practical stilettos, dreaming about what all moms dream about: cookware! Oh marketing geniuses, how do you know me so well? Are you hiding in my house right now? In my head? It's true that I have yet to find a product that doesn't fall prey to sexist marketing, but baby-related items and housecleaning supplies take the crown of shame. How have we not moved on yet?
Anyway, gotta go, I saw a commercial for a new vacuum cleaner during my soaps the other day, and I need a few minutes in private with that image.
Yes Huggies! I'm the only one who purchases or changes diapers in my home, and then I kick back on my couch in my extremely practical stilettos, dreaming about what all moms dream about: cookware! Oh marketing geniuses, how do you know me so well? Are you hiding in my house right now? In my head? It's true that I have yet to find a product that doesn't fall prey to sexist marketing, but baby-related items and housecleaning supplies take the crown of shame. How have we not moved on yet?
Anyway, gotta go, I saw a commercial for a new vacuum cleaner during my soaps the other day, and I need a few minutes in private with that image.
Monday, February 25, 2013
At 34 Months
At some point I'm going to have to correct HR's grammar, but his preferred form of polite inquiry, "Mama, can I may have...", just tickles me. Most of what he's doing these days is knocking me over with amazement and gratitude that I get to be his mother. That is one treacle tart of a sentence and I own up to it and I don't care. He is not the golden scion of the universe whose every action is beyond reproach, I'm not even trying to paint that picture, just that this becoming-an-independent-person stage is one fun surprise after another. I was obviously prepared for my kid to plant a flag for babylandia in the center of my heart before I even knew what sex he would be, but if you told me the second I first laid eyes on him that I could ever love him more than I did at that moment I wouldn't have thought it possible. It's a terrific shock every time I re-assess how much of my life he owns.
This weekend we made a quick trip to visit Mike's parents. It was a great experience because as you know I'm very pro-grandparents, but he also had such a blast it made my heart sing. We talked about going to Connecticut for days before leaving, and he got increasingly more excited because he remembers things now and he knows that staying at Grandma's means unlimited access to vintage Fisher Price toys and the height of the exotic: Dr. Seuss movies on VHS. The lil'est hipster, that's my boy. He's also interacting easily with his grandparents these days, which is nice because there were times where his loving-ness was tempered with "don't even LOOK at me, poison strangers" hysterics. I know it was a normal phase, but I'm glad that seems to have passed. He even tolerated the doting ladies at my father-in-law's housing complex, which I was not expecting. Mike's youngest brother and wife came by with their little girl who is four months younger than HR, and every time they see each other they get a little closer to being playmates. Unfortunately her enthusiasm for using the potty did not rub off on him, but all in good time. I'm psyched that they get to grow up together, even though they don't live too close, they see each other enough they should be able to establish a proper partner-in-crime relationship.
One more super endearing thing before I go: when HR is playing with his trains or his guys or whatever, he narrates as if he's reading a book. He'll be doing whatever with some Sesame Street figures and tell the story as it happens in his mind, like, "ERNIE! WHERE ARE YOU?, he said." It makes sense that he would do this because he's been trained by being read to, also most kids' shows have a narrator. But it still cracks me up. I just have to be a superspy whenever I want to observe him in the act because once he knows he's being watched, game over.
Mike and I can't get enough of hearing HR sing the song in today's musical selection. Technically this is not great parenting on our part as he wouldn't know the song without us teaching it to him, but for what it lacks in appropriateness, it makes up in comedic gold.
This weekend we made a quick trip to visit Mike's parents. It was a great experience because as you know I'm very pro-grandparents, but he also had such a blast it made my heart sing. We talked about going to Connecticut for days before leaving, and he got increasingly more excited because he remembers things now and he knows that staying at Grandma's means unlimited access to vintage Fisher Price toys and the height of the exotic: Dr. Seuss movies on VHS. The lil'est hipster, that's my boy. He's also interacting easily with his grandparents these days, which is nice because there were times where his loving-ness was tempered with "don't even LOOK at me, poison strangers" hysterics. I know it was a normal phase, but I'm glad that seems to have passed. He even tolerated the doting ladies at my father-in-law's housing complex, which I was not expecting. Mike's youngest brother and wife came by with their little girl who is four months younger than HR, and every time they see each other they get a little closer to being playmates. Unfortunately her enthusiasm for using the potty did not rub off on him, but all in good time. I'm psyched that they get to grow up together, even though they don't live too close, they see each other enough they should be able to establish a proper partner-in-crime relationship.
One more super endearing thing before I go: when HR is playing with his trains or his guys or whatever, he narrates as if he's reading a book. He'll be doing whatever with some Sesame Street figures and tell the story as it happens in his mind, like, "ERNIE! WHERE ARE YOU?, he said." It makes sense that he would do this because he's been trained by being read to, also most kids' shows have a narrator. But it still cracks me up. I just have to be a superspy whenever I want to observe him in the act because once he knows he's being watched, game over.
Mike and I can't get enough of hearing HR sing the song in today's musical selection. Technically this is not great parenting on our part as he wouldn't know the song without us teaching it to him, but for what it lacks in appropriateness, it makes up in comedic gold.
Thursday, February 21, 2013
Coping Strategies
I'm not sure of the exact location of my craw, but I do know that I've got some things lodged in there. In other words, this is not my favorite workday ever. It's nothing to do with the people I work with, just a situation that's a by-product of dealing with other people integral to my job and, whenever it comes up, I can't stop taking it personally. I'm aware that this is boring and maybe cryptic (hashing out the details would be even more boring, trust me) but I don't like to go into the specifics of what I do, for many reasons. Writing about it in this roundabout way right now is an attempt to impress upon my brain that what's getting to me isn't actually about me as a person or something I did to someone. The sooner I internalize that message, the sooner the dislodging process begins. Also, the idea of being met at the door by my favorite gentlemen tonight, a good run or maybe yoga after HR's in bed, and a glass of wine that didn't come from a box (for once) are things to look forward to in terms of fully getting right. I also have the kind of coworkers I can talk this out with and that is priceless.
A word about being met at the door, though: the enthusiasm with which I am received every night--even though we actually need the money from my working--is really the #1 reason to leave the house every day. As soon as I put my key in the door when I get home, I hear those little feet speeding around the living room to meet me, and when I come inside I always get a smile and a hug and kiss, usually accompanied with "Mama, I so glad you're home!" Poor Mike gets the short shrift once again in that department, as HR is only ever awake for his return on Sunday afternoons, and on all the other days he's just always there so is not treated with the special-ness he deserves. The woes of a stay-at-home-parent.
Anyway, just picturing my evening reception has already helped calm me to the point where I'm not seeking frustration cookies. Fine, I'll probably still eat a cookie or two, but they won't automatically crumble under a ton of emotional weight.
And here's a song that usually fixes me right up. Terrible video quality, but fantastic ode to the serial comma.
A word about being met at the door, though: the enthusiasm with which I am received every night--even though we actually need the money from my working--is really the #1 reason to leave the house every day. As soon as I put my key in the door when I get home, I hear those little feet speeding around the living room to meet me, and when I come inside I always get a smile and a hug and kiss, usually accompanied with "Mama, I so glad you're home!" Poor Mike gets the short shrift once again in that department, as HR is only ever awake for his return on Sunday afternoons, and on all the other days he's just always there so is not treated with the special-ness he deserves. The woes of a stay-at-home-parent.
Anyway, just picturing my evening reception has already helped calm me to the point where I'm not seeking frustration cookies. Fine, I'll probably still eat a cookie or two, but they won't automatically crumble under a ton of emotional weight.
And here's a song that usually fixes me right up. Terrible video quality, but fantastic ode to the serial comma.
Wednesday, February 20, 2013
Ten Years of "Oh Honey, No..."
I am by no means the fashion police. I think I have OK taste, and I like to look nice, but I've addressed on several occasions the ways I've fallen prey to many a sartorial no-no. Even as I've been an offender of my current personal standards, I strongly feel that the darkest time that I've lived through, fashion wise, fell between 1996 and 2006. Not the outrageous 1980s or tacky 1970s. I'm talking the seemingly endless days of cheap, disposable, ill-fitting stuff that looked that way even in the moment. Spaghetti strap tank tops that cut straight across the chest. Ugh, chokers. Eyebrows plucked to non-existence. And the all-too-visible thong (the worst). Am I alone here, or do I make a compelling argument?
Exhibit A: I think I like Drew Barrymore, and she looks great now, but this was not her finest moment.
And let's all take a moment to reflect on a poster child of the era, JLH. Belly button exposed + choker + mom jeans (note the waistband is only just beginning to make the exodus toward the hips- a look that would be a whole nother icky thing a couple years later) - I could make a bingo card from this.
Not coincidentally at all, some sketchy things were happening in music and culture as well, chiefly in the rise of reality TV and faux-lebrities.
Clearly the ugliness was a chronic condition across the sexes. Remember this douchery? (Ironically, "douche" means shower in French).
And even the red carpet stalwarts were looking pretty rough.
What in the world was happening?
It was just a very gross time to be dressing oneself. I don't think better looking things were even available for purchase, though I can't say that I looked too hard. Still, even as there will always be pits of unattractiveness in any time period, I'm glad that this particular mess is in the past. It'll be interesting to see how the 2010s fare in the annals of fashion history. I have to give props to the addictive tumblr Old Loves for providing many of these shots as well as distilling the essence of that decade for me enough to inspire this post (check it out if you haven't, but block out an afternoon because you won't be able to stop clicking through).
For a palate cleanser, the always impeccable Mr. Bryan Ferry.
Exhibit A: I think I like Drew Barrymore, and she looks great now, but this was not her finest moment.
And let's all take a moment to reflect on a poster child of the era, JLH. Belly button exposed + choker + mom jeans (note the waistband is only just beginning to make the exodus toward the hips- a look that would be a whole nother icky thing a couple years later) - I could make a bingo card from this.
Not coincidentally at all, some sketchy things were happening in music and culture as well, chiefly in the rise of reality TV and faux-lebrities.
Clearly the ugliness was a chronic condition across the sexes. Remember this douchery? (Ironically, "douche" means shower in French).
And even the red carpet stalwarts were looking pretty rough.
What in the world was happening?
It was just a very gross time to be dressing oneself. I don't think better looking things were even available for purchase, though I can't say that I looked too hard. Still, even as there will always be pits of unattractiveness in any time period, I'm glad that this particular mess is in the past. It'll be interesting to see how the 2010s fare in the annals of fashion history. I have to give props to the addictive tumblr Old Loves for providing many of these shots as well as distilling the essence of that decade for me enough to inspire this post (check it out if you haven't, but block out an afternoon because you won't be able to stop clicking through).
For a palate cleanser, the always impeccable Mr. Bryan Ferry.
Tuesday, February 19, 2013
Champagne and Roses, Diamonds on Her Fingers
Just getting over a touch of the bon vivant, and boy do I need a rest! All that leaving the house and social interaction is exhausting when you've been languishing in the stretchy pants-couch-and-dvr circuit for nigh upon three years. Truly I do cherish my lazy-ass time, but it's so nice to have the chance to get out and do things here and there. This weekend was a regular spoil of doing things, from a Friday night sleepover hang with other friends-with-kids, to good old Sunday night trivia with my dad and a couple of other friends to me crashing Mike's work party last night. I look forward to lots of evening snuggling with HR tonight followed by early to bed, but it was a good run. My parents' impromptu visit made it all possible, which was awesome for us because they are awesome and built-in childcare is awesome, but also it's so important to us for HR to spend time with any of his grandparents any time he can.
It is humbling to realize I am completely out of nightlife shape and will likely never get back to my weight class there, as it were. But I'm cool with where I am in my journey, this extended period of domestic coziness with room for the occasional rave-up. I just bought my ticket to Slick Rick and Big Daddy Kane, but it's not until the end of March so it's good that I have more than a month to endurance train. To the high life!
It is humbling to realize I am completely out of nightlife shape and will likely never get back to my weight class there, as it were. But I'm cool with where I am in my journey, this extended period of domestic coziness with room for the occasional rave-up. I just bought my ticket to Slick Rick and Big Daddy Kane, but it's not until the end of March so it's good that I have more than a month to endurance train. To the high life!
Thursday, February 14, 2013
A Hidden Track of "Shipoopi" Must Also Exist
Most of the time my life is a valentine. What a jerk to say that. But it's true, I've been dealt a good hand. It's not a fairy tale by any means (though I do think it's bizarre that "fairy tale" has become aspirational when you consider all the violence in the roots of most beloved stories). I consider it more like a box of Lucky Charms-- most of the marshmallow bits are represented, even on the not-so-great days. I've got no beef with Valentine's Day, not like I did in my younger knee-jerk cynical days. But it's also not really my jam. I don't have a tradition with Mike, and I don't consider it a special occasion for us. As he gets older I'm sure we'll do something for HR, but for this year it's just a day. I mean, what's the difference when you're under the impression that you're king of the world anyway?
I'm not saying I'm above Valentine's Day or that people who observe it are lame, not at all. With all the terrible-ness in the world, I do think it's wonderful that there's a day to celebrate love. But it's also a bummer that historically our society has exploited the sentiment to make a lotta cheddah for corporations, and in the process caused people feel somehow lacking. And then it's expected we all go back to being dingleberries for the rest of the year. That's not cool.
Anyway, from me to you, whatever makes you happy. In honor of VD, or for no reason. Here's the Beatles covering The Music Man and I maintain it's just the cutest thing, year-round.
I'm not saying I'm above Valentine's Day or that people who observe it are lame, not at all. With all the terrible-ness in the world, I do think it's wonderful that there's a day to celebrate love. But it's also a bummer that historically our society has exploited the sentiment to make a lotta cheddah for corporations, and in the process caused people feel somehow lacking. And then it's expected we all go back to being dingleberries for the rest of the year. That's not cool.
Anyway, from me to you, whatever makes you happy. In honor of VD, or for no reason. Here's the Beatles covering The Music Man and I maintain it's just the cutest thing, year-round.
Wednesday, February 13, 2013
My Weird Secret
Or let's just say, one of them:
I take a picture of myself every day that I'm in the office. It started as a novelty when I got my first photobooth software, and then I just made it a habit. For awhile I posted them on my old online diary, as a signoff/memory stamp type thing (I won't be doing that in this blog). Then when I closed up shop there, I kept taking them out of habit and just stored them and never looked at them. I assumed they would be interesting to me someday I guess, and today was the day I decided to take an interest. I thought it might be cool to see a side-by-side comparison of myself, to get a visual of the aging process. Groundbreaking result of the experiment: I got older, and it shows. But not as much as I thought. I suppose if I keep doing it for 10 or 20 years it might make more of an impression, but I can't imagine keeping this up for that long. Anyway, I could just tell you I did all that and not show you, but I'm taking the "show, don't tell" tenet of writing literally today.
Voila, me on this date (or close to this date) for the past six years of my life.
From year to year, I've changed a lot, and then obviously not at all. The conclusion is, I really should be doing this with my kid. Maybe I'll start when I get home tonight.
I'm going to go do something useful to humanity now.
I take a picture of myself every day that I'm in the office. It started as a novelty when I got my first photobooth software, and then I just made it a habit. For awhile I posted them on my old online diary, as a signoff/memory stamp type thing (I won't be doing that in this blog). Then when I closed up shop there, I kept taking them out of habit and just stored them and never looked at them. I assumed they would be interesting to me someday I guess, and today was the day I decided to take an interest. I thought it might be cool to see a side-by-side comparison of myself, to get a visual of the aging process. Groundbreaking result of the experiment: I got older, and it shows. But not as much as I thought. I suppose if I keep doing it for 10 or 20 years it might make more of an impression, but I can't imagine keeping this up for that long. Anyway, I could just tell you I did all that and not show you, but I'm taking the "show, don't tell" tenet of writing literally today.
Voila, me on this date (or close to this date) for the past six years of my life.
2008
Your standard whippersnapper
2009
Really, why am I doing this?
2010
Uhh....
2011
Sleepless parent era: let the aging truly begin
2012
SERIOUSLY
2013
Same sweater, similar pose. Huh.
From year to year, I've changed a lot, and then obviously not at all. The conclusion is, I really should be doing this with my kid. Maybe I'll start when I get home tonight.
I'm going to go do something useful to humanity now.
Tuesday, February 12, 2013
Maybe Tonight I'll Dream of MCA
When my Aunt Sue died, I dreamed of her all the time. I haven't had a Sue Sue dream in years (I can't believe it's been 13 of them), but I just figured when I lost someone close to me, that would be their way of living on in my mind. When my Pup died, my hero, and favorite person in the world, I hardly ever dreamed about him. And I can't attribute it to anything. I suppose I had hoped to, but maybe I was scared to relive the difficult times and I was protecting myself? And then I wonder if Aunt Sue was on my mind so much more because she was so young, and her illness was so sudden, and there was more of a sense of unfinished business? Like I was still holding on subconsciously because nothing made me think it was OK to let go? Pup had lived a relatively long life, and the last few years of his life were sadder and sadder as his Alzheimer's advanced. The end, when he had his stroke, was nearly a blessing. I had been there to witness. And maybe that's how I made my peace. Again, who says dreams ever have to mean anything, or that I could have any control over them?
Last night I had my first Nik dream. On one hand I can't believe it took so long, but on the other I have a feeling a door has been opened, and I'm going to be seeing a lot of her in my sleep, in that way where I realize it's her and then remember she's gone and it makes no sense, but then all the sense. Her cameo last night came when I was going to get in a car with a bunch of people and a song came on that made me think of her and I was wistful, saying to the person next to me that it was hard to hear things I would have shared with her. And the person of course was Niki. And she didn't say anything. And I woke up maybe then, maybe a little afterward. I didn't remember the dream for quite awhile, and recalling it, I didn't know how to feel, I guess mostly glad to see her again.
Anyway. This morning HR was being a crankster about something, and the Beastie Boys were playing so I scooped him up and started bouncing around with him and it turned everything around. I don't even especially like this number in the scheme of the Beastie oeuvre (frankly, nothing from "Licensed to Ill" did much for me after junior high) but we really got into it and made up a chant that went, "Funk-Y! Monk-EY!" and marched around yelling it and there may have been percussion instruments involved and the point is, I'm having a pretty great day, thanks for asking, but that moment at 9 a.m. has yet to be topped. So thanks again, music, for what you do for my life in mysteriously helpful ways.
Last night I had my first Nik dream. On one hand I can't believe it took so long, but on the other I have a feeling a door has been opened, and I'm going to be seeing a lot of her in my sleep, in that way where I realize it's her and then remember she's gone and it makes no sense, but then all the sense. Her cameo last night came when I was going to get in a car with a bunch of people and a song came on that made me think of her and I was wistful, saying to the person next to me that it was hard to hear things I would have shared with her. And the person of course was Niki. And she didn't say anything. And I woke up maybe then, maybe a little afterward. I didn't remember the dream for quite awhile, and recalling it, I didn't know how to feel, I guess mostly glad to see her again.
Anyway. This morning HR was being a crankster about something, and the Beastie Boys were playing so I scooped him up and started bouncing around with him and it turned everything around. I don't even especially like this number in the scheme of the Beastie oeuvre (frankly, nothing from "Licensed to Ill" did much for me after junior high) but we really got into it and made up a chant that went, "Funk-Y! Monk-EY!" and marched around yelling it and there may have been percussion instruments involved and the point is, I'm having a pretty great day, thanks for asking, but that moment at 9 a.m. has yet to be topped. So thanks again, music, for what you do for my life in mysteriously helpful ways.
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