Memories...

Facebook. It's pretty wild.

Today I became friends with a girl I wasn't particularly nice to, growing up. She was one of my cousin's best friends, but I kind of had a chip on my shoulder about her and wasn't as friendly (back then) as I should have been. Want to know why? Of course you do.

Because, in first grade, she was one of the few girls who would play Army with me, but we always fought over who got to be general. Or, rather, she would declare herself general and go play with our other friends and I would sulk in a corner because *I* wanted to be general.

It didn't occur to me, then, just to think it was cool that other girls would play Army with me. Or to attempt a coups, for that matter. Heh

Grace Under Pressure

If my blog were a Monty Python movie, this would be the part where it arbitrarily cuts from the actual story to some sort of wierd incongruent intermission...

So The Plan was to do the whole Thanksgiving brouhaha at the Urban Princess' house. I was in charge of dessert (of course... heh *preen* ), so my only grocery efforts had been to procure ingredients for a pumpkin pie/pumpkin cheesecake hybrid and a chocolate pecan pie.

And then the kids got sick. And puked. And leaked diarrhea all over the floor (on the tile, thank the FSM!). Yeah. *shudder*

So I had to cancel plans with Her Royal Highness, Urban Princess. HRH UP, if you will. Or not. Whatever.

And that left us with no Thanksgiving. Not the meaningful part... That beauteous meal that is the gastronomical highlight of my year... I LOVE traditional Thanksgiving food. So much so that I was going to make a T-Day spread for my birthday dinner. There's just no way I can cope with eating something lesser tomorrow.

So after Mr. McG got home, I tossed mac and cheese at the people who could tolerate solid food and took off to the grocery store.

$70 later, here I am. My pumpkin cheesecake pies are in the oven, my brine is cooling (I'll put Mr. Turkey in the brine before I go to bed), and I have the basic timeline listed for tomorrow. I only have one oven, after all, so orchestration is imperitive. Immediately after the turkey hits the oven it's time to get the dinner rolls mixing (must be from scratch... bread is always worth it), then yams, then yukon golds boiling for mashed potatoes, then the dressing, the green bean casserole, and finally the cranberries. Complemented with a Ginger Orange Cranberry punch. Whew.

Damn I'm good.

I will be photographing the food. And maybe even a kid or two.

Plus, I'll freeze some leftovers to heat up for my birthday so I won't have to cook (except for the cake... but that's baking, which is much better than cooking).

How Did I Get Here?

This is the kind of day that makes me want to either run FAR FAR AWAY, or just get back into bed and sleep. Either would be acceptable... too bad neither is gonna happen.

My alarm went off at 4:50... which should have been perfect because last night I set out my gym clothes and had everything ready to go. All I needed to do was stumble into them and jet down to the gym. However... I wasn't able to actually go to sleep until midnight only to be awakened at least three times by a grumpy, teething baby. So I stumbled out of bed, turned off the alarm clock and then did one of those double-triple-quadruple takes like the characters in the comics... gym clothes? warm bed? gym clothes? warm bed? gym clothes? warm bed... and in I climbed. Just as I finally pushed the guilt aside and let sleep overtake me again, Thing 1 and Thing 2 came bounding from their bedrooms to partake in the warm morning cuddles... which requires much yelping and complaining and jostling for favorite snuggle positions. By the time that was worked out to some satisfactory compromise, it was time to get up.

Since then I have survived a blur of sticky-oatmeal-all-over-everything breakfast, super cold wait for the bus (with wet hair that ended up drying before I could style it so I'm going to look supa-frumpy all day), solving a thermostat emergency for my Beautiful Russian Neighbor, a haphazardly applied Muggle (used to be GERD-Girl, but she's getting better) diaper that didn't survive a soopa-poopa blow-out... which required a Muggle-Daddy shower while I cleaned poop off of crazy surfaces (cleaning poop chunks off of bio-electrical impedence scales is a pain in the butt!) which brought to my attention that somehow the organic baby shampoo had been dumped all over the floor of the kids' bathroom... and now I have the normal Monday morning hurricane-went-through-the-house mess to catch up with, plus lots of fun extras. AND Bayba and Muggle have appointments to get immunizations in about 20 minutes.

*sigh*

I usually love Mondays. This one, not so much.

Tough

I just got back from the gym. Did weights and then pushed myself HARD on the cross-trainer. Interval course. 30 minutes. How far did I go (in elliptical miles - not sure how that translates to actual road miles)? 4.05 miles. Yeah!

But what really makes me feel tough? Fighting off a dog.

Last night I was trying to coax the baby to sleep. Usually this is accomplished by strapping her to my back in the ergo and then cleaning the kitchen. She zonks out and I move on to wrestling the other two kiddos into bed. On this particular occassion, kitchen cleaning didn't do the trick so I headed out for a walk around the neighborhood.

That didn't work either because, about four blocks from home, we were attacked by a Boston Terrier. Yeah. Thank goodness it was just the terrier. Its friend was barking madly behind the fence and sounded much larger.

Before the attack, I saw it running toward me. I wasn't terribly concerned, at first. I've always thought of Bostons as being quite sweet and people-friendly. Then it jumped and bit me right above the knee. I was so surprised and the adrenaline hit so fast that it didn't hurt. My thinking just went into slow motion as "Crap! The dog is biting me!" began to process. I shook it off, but it kept jumping, biting at my leg. For a few more seconds I continued to react defensively, but the last jump, higher, was too close to the baby.

I side-kicked the dog in the chest. Hard. While saying, "NO!" in my loudest, deepest voice. The dog still jumped and paced and barked, but out of range. So I slowly turned and walked away.

Twice I heard the clicking of its nails on the sidewalk behind me, but I didn't turn and it finally disappeared.

Now I'm trying to process the event. I have never kicked a dog, before. I have always liked dogs, in general, and while I have been wary of some dogs in some situations, I have never been bitten by a dog. I have no bruises. I was not actually hurt - and I can't help but think that if the dog had actually wanted to hurt me, it certainly could have. So what was going on? Did I react appropriately?

If the second dog hadn't been going nuts behind the fence, I would have knocked on the owners door to let them know what happened. But I wasn't going to risk it, so I didn't.

It could have been much worse, but it wasn't. So part of me wants to just let it go and assume that there won't be a problem again.

But what if the baby had been in a stroller and not on my back? What if I'd had another child walking with me? What if the next person to walk by is scared of dogs and screams and runs, inciting the predator instinct?

What a pain in the butt (ha!).

Hmph.

Panem et Circenses, Remix

... iam pridem, ex quo suffragia nulli
uendimus, effudit curas; nam qui dabat olim
imperium, fasces, legiones, omnia, nunc se
continet atque duas tantum res anxius optat,
panem et circenses. ...
(Juvenal, Satire 10.77–81)

... Already long ago, from when we sold our vote to no man,
the People have abdicated our duties; for the People who once upon a time
handed out military command, high civil office, legions — everything, now
restrains itself and anxiously hopes for just two things:
bread and circuses. ...

So.

I made granola bars, this morning. Have I mentioned how much I dislike processed food. I admit I'm as tempted by the pretty boxes and cellophane and time-saving technology as any other descendant of hunter-gatherers. But I'm trying to wean myself away from all that perceived ease. It's just habit, after all. In reality it doesn't seem to be taking any longer to make simple foods from simple ingredients than it did to browse the grocery aisles, sort through boxes and compare prices, take them home, dispose of the first three layers of wrapping to store the stuff, before eventually having to unwrap final boxes and bags, do whatever final prep appeared necessary, and eat a mess of sodium, saturated and/or trans fats and weird chemicals, colors and flavors... all for supposedly easy meals and snacks.

So as the granola bars cool I'm contemplating the idea of ease.

What is easy? What isn't? Is "easy" a good thing or a bad thing?

I see two concepts here - ease as a form of simplicity and serenity versus ease as a purchased escape from all the crap already marketed as necessary and expected.

I've heard the argument, before, that people buy junk food because it's the most inexpensive and the easiest to prepare. Let's take the example of white bread. Usually store brand white bread can be purchased for anywhere between $1.00 and $3.00 per loaf, depending on sales or promotions. It costs me about $0.45 - $0.95 per loaf to bake my own bread. Now that I've made a lot of bread, it's very easy and requires little attention on my part - so most of the bread-making time is actually free for other things. Add in the health benefits and the extra oomph of fresh bread from the oven. No contest.

The biggest obstacle? I have to be home to do it. Easy. As long as I don't get distracted by all the circuses.

What are my circuses?

Classes so I can get paying jobs to buy stuff like newer cars, fancier clothes... and processed foods (because I wouldn't have time to cook the good stuff).

Suburban bourgeoisie classes and sports for my kids (you know the "educational" stuff you stick your kids with because all your friends are doing it).

TV and computer games that suck up my time as I obsess about decompressing from spending my days doing a billion things I think I ought to do, rather than just a few things I actually want to do.

It's all just a way to anesthetize oneself when the cacophony of reality gets too overwhelming.

The Female of the Species is More Deadly than the Male

I'm not a big bug fan... insects, arachnids, whatever. Not my cup of tea. If you want to see me jump into helpless-female-stereotype behavior, just watch me send my husband off spider hunting as I huddle on the sofa, eagerly awaiting news of its demise.

Above all I hate - not just dislike, HATE - wasps.

So there's a busy yellowjacket nest hanging in the eave above my bedroom window. Mr. Geeky McEngineer destroyed the nest the last nasty little monsters built outside the kids' bedroom window. With that threat abolished, we got a little lax about the new nest.

They may not know it yet (but I wouldn't put it past them to have read my mind and formed a plan to gird their skinny waspy abdomens for battle), but their lives end tonight. Why, you might wonder (or not) am I suddenly all motivated? Why is this nest MINE?

Because apparently there is a hole in the screen of my bedroom window. I wouldn't have noticed it, but when I was putting laundry away, this morning, a waspy intruder was busy exploring my baby's basinette, leaving who-knows-what kind of nasty pheremone trail in her wake.

Game on.

Note to all bugs in or around my house: you may think I'm a wimpy pushover, but that's only because you haven't crossed the line yet. You know you have not crossed it because you and your little buggy family still live. As long as you keep yourself out of the way when Mr. G and his shoe-of-death are on call, you're golden. But the second you set one sticky, buggy little appendage on my kids' sleeping surface, your life is forfeit. You meet the Ms. Hyde to my Dr. Jekyll. I promise the introduction will be brief but thorough.

Don't believe me? Ask the dismembered, smushed up wasp now residing in my HEPA filtered vacuum bag.

Or, if that doesn't convince you, witness the annihalation of a whole wasp colony and the nest of corpses it leaves behind.

And stay off the basinette. Got it?

(Edited to add: Title references poem by Rudyard Kipling.)

Memory Game--I Wanna Play Too!!!

Here's how it works:

1. As a comment on my blog, leave one memory that you and I had together. It doesn't matter if you know me a little or a lot, anything you remember!

2. Next, re-post these instructions on your blog and see how many people leave a memory about you. It's actually pretty funny to see the responses. If you leave a memory about me, I'll assume you're playing the game and I'll come to your blog and leave one about you. If you don't want to play on your blog, or if you don't have a blog, I'll leave my memory of you in my comments.

**By the way, it will be very sad if no one plays along...

Keen WUH???

Tonight's dinner was a new culinary adventure for us. I made quinoa.

I highly recommend it, and after reading about the nutrition profile, even Mr. Geeky McEngineer thinks it's worth adopting as one of the dietary staples. Good stuff.

And for those who care, it's a complete protein grain (well, technically it's a seed, not a grain) with no gluten. Thought I'd share.

I was proud of my kids. Brand new food. They never so much as batted an eyelash or squinted in skepticism - just dug in and offered fabulous critique on the finer points of comparison between the quinoa and more usual fare (wild rice, brown rice, barley, polenta, et al.).

Good times at the McEngineer dinner table.

Slow Start

OK,

The last few days have been huge, for me, in the realm of personal growth and actualization, but I'm not ready to sit down and tell everyone all about it. Too much processing left to do, you see.

Talk amongst yourselves. I'll give you a topic: Kids are people, and actually MEMBERS of SOCIETY!!! :o)

--(Required reading for discussion!)--

Et Lux Perpetua

It's been a while since I hit the gym. Oh, don't get me wrong, I've gone to the gym every day.

To take the kids to swimming lessons.

Last week I didn't even bother making childcare reservations. I knew I didn't have it in me to honor the commitment. It was all I could do to just get through the week.

Over the course of the past two weeks, I've been overeating, not exercising... and journeying from the high of having a billion family members join me in my home for a week to the low of trying to reclaim home and routine after their departure (a departure that is depressing independent of all the other factors) whilst GERD-Girl's affliction (see moniker) seemed to increase in frequency and volume.

So Sunday night found me puffy, heavy and depressed. I didn't want to face the Bayba Swimming Ordeals. I was tired of smelling like vomit. And I had reached the point where I wasn't sure I even wanted to be a wife or mother anymore. Not an optimal place to be at the end of a weekend.

Yesterday I asked Bayba if she wanted to continue swimming lessons. (Backstory: Her regular instructor had to leave, mid-session, to return to school and was replaced by a young man who appears to be an excellent teacher. Unfortunately, Bayba FREAKED OUT, insisting he was too scary and refused to participate in her class at all.) She said she didn't. She'd rather wait on the deck while G-Rex completed her swim lessons. OK. We sat through the session. Bayba behaved beautifully. At the end I asked her if she wanted to go back to class tomorrow. She calmly said No, she'd rather wait again. I'm fine with that.

So I made reservations with the childcare facility for the younger kids every day this week. I didn't really feel like working out. So I know this is a crucial crossroads. Am I going to push past the inertia? Am I going to succumb to excuses?

This morning I was so tempted to get back in bed and oversleep accidentally on purpose. I didn't. I forced myself out of bed, showered, and dressed for the gym. All the while I found excuse after excuse to just stay home.

I couldn't think of good arguments against the excuses, so I just observed them as they assaulted me... and continued to prepare the kids. Step by step, we all ended up at the gym. I checked the kids into childcare and trudged up the stairs to the yoga classroom... still pelting myself with reasons why it wasn't worthwhile.

Throughout the hour I moved from pose to pose. Breathing. Trying to still my mind. But I just wasn't feeling it.

Nevertheless, the end of the hour came quickly.

The lights dimmed. In Savasana I squirmed and twitched, trying to get my body aligned and symmetrical. Tried to relax.

Then I breathed deeply and gave up on the idea of stilling my thoughts. Towards the end of the practice, the teacher had commented on adjusting the position to maintain balance and I realized how silly it was for me to struggle to find stillness.

Poses are not still.

Somehow I always thought that the point of each pose was to find the balance and stick, unmoving - all still and serene like the yogis in the magazines.

But it's impossible not to move. The heart still beats. The lungs expand and contract. As each muscle fiber twitches, the mind and body must continually re-evaluate and adjust. I am not failing the pose by being human. I am not failing myself.

Yes, this is profound for me. Acknowledging that something so simple - so DUH! - is such an overwhelming lesson made me laugh a little at myself (internal laughter, of course - I'm not a Phillistine) and reminded me of a friend good-naturedly poking fun of me for my enthusiasm for Buddhism 101 - style discoveries.

Which led me to the realization that this friend has been dead for almost a year now. Yes, it's been nearly a year since I started this particular journey.

As I somberly acknowledged the tweak of pain that came with the remembrance, I also recalled the greatest compliment I've ever received. Yes, from this friend.

Amidst much noise of other discussion he said, "My God, what you can do with a phrase."

It's difficult to maintain Savasana when one's temples are suddenly tickled by surprise tears.

When Depression Isn't

Turns out I wasn't depressed, yesterday. I was appropriately wary of the situation-to-come. But I guess, instead of allowing myself that (and the admission that my kids can be a pain in the butt - hey, I love them, but they totally can!), I set myself to a well-worn diatribe of ought-tos and shoulds.

When I have the distance to laugh about it, I'll blog about the pool hijinks. Right now I just want to breathe a sigh of relief that it's over and enjoy my one day of the week at home.

Mommy McLame-O

I am sitting in my chair, surfing through every email account, social networking account and all the local news sources. I am not actually interested in any of these things. I am avoiding.

What horrible event am I avoiding (you may be dying to know)?

Swimming. I kinda told the kids that I might let them stay in the pool after today's swim lessons. It's family swim, so GERD-Girl and I will don swimwear and join them in the pool. I really really really really don't want to.

How lame is that?

I can't think of an excuse to skip it... and I've been desperately sorting through the emergency files of my brain to come up with some other plan - no matter how extravagant.

The worst part is that I don't really know why I'm feeling this way. So I'm doing everything I can to suck it up and not give in to what seems to be some anxiety/depression combination. I don't want my kids growing up with a billion memories of the things mommy *almost* did with them. I don't want to be a person who doesn't follow through.

It disgusts me that I'm freaking out so much about going swimming.

Why is it so hard to just turn of the computer and go make my kids happy?

Hmph. Again

Know what I like least about my fabulous haircut that I love?

I'll tell ya.

When I can't wear my contacts for whatever reason, I have to wear my black-rimmed glasses (which I also love) - and when that combo collides I swear I look just like Velma on Scooby-Doo.

You Are the Very Gay Velma!

She might not even realize it... But Velma is all about Daphne... not Fred!

What Gay Childhood Icon Are You?

Good Enough

It's been a rough day. Nothing horrible. Just one of those days. I woke up with my usual morning enthusiasm (yes, I'm one of those annoying morning people), but was shortly stymied by the realization that Bayba's night-time Pull-Up had been breached and there were puddles on my bed and in hers (that she shares with G-Rex). Then, later, she wet her pants as I was trying to shovel everyone out the door so we could run off to GERD Girl's 4 month well-baby check up. After the check up I took the kids to lunch at Burgerville. Apparently the presence of speaking children offended the older women who occupied the booth across from us because, after much huffing and grumbling, they removed themselves to an outdoor table, looking daggers at me through the window. I still have no idea what offended them - even Bayba was well-behaved - other than (possibly) the discussion I was having with G-Rex about how petroleum, OPEC, and U.S.-based oil companies affect our local economies. Whatever. Then we went to the library... and I hate to admit this, but no matter how much I like the library for my own selfish purposes, I find the kiddie segment of the library to be a bit wearing.

Anyway, blah blah blah. Fill in the rest of my day with potty training accidents, a three-year-old dumping out half her bath water on the floor, an eight-year-old disgusted by not being allowed to play with her friends unsupervised (long story), yadda yadda yadda...

Oh yeah, and some seriously impressive vomiting from GERD girl...

*sigh*

As soon as Mr. Geeky McEngineer (my husband) walked in the door, I handed off the younger kids and G-Rex and I ran away to Whole Foods... a 40 minute drive.

Now, as a little background - y'all know I have some body image baggage. So, yes, in addition to my nasty little gym addiction, I've been... ugh... yes... d i e t i n g. Serious Calorie restriction. Get off my case. Yeah, I already know better.

Anyway, we had a little time left over after GERD Girl's appointment, so the ND asked if I had anything else. So I brought up some issues I've been having with splitting fingernails and some other such miniscule complaints. Turns out I seem to have some mineral deficiencies. And I probably haven't been getting enough fat. OK. So, at least for today, I decided to eat whatever-the-heck I feel like eating.

So what did I eat for dinner tonight? Why... a spinach salad, of course. Followed by an intense Spanish cheese on cranberry whole grain crackers accompanied by a Petite Syrah that's really growing on me. I find it amusing that what I eat when I have no limits is probably exactly how and what I should be eating.

Yes, I realize that I discover and relearn this ever other month. *sigh*

So now I think I'll have a little slice of mint chocolate cake and ponder how I managed to get to the end of a long grumpy day and still feel good enough.

Good enough for what isn't the point. I just generally feel OK.

Works for me.

Not the Sharpest Tool...

Today I performed a ridiculous act of stupidity.

When it was time to go to the gym, the two older girls were playing sooooo nicely together. They didn't want to interrupt their game to go out into the 90' heat. The baby was sleeping. So I thought, hey, the best thing would be to cancel the gym thing and just stay home and enjoy the quiet.

The kids were thrilled. So I called the Y and cancelled the childcare reservations.

As Murphy would have it, the girls were at each other's throats about 5 minutes before I would have surrendered them to childcare - had I stuck with The Original Plan. Their fighting woke the baby.

So now I'm in a house without A/C with a restless teething baby and two girls who want me to referee every 5.8 minutes. I feel fat and grumpy and cheated.

When will I learn to make sure I take care of myself? Everyone would have been so much happier today if I'd just stuck with my original selfish plan.

And the Oscar Goes To...

And the Oscar goes to...

***drumroll***

The mommy in the red minivan for appearing interested and involved as her eight-year-old decided to count, out loud, to 500... in ROMAN NUMERALS! ("I. I, I. I, I, I. I, V...")

And if that mommy will keep walking stage left, she can snag her Patient-Mom-Of-The-Year award for keeping her composure as her three year old refused to leave the pool at the end of her swimming lesson... This three-year-old clutched her water toys and high-tailed it to the center of the pool, always just out of arms reach of her swim instructor and avoiding the mommy who, clutching a baby in a sling, ran around the periphery of the pool, attempting to corner the little darling. The mommy managed to sort through eight million potential tactics and scenarios without damaging any important brain cells and was able to avoid jumping into the pool, fully clothed, to drag the little cutie out of there by uttering the simple warning, "If you don't listen to your teacher, put your toys away, and come out of the pool now, you won't be able to come back for any more swimming lessons." After this warning was put forth, the three year old very calmly and sweetly returned the toys to their proper place and climbed out of the pool as if complying had been her idea in the first place.

Somebody give that mom some CHOCOLATE!

Duh

Today, as I made lunch, I marvelled over how good I feel. Despite being up all night with a congested three-month-old with reflux and despite the three-year-old being all sniffly and grumpy and despite the reality that the previous issues mean I couldn't go work out at the gym today... despite all that, I feel vibrant and alive. Strange.

Then I began to pat myself on the back a little because I've been eating quite well today. High protein fruit and yogurt smoothie for breakfast (and again for mid-morning snack) and then the lunch I was making consisted of a quesadilla (skim mozzarella on a multi-grain tortilla), half a banana, carrot sticks and hummus (what can I say, I'm multi-cultural). Nice.

Of course, then I had to contrast to yesterday when I basically ate junk all day. I skipped breakfast so I scarfed down two Luna bars and a mint Skinny Cow ice cream sandwich... then made quesadillas for lunch and ate two of those... then ate chocolates a friend brought over... and then celebrated a milestone for G-Rex by ordering pizza for dinner.

When I look back over my week... and month... I realized that I eat horribly when I hang out with friends. Is it the stress of socializing? Or is it that hanging out with friends feels like a party, so I subconsciously justify binging? Or is it a combo of those two combined with my practice of baking all sorts of unhealthy goodies in honor of my friends - stuff I normally know better than to keep around? Hmm.

But I do kind of wonder if part of my social anxiety might be caused or exacerbated by the difference in nutrition.

Well, there went my allotted Pondering Time for the day. I'm off to dress lollipoppits in their ball gowns.

Ahem...

So tonight I was telling my husband about The Urban Princess' comment on my last blog entry. He laughed... a little too much. I admit I might have been a little defensive. But I have to laugh about his final statement on the matter.

"No honey, you're not OCD."
"I know!"
"In your case it's OCO"
"OCO?"
"Obsessive-Compulsive ORDER."

Hmph.

Irony

Wednesday night I had a lull while nursing Miss M, which I decided to use by writing up a task list for Thursday. This morning, while trying to scurry around, picking up the living room before the kids woke up, I found the notebook sitting on the table beside my rocking chair. It said:

Thursday 3/06/08
To Do:













That's all I had time to write down between diaper changes, feedings, and all the other stuff of life. I think I'm going to post that "list" on my fridge as a touchstone to reality. It makes me laugh every time I see it.

The day after Miss M was born, I was telling my Dad all about the action-packed super-fast birth and how I'd assumed I'd have at least 8-12 hours of labor... My Dad's response was, "I guess that's what happens when we assume we know what nature is going to do."

I'm a planner. A list-maker. A schedule-follower. These things make me feel competent and in control. As with the awesome strength and unpredictability of nature, it's probably good to be reminded (occassionally) about the nebulous character of time. So I didn't get any "chores" done. Between the shared efforts of my husband and father the important tasks have been taken care of so I can take the time to focus on the baby and find a few extra minutes for the other children. I think I've written my last "To Do" list - for a little while, anyway.

Live Like There's No Tomorrow

I had yet another midwife appointment, this morning. Not very eventful except that they have a midwifery student there today and I consented to let her do the exam (as opposed to the "real" midwife). The student was probably about my Mom's age and wearing a CTR ring. I saw the flash of the shield on the ring as she stooped to squish my abdomen around and asked if it was, indeed a CTR ring. She confirmed that it was and seemed pleased that I knew anything about such things. We didn't get into any deep religious discussion or anything - it was just kind of amusing (in a good way).

After all - I don't look LDS (no garments or flower prints - heck, I don't even wear a wedding ring). So I guess she wouldn't expect much "insider" knowledge, based on my appearance. And due to the environment (a female empowering midwifery practice with Goddess symbolism all over the place), I didn't expect a middle-aged LDS woman to be providing care (especially not as a student).

She did an excellent job; very thorough, good questions, very good listener, extremely competent vibe... I think she'll be a great midwife.

I just love it when people don't quite fit into the neat identity pigeonholes.

My Midwestern friend finally had a chance to update us, yesterday. Her son is still alive. He doesn't really talk much, anymore, and they had to find him a wheelchair because his balance center is too "off" for him to be able to walk. He isn't eating much, and the narcotic pain relievers aren't making as big a difference in his comfort as they used to. The poor little guy is in near-constant pain. All these details just blow my mind.

I can not imagine having to watch my child go through such pain and deterioration. Even trying to imagine... my brain can only follow the sympathy/empathy path so far and then it just shuts down. It hurts too much.

When I was fourteen and my Mom had cancer, I remember wishing that I could take it from her. I wished that somehow we could swap - I would have it so she'd be OK. I don't know if all teens are as ego-centric and self-absorbed as I was. It just didn't occur to me that such a trade probably would have made everything worse for her, not better. Of course, until you have your own children, you have no idea how different and more powerful that love is from anything else in human experience.

I'm so thankful for my children and for the time I have with them.

I've been seeing a lot, lately, about how people should live every day as if it's their last. I have to say that, despite the general timbre of this post, I disagree.

The idea of living like there's no tomorrow imparts a desperation and over-sentimentality that (in my opinion) diminishes experience, rather than enhances it. I absolutely think we can all benefit by living mindfully, being aware of ourselves and the world around us and cherishing life as it happens, rather than constantly rushing from Point A to B and Activity X to Y... assuming that we'll do what we really want to be doing "later" - when we're done with our never-ending lists of Things To Do.

But clinging to transitory experiences like they're our last is not the antidote to this popular way of Being. Living each day as if it's your last is anxiety-producing and sorrowful. It's still a way of moving through an out-of-control world that's acting on you - rather than meaningfully navigating conscious choices and savoring the results.

Yesterday I received the most recent edition of Yoga Journal, and one small article really caught my attention.

Just about everyone has probably read about how to conduct an audit of their personal finances and set a budget, so that a person can take responsibility for their financial life and use their resources more meaningfully. As far as I know, this is something that just about anyone would consider a good idea.

The article recommends doing the same form of audit on our use of time.

Wow.

It totally makes sense. After all, time is the most precious resource we have - and one that can be painfully finite.

So my project for this weekend is to audit the way I use my time. I don't think I've been doing an effective job of allocating my time. I fritter away far too much of my time on things I don't care all that much about - TV, computer games, acting polite while letting other people bleed time away from things that matter...

It's been years since I opened up my oil paints. Half-written (or - worse - pages upon pages of rough outlines and research) novels litter random binders in dusty boxes of the garage. I don't get enough exercise. I read Yoga Journal but haven't dusted off my mat in months. I haven't been to the library in weeks. Ridiculous.

And if I'm not doing anything to take care of myself, what am I really giving to my kids? What am I teaching them?

This should be an interesting weekend.