What a lovely day. My Mom took the kids for some good old fashioned Nana/grandchildren quality time and I spent the day with my Dad. I had to follow him into town so that he could drop his truck off to get the brakes fixed (finally!). But mostly we just spent the day alternately chatting and reading. We talked about all sorts of stuff from fluffy chitchat stuff to how the kids were doing with the new knowledge of his impending death to how he was doing with his impending death. It was such a lovely day. And it was a day that I could not have had with him even a month ago.
I think I had to go away for a couple of months to do my own work. To trudge through the deep anger I had. To make peace with the denial and fear of facing my life and the world without my Dad. Now I am able to sit with him, as his daughter, and talk or just be in silence. And I cannot tell you what that means to me. After 33 years, there is finally peace in our relationship. There is understanding, love and acceptance for who we both are and what we had to experience to get here. I mean, I’ve always been a Daddy’s girl. Even when I was so angry at him I could hardly see straight, I was a Daddy’s girl. But through the internal work we have both done over the past couple of months, our relationship has reached a new level.
There is a tremendous amount of freedom in this acceptance. Freedom to cry at the beauty of his life and all that he’s given. Freedom to celebrate this man who played such a gigantic role in shaping who I am and who my children are. Freedom to laugh as things arise regardless of how irreverent or inappropriate that laughter may be and because we’d both rather laugh than cry. And while I would do almost anything to be able to take this revelation far into the future with my Dad, I plan on making every single second I have with him count.
Showing posts with label acceptance. Show all posts
Showing posts with label acceptance. Show all posts
3/10/10
Travel Plans and Reminders
Our trip to NM has been delayed yet again. This time by weather. My parents got a big snowstorm last night and it appears that same storm is on its way here as our sunny day deteriorated into flurries and freezing temps. So now I’m shooting for a Saturday departure. It’s supposed to warm up again by Friday so a day of sun should give the passes time to melt and return to asphalt. Plus it gives me more time to finish laundry, get audio books and pack. As well as letting The Boy finish out the week of school since he’ll be missing two weeks of school which makes me a little nervous. And hopefully The Girl will go to school again tomorrow morning. I say hopefully because her eye is red and now I’m all paranoid about her having pink eye after her teacher made a huge deal out of it.
And this whole, “we’re having another baby” thing is now really real. Not that it hasn’t been. But with my OB appointment yesterday, we officially let the cat out of the bag and have been spreading the good news far and wide. Now that people know, it gives the whole thing a bit more of a tangible feel. Well that and the fact that I’m sitting here in maternity pants because my burgeoning belly is sizing me out of almost all of my pants.
After thinking about it for a while, the best thing about going to see my OB yesterday was that she was excited with me, chatty and did not even once mention my weight. I gained some weight over the holidays what with all the cooking I was doing for my dad and then I got knocked up before I could get it off again. So I’m starting this pregnancy a bit heavier than I’d like. But not once did my doctor say anything about that. Reminding me that she trusts my body to gain whatever weight it needs to grow a healthy baby. Reminding me that what’s important here is the new little fuzzhead that will be joining our family, not what size I am. I needed that.
And this whole, “we’re having another baby” thing is now really real. Not that it hasn’t been. But with my OB appointment yesterday, we officially let the cat out of the bag and have been spreading the good news far and wide. Now that people know, it gives the whole thing a bit more of a tangible feel. Well that and the fact that I’m sitting here in maternity pants because my burgeoning belly is sizing me out of almost all of my pants.
After thinking about it for a while, the best thing about going to see my OB yesterday was that she was excited with me, chatty and did not even once mention my weight. I gained some weight over the holidays what with all the cooking I was doing for my dad and then I got knocked up before I could get it off again. So I’m starting this pregnancy a bit heavier than I’d like. But not once did my doctor say anything about that. Reminding me that she trusts my body to gain whatever weight it needs to grow a healthy baby. Reminding me that what’s important here is the new little fuzzhead that will be joining our family, not what size I am. I needed that.
3/7/10
Going with the Flow
Day three of fever watch with The Girl. Yeah, I’m done with it now. She woke up at about 2am last night throwing up and her fever had started to soar. So my husband spent the rest of the night on the floor of her bedroom while I tossed and turned, convinced that every single noise was her seizing or throwing up.
Her temperature has continued to volley around, keeping us all on our toes. The Girl goes from relatively cool one minute and almost back to herself to screaming hot and listless the next. And more than anything that’s what has me worried. Because it’s the rapid rise of fever that causes febrile seizures, not necessarily how high it goes. And her fever is all over the place, rising and falling pretty rapidly. When The Boy had this it only lasted about 24 hours, so I thought we’d definitely be in the clear with The Girl by yesterday afternoon. Not so much apparently.
So, now I’m tired and still no closer to getting down to NM. I’m so scared that by the time we finally get down there that my dad won’t be my kids’ Papa anymore. He’ll be just a physical shell of the man they adore and look up to. I don’t want them to remember him that way, frail and dissipated. I want The Boy to remember tying flies and learning about nature. I want The Girl to remember reading stories and seeing the beauty of the desert through her Papa’s eyes. And perhaps I’m over-reacting, but the picture my mom has painted of my dad’s current state is not a pretty one. Even if it does change on a daily basis.
So I suppose this post is more of a vent than anything purposeful. I’m tired and scared and frustrated. I’m doing my best to just go with the flow and be as present as possible. I’m just tired of feeling like the flow is always going against me. That me going with the flow actually means just accepting that life is just hard right now. That the flow means learning to accept the fear and anger in the present.
Her temperature has continued to volley around, keeping us all on our toes. The Girl goes from relatively cool one minute and almost back to herself to screaming hot and listless the next. And more than anything that’s what has me worried. Because it’s the rapid rise of fever that causes febrile seizures, not necessarily how high it goes. And her fever is all over the place, rising and falling pretty rapidly. When The Boy had this it only lasted about 24 hours, so I thought we’d definitely be in the clear with The Girl by yesterday afternoon. Not so much apparently.
So, now I’m tired and still no closer to getting down to NM. I’m so scared that by the time we finally get down there that my dad won’t be my kids’ Papa anymore. He’ll be just a physical shell of the man they adore and look up to. I don’t want them to remember him that way, frail and dissipated. I want The Boy to remember tying flies and learning about nature. I want The Girl to remember reading stories and seeing the beauty of the desert through her Papa’s eyes. And perhaps I’m over-reacting, but the picture my mom has painted of my dad’s current state is not a pretty one. Even if it does change on a daily basis.
So I suppose this post is more of a vent than anything purposeful. I’m tired and scared and frustrated. I’m doing my best to just go with the flow and be as present as possible. I’m just tired of feeling like the flow is always going against me. That me going with the flow actually means just accepting that life is just hard right now. That the flow means learning to accept the fear and anger in the present.
1/15/10
Bad Day
I’m having a bad day. And here’s the mind fuck that has been chasing its tail through my bad day pity party: I should be above bad days. Or, more to the point, I should be able to rise above bad days. I should be able to just allow them to move past me without buying into their bullshit. I should just make my mind some soothing tea and let it rant and rave without actually giving it any unwarranted attention. I should be able to slough off bad days without a care. But apparently I can’t.
1/11/10
Court Date
So we went to court today. Except it was more like a meeting that just happened to take place in a court room. And with a large audience. And a lawyer. But other than that, it was just like a meeting. I am not entirely sure what I was expecting, but definitely something with a good deal more formality than what we got.
1/5/10
The Other Side of Stephen King
My mom has been touting her love of Stephen King for years in my general direction. She’s tried everything under the sun to reel me in – he’s a fantastic writer, not EVERYTHING he writes is horror, he has a wonderful sense of humor, he cusses with abandon! And I’ve read one or two of his books. Mostly the ones that were absolutely not even in the same city as horror and they were great. But I don’t do horror. Ever.
12/27/09
Decision Made
I am sitting on my couch. In my house. Writing on my laptop and posting to the blog using our Wi-Fi instead of “borrowed” internet from the neighbors. I’m home. For three and half days.
12/18/09
12/17/09 - Ice
The only time I like better than winter is early spring, when the trees and flowers are just barely coming back to life. When the sharp little buds are forming on the trees and tentative bunches of grass start peeping through the crispy, freeze dried lawn. When the tightly curled purple fingers of the hyacinths start stretching into bloom after their long winter hibernation. I love the anticipation that spring brings with it.
11/19/09
11/18/09 - The Shock of Time
**I'm sorry this is late...**
When you plan a fantastic vacation 3-4 months in advance or you have one of your most favorite people coming to visit in a few months, those months can seem interminable. As if they are literally crawling by, taunting you with how very, very slowly they can move in relation to how badly you want something or how much you are looking forward to that distant date lurking on the calendar.
But when the oncologist told my dad today that he has 4-6 months to live, well that is a whole new story. Suddenly those long-drawn-out days upon weeks upon months suddenly got very, very short. The Girl’s 4th birthday is six months away. I cannot imagine my dad not being here to see that. The Boy will be moving out of first grade in 6 months, and I cannot imagine him not being there to give his grandson a huge hug of congratulations. It just seems like no time at all. And I cannot properly express what a shock that is.
When they discovered the large tumor in my dad’s lungs, I was prepared for him to not be around for much more than another year or two. I get that no matter how aggressively lung cancer is treated that it usually is meaner than the chemo and wins in the end using all of the dirty tricks it has in its never-ending bag of tragedy. I get that. I just honestly did not think it would take him this soon. But it will and given how far spread they think the cancer is, it will probably be sooner.
My dad has opted for no treatment, which I totally understand. He just spent that last several years watching his best friend waste away battling (and losing to) throat cancer. So he’s calling the shots on this one. I want the time he has left to be full of joy, peace and laughter. I want him to be surrounded by the people he loves doing only the things that he wants to do. So we’ll do whatever we need to to make sure that happens.
I want my dad to go out with a bang.
When you plan a fantastic vacation 3-4 months in advance or you have one of your most favorite people coming to visit in a few months, those months can seem interminable. As if they are literally crawling by, taunting you with how very, very slowly they can move in relation to how badly you want something or how much you are looking forward to that distant date lurking on the calendar.
But when the oncologist told my dad today that he has 4-6 months to live, well that is a whole new story. Suddenly those long-drawn-out days upon weeks upon months suddenly got very, very short. The Girl’s 4th birthday is six months away. I cannot imagine my dad not being here to see that. The Boy will be moving out of first grade in 6 months, and I cannot imagine him not being there to give his grandson a huge hug of congratulations. It just seems like no time at all. And I cannot properly express what a shock that is.
When they discovered the large tumor in my dad’s lungs, I was prepared for him to not be around for much more than another year or two. I get that no matter how aggressively lung cancer is treated that it usually is meaner than the chemo and wins in the end using all of the dirty tricks it has in its never-ending bag of tragedy. I get that. I just honestly did not think it would take him this soon. But it will and given how far spread they think the cancer is, it will probably be sooner.
My dad has opted for no treatment, which I totally understand. He just spent that last several years watching his best friend waste away battling (and losing to) throat cancer. So he’s calling the shots on this one. I want the time he has left to be full of joy, peace and laughter. I want him to be surrounded by the people he loves doing only the things that he wants to do. So we’ll do whatever we need to to make sure that happens.
I want my dad to go out with a bang.
11/14/09
Trust-ish in the Process
The doctors let my dad go home this afternoon. The jack ass cardiologist (he is actually a jack ass, it’s not just that I disagree with him) decided yesterday that the main priority was to get his heart rate down and if they could manage that, then he could go home for the weekend and go back for the procedures on Monday as an outpatient. So it took two days and an obscene amount of medication, but they were able to get his heart rate down from the 150-160bpm range to the 90’s, which was their target. So they unhooked and unplugged and sent him on his merry way with the absolute instructions to do NOTHING for the next day and half. Seriously. Nothing. I think the doctor’s exact words were to “sit in your chair and watch football, nothing else.” That, at least, makes me happy.
I am not exactly thrilled that they let him go home. But it is what he and my mom wanted. It’s almost as if they are already treating him like a terminal case. Yes, their gut feeling is that the massive tumor in his lung is cancer. And yes, I know that if it is indeed a terminal diagnosis that he will choose the most intervention free path possible. So maybe they aren’t entirely wrong to look at him that way, but until we know something for certain, I’m just not going there. I want a diagnosis. I want a treatment plan. I want a prognosis. I want information and I would like to have it now. Instead I’m going to have to wait for Monday for the procedures and then Wednesday for the results. It’s infuriating.
It’s not that I like to be in crisis mode. I really don’t. But I really do thrive on information and until I get it, there’s just nothing for me to do except sit and wait. And do nothing. And I’m really not good at doing nothing when someone I love is in danger. To be still right now is taking a tremendous amount of faith and trust in the process. I guess it’s good practice for what is to come.
I am not exactly thrilled that they let him go home. But it is what he and my mom wanted. It’s almost as if they are already treating him like a terminal case. Yes, their gut feeling is that the massive tumor in his lung is cancer. And yes, I know that if it is indeed a terminal diagnosis that he will choose the most intervention free path possible. So maybe they aren’t entirely wrong to look at him that way, but until we know something for certain, I’m just not going there. I want a diagnosis. I want a treatment plan. I want a prognosis. I want information and I would like to have it now. Instead I’m going to have to wait for Monday for the procedures and then Wednesday for the results. It’s infuriating.
It’s not that I like to be in crisis mode. I really don’t. But I really do thrive on information and until I get it, there’s just nothing for me to do except sit and wait. And do nothing. And I’m really not good at doing nothing when someone I love is in danger. To be still right now is taking a tremendous amount of faith and trust in the process. I guess it’s good practice for what is to come.
10/20/09
Proof of Power
Becoming a mother was a top to bottom change of state for me. Pretty much everything I thought was true changed the moment I got knocked up. Most of it for the better, some of it I lost myself to, and although the road back has been long I’m still not sure it wasn’t worth it.
Even on my most frustrated, at the end of my rope, want to duct tape the children’s mouths shut and put them in the closet days, being a mother resonates in a very deep part of my soul. Even when I’m not at all sure that my mothering techniques are up to snuff, I always have complete confidence in being a mother.
But one of the most tangible parts of becoming a mother for me has been getting comfortable in my own skin again. I have always been at war with my body image. Even when I was thin and healthy and gorgeous, I just couldn’t see myself very clearly. Since the stretch marks have marathoned across the length of my stomach and my hips (and feet) have widened and my boobs have gravitated towards my belly button in an attempt to commune with the depths that reside there, I’ve mostly just tried to ignore my body image. And my body. It serves its purpose well and I’m grateful for that, but I’d rather just pretend that I’m always wearing an invisibility cloak.
The journey undertaken this past year however has brought some much needed perspective when it comes to my appearance (thanks to the Mojo Boots for bringing me back my sass). And even though it makes me sick (in the best possible way) when all of my friends look as if they’ve never been pregnant 2.7 minutes after birthing their children, there is a part of me that has become deeply grateful for the fact that there is physical evidence of having my two babies.
I’d gladly trade my jeans for a new pair a few sizes smaller any day of the week, but I wouldn’t ever hand over the tangible corroboration of what my body is capable of. That’s empowerment that Mojo Boots just can’t touch.
Even on my most frustrated, at the end of my rope, want to duct tape the children’s mouths shut and put them in the closet days, being a mother resonates in a very deep part of my soul. Even when I’m not at all sure that my mothering techniques are up to snuff, I always have complete confidence in being a mother.
But one of the most tangible parts of becoming a mother for me has been getting comfortable in my own skin again. I have always been at war with my body image. Even when I was thin and healthy and gorgeous, I just couldn’t see myself very clearly. Since the stretch marks have marathoned across the length of my stomach and my hips (and feet) have widened and my boobs have gravitated towards my belly button in an attempt to commune with the depths that reside there, I’ve mostly just tried to ignore my body image. And my body. It serves its purpose well and I’m grateful for that, but I’d rather just pretend that I’m always wearing an invisibility cloak.
The journey undertaken this past year however has brought some much needed perspective when it comes to my appearance (thanks to the Mojo Boots for bringing me back my sass). And even though it makes me sick (in the best possible way) when all of my friends look as if they’ve never been pregnant 2.7 minutes after birthing their children, there is a part of me that has become deeply grateful for the fact that there is physical evidence of having my two babies.
I’d gladly trade my jeans for a new pair a few sizes smaller any day of the week, but I wouldn’t ever hand over the tangible corroboration of what my body is capable of. That’s empowerment that Mojo Boots just can’t touch.
10/19/09
Just a Mom
I read a piece today in a newly discovered magazine – Get Born – that really spoke to where I am right now. The author was writing about how embarrassed she was to admit that she is “just a mom.” Knowing full well that under that embarrassment was indignation at forcing herself to add the “just” in there. And I am so there.
I started my own business when The Boy was born so I could work from home. A year ago I decided to go back to work full-time (i.e. steady paycheck instead of unsteady contract work) in the face of our disintegrating financial situation and I’ve thoroughly documented my journey towards that end. It’s just become abundantly clear to me that the universe wants me right where I am for some reason or another. Here, present, with my children and family as my first priority. Out of nonprofit and away from fundraising. And for the first time since becoming a mother I have to now say that I am a stay at home mom. And there is a large part of me that feels utterly defeated in that statement.
I vividly remember wishing that I could just take the time to focus on my kids when I was working. I remember wishing for the client juggling to stop and the deadlines to ease. I just wanted the time to paint and frolic and be with these children who were growing so fast. And now I have it. And for that I’m completely grateful.
But that over-achiever in me that lurks just under the surface has its hackles raised at the idea of “just” being a stay at home mom. And even though the number of stay at home moms that I have in my life far outweigh the number of working mothers, I still feel like I’m letting my friends down. From what no one knows, but the feeling is there nonetheless.
I can rattle off hundreds of things that I do in a day or week or month. Important, necessary, even vital things that I do to keep my family humming along. How much longer can I justify devaluing my work in this family?
I started my own business when The Boy was born so I could work from home. A year ago I decided to go back to work full-time (i.e. steady paycheck instead of unsteady contract work) in the face of our disintegrating financial situation and I’ve thoroughly documented my journey towards that end. It’s just become abundantly clear to me that the universe wants me right where I am for some reason or another. Here, present, with my children and family as my first priority. Out of nonprofit and away from fundraising. And for the first time since becoming a mother I have to now say that I am a stay at home mom. And there is a large part of me that feels utterly defeated in that statement.
I vividly remember wishing that I could just take the time to focus on my kids when I was working. I remember wishing for the client juggling to stop and the deadlines to ease. I just wanted the time to paint and frolic and be with these children who were growing so fast. And now I have it. And for that I’m completely grateful.
But that over-achiever in me that lurks just under the surface has its hackles raised at the idea of “just” being a stay at home mom. And even though the number of stay at home moms that I have in my life far outweigh the number of working mothers, I still feel like I’m letting my friends down. From what no one knows, but the feeling is there nonetheless.
I can rattle off hundreds of things that I do in a day or week or month. Important, necessary, even vital things that I do to keep my family humming along. How much longer can I justify devaluing my work in this family?
10/18/09
10/17/09 - Jumping through Hoops
Here’s the most irritating thing about filing for bankruptcy (other than having to give a lawyer a big pile of money to have it legally, and publically, recorded that we don’t have any money) – having to take the pre and post-filing classes that are required by federal law. We have had to go through several companies that offer these classes for an assortment of fees (yet again having to spend more money to prove that we don’t have any money) and figure out which one will not only be the cheapest, but also the most expedient. Because we can’t legally file with the courts until we get the pre-filing credit counseling course taken and the completion certificate sent to our lawyer so he can include it in the final petition.
Now, let me be clear in that I really, truly understand why these classes are required. No one wants people to use bankruptcy as a way of hiding from a huge pile of debt that they got into on purpose. And no one wants someone to file for bankruptcy without having explored every single available option. It really is a last resort sort of thing. So making these courses mandatory gives people two more hoops to jump through as well as making sure they are educated on the process and its ramifications. I totally get that. Having said that however, they are a presently a gigantic pain in my ass.
Especially this first class because it’s a two parter. We each have to take the online course which I’m guessing will take about an hour or so and then we have to schedule a phone counseling follow up call to help establish a budget which will probably take another hour or so. I know that 2 hours sounds pretty inconsequential. But it’s really not. Especially since it’s computer and phone time where I have to, you know, pay attention. Show me a mother who time for this.
And the part of me that has painful clarity on why we are in this process resents the fact that I am forced to pay someone to tell me this is a bad place in which to be.
Now, let me be clear in that I really, truly understand why these classes are required. No one wants people to use bankruptcy as a way of hiding from a huge pile of debt that they got into on purpose. And no one wants someone to file for bankruptcy without having explored every single available option. It really is a last resort sort of thing. So making these courses mandatory gives people two more hoops to jump through as well as making sure they are educated on the process and its ramifications. I totally get that. Having said that however, they are a presently a gigantic pain in my ass.
Especially this first class because it’s a two parter. We each have to take the online course which I’m guessing will take about an hour or so and then we have to schedule a phone counseling follow up call to help establish a budget which will probably take another hour or so. I know that 2 hours sounds pretty inconsequential. But it’s really not. Especially since it’s computer and phone time where I have to, you know, pay attention. Show me a mother who time for this.
And the part of me that has painful clarity on why we are in this process resents the fact that I am forced to pay someone to tell me this is a bad place in which to be.
10/14/09
Liking what I Like
The people in my life are extraordinary. Some are extraordinary writers; some are extraordinary artists and/or actors. Some are extraordinarily compassionate and open-hearted. Every single one of them is an extraordinary thinker in one way or another. And I’ve spent most of my life just trying to keep up with them.
I’ve spent time trying to keep up with them by rebelling against them of course. By rejecting their favorite authors or directors, artists or schools of thought. Thinking perhaps that if I could shoot down these chosen masters that perhaps even though we disagreed I’d still be at their level.
I’ve also spent time devoting myself to being an utter cultural snob. Only choosing the artsy movies, the indie bands, the out of mainstream books, the underground thinkers. Attempting to elevate myself above the common trends by only exposing myself to the best.
Over the years however I’ve pretty much just accepted that most of the people around me are just flat smarter than I am. And that’s totally cool. I mean first of all, they choose to hang out with me even though they’re smarter and they constantly challenge me and I think that rocks. But I’ve also had to strike a kind of balance between the challenge and just what I like.
And much to their dismay, I really like things like Dan Brown’s books, beat ‘em up blow ‘em up movies, Dawson’s Creek, tomato beers and queso dip made with Velveeta. I could totally overanalyze myself and trace back their etymology to some childhood event or how they may be tied to a very special memory thereby forever tying them to my internal list of favorites. But at the end of the day, I just like what I like. And I’m cool with that. I don’t really care anymore that I look at a piece of modern art and think that The Boy could do it better. I don’t mind when friends laugh at me for getting emotionally invested with teenage TV characters embroiled in overwrought angst.
They love me anyway and that’s just how I roll. I’ll take their challenge any day just as soon as I’m done watching X-Men.
I’ve spent time trying to keep up with them by rebelling against them of course. By rejecting their favorite authors or directors, artists or schools of thought. Thinking perhaps that if I could shoot down these chosen masters that perhaps even though we disagreed I’d still be at their level.
I’ve also spent time devoting myself to being an utter cultural snob. Only choosing the artsy movies, the indie bands, the out of mainstream books, the underground thinkers. Attempting to elevate myself above the common trends by only exposing myself to the best.
Over the years however I’ve pretty much just accepted that most of the people around me are just flat smarter than I am. And that’s totally cool. I mean first of all, they choose to hang out with me even though they’re smarter and they constantly challenge me and I think that rocks. But I’ve also had to strike a kind of balance between the challenge and just what I like.
And much to their dismay, I really like things like Dan Brown’s books, beat ‘em up blow ‘em up movies, Dawson’s Creek, tomato beers and queso dip made with Velveeta. I could totally overanalyze myself and trace back their etymology to some childhood event or how they may be tied to a very special memory thereby forever tying them to my internal list of favorites. But at the end of the day, I just like what I like. And I’m cool with that. I don’t really care anymore that I look at a piece of modern art and think that The Boy could do it better. I don’t mind when friends laugh at me for getting emotionally invested with teenage TV characters embroiled in overwrought angst.
They love me anyway and that’s just how I roll. I’ll take their challenge any day just as soon as I’m done watching X-Men.
10/5/09
My Pitta Nature
Not too long after I got out of college, I had a massive eczema/psoriasis breakout that was misdiagnosed and I was prescribed topical cortico-steroids for entirely too long and thus a Candida infection broke out. The breakout and infection was pretty much localized to my hands and feet, which was sort of a blessing except that there were literally days when I could not walk because my feet were in such bad shape and I lived in cotton gloves for months because of how cracked and broken the skin on my hands had become. It was a horrifically painful and humbling experience and that I will never forget.
I tried everything under the sun to make it even bearable and in the end; the only things that worked were an Ayurvedic herb regimen and keeping sage oil on my hands and feet at all times. As I did the diagnostic interview with the Ayurveda practitioner who was also a long time friend of my mom’s she cemented her feeling that I fall under the Pitta designation. Which essentially means I have too much fire in me (which of you didn’t know that already?). And when that fire (acidity) gets out of balance, then it throws everything in me out of balance – my diet, my moods, my digestion, my skin, you name it.
After about 4-6 months of this strict Pitta calming regimen, my hands and feet were completely better. And they have never gotten as bad as that again, although I have certainly had outbreaks (usually when I have to be on antibiotics). And it’s just always something that I’ve kept in the back of my head – my Pitta nature.
So after spending the last several weeks with damn near unbearable heart burn that made me cough and gag and want to throw up in the middle of the night, I once again turned to Ayurvedic remedies. And after changing my diet for 24 hours, there is a radical difference.
Now I am generally really not one for the woo-woo stuff. But this not only gave me really good results, but almost instantaneously. It’s hard not be wooed by that kind of woo-woo, you know?
I tried everything under the sun to make it even bearable and in the end; the only things that worked were an Ayurvedic herb regimen and keeping sage oil on my hands and feet at all times. As I did the diagnostic interview with the Ayurveda practitioner who was also a long time friend of my mom’s she cemented her feeling that I fall under the Pitta designation. Which essentially means I have too much fire in me (which of you didn’t know that already?). And when that fire (acidity) gets out of balance, then it throws everything in me out of balance – my diet, my moods, my digestion, my skin, you name it.
After about 4-6 months of this strict Pitta calming regimen, my hands and feet were completely better. And they have never gotten as bad as that again, although I have certainly had outbreaks (usually when I have to be on antibiotics). And it’s just always something that I’ve kept in the back of my head – my Pitta nature.
So after spending the last several weeks with damn near unbearable heart burn that made me cough and gag and want to throw up in the middle of the night, I once again turned to Ayurvedic remedies. And after changing my diet for 24 hours, there is a radical difference.
Now I am generally really not one for the woo-woo stuff. But this not only gave me really good results, but almost instantaneously. It’s hard not be wooed by that kind of woo-woo, you know?
10/3/09
10/2/09 - Surface Cleaning
** Sorry!! I forgot to post this last night! **
So here is the problem with having house cleaning so far down my list of priorities: when a friend comes to visit and I realize my house is a hot mess, I have to run around like a chicken with its head cut off for an entire morning trying to make it look presentable.
I guess since we just don’t get many visitors that I forgot to look at my house occasionally as if I didn’t live there. Until this morning when lovely J and her sweet boy M were on their way to our house for lunch. And all I could see was dust and dirt and doggie foot prints and dirty dishes (hmmm, all of that starts with D, how interesting). So I whipped myself into a whirlwind and got things set back to order. Sort of. It was better than nothing.
But it also made me see the things that just are not on my radar from a day to day basis. Like the baseboards and the wreck they are. I mean we have lived in this house for 7 years now, and it wasn’t new when we moved in, so it is normal that it should start showing some well lived in wear and tear. Plus we have two whirligig children and three obnoxious dogs. But our baseboards are a mess. I’d like to rip them all out and put in new ones. Fresh, white ones with no dust or wood splinters. And the corners of many walls are chipped from being banged with swords and baby heads and wagons and blocks (and my mom’s wheelchair) that we really should patch up and re-paint.
There are just tons of things like that. And it is my head taking over and muttering a string of “oh my god she’s totally judging me for my baseboards and look at the dent in that wall from where The Boy slammed open the door and the sliding glass door is wrecked from the neurotic chocolate lab who scratches at it constantly and blah, blah, blah” whenever we have people over.
So what have I learned? Not to pay too close attention when I’m cleaning, obviously.
So here is the problem with having house cleaning so far down my list of priorities: when a friend comes to visit and I realize my house is a hot mess, I have to run around like a chicken with its head cut off for an entire morning trying to make it look presentable.
I guess since we just don’t get many visitors that I forgot to look at my house occasionally as if I didn’t live there. Until this morning when lovely J and her sweet boy M were on their way to our house for lunch. And all I could see was dust and dirt and doggie foot prints and dirty dishes (hmmm, all of that starts with D, how interesting). So I whipped myself into a whirlwind and got things set back to order. Sort of. It was better than nothing.
But it also made me see the things that just are not on my radar from a day to day basis. Like the baseboards and the wreck they are. I mean we have lived in this house for 7 years now, and it wasn’t new when we moved in, so it is normal that it should start showing some well lived in wear and tear. Plus we have two whirligig children and three obnoxious dogs. But our baseboards are a mess. I’d like to rip them all out and put in new ones. Fresh, white ones with no dust or wood splinters. And the corners of many walls are chipped from being banged with swords and baby heads and wagons and blocks (and my mom’s wheelchair) that we really should patch up and re-paint.
There are just tons of things like that. And it is my head taking over and muttering a string of “oh my god she’s totally judging me for my baseboards and look at the dent in that wall from where The Boy slammed open the door and the sliding glass door is wrecked from the neurotic chocolate lab who scratches at it constantly and blah, blah, blah” whenever we have people over.
So what have I learned? Not to pay too close attention when I’m cleaning, obviously.
9/16/09
Solitude Please
For as long as I can remember I have craved solitude. I mean don’t get me wrong, I love to be with the people I love and often at that. I love to be fully immersed into a social setting chock full of laughter and cavorting, story-telling and conversation. It’s good for my soul to see my own joy reflected in the faces of those dearest to me and I love to be their mirror as well.
But alone time has always been at the root of my sanity. I need the time to decompress and/or process life and the world around me. I’m not much of a think on my feet kind of girl. I’m more of a think it all through, every last detail, and then stride out into the world at large kind of girl. And because my own internal processes are probably more complicated than they ought to be, I need this kind of alone time on a pretty regular basis. I knew yesterday that I was in need of a solid chunk of peace and quiet when I picked up the Twilight series again (this will be the fifth time). And that knowledge solidified today because every time The Girl shadowed my every move I was overcome with a distinct feeling of annoyance instead of patient acceptance.
Life currently has dealt me yet another shift. Another step stands in front of me demanding to be conquered and learned from. And I’ve gotten strong enough this year that I’m welcoming the opportunity to build yet more strength and experience. But I’ve also learned that I need to do preparations so that I can climb with finesse and purpose instead of just blindly throwing myself at the task at hand. So that I can remain grounded in the moment instead of getting strung out on the future; what lies after getting over the current hurdle.
We’re meeting with the bankruptcy lawyer again tomorrow. This time to retain his services. I am looking forward to the opportunity to exchange this burden with the freedom to make different choices. I truly am. But I thought a little extra calisthenics training with Edward wouldn’t hurt first.
But alone time has always been at the root of my sanity. I need the time to decompress and/or process life and the world around me. I’m not much of a think on my feet kind of girl. I’m more of a think it all through, every last detail, and then stride out into the world at large kind of girl. And because my own internal processes are probably more complicated than they ought to be, I need this kind of alone time on a pretty regular basis. I knew yesterday that I was in need of a solid chunk of peace and quiet when I picked up the Twilight series again (this will be the fifth time). And that knowledge solidified today because every time The Girl shadowed my every move I was overcome with a distinct feeling of annoyance instead of patient acceptance.
Life currently has dealt me yet another shift. Another step stands in front of me demanding to be conquered and learned from. And I’ve gotten strong enough this year that I’m welcoming the opportunity to build yet more strength and experience. But I’ve also learned that I need to do preparations so that I can climb with finesse and purpose instead of just blindly throwing myself at the task at hand. So that I can remain grounded in the moment instead of getting strung out on the future; what lies after getting over the current hurdle.
We’re meeting with the bankruptcy lawyer again tomorrow. This time to retain his services. I am looking forward to the opportunity to exchange this burden with the freedom to make different choices. I truly am. But I thought a little extra calisthenics training with Edward wouldn’t hurt first.
8/20/09
Double Gemini
I’ve always tried not to put too much stock in astrology, because well, let’s face it, it’s a wee bit woo-woo for me. But there are certain aspects that just really make sense. Like what it means to be a Gemini. My mom had my astrological chart done once and I remember her saying that Gemini was also my rising sign; making me a double Gemini. And if I weren’t the stinking poster child for what it means to be a Gemini, I probably would have dismissed it.
I most certainly have this duality. Ever present, always squabbling away in the back (or front) of my mind. Which is why I can write yesterday that I have an unfailing faith that everything will work out, and today (as the creditors have started calling) I can be freaking out and not know what the hell I was talking about. Why I can be 33 years old and still love having blue hair and wanting a new tattoo. Why I can at the same time be so afraid of getting in trouble for sending in bills late.
I have this part of me that is desperate to follow all the rules while the other side is constantly giving the middle finger to every and all form of authority.
What I think I’m trying to learn this year is balance. Because I have very marked periods in my life that were ruled by one side or the other and I’ve just never managed to see any kind of real success when I make choices without balance. I’ve been working diligently on bringing more of my life into balance. Taking it easier on myself when the scales shift a bit and then gently setting them straight. And this has been one o f the hardest years of my life. So I guess there is still a large part of me far, far away from any kind of transcendence because man am I bitter that I’m working so hard and still having it be so hard.
So perhaps my goal is balance and acceptance. Being willing to accept the fruits of my labor regardless of how unpleasant they may be.
I most certainly have this duality. Ever present, always squabbling away in the back (or front) of my mind. Which is why I can write yesterday that I have an unfailing faith that everything will work out, and today (as the creditors have started calling) I can be freaking out and not know what the hell I was talking about. Why I can be 33 years old and still love having blue hair and wanting a new tattoo. Why I can at the same time be so afraid of getting in trouble for sending in bills late.
I have this part of me that is desperate to follow all the rules while the other side is constantly giving the middle finger to every and all form of authority.
What I think I’m trying to learn this year is balance. Because I have very marked periods in my life that were ruled by one side or the other and I’ve just never managed to see any kind of real success when I make choices without balance. I’ve been working diligently on bringing more of my life into balance. Taking it easier on myself when the scales shift a bit and then gently setting them straight. And this has been one o f the hardest years of my life. So I guess there is still a large part of me far, far away from any kind of transcendence because man am I bitter that I’m working so hard and still having it be so hard.
So perhaps my goal is balance and acceptance. Being willing to accept the fruits of my labor regardless of how unpleasant they may be.
6/24/09
6/23/09 - H Day 3
Days in hospital: 2. Nights of sleep: -2. Definitive answers: many.
Mom had an angiogram at 6:30am this morning. They found one 90% blockage in one of her arteries and several other 10-20% blockages. They did an angioplasty on the 90%-er and placed a medicated stent to keep the artery open. She did fine through the surgery, which is a great sign, although her blood pressure is staying pretty low and her oxygen is a little unstable. But otherwise, as long as she follows through on the medication regimen they’ve prescribed, she should be ok. But if she doesn’t, the stent will collapse and she will have another heart attack. Mostly it’s time to just flip into major prevention mode to make sure the smaller blockages don’t grow. The official diagnosis is coronary artery disease. The unofficial diagnosis is “she has plaque all over the place!”
My mom has by and large chosen a western medicine intervention-free life. Finding herself in the grips of western medicine fingers has been a tough pill for her to swallow (pun fully intended). She doesn’t understand why this happened. She does yoga every day. Her diet is healthy and clean. No smoking, no drugs, very little drinking, no red meat. This just doesn’t make any sense to her whatsoever. Which I think is at the core of her reticence to just take orders. For most anyone it’s hard to just take what someone gives you when it doesn’t jive with anything else in your life.
And I get it. Really I do. But I also know that if she doesn’t jump through some of these hoops that her dying because of it will make even less sense. So I have already been dubbed Nurse Ratchett. And I’m really fine with that.
Which is why when they discharge her today, the doc will be talking to me as much as to mom. And she’ll be staying with us for a couple of weeks until I can go back down to NM with her. And I’m taking her blood pressure twice a day and making sure she takes her meds. Whether it makes sense or not, it just is right now.
Mom had an angiogram at 6:30am this morning. They found one 90% blockage in one of her arteries and several other 10-20% blockages. They did an angioplasty on the 90%-er and placed a medicated stent to keep the artery open. She did fine through the surgery, which is a great sign, although her blood pressure is staying pretty low and her oxygen is a little unstable. But otherwise, as long as she follows through on the medication regimen they’ve prescribed, she should be ok. But if she doesn’t, the stent will collapse and she will have another heart attack. Mostly it’s time to just flip into major prevention mode to make sure the smaller blockages don’t grow. The official diagnosis is coronary artery disease. The unofficial diagnosis is “she has plaque all over the place!”
My mom has by and large chosen a western medicine intervention-free life. Finding herself in the grips of western medicine fingers has been a tough pill for her to swallow (pun fully intended). She doesn’t understand why this happened. She does yoga every day. Her diet is healthy and clean. No smoking, no drugs, very little drinking, no red meat. This just doesn’t make any sense to her whatsoever. Which I think is at the core of her reticence to just take orders. For most anyone it’s hard to just take what someone gives you when it doesn’t jive with anything else in your life.
And I get it. Really I do. But I also know that if she doesn’t jump through some of these hoops that her dying because of it will make even less sense. So I have already been dubbed Nurse Ratchett. And I’m really fine with that.
Which is why when they discharge her today, the doc will be talking to me as much as to mom. And she’ll be staying with us for a couple of weeks until I can go back down to NM with her. And I’m taking her blood pressure twice a day and making sure she takes her meds. Whether it makes sense or not, it just is right now.
4/2/09
Faking It
“It was an act of complete faith, so simple yet so grand that it took my breath away.” Bonnie Wach
Another saying that I grew up with was “fake it till you make it.” The first time my mom said this to me I wanted to scream at her. Because faking it was not an acceptable way to make it through the days. It felt like lying. That I could just waltz through my days faking confidence, faith or self-esteem. But the deeper I plunge into the piled up luggage fort in my past the more I’m starting to see the wisdom in those words.
It’s not a dishonest act. It’s a simple way of trying to re-train yourself. It took a long time for me to believe that I wasn’t pretty or that I was worthless or stupid. It took a long time to form the conviction that I wasn’t worth being loved. Logic dictates that it will take just as long to unlearn those unfortunate traits. So faking the opposite of those is one way to re-learn how to look at myself in a more honest way. The thought being that if I fake it long enough, there will eventually come a time when I actually stop believing those things to be true and will at long last be able to objectively look at myself as the intelligent, beautiful, confident woman that I am.
But every day becomes a walk of faith. Faith that that day is indeed coming. Faith that my faking it will be good enough. Faith that I can make it through the day with borrowed beliefs that I can one day adopt as my own.
The simple act of facing each day with head held high, shoulders back and anticipation instead of dread is actually so grand that it should take my breath away. And it does. When I let myself see my own courage. When I let myself see my own wisdom. When I let myself see my own spirited gait floating across the landscape of this life. Those days are coming closer and closer together. It is a lot of work teaching an old dog new tricks.
Another saying that I grew up with was “fake it till you make it.” The first time my mom said this to me I wanted to scream at her. Because faking it was not an acceptable way to make it through the days. It felt like lying. That I could just waltz through my days faking confidence, faith or self-esteem. But the deeper I plunge into the piled up luggage fort in my past the more I’m starting to see the wisdom in those words.
It’s not a dishonest act. It’s a simple way of trying to re-train yourself. It took a long time for me to believe that I wasn’t pretty or that I was worthless or stupid. It took a long time to form the conviction that I wasn’t worth being loved. Logic dictates that it will take just as long to unlearn those unfortunate traits. So faking the opposite of those is one way to re-learn how to look at myself in a more honest way. The thought being that if I fake it long enough, there will eventually come a time when I actually stop believing those things to be true and will at long last be able to objectively look at myself as the intelligent, beautiful, confident woman that I am.
But every day becomes a walk of faith. Faith that that day is indeed coming. Faith that my faking it will be good enough. Faith that I can make it through the day with borrowed beliefs that I can one day adopt as my own.
The simple act of facing each day with head held high, shoulders back and anticipation instead of dread is actually so grand that it should take my breath away. And it does. When I let myself see my own courage. When I let myself see my own wisdom. When I let myself see my own spirited gait floating across the landscape of this life. Those days are coming closer and closer together. It is a lot of work teaching an old dog new tricks.