The Return: An Epic

I'm making a comeback. And I found this article interesting and thought provoking.

All Joy and No Fun

Break

Being a teacher in NJ right now is difficult, to say the least.  To be quite frank, being a teacher anywhere is difficult but the political climate of NJ at this point in time is ramping things up for those of us in education sector.  I find myself to be one of the lucky ones for once simply because I work in Catholic education.  Although, that's no walk in the park either.

It's the end of the school year and I'm overwhelmed. 

It's teacher appreciation week and I think I feel more underappreciated than ever this week.

It's May and I'm wishing it were the end of June- as I have been since just before Easter.

I hate that I feel this way.

I've said it tons of times before, I love my job.  I come here because working with teenagers is what I believe I'm called to do.  I enjoy teaching and I enjoy what I teach.  I like the kids at my school.  I enjoy being here.  But I'm finding that I'm at a point where if Summer doesn't come soon I'm going to hate my job and resent my students.

And that makes me sad.

I think any teacher, especially those who teach in un-air conditioned schools, can attest to the fact that when the temperature rises outside the tension tends to rise inside.  Things are crazy.  Teachers are at their wits' end and the kids are nuts.

And life is overwhelming.

I don't dread coming to work but I worry about what will greet me within my email inbox and who will walk into my room with an issue that is bigger than anyone can fathom.  I rush to practice after school or a game and I hope that a parent will not pull me aside to talk with me about something that they see wrong or that their child is experiencing.

I need a break.

My students need a break.  These kids are overwhelmed.  Not by work.  Not by school.  By life. 

The climate of the times, whether it is in NJ or NY or CA or TX, has left people overwhelmed and exhausted.  Life is crazy and sometimes crazy is good.  Right now I feel like crazy isn't close to what we're experiencing.

And we all need a break.

Angry

I don't blame God for things.

I don't think that God causes cancer.

I don't believe that God takes people from us with no regard for our feelings.

I don't think that God sends hurricanes and earthquakes to punish us.

I have very rarely, if ever, doubted God.  My faith is extremely important to me, it is something I hold close to me at all times but most especially at times when things are difficult.  I pray.  I trust in God.  And I do believe that there is a plan for us.

It's my belief and I do my best not to force it on to other people.  My relationship with God is just that, mine.

But just like any other relationship God and I have our ups and downs.

Right now, it's a down point.

I'm pretty angry or frustrated or something with God.

I haven't walked away from him, and I won't.  But CRAP am I angry!  (I was going to say 'GOD am I angry!' but I thought that would be odd)

When I first went to my doctor years ago because I was having medical issues, I knew something was wrong.  Duh. I did go to the doctor and all.  When they found tumors growing on my thyroid and I was sent to specialists and started getting ready for treatment.  I was somewhat prepared.  It was not something coming out of left field.  It was hard but I was "prepared".

When I went for my first mammogram it was because I had found a lump and my doctor had found another.  When I went for the mammograms after that it was because I knew there were problems and my doctors were finding problems.  When I go for my next mammogram in June it will be because there is a suspicion of something.  I know it's coming.  It doesn't mean the results will be bad but if they are, I'm "prepared".

Two weeks ago I went for my annual check up with my OB/Gyn and it was routine.  Simple, even.  We chatted and laughed.  It was like seeing an old friend, who scrapes your insides and sees how your lady parts are doing.  A week later when I got a phone call on my way home from work telling my pap smear was abnormal, I was not prepared.

I have been very, very, VERY lucky.  My thyroid was treated successfully and I'm in remission and my disease is maintained.  My mammograms have been clean and I am breast cancer free.  The scares are, well, scary but that's all.

I am starting to worry that my luck may run out.

I am not assuming that this is bad.  I am not saying that this abnormal result is anything more than what many many MANY woman have, a fluke abnormal pap.  What am I saying is that I wasn't ready for this.  And it scares me.

A friend I discussed why this is so different for me from my breast cancer "scares" and why it's made me angry with God.  This came out of nowhere, and I know that's how it is for a lot of people, but it really blindsided me.

The husband and I have been talking about getting ready to try for a third child.  If, and I say IF knowing full well this will most like be NOTHING, this turns out to be something more than nothing that choice to have a third may have been taken away from us.  And that makes me angry.

I went through a rough patch a few months ago where I was all consumed with fear about disease and what if my mammogram in June is bad.  I am at the point now where I know I have to think positively and not worry about June until June.  I was on an upswing.  I feel like the upswing has been halted sort of. And that makes me angry.

I know there are people who suffer much greater losses and who experience far worse pain.  I know that there are people who will go for a routine mammogram and receive a devastating result.  I know that there are people who have tumors and cases that turn out far more devastating than what I can know.  I don't deny that.

But I'm angry.  I'm angry that this plan that I seem to be living is not the plan that I prepared for.  I'm angry that these experiences seem to pile on top of me sometimes and come out of left field.  I'm angry because sometimes I just don't want to deal with it.

I don't want to have my cervix scraped and possibly biopsied next week. (I'm not sure anyone does)  I don't want to go back to my doctor if it's not for an ultrasound to see if I'm pregnant.  I don't want doctor visits that could result in bad news.

I feel like my 5 year old at dinner last night when I tried to make him try Stove Top Stuffing (awesome, by the way).  He jumped up and down and shouted "I DON'T WANT TO!" before he went and hid behind our dining room curtains.

I just don't want to anymore.

And I'm angry.

And I think that's ok.  I trust that this will go the way it's supposed to but I'm afraid of how it will get there.  I believe that this plan, even though I'm not happy about it, is the right one-for some reason beyond me.  I believe that God knows what is best for me and my family.

But CRAP I am so freaking angry at him right now.

What's Up Doc?

My student loans are astronomical.  Seriously huge.  It's because I changed my mind about graduate school each time I saw a different school sweatshirt that I really liked.

No, seriously.

But I've finally settled into a Masters degree program that I am enjoying and I know is the right one for me.  And when I started the program I told my husband that this was it.  I was done with school after this.  I mean really, I've been in school since I was 3 years old.  I think it's time to stop.

Or not.

Recently, after very little thought.  Almost no consideration.  And less than zero prayer.  I've decided to pursue my doctorate in education.

WHAT.

Really, I feel like if my student loans are going to look like I went to Medical School I should at least get to be called doctor.

No, but really, pursuing my doctorate in education is important to me and I never really saw how much until just recently.  I have worked so hard to get to this place, this spot in my career and my education, that to simply stop after I achieve this Masters degree is just not enough for me.

It feels good to know that I have something and some place to go after I'm done with this.  It feels right to be able to say that my next step is towards my doctorate.  And at the same time scary.  But good scary.

So, the loans can build up and the school work can be piled on and the late nights can continue because my husband is going to call me Doctor some day and I'm TOTALLY going to use that against him!!

Moving

I think about moving.  I mean I think about it A LOT.  Like there isn't a day that I don't think about it.  That I don't think about selling my house and moving.  That I don't come up with lists in my head of things that need to be done before we even call a Realtor to put the house on the market.  That I don't think about how much we paid for our house and how much we want to sell it for but how much we'll actually be able to sell it for.

Really, I think about moving a lot.

I don't think about the house that we'll move to because that would just get my hopes up.  I don't look for homes that are for sale because I see no point in readying myself for something that isn't coming.  I don't peruse open houses and randomly pop in to them on Sunday afternoons because I fall in love with other peoples' houses far too easily.

But, God, do I think about moving A LOT.

Why, you ask.  Let me tell you.

We bought this house as an investment.  We bought this house to sell it.  We were idiots.  We bought this house in an area of the state that was growing rapidly and then when the bubble burst, it rained down all over us.  And we are just too far.

Our plan was clear: we were only staying a few years.  We are at 5 right now.  Or we will be this Memorial Day Weekend.  I would say that's about 3 years too many for me.  But I have learned to be happy here.  I have learned to embrace our home in the mountains and farmlands of NJ.  I have learned that there is a reason for everything and for some reason we are meant to still be here.

But, CRAP, I think about a moving ALL THE TIME!

And it appears that we continue to be stuck.  We continue to be plagued by home prices that are ridiculously low and taxes that are unbearably high.  We are loaded down with one of the highest costs of living in the country and we are stuck. 

What are our choices?  Where do we go?

Any move will bring us out of state and away from family.  It will take us further away from the things that we care about and love.  It will remove us from jobs that we are both finally happy with. It will leave us with a new beginning but not one that we accept voluntarily. And we don't want that.

So, we sit.  We sit on our ridiculous taxes and astronomical cost of living.  We sit on roads clogged with unbearable traffic each morning.  We sit in a home that was meant to be sold quickly but hasn't been sold but rather remodeled and fixed and changed so as to boost it's value for when it's time to sell.

And we wait.  And we think about moving.  A lot. 

Daughter

It's funny when we started having kids I was certain that I did not want any girls.  No matter how many kids we had, I was pretty sure I wanted all boys.  I especially wanted our first to be a boy.  I figured after that if I had a girl, I could "deal".

I clearly remember the day I found out that our second baby would be a girl.  It was earlier than the normal 18-20 week anatomy scan, probably around 13 or 14 weeks.  Because of my pregnancy status of high risk I had an ultrasound almost every single week of my pregnancy.  I was in my OB's office for a routine weekly visit (yes, I had WEEKLY visits my ENTIRE pregnancy- sometimes twice a week!) and we were doing the ultrasound and I asked my doctor if it was too early to tell.  She told me that sometimes they can see things and sometimes the baby just isn't ready to show.

Well, my baby was ready to show.

My doctor told me with, as she called it, 90% certainty that we were having a girl.  I was excited and just relieved to know what we were having.

And then I went to Babies R Us and that's when the "fear" set in.  I was standing in the midst of pink ruffle dresses and little black patent leather shoes and shirts and pants with hearts and flowers on them and I felt the panic attack start.

I had no freaking idea how to raise a girl. 

I didn't take dance.  I didn't do a lot of the typical girl things and if I did, I didn't do them for long.  Frilly dresses and hair bows were not my thing.

My daughter was doomed.

My pregnancy progressed and we created a room befitting of a girl, even though there were points where I was sure that the ultrasounds (because I asked at every single one) were wrong.  We created hot pink walls with pastel stripes along the bottom.  We were given bedding in browns and pinks that screamed out classy, chic, baby girl.  We were given and purchased endless amounts of pink and purple onesies and dresses and shirts with hearts and flowers.  And tights.  I had tons of tights.

And the first question out of my mouth at the end of my labor (after inquiring about her health) "Are you sure it's a girl because I have a hot pink room at home that I don't think a boy is going to like?!"

The stares and laughing were overwhelming and my delivery room, including my husband, froze for just a moment.

And it was in that moment that I realized that I wanted a girl.  Maybe not two girls, but definitely the one I had just given life to.

Last night, I experienced something with my daughter that I've thought about but didn't think would happen for a number of years. 

Not realizing it was almost 10pm (and yes my child was still awake thanks to the 2 hour nap her father allowed her at 5pm) I put the movie "Mamma Mia" into my laptop.  The husband was watching something on TV and while I should have gone to bed, I didn't.  From the very first song, my daughter was HOOKED!

In the hopes of getting her to fall asleep before 3am I decided to head up to bed with the computer and the movie and my daughter.  We snuggled under the covers and watched the entire movie- even after daddy came upstairs and jokingly chastised me for still having her awake.

We sang along.  She danced.  She bopped her little head.  And she snuggled up to me and comfortably watched the musical story unfold and resolve itself.

More importantly than understanding the movie or listening to the music, my daughter and I bonded last night.  And it wasn't for the first time but it was in a way that we haven't done before.


Last night I experienced something with my daughter that I could have had with my son but it would not have been the same.  It was special and unique. 

And it made me realize that while having boys is wonderful, and I don't ever have to fear PMS with them, having a daughter is something special and something I am so glad I haven't missed out on.

Parenting Fail??

You know when I started this blog I started it because I felt I had a way to connect with other moms.  We all have something in common, no matter where we live or what we believe or how many kids we have.  There is a common thread. 

We are moms.

We have kids.

We stress.

I feel like I may have drifted from that or maybe not.  Maybe I just went in the direction I needed to go in.  Either way, I do feel like I haven't spoken about my kids much.  And there are reasons.  But they won't be revealed right now.

But I will talk about my kids.

There are days when my kids and their actions make me feel like the worst parent in the world.  More often than not it's because of my reactions to their actions.  But sometimes it is just because of the way they act.  And how I think that reflects on me as a parent.

Take, for instance, my daughter.  She is, as they say, a piece of work. (To put it mildly.)  The child is the most independent and fiercely daring individual I think I have ever encountered.  She is not yet 3.  All of this put together makes my life somewhat difficult.  And, at points, embarrassing.

I do not want to crush my daughter's independence.  I think it's wonderful. But if she is not the most stubborn little thing I have ever met, I don't know who is!  Seriously, the child pushes every button I have and I think she has even installed a few new ones that are specifically just for her.

Potty training? Oh, we were almost done.  Almost being the key word there.  I think she got wind of the fact that I was thrilled to have her out of diapers before 2.5 years and said to herself, "Screw mom, I am NOT crapping on a toilet!  And you know what? I'm going BACK to peeing in my pull-ups!  THAT'S RIGHT LADY, NO BIG GIRL UNDERPANTS FOR ME!"

And you think she doesn't talk like that?

Have you seen her??

 

There are days when I'm afraid to go into her room to wake her up because I'm fairly certain that she's building some sort of torture device meant especially for me.

Good thing she sleeps in our bed.

Yeah, I said it.

Yeah, it sucks.

Yeah, it frustrates the crap out of me.

Yeah, you can judge me for it.  

I don't give a shit.

It's survival of the fittest around here sometimes.

But seriously, I really question my ability as a parent sometimes.  My kids' teachers think that my two children are AWESOME.  No joke.  Then we come home.  My parents see my children clean up the entire playroom better than cleaning people could do.  Then we come home.  My friends see my children listen and go to the potty on their own and play nicely.  Then we come home.

I've never done this before.  This parenting thing.  And there are a lot of days that I really wonder if I'm not screwing my kids up completely.  Or at least screwing all of the people who might have to deal with them as they get older. 

I mean seriously. 

Sometimes, my kids do not listen.  They don't clean up after themselves.  Bedtime can be a real bitch.  And let's not revisit potty training 101 with my daughter.  My 5 year old is starting to talk back and he said damn last week.  And my almost 3 year old corrected my husband on the correct usage of Jesus Christ.

Seriously, parenting fail on our parts.  And I try.  I really do.

My husband?  Well, he has 'SUCKER' written across his forehead.  Especially for the little red headed girl that we call our daughter.

And so, we step it up.  Our children go to their rooms now when they talk back or misbehave.  We talk about why their behavior is wrong.  We scold.  But there are the moments when they break me and my voice and my persona go to that place that I don't want to go to.  And I become angry mommy.

And that's when I question if I'm really being a good parent. 

And I worry.

The Open Door

Growing up my grandparents lived in a home where the door was always open.  Always. (Except to the Sunday morning Jehovah Witness)

It didn't matter if it was a weeknight or a Saturday mid-afternoon or a holiday.  As a matter fact, on the holidays I think their door was more open- if that's even possible.

This quality of my grandparents' family life is something that I know that my parents have tried to pass on and it is something that I feel I have completely absorbed.

When we finally moved into our current house I sent out 'We've moved' announcements (they were really cute- I used paint chips and the saying 'The paint has finally dried....') and at the bottom of each announcement I put that our door was always open.  And it is.

My house is not always clean.  Actually, considering our schedules right now, it's more often messy than it is clean!  I do not always have a ton of food in the fridge or the cabinets.  And we're not always equipped with out friends and family members' favorite beer.  But our door is always open.

For a very long time I struggled with the idea that maybe people didn't realize that.  Maybe people didn't see that they really could just show up at our house- especially if they had a bottle of wine with them! ;)  I worried that people felt it was too far to visit- and I still worry about that.  I was concerned that our friends felt as if they were intruding or were over too much.  That our invitations were refused because people felt as if they were being invited out of obligation or necessity.

This past weekend was probably the first weekend where I did not have a game or practice or a lesson or something to do.  The kids and I were F-R-E-E.  The husband had to work but that's normal- to us.  And I decided to send out a quick text and in a matter of minutes we had guests coming over for no other reason than they wanted to.  They knew the door was open and were ok with the drive and messy house and minimal food.  They just wanted to be.

And it was great.

And the next day, more guests.  A quick invite.  A simple plan and a dinner with wine and dessert was arranged and the house was filled with laughter.

All weekend.

I vividly remember the people sitting around my grandparents' table and in their living rooms- both sides of my family.  People who were not blood relatives, and some who were.  All family.  And all knowing that the door was always open to them, to everyone.

I carry that with me.  I welcome people to our table regularly.  It's part of why I love throw a party or have people over for dinner.  It's part of what brings me joy and helps me to teach my children about the value of family and love.

Our door is ALWAYS open.  To ANYONE.  And it's in that door being open that I find my connection to family and friends.  That I find my connection to something bigger than me.  That I find comfort.

It is having that door open that creates the memories I hope my children carry with them into their own families and friendships.

Censorship

So, I just pulled a very angry post off of here at the urging of a good friend.

It was about my family, my extended family and if you'd really like to read it you can email me or find me on FB.  I saved it.  But in the interest of not starting a family wide war and not wanting to hurt feelings and again, being the bigger person, I felt it best to remove my words.

I hate that.

They were my real feelings.  I am really angry with my extended family.

Not my husband. Not my kids. Not my parents. Not my in-laws.

My EXTENDED family.

If I go any further it will be just as bad as if I had kept the post up.

It does bother me that I have to curb my feelings here because of who reads this.  And really, I don't think any of my extended family even reads this.  I keep feelings and words to myself because I don't want to start anything.  I don't need emails flying and comments raining down on me.  I don't feel like dealing with shit storm that could result  from some things that I have wanted to write.

And now I'm stuck.

I removed a post today and I'm not sure that I've ever done that before.  And I'm not sure how much I like the feeling that comes along that removal.  I've censored my feelings to protect other feelings and ironically enough, that's part of what the post was about.  And I feel like I'm doing that a lot around here.

And I'm tired of that. 

Pacing Myself to the Indigo Girls and Miley Cyrus

I've been listening to the Indigo Girls quite a bit lately.  And while my friend Wolfie thinks I've transported myself back to 1992 because I'm in denial about turning 30, it's actually because I really like the Indigo Girls and I enjoy their music.

I've been fixated on one song lately, "Watershed".  And the ironic piece about my fascination is that I've listened to this song a thousand times over the years but the lyrics are just starting to make sense to me lately.

I feel like I'm being smacked in the fact with a ton of crap all at once.  And, truthfully, I have a roof over my head (granted my ceiling is caving in), I have a husband that loves me and that I love, my children are healthy (except for that double ear infection and nasty asthma rearing their ugly heads), and I have a job that I ADORE.  I should not be so consumed by these things that will, in time, pass and I will be able to deal with.

But I am.

Tomorrow I turn 30.  Consuming crap #1.  (That sounds gross, like I'm actually consuming crap but really I mean that turning 30 is consuming my being right now).

About two weeks ago I received a call from my doctor that my mammograms actually were not all clear.  Consuming crap #2.

A few of my students are dealing with things that no child should EVER have to deal with and they have turned to me.  I am MORE THAN HAPPY to help them, but it is taxing.  Consuming crap #3.

We're having some interior issues that are being dealt with but I have a hole in my ceiling and it's sometimes disconcerting.  Consuming crap #4.

And finally, I am being offered a possibility that could help my family exponentially and we could finally be financially more comfortable but I'm not sure that it would make me happy.  TOTALLY ALL CONSUMING CRAP #5.

And here is where the Indigo Girls come in. 

Up on the watershed, standing at the fork in the road.

you can stand there and agonize until your agony is your heaviest load

And I have done an AWESOME job of making my "agony" my heaviest load.  I have allowed the possibility of what could MAYBE happen to overwhelm all of my senses. 

I have, as they say, put the cart before the horse.

When you're learning to face the path at your pace
Every choice is worth your while.

Right now, there is no choice to make.  Well, that's not true but the major choice doesn't have to be made just yet.  But I have allowed myself to become all consumed by the 'what-ifs'.  The uncertainties make me crazy and give me that feeling in my tummy that Miley Cyrus sings about in her 'Party in the USA' song. (Yeah, I just referenced Miley Cyrus and Indigo Girls in the same post!)  

When all of this gets bunched together I feel like I'm being repeatedly smacked in the face.  Not knocked down, just annoyed repeatedly by life's interruptions.  I have quickly come to realize that the path I am on has to be taken as a reasonable pace and maybe, just maybe, I was moving or I am moving a bit too quickly.  

And, thus, overwhelming myself.

In the end, each of these things is something I can easily tackle.  Together, I've made it a bit much.

But 5 years from now when I look back, it will all be dealt with and done.  And I'll be turning 35.  

GAH!

Every five years or so I look back on my life
And I have a good laugh.

 

So, now, I put the horse back where he belongs in front of the cart and I tackle one thing at a time.  

 

First, it's 30.

 

Tomorrow, I turn 30 and while it may not seem like more than a number to some of you to me it's more than that.  And tomorrow, I deal with that.

 

Then we move forward.  And I'll make my choices one by one and find my own pace.

Every tree limb overhead just seems to sit and wait.
Until every step you take becomes a twist of fate.

The Ring

My husband wears his wedding ring 24 hours a day, 7 days a week.  There is something about that fact that I really love.

Last night as I lay in bed and he snored, quite loudly, I felt his hand under my pillow and his ring was there.  It's always there.  At night I like to run my finger along it or play with the ring while he sleeps.  Knowing that he has it on all of the time gives me this warm feeling, a feeling of love and devotion.

There is something special about that to me.

Now, there is a VERY good chance that he wears his ring all the time because this his second wedding band.  The first one, which I designed using stones from his mother, is gone.  It's been gone since about a year and a half into our marriage.  Lost, never to be found again.

But I like to believe that he wears this ring all the time because he wants to, not out of fear of losing it.

I know men, my grandfather was one, who couldn't wear their rings.  They worked jobs where there was a possibility that their hands could become permanently damaged if the ring were to stay on.  That did not make their rings any less special.

I also know men who do not wear a ring at all.  Ever.  This is something I find upsetting.  I understand that sometimes it doesn't fit.  Sometimes it's lost.  Sometimes it's forgotten.  But there is something about not wearing it, ever, that bothers me.  I don't know why.

But at night I lay in bed and I feel the cool metal around my husband's finger and it reminds me of our devotion to one another.  It reminds me of our wedding day and our days since then.  It reminds me of the unbroken circle that we have and the strength that the circle possesses.  And I realize that I don't need a ring to remind of all of those things because I have him to remind me.  And it's in that strength I find love, friendship and, often, my own strength.

Chef's Hours

My husband's family owns a restaurant and for a very long time my husband worked there.  He would work part time, sometimes full time and sometimes full time in addition to another full time job.  It was a lot.  And if you know anything about the restaurant business, the hours are not kind to those who are close the workers.

When we became engaged and then when we got married we discussed right away that once we started having a family chef's hours were out of the question.  In the early, early infant years maybe it wouldn't be a big deal.  But once our kids grew older and started becoming involved in things, chef's hours would become quite a detriment to family time.  We agreed that one, MAYBE two, nights a week to help dad out was enough.

And that's what it was. 

Yes, there have been spurts- because of emergencies- where my husband has worked constantly.  There was a point where my brother-in-law, the head chef, had to take a leave of absence from the restaurant and my husband worked 8 to 5 at his then day job and then 5 to 10 or 11 at the restaurant.  THOSE were long days for everyone.

But, we thought that we were past that. 

The husband was just working Sunday afternoons/evenings and even those were starting to slow down a bit.  Having the extra cash was nice and it gave the husband a chance to be with his dad and brother and cook, something he enjoys, and be in a place where the memories of his mom are still pretty strong.

Plus, the chef's hours were not present.  It worked really well.

About 3 years ago the husband left his sales job to head back to retail management because, really, he enjoys it and it pays SIGNIFICANTLY better than sales- if you can believe that (and he was a top performer in his sales position).  Initially, we were really happy with the move.  He was loving the job- and he still does.  He works with some really great people.  And his company, well, his company takes care of their employees in an ethical and fair way.  They are wonderful company to work for.  Truly.

But the hours.  Oh, the hours.

The husband has recently been transferred to a new store and he's one of the guys in charge of opening up this new store.  The company just bought this store and are in the process of turning it into "their" store.  The amount of work and effort is astounding.

I haven't seen my husband for more than 10 minutes in the last two weeks.

Sometimes, I'm a little ok with weeks like that.  Recently, not so much.

Last night he wasn't home before midnight.

This morning he was at work at 6:30.

Tomorrow, who knows.

Those chef's hours are starting to look pretty good.

One of the other pieces about working at his family's restaurant that my husband didn't enjoy, besides the hours, was the tension that was often present.  He is the "baby" of the family and often his ideas and suggestions were and are discounted.  My father-in-law and brother-in-law, not unlike my husband, are quite stubborn and want things done their way.  Unfortunately, they don't like to take too many chances and my husband will.  So, there was always tension.  Not bad but not great.

When the husband took on this new job it was as if a weight had been lifted.  He left a crappy ass sales job where the company was terrible and paid quite poorly.  And went to a job where he was listened to and appreciated.  He would come home from work tired and sometimes stressed but his days were far more enjoyable.  No longer was he was stressed working for his family and a terribly unfair company, to boot.  He was finally in a place where he was happy.

He still is.

That, his happiness, is the ONLY thing keeping me from freaking out right now.  I find these hours to be ridiculous- especially since he's not paid hourly.  I think it's unfair that my children rarely see their father, now.  I hate that haven't seen my husband in days.

But, this too shall pass.  And it will get better.  And we will see each other. 

But, seriously, chef's hours....not so bad, right now.

GRUMPY

Have you read Him??

He's hysterical and I'm fairly certain he's a doctor I must have seen at some point in time!!

What If We Just Left It Alone?

It starts with a few unreturned phone calls.

Maybe some ignored texts.

Then the cancellations.

Outings with others, people left out.  Ignored.

The obligatory brief emails.  Updates on crap that doesn't even matter.  The big stuff was missed.

Random chats.  Occasional facebook posts.

The meaning is gone.

It becomes forced.  Pushed.  There is nothing to talk about.

Nothing to say.

Where once there was laughter and endless chats. 

There is nothing.

But was there ever really anything?  Was it real?  Was is EVER there?

Sure.  There was something.  But it just wasn't meant to be.  And it's sad and okay all at once.

And it's not because the ending wasn't natural.  But it happened, and it's done.

And we continue to force and push because we think we're supposed to.

But what if we just left it alone?

What would happen then?

All Clear

I just realized that I never gave anyone on here an update.

I'm sorry.

Everything came out all clear.  Best Christmas present, EVER!

I'm now on a yearly schedule for screening and I am in the clear until next December!

Thank you so much for all of your kind words and thoughts and prayers.  I am truly blessed and grateful for all of you!!

Here's to a Wonderfully Happy and Healthy New Year 2010!!

Yes, Virginia From Mommy's Martini

I love this.

Go check out Mommy's Martini.

And I still believe.

Lightening Up

Yesterday was a terrible no good very bad day for me for no other reason except that I let myself get so down and sad that I couldn't pull myself out.

It started in the morning, some song- wish I could remember which one, came on the radio on my way into work.  And then my mind wandered.  And then the tears.  And then the downward slump.

And that's where I stayed for a lot of the day.

I left work to get some stuff to get ready for my best friend's birthday.  She turned 40 today.  I wanted to get her gift and some gag stuff and decorations.  I was still down.

I came back to work to get ready for basketball practice and a friend of mine, a teacher from my department, was staying late to help the seniors decorate for the hallway competition.

He and I sat on the floor of the school, watching his current students and my former students decorating for Christmas, and we just talked.  He was going to his wife's work dinner- she works with a bird sanctuary.  We joked about how awkward it would be to eat any type of bird at the dinner.  We laughed and really talked about nothing in particular.

And I walked away significantly lighter.

Last night, I had a conversation with another co-worker/friend with whom I've been struggling and it was normal and fun.  I walked away even lighter.

I stopped to get more decorations for my friend's birthday.  I thought of how wonderful she has been.  I can't even begin to tell you how grateful I am to have a friend like her.  She has been incredible and I am extremely blessed.  I realized how lucky I am as I walked through the dollar store.  And I headed home feeling that much better.

I got home and my husband listened as I described my sad day that was only sad because I allowed it to be.  And he just listened.  He didn't offer me a solution.  He didn't say it was going to be ok.  He. Just. Listened.

And I was relieved.

This morning I came into work and there was a six pack of Guinness on the floor of my room with the kindest card. 

And, again, I came to see how lucky I am.  I am surrounded by the most incredible people.  I am supported by the most wonderful friends and family.

I am lucky.

I have no idea what Tuesday will bring.

I don't want to hear that it's going to be ok because no one really knows that.  I don't know what lies ahead of me after my tests on Tuesday but I know, more than I know anything else, that I will have the most incredible support system regardless of what the outcome of all of this is.

And for that I am lighter and happier.

One Day At A Time: The Non-Mackenzie Philips Version

So, the mammogram happened.  And it was fast.  And painful.  Really uncomfortable.

And then the waiting began.  And when it went on I thought there was little reason to worry.

No news = Good news.  Or that's what they say.

No news = Slow radiologist and double checking and checking over and a weekend.

No news = a phone call on Monday morning.  "You need come back.  The films showed something. The radiologist wants more.  45 minutes of tests. You'll leave with results."

Breathe in and then breathe out.

One day at time is how it's been.  A very slow one day at a time.

Tuesday.  It was their first available.  I begged.  I pleaded.  I played the age card.   There. Was. Nothing.

And now I wait.

One.
Day.
At.
A.
Time.

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This Has been Cross Posted At My New Blog: The Dirty Thirty Tridea
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We've touched on the fact that I'm a weight loser.  Since last January I've lost close to 40 pounds.  I've put a few back on but I'm looking to lose about 20 more and then maintain.  I'd be happy then.

Or would I?

I have a terrible body image.  Seriously.  And I'm not saying this so you all- you know the 3 of you who read this besides me- will comment and tell me what a fabulous body I have.  Believe me, I am very proud of how far I've come since starting my weight loss and exercise journey.  But that doesn't mean I am happy with how I look.

I love that I've dropped close to 3 or 4 sizes- although the cost of new clothes has been difficult to wrap my head around.

I enjoy that I tend to have more energy than before- although that does mean that my kids take advantage of it and make me run all over the place after them.  (I secretly enjoy that even though I pretend I don't.)

It makes me happy that I feel like I can hold my head up a bit higher than before because my confidence is greater- although it is starting to make my neck and back hurt, standing up straight all the time.

All of that being said, I still have this image of myself as this terrible fat person.  I still look at pictures of myself and think I look terribly fat and out of proportion.  I look in store windows and mirrors and sometimes just can't stand how I look.

And really, that bothers me.

At my heaviest (non-pregnant) I was well into the 200s.  Now, I'm really not even near that- the 200s, that is.  And what's funny is that even at that weight I thought I looked ok.  I look back now and there are times when I did look ok but I can see myself behind the weight.  I can see the person I'm in the process of becoming behind the too fat face and the extra wide hips and the super jiggly arms- which I still have, DAMMIT!

I wasn't lacking self-confidence, I was just viewing myself as an image that was probably better than what it truly was.  Now, I can't escape the physical images I have of myself from then.  I still see the super heavy me when I walk down the street.  I can't stop viewing myself as obese and gross.  I cannot let go of my fat image and I cannot figure out why.

Don't misunderstand what I'm saying here- I am confident in who I am as a person.  This is not a crisis of personality or character.  I know who I am as an individual and I am proud of everything I've accomplished and done- weight loss and non-weight loss related.  I love myself for the most part.  I just don't always love the way I look.

I feel like I have more "fat" days than skinny days.  I constantly feel like I weigh 300 pounds- even though I've never come close to that.  I constantly feel like my clothes don't look good on me and I'm readjusting myself and what I'm wearing.  It's daily that I wake up and change my clothes- especially my shirts- 9 times because I never think they look ok.  I still hate my thighs and forget about my hips- I've considered taking a vacuum to them and performing my own liposuction.

Is my poor self-image so bad that it limits what I do and who I see?  No, it's not.  This summer I wore a bikini for the first time since I was 6 but truthfully, I was completely uncomfortable in it.  My chest was too small, my stomach not firm enough and my thighs too jiggly.  But no one noticed that except me.

I am too critical of myself and I need to stop that.

When I set out on this journey I wanted to be healthy and I wanted to feel comfortable in my own skin.  It's funny, in a lot of ways I feel like I've become more uncomfortable as I've lost weight.  I've become more self-conscious as my body has taken on a more shapely form rather than the blob like form I felt I had before.  I'm now at the point where I need to let go of the self-conscious and move more towards the self-accepting but actually doing that is much harder than saying it.


I don't worry about what other people think.  But I worry too much about what I think and my thinking appears to be wrong.


I have a terrible body image and I'm not looking for a miracle to occur by completing this Triathlon but I am hoping that the journey I'm on will create in me an image that I can accept as real and true.  I'm hoping that I can finally shed the pounds of fat that are really no longer on my body but are clearly occupying my mind.

Distractions

I'm not one to get easily distracted.  As a matter of fact, when I have something in my head it's often very hard for me to let go of it or forget about it.

I have been trying very hard since just before Thanksgiving to keep myself distracted. 

I had been having some minor health problems and went, the day before turkey day, to have them checked out.  I ended up having to get blood work done and start some new medication. 

And make an appointment for another mammogram.

This will be my second.  I'm not yet 30 and I'm fully aware that that shouldn't matter.

At any rate, I called and made my appointment- January 8th.

Wow, that's a lot of time to keep myself occupied and distracted.  Christmas should be fun with that in the back of my brain.

Since finding out that I need another mammogram not a day has gone by where I have not thought about it and what it might bring with it.

*And before you chime in and tell me not to jump to conclusions, don't bother.  They're my boobs and I need to be prepared for whatever may or may not come down the pike.*

Yesterday was the first day where it was not at the forefront of my mind.  We had a small Christmas tree trimming gathering and I spent the day with family and friends.  And I didn't think about my boobs and what may come until this morning as I drove into work.

Yesterday was a wonderful distraction.  Yesterday was comfortable and easy and a reminder of everything I have to be thankful for and what I am blessed with.  Yesterday was just what I needed just when I needed it.

That's why, today, I made another phone call. 

I cannot keep distracting myself- not until January 8th.  And it just seemed too long to wait for something that is fairly serious.

Apparently, it was all a misunderstanding.  I was given an appointment for a routine mammogram.  I should have been given an appointment for an emergency mammogram given my symptoms.

Tomorrow morning I get to get squeezed before work.  No more waiting.  No more distractions.

Because, really, I'm not easily distracted at all.