Author: hollyida

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A letter to my pancreas

pancreasDear Pancreas,

I know. I know you’re angry with me.  Last week, you made it very clear you were pissed off.  I realize now that you were trying to tell me several weeks ago, with those little twinges.  But…..can you please tell me why?  What did I do wrong?   Have I treated you badly?

I eat right, Pancreas, you know I do.   I exercise—and don’t tell me running hurt you because that’s bullshit and you sound just like my father when you say that.  I rarely drink alcohol. You and I know my weekly glass of wine  (or margarita) did not do this.

So what is it?  TELL ME!!

Is it….could it….is this because of how I spoke to you and my entire body?  Because I hated you and criticized you and wished you were something else?  But…it wasn’t YOU, it was the rest of my body!  You know! My belly, my arms, legs, back, ass….

Oh.

I guess it sounds like the *entire* body, huh?  But don’t you remember?  I told you and the whole body that I would love it more this year, that this was the year I would appreciate all of you and realize all the gifts you give me.  I didn’t do that?

No. I guess I didn’t.  I’ve really tried though.  I’m trying to love all of you and not nitpick about my saggy stomach (which I greatly appreciate that sagginess now that it’s not filled with 10 pounds of fluid!) or my floppy arms or my aching back.  And Pancreas? I do love you, no matter how much you hurt me.  I need you and I love you.  I love that in the past, you’ve allowed me to eat nearly anything I wanted (besides gluten, but that’s not your fault) and you worked so perfectly as I fueled my body to get ready to run races and along my road and even a half-marathon last year.  Remember?   You’ve been amazing to me.  I appreciate you. I truly do.

I will do whatever it takes to win your love back.  I will eat bland and mashed food (like the doctor ordered) until you heal…until you feel like yourself….until you feel worthy of my love once again. I’ll even listen to Weird Al’s song, Pancreas, just for you.love panc

We *will* live in harmony once again, Pancreas.  We’ll have a milkshake or even an apple, and it will feel good.  There will be no pain.  It will be like this never happened.  Like it was just a bad dream.

I’ll take care of you, Pancreas.  I love you.

Yours,

Holly

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Free Holly

“Jeez! You’ll do anything for a vacation,” my brother said to me as he entered my hospital room.

*sigh*

Tuesday morning, I ran my usual 5k. I felt pretty low, but I just thought it was the meds I was taking for what the walk-in PA thought was diverticulitis. I only had a few more days on the stuff, so I wasn’t too worried.  I dragged my butt back out the door to take my son to school, then drove back home to get some breakfast.  It was a piece of homemade bread with turkey and mustard.  I remember this clearly.

I went to work, and one hour in, I was sitting at the circulation desk, reading book reviews, when this incredible stabbing pain in my abdomen made me double over. I was alone at the time.  The patrons were all downstairs (thank goodness) and my boss was on her way back to the library after a school visit.  I don’t think I’ve ever been more happy to see her as I was that day.  When she came up the stairs, I ran to the bathroom, but all I did was curl in a ball and try to hold myself together.  After a few minutes I figured someone might need to use the room, so I went to the workroom to continue my fetal position.  I knew I needed to go to the ER, but I was trying to convince myself that I was ok…..when clearly I was not.

So after a few more minutes of whimpering and sweating, I drove myself to the ER (it’s only a mile up the road, so no worries).  Once I got there, they took me right in.  After having to drink a few bottles of some contrast stuff, I had a cat-scan where they determined that “yes,” something was wrong with my pancreas but not sure what.  This was after several hours of being in excruciating pain.  The thing is? I can’t even blame the doctor, because he wanted to give me a narcotic for the pain but I wanted to drive home.  He finally reassured me that I was not going to be allowed to drive anyway because of the amount of pain I was in.  “Fine,” I snarled.  “Give me what you got.”

My husband was there at that point, and we both decided it would be better if I was transferred to a hospital closer to our home. So I got to experience my very first ambulance ride! (I said I wanted to do new things for my birthday month, but this isn’t quite what I had in mind.)  I thought I was going to be sick on the ride, but thankfully that didn’t happen. Instead, my body waited until I immediately walked into my hospital room, where I found the nearest trash can.  I do like to make an entrance. 😉

The past few days have been filled with ultrasounds and MRIs and NO FOOD (not even ice chips, just wet swabs to moisten my mouth) and medicine that took away the pain, but also took away all feeling and emotion.  I was living in a gray world and fucking hated it.

Yesterday morning, I received my last dose of pain meds.  No more.  I want to be back in the land of light and color and beauty…and food.  (I had my first sip of chicken bullion after 56 hours of nothing but the occasional damp swab, and let me tell you–it was nearly orgasmic.)

I now need answers and I need to get back home.  Neither my son nor husband are sleeping, they’re eating junk every night, and my 7-year-old is now nagging my husband. “Papa! My laundry basket is full and it needs to be emptied before Mom gets home!”  (Now do you understand why I’m so in love with this child?)

So….answers?  There are none.  The docs are treating me for pancreatitis, but they have no idea why I have it.  No gallstones, I’m not overweight, very little alcohol consumption (and now they tell me I should just skip my 1 or 2 glasses of wine a week because it could aggravate the situation—boo!).  I’m the healthiest damn person here!   Now how do I prevent this from happening again?  I still don’t know. I’m truly hoping the doc can tell me something…..anything.

And honestly, I’m not sure they’ll even let me out today, but I’ve offered to arm wrestle the doc if that’s what it takes. 🙂 With my family and friends rooting for me though, I know I can do just about anything.

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Ideal

I want to write about today, just so I won’t forget it. So I won’t forget, that as a parent, I really do have days where I not only know what I’m doing, but being a parent can feel easy and fun and absolutely wonderful.

Today was supposed to be a family day.  My husband will be working more during the next few months, so when we knew he wouldn’t be “on call” this weekend, we planned on doing a few simple but fun things away from home and just getting a chance to be outside for a change. (It’s been one helluva winter, no?)  But, as fate would have it, my husband got called out anyway.  So plans needed to change.

My boy had a t-ball practice at 9am, so off we went.  He typically likes to play, but you can  usually see a bit of feet-dragging going on during the practice.  This morning, though, he was in the zone.  He did everything that was asked of him.  When out in the field, he actually ran to every ball instead of waiting for it to come to him.  At batting practice, he worked on batting both sides (he’s right handed but typically bats left), and he ran the bases with enthusiasm.   It was a beauty to see.

Once we arrived home, he knew he needed to take a quick shower (he was several days overdue!), and this is where a bit of the feet dragging kicked in.   He stayed outside for a while, then when he came in he tried to watch tv. (I hid the remote control.) Once I told him that we would not go anywhere nor was he allowed to do anything until he showered, *then* he slowly made his way to the bathroom like it was a walk to the gallows.

We were finally on the road less than an hour later, both hungry and looking forward to a lunch of sushi and miso soup.  We ate at our favorite restaurant, Ichiban, had a fantastic meal with lots of toasting and saying “Cheers!” (his new favorite thing to do) and drank an entire pot of green tea between the two of us.  Everything was tasty and nothing major was spilled.  It was lovely.

The day continued with errands and ice cream and playing in the park.  We didn’t do anything extraordinary, but we were relaxed and the sun was shining and we were having fun by just being together.  There was no misbehaving, no yelling, and no pouting—from either one of us.

On our last stop, the grocery store, every single person we talked to—clerks, anyone who smiled at us, the people parked next to us—my son would say to them, “We had a GREAT day! An AWESOME day!”   It was the absolute sweetest thing.  Throughout the afternoon, Briar would say to me, “You’re the best, Mom,” and “You are just so, so beautiful.”   He was so incredibly happy.  *I* was so happy.   Yes, we did miss my husband and felt bad that he had to work such long hours today, and hopefully we’ll do something together tomorrow.  But for today?  My son and I had one of the happiest days of our lives…and we knew it.

I wish I could explain *why* we were so happy.  We didn’t go to Disneyworld.  We didn’t run a race.  We shopped for groceries and goofed off at a playground in the sunshine and ate at our favorite place and we did all of those things together.  I know it doesn’t seem like much, but it was truly the perfect day.  It was so perfect, that we both wanted to mark the occasion by taking a photo of ourselves before the day was through.

So neither one of us would ever forget it.

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If I could give every single person in the world a gift, it would be to have a perfectly happy day, and realize how happy and wonderful it is *while* it’s happening.  It may in fact be one of the greatest experiences I’ve ever had.

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The Perfect Match or a Hookup?

Walking into the room, I’m a little nervous.  I bite my lip and glance about to see if those available might, perhaps, be suitable for me.   In the corner? Too old looking.  By the window?  Too white.  Maybe there on the left?  Too flashy.    But wait….straight ahead….could it be?   A perfect match for me?   I hold my breath…..kneel down….and find my shoe size.   YES!!

I’m sure some people love shopping for shoes and I’m sure some people love dating.  I can’t say I’m a fan of either (although since I haven’t dated in nearly 20 years, I can only say that I remember not loving it).  Buying shoes is extremely difficult for this big-footed woman.  Since I began running, I’ve only purchased men’s running shoes because I can find a pair that will fit me in nearly any shoe store.  But last week, I said “To hell with that!”  I wanted a pair of cute or at least fun-looking shoes.  I heard that the New Balance outlet in Skowhegan had larger shoe sizes for women, so off I went.DSCN2341

The choices were still extremely limited.  After talking with the salesperson, I found about 4 pairs that would be ok, narrowed it down to 2 pairs and ran to the cash register.  This was going to happen. (Jumping up and down now!)  I was going to have my very first pair of *women’s* running shoes!  I know this shouldn’t be that exciting, but for this giant chick, it was a first. This felt like the first time I bought a size 10 dress after having worn a size 24.  I felt….feminine, pretty. Not something I feel all that often, but it felt good.

Now that the fun part was over, it was time to try these babies out for real.   “Meeting” my shoes for the first time and taking them for a quick run around the store was one thing, but bringing them home for some quality running time was something entirely different.

“Blue”:  Good looking, very stable, comfortable. Couldn’t wait to go out with ’em.  At first, things were decent.  Everything felt new, yet comfortable.  But 5 minutes into this “date,” and things started feeling not so good.  Pain in my feet, left leg feeling heavy.  Is it me? Did I do something wrong? Or is it Blue?  Just stick with it, I told myself.   Remember the Mizunos from last year?  They felt just like this and those sweethearts got me through Holly’s Half.  Things are bound to get better.

The next day I gave Blue another try.  Same exact results, but didn’t get worse.  Now what?

See those cuties on the right-hand side of the photo?  The ones with the lovely purple N and the spunky green shoelaces?  There was no doubt that they looked good…but would they feel good?

I gave “Spunky” a whirl on Friday morning.   Oh gosh….things heated up fast from the get-go!  My entire body felt light and springy and beautiful and I ran my fastest 5K in over a year.  It was delicious.

But….this morning I decided to give Blue one more try.  I wanted to go a little further this time, really see what will happen. I don’t always want just fast, but endurance. I want something for the long  haul, you know?  At the start, things were comfortable as usual, but I waited for the pain to begin.  After a half mile…nothing.  One mile? Still good. Two?  Great!  I turned around and headed back towards home, smiling, hoping this would continue.

And it did.

So now, do I give up Spunky and stick with good ole stable Blue?

Or do I shove Blue in a closet until I’ve worn down the gorgeous Spunky to just a pair of laces?

 

 

 

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Control

“So….why are you mopping all the floors on Mothers’ Day?” my husband asked.

Some of you might not know this about me, but….I’m a bit of a control freak. Shocking, I know! 😉   Before my son was born, I had a cleaning calendar posted on my kitchen wall. I followed it religiously. Dust on Thursday? Done.  Mop the kitchen floor on Saturday? Absolutely. I wanted my new house to look and smell as new and clean as possible.

Three years later, I gave birth to my beautiful boy.

And my house has never been clean again.

Ok. That’s a slight exaggeration, but you know what I mean.   Control over my domain was gone. I had new responsibilities and a sparkling kitchen was no  longer a priority.  And seven years later, with the messes increasing exponentially due to my kiddo, cleaning is still not a priority.  Weekends are about doing things together, going to sports practice, spending time with other family and running.  I’m more than ok with the changes in my life that my boy has created.  I still want a clean and tidy house, so I clean when I can, and rope my husband into helping me occasionally and now my son can at least vacuum.

But sometimes, like today, just those few minutes of sweeping and mopping and smelling that wonderful scent of Pine Sol, makes me feel in control for just a little while. It calms me, brings me a little peace.

I’ve had a lovely Mothers’ Day. My husband made me these amazing gluten-free pancakes with loads of butter and syrup, and I ate them with abandon and absolutely no guilt.  My son read me a story he wrote just for me about making special robots that would clean my house (this kid gets me).  Then we went shopping for running shoes, picked up a few items from the grocery store, then off to visit my mom.

If you’ve ever met my mom, you know that not only do we look alike but act alike. We’re both pretty anal retentive about how we want our house to be–I learned from the best. 😉  But my poor momma has had many illnesses and physical  problems in the last few years. The latest being a dislocated ankle and bone chips in her leg, which led to a surgery.  Everything went well, but now she has a cast on her skinny little leg, all the way up to her thigh.  She can’t put any weight on it and has to use crutches.  She’s basically homebound until the end of the month when they’ll put a walking cast on her leg.   In a word?  She’s miserable.  But her spirits have been higher with this incident than others in the past and she’s trying not to get discouraged. (In the past 4 years, she’s broken both of her hips, too.)  She likes to say that when she’s feeling down, she thinks of her kids and her grandchildren and it picks her right up.  She’s lovely, isn’t she?

cast

So today, when Briar and I went to visit my mom, we brought markers and stickers to decorate her cast.  She was ecstatic to see us.  Lunch was in the fridge, so I got things ready while Mom & Briar chatted.  I looked around at her home, and I knew things were not quite how she wanted them.  So after we ate, I swept the kitchen floor, did the dishes and offered to vacuum the rugs.  She refused my offer, but we chatted about how we like things a certain way.  Her boyfriend has helped her a great deal, but it’s the little things that can drive you nuts.  Or at least drive *us* nuts.  Like leaving the laundry basket in the living room instead of putting it back.  So I moved the basket back where it should be.

I tried to make things just a little bit better for her so she feels like she has at least a smidge of control over her life.

When I got back to my house,  I looked at my kitchen and bathroom floors.  I had been thinking about going for a short run, but instead I swept and mopped the floors.

I needed to feel like everything was right with the world, if only for a day….or at least an hour. 🙂

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Enjoy the Journey

I just read an article in June’s issue of Runners’ World about some runners that do not like to race and how they keep motivated.  After reading the first few paragraphs, I realized I was holding my breath.  Had I found other people like me? Were there really other runners out there who disliked racing as much as I do, but still feel ok about calling themselves runners?

When I first started running, I thought I could  only call myself a runner if I kept racing.  I’ve tried to be in at least one race a year, just to keep that title of “runner.”  But maybe I don’t need to do that.  Maybe it’s ok to just….run.

I’m often asked to run 5Ks for local charities or even the friendly, “Hey, let’s run a road race next time I’m in town!”  As much as I love getting these requests, I also inwardly cringe each time I hear them.  It’s not that I don’t want to help out my local charity or that I don’t want to spend time with my friends, it’s just that I really, really don’t enjoy racing.

I get so nervous beforehand that I think I’m going to be sick. Which is silly, I know. I stay in the back of the pack and it’s not like I’m really competing with anyone but myself.  And yet….I always pick one person that I try to beat.  (And let me tell you, when the person you pick is old enough to be your mother and she kicks your ass in the race? It’s a very humbling experience.)

And then there’s the cost of the races.  If I want to help out a local charity or a large research foundation, then I’ll send them a check. I don’t need swag and I really don’t need to pay $35 to run 3.1 miles, since I run that most mornings right in my lovely town of Levant. It only costs me the price of getting up a half hour earlier than usual.   I didn’t have to sit through traffic to do it or attempt to find a parking place that costs an additional $10.

It’s true that when I run my daily 5Ks, I don’t get that feeling of comradery from all the other runners at the race, but if you know me then you know that I’m not usually one for that kind of thing anyway.  If I really wanted that, I could join a runners group or find someone in my area to run with.

Then there’s the motivation factor.  Admittedly, having signed up for races in the past certainly helped get me out the door on those cold, rainy mornings.  Even when I was training for my own half-marathon, I still got out the door and trained my butt off because I set a goal and wanted to complete it by a certain date.  But now that I’ve done that, I realize that just having a goal is good enough for me.  I actually *enjoy* running.  It’s never easy and often not fun, but there are so many moments that consist of pure joy for me. So when you add up all the good, it drastically outweighs the bad.  And typically, that’s all the motivation I need.

I’m not dissing anyone who likes to race or even those that think you should race to keep motivated.   To each her own.  Do what you need to do. But like the piece in Runners’ World said, don’t forget to “enjoy the journey.”   No matter if that journey takes you to a finish line or through your neighborhood.   Just do what makes you feel good.

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Reality Bites

Doesn’t it though?  Do you ever go on vacation and think, “If life could just be like this all the time.”  Although the vacation I just got back from? I can’t say I wish life was always like that.

My family and I went to Florida for a few days to visit my in-laws and relax and have some fun in the sun….in the Sunshine State….where the sun should be shining in April…right?  Apparently not.  Just after we landed, I was feeling so good while wearing my shades, enjoying the warmth of the sun through the car windows.  And that was it. I never saw the sun again.

My boy had a cold the entire vacation. It actually began two days before we left for Florida, and never really got better.  He was pretty good about it, but it couldn’t have *felt* that great.

The motel? Not so wonderful. Good price due to the renovations going on, but we didn’t get one of those rooms they had already renovated.  Lukewarm showers. At least the sheets were clean, we had a fridge and there was a decent pool.  My son swam one time, just before the sky turned black and it poured on us.

The visiting part was pretty great, though. My son turned 7 while we were there and it was the first time he got to spend his birthday with these grandparents, aunt and cousins.  Had a fantastic time at both Busch Gardens and Wonderworks–money well spent.   Both places were educational and loads of fun.

Most of the time we were there, we were not on a time schedule, which always makes me happy.  We tried to just live in the moment, have a good time, eat what we wanted and sleep when we could.

The night before coming home, though, I found out my mother may have broken her ankle.  Reality was going to take over the vacation before it officially ended.  I barely slept, had weird dreams, worried about my mom, and just knew that 3am was going to arrive sooner than I wanted it to.

During the flight back to Maine, I tried to hold onto a few memories to keep me in that vacation mode as long as possible.   Riding the log flume and the river rapids with my son at Busch Gardens while laughing the entire time (except when I was screaming), hanging out with the family and telling stories, enjoying a quiet moment in the stacks of a neighborhood library.

Once we were home, it was time for laundry and lunch and calling my mom.  She’s in pain. She’s confused. She’s frustrated. *I’m* frustrated.  I feel helpless, but right now there isn’t anything to do. Tomorrow will hopefully bring more answers.  After I get off the phone with her and lunch is cooking on the stove, I lean over my kitchen counter, put my head in my hands and cry.

It doesn’t last long, but it’s been building.  I’m pretty sure I’m not done yet, but I’m almost too tired to cry now, you know?

This was *not* a bad vacation. It just didn’t have all of those fantasy qualities you always hope to have.  Like sunshine.  But as I attempt to fall asleep tonight and get ready to be slapped by reality tomorrow, I’ll try to remember those great moments I *did* have.   Even something as simple, yet wonderful as this:

 

me&bri

 

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Our Marathon

Boston.  It’s not just the capital of Massachusetts.  For New Englanders, Boston is “our” city.  It’s the home of the Red Sox, the Bruins, the Celtics–“our” sports teams.  When we want a bit of the city life, we drive down or take a train to Boston.  It is New England’s capital.  And the Boston Marathon?  That, in fact,  is everyone’s marathon.  It’s the one runners strive to get into, no matter where they live.  It’s a lifelong dream for many runners to finally qualify and be one of the 36,000 to actually be in THE Boston Marathon.

We all know what happened last year. I held my son in my lap and wept, as we watched the news that night.  Since I began running just 3 1/2 years ago, I’ve felt a kinship with other runners, no matter they’re age or speed.  We’ve all had good runs, good races, bad runs and bad races. We know what it’s like to get up before dawn to train and we’ve all felt pain doing something we love. It’s all kind of weird and all really good.

After the bombings, I wondered what I could do to help.  I donated to OneFund but was there something else? How can I show my support for this race and these people? I knew I wouldn’t be in Boston for the next race (it’s the day after my son’s birthday, and being in such a huge crowd is not his kind of fun).  Then my friend, Jean, posted a link about the Boston Marathon World Run on her Facebook wall.  I’ve been thinking about it for a few weeks, but since I haven’t been able to run much lately, I didn’t think I could do it.  Then I re-read the description a little better.  Just run or walk a mile or two or 26.2 in the days and weeks leading up to April 21, or even on that day.   It’s just to celebrate movement and making a commitment to our fitness goals.  It’s a way to be part of this community of runners who have achieved incredible things to be there, and to show our support for those that were injured last April and for the families of those that died.

I think it’s also a way for everyone to be a New Englander for a day.   We’re a bit of an odd bunch, but really good people, too.  Some of us will shake your hand and immediately welcome you into our family, and others will barely look at you if you weren’t born here.   Some of us love to eat lobster (“lobstah”), others love to hate it.  Some embrace our accent, others deny it.  But I dare say that a majority of us have a fierce pride about where we live, probably even more so if we were born here.  If we can somehow be a part of the 118th Boston Marathon, I think many of us will do it.

And no matter where you live, or if you like to run or walk or bike, I hope you will find a way to be a part of this marathon, too.  It’s not just about a race this year. It’s about being part of the *human* race and realizing that we’re all in this together.  Let’s do the best that we can and try to at least be decent to one another.   At least for one day.

And if you want–you can even borrow my accent for the day, too. 🙂

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I’m not sure if I’ll be running on Monday, but I will be wearing my new calf sleeves.

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My Facebook Fast

I am no stranger to self-deprivation.  I’ve been on a variety of diets over the years (Scarsdale diet, cabbage soup diet, etc.) that not only deprived me of a vast amount of calories but also pleasure.  I rarely eat before a run and sometimes wait close to two hours before I eat after a run.  A little voice in my head continually tells me that I can burn just a few more calories before I eat that granola bar.  It’s absolutely ridiculous, I know.  In the past few months, I’ve been much better about eating and not starving myself. Trying not to *always* count calories, but eat “normally”—whatever the hell that means.

I’m also the person who will yearn for that cute jacket in the store window, but refuse to buy it. Always justifying purchases for my son and sometimes my husband, but never myself.  “It costs too much,” I’ll say. And when it goes on sale?   “I don’t need it,” I’ll say to anyone listening. But what I’m really saying in my head? “I don’t deserve it.”

This year, though, I’ve made many attempts to treat myself better.  I actually bought clothes for my vacation next week. I keep telling that bitch in my head to pipe down.  Nothing was particularly expensive.  I did, in fact, need summer clothes, and I fucking deserve to feel good and look good.

Then why give up Facebook? Everyone knows I love it.  It’s given me a chance to reconnect with a few people that I thought I’d never “see” again, it allows me to watch the children of my friends grow up (and they can watch my little guy sprout up to be a big guy), and most importantly for me, Facebook has allowed debates and conversations to take place between myself and my friends that never would have happened otherwise.  It’s created this lovely little community of people that I care about, all at my fingertips.

So….*why* did I give up Facebook?  Was it just to punish myself for buying those clothes or eating that extra lemon square?   No, I don’t think so.

Was it because I haven’t been able to run much and hate seeing everyone else run races all the time and be amazing when I’m feeling dumpy?  Believe it or not…no.  I’m still on dailymile.com and I see my friends doing what they do there.  I’m happy for people when they do awesome things.  I’m actually one of those folks, who after buying a lottery ticket, get super excited for the person who wins.  It’s never me but I can just imagine what they’re feeling, and how can you not be ecstatic for them? (If you don’t get this, it’s really ok. My husband doesn’t either.)

I think I needed a break from Facebook because of a few things. We all know FB is a major time waster. Even if you don’t play games on it (which I don’t), you could still scroll through your newsfeed for an hour to see what your friends are up to, but what else could you have done with that hour?  Work?  Spend face to face time with your kid? Read?

Yes. All of those things.

To go along with that, FB is a *huge* distraction for me. I know I don’t have to sign in to it, but just wondering what good things my friend Theresa has done this week or what amazing creations my friends Russ and Hazel have made or even what hilarious thing Sarah’s son will say today, all make me want to sign in and check on people.  It was becoming an addiction, and I do not need something that feels good and I think ultimately *is* good, to become bad for me.

But you know what really started to get to me?  All of the sarcasm and the snarky comments, some of which were my own.   Facebook started to bring out the worst in me, and no one needs that, especially  me.  I have fought the winter blues without much success this year and I need every positive thought I can get.  It’s easy to be a naysayer with everyone else, but I don’t want to be like that.  Life is just too short to be negative and ultimately unhappy.

And that’s what Facebook was making me. Unhappy. Or perhaps some of the people on my list were making me that way.   So just get rid of them! you may say.  And some I did, but others I just can’t, for various reasons.   So block them! you might say.  Perhaps. But we know that life is never quite as simple as we want it to be. Social interactions are vitally important in our work, our friendships and in our familial relationships.  Diplomacy is horribly underrated in life.  It’s necessary on so many levels, and I didn’t want to “fuck things up” so to speak.  So, like Rachel and Ross, I was on a break.

I’m back now, with a clear head and a slightly smaller friends list.  I’m sure I’ll still check Facebook every day but I have to place myself on some restrictions. I’m looking forward to seeing photos of Sonya’s new baby and Trish’s vacation pictures, but I don’t need to spend gobs of time doing quizzes or even scrolling through my news feed.   I got a lot of work done last week without having that temptation of “visiting” with my friends. I felt productive and worthy. But like everything else I fall in love with, I need to give myself a little distance and not let my affection become an infatuation.

Looking forward to “seeing” all of you again and hearing about all of the spectacular things you’ve been doing with your lives….or hearing what you made for dinner. 😉

 

by

Great Expectations

Whether it’s a vacation you’ve been counting down for, a day off with your kiddo, a long-distance run, or even that piece of coffee cake you’ve been salivating over, we all have high expectations and hopes about many events in our lives.  And so many of them lead to great disappointments.  But the kicker is that if we hadn’t expected anything at all, we wouldn’t be disappointed, would we?  It was Ben Franklin who said, “Blessed is he who expects nothing, for he shall never be disappointed.”   And most parents live and breathe “Expect the worst but hope for the best.”

And yet….I continue to have high hopes for nearly everything.  I took a day off recently to spend with my son.   We had a list of errands that we had to do, but had a bunch of fun things thrown in the day, too, like play at the Maine Discovery Museum and go out to lunch.   I had been looking forward to this day for several weeks.  Not only because I got a day off from work and had no plans to do any housework, but I just wanted a day with my kid with no time constraints. Yes, we still had to buy pants and go grocery shopping, but we could take our time at all the fun places.

I woke up that morning with a cold and was starting to feel pretty lousy, but I refused to let it get to me.  Fortunately, the first place we went to was the museum.  We had a great time. I was a little disconcerted that my son was pretending to rob the little café the kids play in (he actually took the play money from the register and ran away, cackling—then returned it a few minutes later), but otherwise the 2-hour long adventure was pretty great.   He then asked to go to McDonald’s. I had no desire to do that, but this was his day, too, so I agreed.  I hate McDonald’s for so many reasons, but selfishly, one of them is that I can only eat a salad or oatmeal from the place.   But Bri behaved well and had a good time playing with an older boy that was there, so I really couldn’t complain.  Yet while leaving, he asked for another cheeseburger.  After ordering and paying, we waited….and waited….and waited.  I was trying so hard not to fume, but I didn’t succeed.  I wasn’t that nice to the cashier and felt shitty about it.  I work with the public so I should fucking know better!  I still feel the need to apologize to the woman, and hope to track her down the next time we’re there.

Then we made the trip to the dreaded Wal-Mart to buy Briar a pair of pants.  That is all we wanted from that blasted place. One pair of pants.  And so we drove to the store and ended up  having to walk through 6-inch piles of slush and slop throughout the parking lot. Neither one of us wore our boots and our feet were soaked way before we made it to the door.  Briar whined and yelled and complained for what seemed to be an hour-long walk (it was more like 30 seconds) through the parking lot.  At first I made all those noises you’re supposed to as a parent–“I know, honey. I understand. My feet are getting wet, too. We just need to make it to the door and it will be fine.” Blah, blah, blah.  But my son just couldn’t stop ranting.  And then I lost it. I screamed at him, “JUST SHUT UP!”

Now….I hate that phrase. “Shut up.” It’s something I try not to say unless I’m laughing and playfully smacking you on the arm.  But to yell it? In anger and frustration? At my son? In the middle of a public place?

I could feel the shame and embarrassment wash over me.  I couldn’t even look up and just kept walking, pulling Briar along, and staring at the ground.  And very unlike me, I did not apologize right away.  Once we found him some pants and he tried them on, I apologized to him then. I was calm and knew it would be sincere.  “That’s ok, Mom,” he said, and reached for me and gave me a hug.

Sometimes I think I’m the luckiest mom in the world.

The rest of that afternoon went by in a blur. I do remember there was a lot more smiling and laughing, and no more yelling. We even ran a race with lots of breathless giggling.  Those are the parts I hope he remembers.  I doubt it, but I can hope.

As for everything else I have high hopes for, I do try to have realistic expectations, but the mind is such an odd thing, isn’t it?  We’re taking a vacation in a few weeks to see family and absorb some much needed warmth and sunshine.  I *hope* we have a fantastic time with perfect weather (like last time) and no complaints.  But is it realistic to think that when we’re staying with family (8 of us in one house) and have less than a week to pack in a year’s worth of visiting and good times? Absolutely not.  Instead, I hope to have a couple of warm, sunny days. I hope to relax, be calm, go for a couple of runs, take a few good photos, and hear my son laugh….a lot.

I don’t think that’s unreasonable, do you?  And as for that piece of coffee cake I was salivating over?  As it baked, it made my entire house smell divine.  Yet, it didn’t taste as good as I remember when I baked it the last time. It was actually a little disappointing.  So I ate one more piece to confirm my disappointment.  And that piece tasted better.  Instead of feeling let down, sometimes you can just keep trying until you get your expected result.

So maybe if the vacation doesn’t go well, I can go on another one?

briarwhoa

Click on little Briar to see Bruce Springsteen’s High Hopes music video. It’s a great song!