Have you ever?

 

Have you ever loved someone so much it hurts? Yeah, me too. The funny thing is that I always assumed I'd never have children. It wasn't really a conscious decision so much as I figured I'd screw it up and you wouldn't want the universe on your case for that. I wasn't actively against it, obviously, but I think there was a part of me that didn't believe I'd be fortunate enough to end up in a position of creating a family really.

And then there she was. She was mine from the instant I knew she was there. As much joy and anxiety as raising a person can give you, I had, but I was still quietly confident that I'd miss teaching her some big lesson or this good thing would be taken from me somehow. Talk about a lack of confidence in the universe. Of course, all of this was confirmed when Dr. Jimmy called me when she was one and mentioned in a flurry of words things like tumor and Scottish Rite and diagnosis.

Now I don't care what your religious thoughts are (unless they involve outer space). Whether you believe in Jesus or Allah or the Universe or nature is of no importance here. Let me assure you, though, when you hear the word tumor in reference to your baby you will beg whatever you believe in to please take this cup from your child. You will fall on your knees and plead with it to injure you instead. You will. You will. You will. I did.

For seven months I walked around hoping no one would ask me details. The pinprick of a sincere show of concern would send me reeling. Thank goodness my sister handled PR. I remember almost coming out of my pew at church when someone sang, "It is Well With My Soul" because it was most certainly not well with my soul. Poor Kenny probably thought I'd break his hand off sitting there. I did put one foot in front of the other though. I organized doctors and hospital stays and medications and I silently, in any language I knew how, begged, begged, begged for her to be okay.

One thing I thought in the hospital was that the child with only one mom praying is no different from the child with a mom and 1200 friends praying. He's just a sick baby and his mom's prayer is every bit as sincere and raw and pleading as my own. If you've ever been there, you know it's a sweaty, frantic despair that you can't escape sleeping or awake. What happens just sometimes happens and the most difficult work is in getting right with whatever happens.

So when our family was spit out 7 months later minus 1/2 a lung and an otherwise healthy baby, my getting right had to do with gaining confidence in how we handle things as they unfold. We were okay and something worse could have happened and maybe we'd still find a way to eventually be okay.

In my weaker moments, I'm sure I tried to bargain with the Universe about what I'd do if I could just keep Olivia. I'd like to think I would have wanted to teach her about things that really matter, regardless of our situation, like kindness and support and generosity because those were some of the things we had been fortunate enough to receive then.

She has no memory of being hospitalized, of being poked and cut and put back together, of morphine or fear and panic. She can't even see the scar that runs along her shoulder blade. I can though, but I don't need a reminder of the gift her life is to me. This incredible, smart, hilarious, articulate, wise, old soul is the best thing I ever had a part of doing. Sometimes at night I'll tell her, "You and me" and she says back, "Me and you" and I know that if I haven't taught her anything else, she knows that whatever happens, we'll be okay.

Some things I can't stop laughing about

Someone introduce me please.


Cause your little wicker basket just won't do sometimes.


Me running this week.


I love him because he keeps dancing.

Might be time for a new motto

Check out this guy at Dollar Tree in Pennsylvania:





Now I'm not making fun for a second (right now at least). Christopher took this picture and I'm fascinated by it. You've got to admit that this hairstyle is a deliberate kind of endeavor, certainly not something naturally occurring. I'd like to assert that if that's his hairstyle commitment, it's pretty safe to say he's not real concerned about our approval and he appears to be a pretty content fella. Christopher didn't indicate that he seemed at all unhappy.

I'm bringing this up to tell you that last year I finally gave up a long-time motto that I'd had in favor of another. It was time, I guess. I like a motto. It gives you something to guide your decisions. My old motto, however, felt more DESCRIPTIVE and wasn't the sort of prescriptive mantra that might propel me into a better life. I still believe it, but it's not a guiding light or anything. The old motto was "People are no damn good" and I would have loved to have a bumper sticker with it on there.

Now, before you get all glass-half-empty on me let me explain myself on that one. It's just something I observed and I'm willing to count myself as the person who qualifies as no good sometimes so I don't see it as something snooty or judgmental really, just an observation that kept me from getting too optimistic about the state of humans, maybe guarded my heart and kept me from being too shocked when folks misbehave. People, present company included, really are no damn good sometimes. If you don't believe this is a reliable statement, read the news.

In an attempt at self-improvement, I switched the old faithful motto to, "I don't give a @#$% what you think." Clearly the guy in this picture adheres to this way of thinking. This absolutely had to become my new motto because I actually happen to care way too much what you think and even if I don't know you, I really, really want you to like me. Talk about a black hole sort of time waster. So until I could put you back where you belong, (which is a position of secondary consideration in all decision making, including matters of attire, relationships, dance moves and major purchases) I needed a strong statement to propel me towards sanity. A housewife can lose herself in trying to gain approval.

I've spent some time liberating myself from worrying about whether folks approve of my parenting, my lifestyle and my words. So, when you see me and I am not perfectly dressed, I promise you, I'm not thinking about you. When you read something here that you don't agree with, I'm not trying to offend you, again, because I'm trying real hard not to think about you. When I pick my next motto, still not thinking of you. You can bet, though, if I see some kind of crazy going down at the Dollar Tree, I'll definitely be thinking about you.

Also, I'm now accepting suggestions for the new motto.

Would love to meet the guy that posted this on Craigslist

Originally Posted: Tue, 13 Sep 22:32 PDT

Yoga mat for sale. Used once.
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Date: 2011-09-13, 10:32PM PDT

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Yoga mat for sale. Used once at lunch hour class in December 2009. Usage timeline as follows:

11:45a
Register for hot yoga class. Infinite wisdom tells me to commit to 5 class package and purchase a yoga mat. I pay $89.74. Money well spent, I smugly confirm to myself.

11:55a
Open door to yoga room. A gush of hot dry air rushes through and past me. It smells of breath, sweat and hot. Take spot on floor in back of room next to cute blonde. We will date.

11:57a
I feel the need to be as near to naked as possible. This is a problem because of the hot blonde to my left and our pending courtship. She will not be pleased to learn that I need to lose 30 pounds before I propose to her.

11:58a
The shirt and sweats have to come off. I throw caution to the wind and decide to rely on my wit and conditioning to overcome any weight issues my fiancée may take issue with. This will take a lot of wit and conditioning.

11:59a
Begin small talk with my bride to be. She pretends to ignore me but I know how she can be. I allow her to concentrate and stare straight ahead and continue to pretend that I don't exist. As we finish sharing our special moment, I am suddenly aware of a sweat moustache that has formed below my nose. This must be from the all the whispering between us.

12:00p
Instructor enters the room and ascends her special podium at the front of the room. She is a slight, agitated Chinese woman. She introduces me to the class and everyone turns around to greet me just as I decide to aggressively adjust my penis and testes packed in my Under Armor. My bride is notably unfazed.

12:02p
Since I do have experience with Hot Yoga (4 sessions just 5 short years ago) I fully consider that I may be so outstanding and skilled that my instructor may call me out and ask me to guide the class. My wife will look on with a sparkle in her eye. We will make love after class.

12:10p
It is now up to 95 degrees in the room. We have been practicing deep breathing exercises for the last 8 minutes. This would not be a problem if we were all breathing actual, you know, oxygen. Instead, we are breathing each other's body odor, expelled carbon dioxide and other unmentionables. (Don't worry, I'll mention them later.)

12:26p
It is now 100 degrees and I take notice of the humidity, which is hovering at about 90%. I feel the familiar adorning stare of my bride and decide to look back at her. She appears to be nauseated. I then realize that I forgot to brush my teeth prior to attending this class. We bond.

12:33p
It is now 110 degrees and 95% humidity. I am now balancing on one leg with the other leg crossed over the other. My arms are intertwined and I am squatting. The last time I was in this position was 44 years ago in the womb, but I'm in this for the long haul. My wife looks slightly weathered dripping sweat and her eyeliner is streaming down her face. Well, "for better or worse" is what we committed to so we press on.

12:40p
The overweight Hispanic man two spots over has sweat running down his legs. At least I think its sweat. He is holding every position and has not had a sip of water since we walked in. He is making me look bad and I hate him.

12:44p
I consider that if anyone in this room farted that we would all certainly perish.

12:52p
It is now 140 degrees and 100% humidity. I am covered from head to toe in sweat. There is not a square millimeter on my body that is not slippery and sweaty. I am so slimy that I feel like a sea lion or a maybe sea eel. Not even a bear trap could hold me. The sweat is stinging my eyeballs and I can no longer see.

12:55p
This room stinks of asparagus, cloves, tuna and tacos. There is no food in the room. I realize that this is an amalgamation of the body odors of 30 people in a 140 degree room for the last 55 minutes. Seriously, enough with the asparagus, ok?

1:01p
140 degrees and 130% humidity. Look, bitch, I need my space here so don't get all pissy with me if I accidentally sprayed you with sweat as I flipped over. Seriously, is that where this relationship is going? Get over yourself. We need counseling and she needs to be medicated. Stat!

1:09p
150 degrees and cloudy. And hot. I can no longer move my limbs on my own. I have given up on attempting any of the commands this Chinese chick is yelling out at us. I will lay sedentary until the aid unit arrives. I will buy this building and then have it destroyed.
I lose consciousness.

1:15p
I have a headache and my wife is being a selfish bitch. I can't really breathe. All I can think about is holding a cup worth of hot sand in my mouth. I cannot remember what an ice cube is and cannot remember what snow looks like. I consider that my only escape might be a crab walk across 15 bodies and then out of the room. I am paralyzed, and may never walk again so the whole crab walk thing is pretty much out.

1:17p
I cannot move at all and cannot reach my water. Is breathing voluntary or involuntary? If it's voluntary, I am screwed. I stopped participating in the class 20 minutes ago. Hey, lady! I paid for this frickin class, ok?! You work for me! Stop yelling at everyone and just tell us a story or something. It's like juice and cracker time, ok?

1:20p
It is now 165 degrees and moisture is dripping from the ceiling. The towel that I am laying on is no longer providing any wicking or drying properties. It is actually placing additional sweat on me as I touch it. My towel reeks. I cannot identify the smell but no way can it be from me. Did someone spray some stank on my towel or something?

1:30p
Torture session is over. I wish hateful things upon the instructor. She graciously allows us to stay and 'cool down' in the room. It is 175 degrees. Who cools down in 175 degrees? A Komodo Dragon? My wife has left the room. Probably to throw up.

1:34p
My opportunity to escape has arrived. I roll over to my stomach and press up to my knees. It is warmer as I rise up from ground level - probably by 15 degrees. So let's conservatively say it's 190. I muster my final energy and slowly rise. One foot in front of the other. One foot in front of the other. Towards the door. Towards the door.

1:37p
The temperature in the lobby is 72 degrees. Both nipples stiffen to diamond strength and my penis begins to retract into my abdomen from the 100 degree temp swing. I can once again breathe though so I am pleased. I spot my future ex wife in the lobby. We had such a good thing going but I know that no measure of counseling will be able to unravel the day's turmoil and mental scaring.

1:47p
Arrive at Emerald City Smoothie and proceed to order a 32 oz beverage. 402 calories, 0 fat and 14 grams of protein -- effectively negating any caloric burn or benefit from the last 90 minutes. I finish it in 3 minutes and spend the next 2 hours writing this memoir.

3:47p
Create Craigslist ad while burning final 2 grams of protein from Smoothie and before the "shakes" consume my body.

4:29p
Note to self - check car for missing wet yoga towel in am.



•Location: Bellevue
•it's NOT ok to contact this poster with services or other commercial interests



PostingID: 2597736393

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Speaking of Kelly Clarkson

I've done the research and as much as I resisted liking her, I have been unable to find one person who doesn't tap their foot or do a little head bob to Kelly Clarkson's song "Since You've Been Gone". Recently her new song was featured on a catchy Camry commercial and I thought it might be a good one to add to my workout music so I bought it. It's called "Stronger". It's another one of those survivor sort of songs about how that which doesn't kill us makes us stronger. God, there's a list of those I bet, starting with "I Will Survive" (was there anything better for a breakup?), "I'm a Survivor" (Destiny's Child), Kanye's "Stronger" (longer, better, faster), you know the ones. Hers appears to be about yet another breakup, but I'm only focusing on the part about adversity and strength.

This sort of thinking fascinates me because in my experience that which doesn't kill us just makes us really tired and whiny and self-absorbed. So I wanted to look at that in the light for a minute and determine what camp I'm gonna fall in here. It's not been a secret that 2011 wasn't a good year for me. Beyond the staph infection to round out the year, there was the total home renovation (which turned out beyond lovely, but exhausted us), some bigger ups and downs with the kids, getting ROOFIED (I KNOW, WHATTT???). And I'm just hitting the highlights there. 2011 is so dead to me.

Anyway, I remember at a low point in my life years ago that a counselor said the failures and disappointments I had suffered earlier didn't prove I was weak, but quite the opposite. Being able to endure those difficulties actually pointed to how strong I was. A weak person couldn't have continued to put one foot in front of the other. And as strong as your friends and family can be for you, there are some things that you do alone.

Sometimes when I need to feel sorry for myself, I listen to that REM song, "Everybody Hurts" (I do pitiful well). And even though it's corny, then I imagine myself running and falling and getting up again to keep stumbling ahead, maybe a little wobbly and skinned, but more determined and still moving forward. Eventually, I pick up the pace and laugh because I finally remember my progress has never been up to the circumstances, the sucker punch, the uncertain friendship or the staph infection. It's always only been up to me and embracing that is when I feel strongest and best. So mark the date, because as cliche as it is, I'm gonna have to align myself with American Idol star Kelly Clarkson this time. "What doesn't kill you makes a fighter, footsteps even lighter..."

Things you can do in an '88 Corolla

I know how to pick a friend

Well since this season Glee has decided it's cool for us all to have friends with special needs, I’d like for you to meet one of my dearest friends. She’s kind of a celebrity sort on the island. She’s a cheerleader in high school and I’m just lucky she can make time to hang out with me. I met Megan with her family in 2006 and her presence has enriched my life beyond words. My relationship with Megan is simple. We just love each other and, if you’ve not experienced it, the love of a Down Syndrome child is a beautiful thing.

Let’s get one thing out of the way right off the bat: Megan is not your trick pony. While a lot of the things she does and says are funny, she’s not some clown sent to entertain folks. She’s a full person, with preferences and feelings even though her eyes cross a little and she needs help taking care of herself.

In my head I keep running lists of things I like about my friends. It might be easiest if I just tell you the list I have for Megan:

•When we arrive at the beach she sometimes helps me unpack and tries on all my clothes as I put them away which is good because it gets them all stretched out and ready for me.

•She sings a lot and loudly – my favorite is the Barney song falsetto

•She wears other people’s shoes more than her own

•She tells me Happy Birthday no less than 300 times on my birthday and she sings it too

•She’s cool that I don’t like parties

•Dogs love her

•When her feelings are hurt, she tells you without making you guess why

•She never stifles a laugh

•She walks in a room expecting everyone to be excited about seeing her (I need to do that more), often with a loud announcement of her name

•She always says thank you and you’re welcome, but sometimes backwards

•She believes mustard goes on anything

•We don’t have to talk

•She rides a tricycle with a honker on it and knows exactly the route to my house

•She’s always up for climbing the lighthouse

•She gets the comedic value of Groucho glasses

•She’s handy because never forgets a name or face so I can ask her when I can’t recall who someone is

•She matches her clothes by comfort instead of color or pattern

•She sings Olivia’s name like the Hallelujah Chorus

•She greets anyone with brown skin or an accent with, “Hola!”

•She names people whatever she wants, sometimes by a striking characteristic, so meeting new folks is exciting

•She prays with sincerity and enthusiasm

•When I leave the island she stands at the ferry landing and waves until she can’t see the boat anymore

There are some things about Megan’s life that may be harder than mine, but she’s got a few things nailed that I don’t. She’s not going to bed at night consumed with worry about schedules. There’s a focus on the here and now that liberates her from that. She’s also not interested in hiding her heart from you - if she loves you, you’ll know and if not, she’ll make you aware of that too. She says what she wants. Her love is bigger and more accepting than mine. She sees right past what we might consider the right things – the clothes, the trappings, our weight, the titles – into a heart that I might not even want her to see, and fortunately, she loves me anyway. What more could I ask for in a friend?

Proof you don't have to know the words...

I wanna be this guy. What I wouldn't give for his confidence.

She's smarter than I am

Olivia and I had a discussion recently about which was the hardest exercise. I was going with running or really any number of torturous cardiovascular activities, but she argued that swimming was definitely the hardest. Because she makes swimming look easy I started to debate, but she ended with, “because in any other sport if you stop you just stop, but in swimming if you stop you drown.” Checkmate.

I know a thing or two about staying afloat. I work extra hard during fall and winter to not fall into the Seasonal Affective Disorder well that will gladly swallow me up if I allow it any foothold. I love when an acronym matches the disorder! SAD! I remember when a very talented therapist after college introduced me to it and suggested I try medication. Now at the time taking medication for mild to moderate depression was like joining a club and I liked the idea of belonging so you can bet I jumped in with both feet.

And really, medication worked. Until it didn’t. Over the next decade or so I tried living normally with it and without it, but mostly with it. I was terrified of trying the fall and winter months without it and thought it was a worthy investment if it meant you wouldn’t have to peel me up off the cold, cold pavement in January. Here’s a typical annual refill conversation I had with my doctor:

Dr: So are you exercising?

Me: Oh yes, 3 to 4 times a week (because that’s how often I wore sweatpants).

Dr: And you’re eating lots of fruit and vegetables?

Me: Sure am, Doc. Broccoli even (no mention of my bff Little Debbie).

Dr: How much alcohol do you drink?

Me: Not much (I stop after I fall asleep, usually).

Me: I just don’t understand why I can’t get on top of feeling so blue.

Dr: (reaching for prescription pad) Hmmm…

Now you and I both know that I was living off of my doctor’s good graces. There’s no way he could follow me around and jump out from behind a grocery aisle with an “Aha!” after discovering the Oreos and Doritos in my cart so the simplest thing to do was to write the damn prescription.

Finally, it occurred to me that if I actually tried eating well, sleeping well, abstaining from too much alcohol, and exercising in the sunshine I might be able to be free of the nasty side effects of medication. Armed with information from the book The Overmedication of America and a strong dislike of pharmaceutical companies I decided to give a long withdrawal process the old college try.

So 4 years later I can tell you that by mid-September I have to assess and recommit every year to doing the simple things to take care of myself. And I can also tell you that I feel better OFF medication when I take care of myself than I ever did ON medication. Not that I’m suggesting anyone else try it, of course. Certainly, if you are suffering, you need to DO WHATEVER WORKS.

Last week my workout partner Candy (who’s also an extremely lovely and talented Hairapist) heard me complain about being weary. She, in her Dory voice, told me to “Just keep swimming.” That reminded me that really that’s all there is to it. Just keep going. Continuing to put one foot (or fin) in front of the other works for me. So here's to Olivia, in all her wisdom, for reminding me that swimming is a most rewarding exercise.

He looks a little like this works for him

Press Pause

If you are exhausted from the effort of making your life work because you are a square peg and all the holes are round, if more than anything you would like to just drop the rope and relax into your place in the world sometimes, maybe this poem will speak to you like it does to me. It sounds a lot better when my sixty something year old best friend Ginger reads it in her chain-smoking voice, but still...


Wild Geese

You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
For a hundred miles through the desert, repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body
love what it loves.
Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
Meanwhile the world goes on.
Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain
are moving across the landscapes,
over the prairies and the deep trees,
the mountains and the rivers.
Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,
are heading home again.
Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
the world offers itself to your imagination,
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting --
over and over announcing your place
in the family of things.

~ Mary Oliver ~

You have to do this with me.

I spend a lot of time perusing different news collection sites during the day. A few months ago I decided that maybe I could stretch a little by challenging myself to pick just two articles a day that I wouldn't normally read and explore them. Of course that meant I'd have to take away time from the celebrity and lifestyle portions of said sites, but a girl has to grow sometime. Anyway, the worst part is that my challenge means that sometimes I have to force myself to read something political (egad!) or financial (exhausting!). Just to reinforce my position as a completely unambitious person, I avoid any article that mentions the word GOAL or SUCCESS. Imagine my excitement when the words BUCKET LIST crossed the page today. I tried not to read it because that discussion always highlights my complete lack of ability to live with real intention (which I like to think you find to be an endearing quality), but my commitment to myself means I have to usually pick the article I'd be least likely to enjoy so I clicked on it.

Anywho, it turns out the article was about this FANTASTIC idea of creating a REVERSE bucket list - a list of things you would never participate in during your lifetime and hope to avoid at all costs (or at least that's how I interpreted it). Now this is my kind of list. This is perfect, I am thinking, for those of us with a lazy, general lack of curiosity about exploring the planet. I've already started mine. Here's the beginning of it:

Attend any event with the words "Women's Retreat" in it
Mall walk, or for that matter, moon walk
Cook with cream of mushroom soup or Italian salad dressing
Invest in a book with DIY in the title
Run or walk in any race
Vacation in a mud hut or any variation of a mud hut
Sky dive or hang glide
Hang wallpaper
Have plastic surgery (will reconsider in 15)
Get in one of those shark cages
Cross stitch (how DO they make the back look like anything other than a bird's nest?)
Be in your wedding
Serve on a Board of Directors
Willingly engage in something labeled an "Icebreaker" activity
Learn German
Set foot on that clear overlook thing they've built at the Grand Canyon
Segway
Zumba
Wear one of those French Maid outfits


See? Isn't this fantastic? It's positively ingengious. You've got to do this with me. I'd love to know some of yours.

I read the news so you don't have to...

Pepsi Says Mountain Dew Can Dissolve Mouse Carcasses - National - The Atlantic Wire

Feeling self conscious about working out?

This should help.