She Likes Purple

Usually Scarier in my Head

I was sitting at my desk at work, in late May, when all of a sudden I started seeing sunbursty-type light flashes. Okay, that's not the technial term for them but, damn, that's pretty accurate. I've been saying "I saw spots" but that wasn't quite it. They were brighter and burstier than spots. It was a ten-minute episode when I genuinely thought I was either going blind or dying. I tried to Google THROUGH them, but that wasn't helping me stay calm. (BRAIN CANCER.)

Ten minutes later, they were gone.

(I dealt with this the way I usually deal with things that genuinely scare me: tell few people, live in denial.)

Fast forward to last week and the whole thing happened again in a meeting (that I thankfully wasn't leading), and I left a message for my eye doctor the moment I got out of the meeting. Once, I can live in a nice state of denial and assume it's nothiiiiing. Twice, I AM OBVIOUSLY DYING, I SHOULD SEE SOMEONE ABOUT IT.

(My head is a fun place.)

My eye doctor is wonderful and has evening appointments once a week. She got me in that week (which was last week), so I only had to wait a few days. The fact that she didn't want to see me immediately actually gave me a little comfort. (Once, years ago, when I called Kyle's doctors and described a few symptoms that were concerning me, the nurse got very quiet and then said, "You need to bring him in immediately, like as soon as you can possibly drive here." That was the time he had staph. All ended up fine!)

Anyway, Mike was also out of town last week, and I didn't want to stress him out, so I didn't tell anyone until the day before my appointment. Then I told everyone because my nerves got the better of me. (Twitter was, per usual, a huge comfort. You think sending out an 140-character tweet of support to a virtual stranger doesn't help? So wrong. Helps A LOT.)

When I finally sat down in my doctor's chair and described the symptoms to her, she said, "I'm going to show you a picture and don't overthink it, just answer yes or no, is this what you experienced?" As soon as I saw the picture, I basically yelled, "YES, THAT'S IT."

Classic ocular migraines, she told me. She experieced them too, and they're for sure scary but not that scary. She gave me a few reasons they could have started happening -- hormomal shifts, circulatory issues, stress, even -- so I'm going to try and address a few possible culprits to get healthier and hopefully nip these stupid things in the bud. 

I put off all kinds of things because the thought of facing them just doesn't seem like something I particularly want to do. Stupid, quite honestly. I can be stupid. The feeling of facing something and it being managable is always better than worrying your head off. Putting things off? Not better. So, you know, go to the doctor. Check that thing out. It's likely nothing and if it's something it's likely better than what your head's made it out to be. (Or is it just my head that's so nutty?)

Anyway, I totally treated myself to Subway after my appointment because, you know, EARNED IT.

Quote

We moved offices this past week and I found a post-it buried in a desk drawer with this quote scribbled on it:

"There are years that ask questions and years that answer." 

2012 felt like a year of many questions for me, not anything dramatic or alarming. It was just a year I questioned myself some and felt a little uneven in my footing. So much good stuff, but a lot of noise in my head, too, if that makes any sense at all.

Anyway, I think 2013 might have some answers.

Lost and Finding

Mike wasn't looking for me, even in those early days when he had me. I've told this story before, this sort-of unromantic story of how the guy I was falling for was spending an awful lot of time swearing up and down he wasn't looking for a commitment, a relationship, me.

It seemed to happen gradually at the time, that our plans began to include each other, although in hindsight it happened very fast. He Wasn't Looking For A Relationship in January and loved me by May and that's not very long at all, but waiting makes time move much slower, doesn't it?

He fell in love with me despite himself, I think. He said he went home from work one day, swore he'd wait as long as he possibly could to call me--promising he could make it until the next day--and he lasted a half hour. I genuinely believe he didn't want a relationship, that he didn't think I was that relationship even if he had been looking for one, but life is funny, isn't it? I like to think I was just that utterly charming and adorable to make him break all his promises to himself. It was probably just bigger than us, from the very beginning, bigger than his protests, bigger than my craziness.

I tell you all of this (again, for the hundredth time?) to emphasize the magnitude of the moments from that first year when Mike would show his commitment to me. Like the time he sat me on his couch, instructing me to close my eyes while he placed a diamond necklace in my hands, a beautiful shiny investment in us. I thought I was the luckiest girl in all the world that night. I loved that necklace so much.

I think I've lost it. I can't find it. It was in our bathroom, with the rest of my jewelry, and now it's gone. I cried when I realized it was missing and I cried when I told Mike and I'm crying again now.

Why am I so brokenhearted? It's just a necklace! It's replacable! But, oooooh, it's not. Of course it's not. It was his first big gift to me, this guy who wasn't looking for a commitment with this girl he was buying diamonds for. 

Damn, I hope it turns up.

***

I've been feeling a little like that necklace these days--lost, out of place. I'm struggling with my diet, my work-outs, my dirty house, my sad yearly to-do list. I still feel impossibly busy each and every day, but I also feel impossibly behind and out of focus, too. I think it's likely the time of year combined with an insane workload combined with a really busy social calendar. It makes me want to crawl under my blankets with any free time I have. It does not make me want to do laundry, but that's no surprise to anyone who has ever met me.

Anyway, I've decided to try and shake myself out of this lostness by setting daily goals for myself, simple things I can write down at the beginning of each day to stay focused. I tweeted my list today, and I might do that more often.

It's so easy to forget what we want to accomplish each day as we tick through the actual hours, so I hope this simple idea has a positive effect.

I also really hope I find that necklace.

I Ran 8 Miles, and I Want to Talk At Length about It

Yesterday morning, I set out to my trail of choice to tackle the longest run of my half-marathon training (and of my life) so far. EIGHT MILES. Man, does that seem like an impossible distance and yet I have to run that PLUS FIVE MILES in two weeks.

The thing about running is that it's just wildly unpredictable. My last long run was seven miles, and I felt pretty good throughout. It wasn't like a spa day, don't get me wrong, but I felt capable, strong, and like I still had some gas in the tank at the end. It was semi-enjoyable, even. This past weekend's run was ... not any of those words. It was the first time I really hit a wall and kept going. I hit that wall HARD around mile 5.5 and every part of me screamed to stop. My legs felt so sluggish and heavy but I knew my opportunities for long runs were dwindling. I only have two long runs left before we leave for Vegas, and I couldn't waste the chance to run the miles.

It's hard to reconcile that one run could be so good and one so awful, and it's really hard to keep going, after such a bad run. Why do this at all? When it's this tough? What is the point, MY GOODNESS, when my DVR is so full of things that do not include running?

I say all this because I'm not a natural runner, and if I'm being honest with all of you, I'm not really a natural good decision maker in general. I'll continually make bad choices and cling to bad habits knowing they're bad simply because it's my default setting. I don't know how to fix that about myself, although I'm trying. I don't know how to reprogram myself, although I'm trying. What I want my life to look like and what I do each day to achieve that life doesn't always add up and running has been this therapeutic bridge for me between who I am and who I hope to be and it's proof that I can get there, even if it's really ridiculously tough at times.

I think on some level it's always going to be hard for me, much harder than so many I read or follow or know. I'll probably always have to fight these self-destructive whispers in my head, to some extent.

What running has taught me, after all these months of training, is that you don't always have to enjoy the act of becoming better than you are, and that just because it sucks doesn't mean you should stop. Not that it always sucks, I've had plenty of good runs, but running isn't easy for me. It's not like I can hit the road and zone out for an hour. I have to work for the miles, and I've decided that's ok. I try to remind myself of this on the trail, and it's what I'll try to remind myself on the course in two weeks. That even though I might occasionally hate what I'm doing right now, it's infinitely better to hate what you're doing on your quest to be better than to hate who you are while you do nothing. 

I have hated myself many times in my life, although that's a really painful thing to acknowledge, but I have never hated myself on a run.

Leaving, Growing, Frustrating

I leave tomorrow for San Diego for nearly a week, and I thought I'd schedule posts to go live while I'm gone (I always think I'll schedule posts to go live while I'm gone) but I haven't even begun packing yet, and I leave tomorrow morning. So. You know. Possibly not.

I'm excited because I'm always excited to go somewhere. New place, new food, new sights, new people. I get a rush from it all, and I'm also excited to market our books. I think we put out some really fun titles, so I like to tell people about them. (Hey, will you be at Comic-Con? Swing by Booth B4 for a mess of free stuff and fun signings, if so!)

I'm also equally excited to return from Comic-Con and get back into a routine. My lands, I've been going non-stop since mid-May, feels like, and I just need a little downtime to cook again, clean again, and work-out again.

Speaking of, oh my my my friends, I have been a bad little runner/half-marathon trainee. I run 13.1 miles in less than five months, and I haven't run longer than two miles in two months. (Ouch, that hurt to type.) I also haven't consistently cooked or consistently worked-out in any other significant way. It's showing in my waistline and in how I feel, all-around.

Yeah, I blame an insane workload and travel schedule this summer and it's SO FLIPPING HOT OUTSIDE the only activity I really enjoy is complaining about the weather, but life can be kind of consistently, regularly, always insane, you know? It's crazy now and it'll be crazy again and will I ever get this life-work-health balance down?

(I sure as hell hope so.)

I had this entire post I wanted to write months ago about telling ourselves no, just like we tell our kids no. If I wouldn't let Kyle have three helpings of dessert, why let myself? I know what's best for him but I apparently don't know what's best for me? Crazy talk! I do know! Sometimes he does get chocolate milk for breakfast and sometimes so should I, but not for every breakfast, no sir, because that's kind of crazy irresponsible. (And expensive, I'd think.)

That post was going to be good, I could feel it, but then I allowed myself to have chocolate milk (or the equally irresponsible equivalent) for breakfast enough times to feel like a fraud, so I waited.

Still waiting.

I've been reading a lot of healthy living and running-type blogs lately because they're inspiring. They're not about tossing champagne out the window (how sad would that window be?) but about balance. They're about working hard to play hard and I love that. I want that. I'm struggling with that. Oh am I. And, sure, some of it is the schedule and the workload and the HEAT OMG THE HEAT but some of it is just me, my self-destructive tendencies, my perfectionism, my personality. I'm not an easy person to be sometimes, and this is one of those times.

So, I'm in a bit of a frustrated phase, eager to move out of it, hopeful for some free time when I'm back to focus on healthy living and balance but, also, acknowledging that this is where I am today. It ain't great but it still is.

I don't know why I feel the urge to share with you every misstep and obstacle I face. I could just call up Natalie and vent and leave you with pictures of Kyle, and we'd all be none the wiser. Except that there's always one of you out there who says exactly the right thing, the thing I print out and carry with me, in a pocket or purse or taped to my day planner, the one thing I credit for getting me to the not-so-frustrated point. I am so thankful for those words, for your words, when they come, because I always, always need them.

I keep being honest because, in return, you keep throwing me life rafts.

Kyle Keeps Saying, "Mommy Broke the Car!" Which is Both Inaccurate and a Little Mean.

On Wednesday, I went to Quizno's for lunch. For many of you, this would be enough to make Wednesday a shitty day. There are so many of you out there, I've found, who do not enjoy a toasty Quizno's sandwich, but I am not one of the many because it's one of my favorite sandwich joints around. This makes you lose considerable respect for the food blog I manage, I'm sure, and that's even before I tell you how often I make this delicious dessert for myself.

Anyway, if that would make Wednesday a shitty day for you, JUST WAIT.

I got my sandwich to go, to take back to work, but when I went to start the car, the car ... well, it didn't start. (I just typed nine different variations of that sentence with the word fuck in them, but I deleted them all. I believe this is a sign of maturity.) Anyway, I did what we all would do in this situation. I kept trying to start the car. I was sure I was just IMAGINING the clicking, grinding sound the engine was making and if I just tried one more time, it would miraculously start right up!

I think I accepted my reality around time 48.

I then did what probably very few of you would do in my situation, before I called Mike or a coworker or AAA or Natalie, I ate my sandwich. Yep, that's right. I wanted to enjoy it and I knew my life was about to get shittier before it got less shitty, so I enjoyed my Baja Chicken right there in the parking lot while I started to sweat (it was 104 outside; good timing asshole Passat!).

Long story short, my car was towed to the shop, the shop couldn't get to it until the next day, Natalie was the saint of a best friend who picked me up from work that evening and drove me the hour to my house and then the hour back to her house and she didn't call me a single name, at least not one I could hear.

Yesterday evening, the shop called to give us the official diagnosis.

Guys.

It wasn't good.

Let's just say I can think of a million other ways I'd rather spend $800.

It has gotten a wee bit better since then because Mike (that gloriously talented man I married) thinks he can fix at least one thing himself, but he did go out last night without complaint to buy me TWO bottles of champagne (although he had to buy the really, really cheap, twist-off-cap stuff, because we're now broke, which made me depressed enough to need another bottle).

We had a family vacation planned for next weekend, a roadtrip up to Colorado, through New Mexico. We were going to introduce Kyle to Mike's dad's side of the family, 95% of whom haven't met him yet. It was going to be a refreshing break from the heat and a little time for my little family before I jet off on another work trip in a couple weeks. I don't know if we can take that trip now, and that makes me EVEN MORE DEPRESSED, MAKE THAT FOUR BOTTLES OF CHEAP CHAMPAGNE.

Hey, you know, this is normal life-type stuff. I know that in the grand scheme of problems, having to pay out the ass for a car fix is irritating but also normal. Having to (possibly; we're still weighing some options) cancel a (much-needed and much-anticipated) family trip sucks but there will be another trip, another opportunity. Life is full of disappointments, you know? That's never going to change. Doesn't mean it doesn't suck, but it also doesn't mean freaking out and losing my head is going to make anything better.

Not that I didn't totally freak out and lose my head anyway, of course.

So, cross your fingers for car miracles, winning lottery tickets, and a bottle of the good stuff in my future.

(Thanks, you.)

So, I Have This Idea

Since Kyle turned 8 weeks old and my own clouds lifted, I've felt a need to do something for new moms, especially for those moms who are feeling crazed, anxious, and exhausted with the beautiful (but oh-so overwhelming) responsibility of being a parent. Kyle had colic, and that contributed to those first two months being so hard, and I also had anxiety-induced insomnia, so he screamed during the day and I was awake all night, and I felt like I lost my mind a little bit.

What was harder than all that, though, was the feeling that no one really understood. No one looked at me and said, "I get it, and you're doing great," and when I sum up that time I can think of only one word: lonely. I'd walk around my house, even when it was filled with people, and I'd just feel alone. I'd look at Mike from across the room and ache. I'd scream and cry and break down and instead of feeling cared for, I'd feel judged.

Because of those two, hard months, my advice to any parent would be to find a community, find a group of people you click and connect with and trust and just talk to them, often and honestly. Find a church, a mom's group, a book club filled with other parents, a blog community that you can take offline, anything at all that will let you feel part of a group. And to the women out there whose friends are having babies, take them food, a bottle of wine, a DVD, look them in the eyes and tell them they are rockstars and that if it sucks, you get it, and it won't suck forever.

With all that said, I've still felt this need to do something to help new moms. I feel it's my cause, as kind of cheesy as that sounds, but beyond that feeling, I've been completely at a loss as to what to do.

I wanted to raise money for new moms for my upcoming half-marathon, but how? Who do I decide to give the money to? Do I just take donations and then choose where it goes? That felt shady.

I've thought about organizing a site of resources for friends and family of new moms to more easily provide food and house cleaning and restaurant gift cards for the new moms in their lives, but that felt vague and weird and who do you specifically market to? And it's not brand new information, it'd just be consolidating information already out there, so that's not exactly a new service.

Then, over the weekend, I was reading a running magazine and there was an article on starting your own race. I thought, okay, yeah, this could be awesome. Picking a cause (post-partum depression, single mothers, or something like that), and then trying to organize a race to raise money for that cause.

That sounds like kind of an insane amount of work, yes it does, and I do have a job and a family and a very full DVR queue, but how incredible would it be to pull off? It combines something I've had a longing to do (provide support for new moms) and something I credit with helping me become the mother I am today (running) into one cool event.

Still, this could takes years and years and then not happen anyway. This could be a really stupid undertaking, in hindsight. But, if someone told me today that it would happen one day, I'd start working, so I figure that's a sign to start working anyway.

My dad was a race director for years, so I'll be picking his brain when he comes to town for a visit this week, but you're the smartest people on the internet, so I'd love to know what you think. Do you have any thoughts or advice or resources you could share? People you know who I could talk with? Maybe you could pass this link around to other smart people? I wouldn't ask if I didn't think we could make a really cool thing happen here. So thank you.

I truly believe it takes a village to raise a happy child, but more than that, it takes the right village. I want to organize the right group and the right event for the moms out there who don't yet have that village.

I hope you'll help me.

When I Became a Mother

Becoming a mother happens kind of gradually, especially if you're trying to become just that. You finally see the second line and are in a slight state of disbelief on what that even means and it's all very out-of-body and super-surrealy and it keeps on being those things for some time. Now, you're not in denial because it sure feels real as shit when you're up all night with a screaming newborn, but it's just not ONE LIGHTNING BOLT KIND OF MOMENT for us all, at least it wasn't for me.

The other day, Kyle and I went to watch Mike play softball with his work intramural team and a foul ball was hit over the fence and came toward us in the stands. Since I couldn't pause long enough to glance up at the sky for the ball, I just went ahead and DOVE ON TOP OF MY SON to protect his little head from the ball. It was all very instinctual and the rest of the bleachers kind of chuckled because "oh look at that mom protecting her cute kid." But that's just what you do, right? I mean, that instinct has always been there (since I was pregnant and had a slight scare) but I could still never really pinpoint the moment I felt like a true mother.

Until yesterday.

I picked Kyle up from school and got this crazy idea to go to the park. I turned to him and said, "Buds, wanna go to the park?" And he very emphatically said yes. He then went on to say, "I want popcorn but AFTER the park. I want Handy Manny but AFTER the park. I wanna see Molly, Mommy, but AFTER the park, ok?"

So, we went to the park, and he was being adorable and laughing and going down the slide saying, "OH, THAT WAS FUN, MOMMY!" It was a fine decision indeed! He was wobbling across the bouncy drawbridge all by himself, and I was staying close enough to swoop in if he needed help with a potentially neck-breaking task but far enough away to let him roam independently and who cares if the dishes go unwashed another night, this is what's really important!

And then these two boys -- probably 8 years old -- came onto the scene. They started laughing and whispering to one another and walking toward my kid on the bouncey drawbridge. They saw me -- which is what really pisses me off, that they knew what they were doing IN FRONT OF THIS CHILD'S MOTHER -- and then proceeded to walk up next to him on the bridge and jump really high and hard so they could "make the baby fall." (Their words, not mine.)

He did fall and they laughed.

As I began to swoop in to get him (I had to walk up a couple steps on the playscape), the bigger one kicked him (not too hard, but just hard enough) while he tried to stand back up. And then that kid laughed some more.

I fucking saw red.

I deserve a medal for not punting those boys into the parking lot because that's what my instinct told me to do. I remained calm, told them this was a little boy they were picking on and that weren't acting like boys their age should act, and I also didn't think their mothers would be proud of their behavior (their mothers who went on to say it must have all been "a misunderstanding" but that's for another post), and then I picked Kyle up and moved him to another area of the playground.

I had a little talk with Kyle about why I did that, why I moved him away from those boys and why I didn't want him to play with them, and he looked up at me, that beautiful child of mine, and said, "yes, mommy, those boys not sweet," and then he went on to play with something else.

While my heart shattered.

The colic and the Nap Strikes and the teething and the head bonks and the projectile vomiting and all the rest of the Infant Insanity is nothing compared to the first time you witness another human being going out of their way to make your child feel small.

Yesterday, as this whole scene unfolded, I felt like there was only one other person on this planet who would feel what I felt in that moment and that person was Mike. A rush of gratitude for his mere existence came over me in the strongest and realest way. I mean, I am grateful for Mike, always, but yesterday I thought, thank FUCKING GOODNESS for Mike because in this instance he will not beg me to be rational or try to point out the opposite side's point of view. HE WILL SEE RED WITH ME. When I told him the story, hours later after he got home, I saw the red swell up in his own eyes. He said, "I would have fucking lost it."

I don't think those boys were bad kids, and that's not the point of this. I also don't think this moment scarred my own kid at all, he was just fine mere seconds later, but I will never forget what I felt in that moment, the feeling that I was created for one reason: to protect this kid, to let this stubborn, blonde-headed, sweet-eyed little boy know that he would always have someone in his corner.

I've been through a lot with him -- oh, a helluva lot, yes -- but yesterday it was so obvious to me that I went through the last two years and then the twenty-seven years before, so Kyle could have a mother.

And a mother he has.

Okay

I'm not a writer.

One day I hope to be but for now it's not my profession, it's just therapy.

As soon as I hit publish on a tough post, a weight lifts. I feel lighter, better, calmer. There's a release that's similar to talking to a great friend, running on the treadmill, or just getting a good night's sleep.

You don't know that I feel better after every word I write, though. All you know is what I write.

So, after a few down-in-the-dumps-type posts, I understand why it probably would surprise you to know I was laughing on the phone yesterday with Natalie, enjoying a run at the gym, and then laughing with Mike about how annoying Julia Roberts was in Eat, Pray, Love. "She's irritating, it's not just me, right?"

(I fell asleep as soon as she got to India.)

(I credit the pasta for keeping me going until then.)

It's been a tough week (month? year?), that's totally true, but I'm fine. Writing about it, albeit vaguely, helped me. Made me feel instantly better. As did all of you. As did Mike. 

Then Kyle had one of the worst mornings he's had in.....oh, ever. He was whining and melting down over EVERYTHING. I left him with Mike, headed out of the house, and heard the horrible news from Japan.

There's not much to say beyond what's obvious to say: it's horrible, awful, heartbreaking, unfair, scary as hell.

As I was driving to work, I thought about my two-year-old and how he thinks the worst thing that can happen to him is that I occasionally don't butter his toast quickly enough or sometimes I turn off Handy Manny because he's acting like a crazy person.

It's frustrating that so little can unwind and unravel him. It's hair-pulling that he can turn something so little into something so day-ruining.

But., he doesn't know there's any worse. He doesn't know the world is much, much worse. He thinks these things are as bad as life gets. One day he'll know differently, but I'm so grateful that day isn't today.

We're okay, really and truly, and I hope hope hope you and everyone you know are too.

Peace

It does not mean to be in a place where there is no noise, trouble, or hard work. It means to be in the midst of those things and still be calm in your heart. We think that if we just meditated enough or jogged enough or ate perfect food, everything would be perfect. But from the point of view of someone who’s awake, that’s death. Seeking security or perfection, rejoicing in feeling confirmed and whole, self-contained and comfortable, is some kind of death. It doesn’t have any fresh air. There’s no room for something to come in and interrupt all that. We are killing the moment by controlling our experience.

-- Pema Chodron

***

Thank you to everyone for yesterday, but thank you to Papagayita, especially, for this quote. It was just what I needed to hear.

Blue

I have started and stopped and started a dozen blog posts. I don't want to finish any of them. I'm having a rough go of things -- stress, work, unnecessary drama, dirty house, yada yada. It's all so unoriginal and still so annoying. What can I say, my brain is stuck on the "anxious!" setting, and I really hate when it gets stuck there.

I'm just a little blue.

So, will you do me a favor and share something inspiring in the comments: a great movie, an upbeat song, a nice deed you've recently witnessed, a quote you love, a delicious recipe, or just a nice thought.

I hate to say it, but I could really use some nice thoughts right now.

Or a gigantic bottle of vodka.

Hey, I won't complain if you give me both.

Keeping Up

Our floors never stay clean and just as soon as I put the last dish up, there's a pile in the sink again. The laundry is never-ending and even though I just worked out last night, I have to do it again tonight because I carry this waistline around with me everywhere I go, so I should really like it, don't you think? My car's inspection expired three weeks ago and we're out of eggs and is it almost February, really? Did someone remember to pay the water bill?

(No.)

I look at the calendar and a friend's birthday snuck up on me and I need to send her a card, email her for dinner, pick her up something thoughtful.

I ping-pong between crafting well thought-out, impressive to-do lists with a rigid schedule and losing said to-do lists in my full-of-trash purse and, wait, we forgot to take the recycling out AGAIN?

I cannot serve my child frozen pancakes for dinner two nights in a row, so I push myself off the couch and into the kitchen and think the same thing I think every night: "didn't you just eat yesterday? do you really have to eat again?"

(Turns out he does. As does the dog.)

I have a conference call I can't stop thinking about at home and at work I can't stop thinking "oh MAN what about potty-training."

We need a date night too.

A box of baby clothes to friends sits by the front door and our bed is never -- no really, never -- made. I have five posts to edit and another one to write and it's already midnight and, oh well, I'll just roll out of bed exhausted the next morning like usual.

I owe ten different people ten different emails and the days are both never long enough and endless.

***

Mike gets home, at 9 p.m., like he does every night and he has to eat the dinner I made an hour ago, sneak in to check on the boy I put down two hours ago, before he's in the garage tinkering with his bike, upstairs tinkering with a new piece of furniture or trying to figure out if we have mice in the attic and sometimes I miss him when he's just in the next room.

***

A friend emails to say something randomly and unexpectedly nice right after I get a blog comment that's particularly wonderful. Then Mike sits down on the couch, puts his arms around me, and says, "hi, you." My mom wants to babysit so we can go out with friends and my sister always checks in with me. It's an unusual 70 degrees late-January, even if only for just a day, and after I run three miles straight, I feel like I can do anything, and I feel like I should. I talk to Elizabeth about a May brunch in California and Kyle squeals "Mommmmmmmy!" when I pick him up from school (even if he melts down over leaving school five seconds later). I have fancy new cowboy boots and sparkling water stocked in the fridge and there's always Gossip Girl to save a shitty Monday.

**

Good and bad. Back and forth. Stress and sweetness. Fights and make-ups. Tantrums and squealy sunshiney little boyness. Oh, life, you fickle thing you.

***

I could stop juggling a hundred different balls if I really needed, wanted, had to, and at various times each day, I do. I forget, I screw up, I yell, I leave dirty clothes on the bathroom floor and send out thank-you notes two years too late. I make healthy dinners but I also nuke frozen pancakes and I throw parties just as often as I let important dates pass by unacknowledged. I'm both a good wife and a bad one, sometimes in the same day.

***

This is me, but it's you too, I'd bet so you should know: you're doing great.

We both are.

On Running

Kerrianne wrote a post on running and it got me thinking of all the different exercises and forms of ass-shrinking I've tried over the years and how running has easily been the most therapeutic, soul-healing, enjoyable one I've found.

Less than a year ago, I couldn't say anything about running because I never, ever did it. I mean, I think I could have managed to attempt it I needed to outrun zombies or wild animals but for kicks? For no other reason than TO RUN? Yeah, no, not while I owned a couch.

Now? I love running.

I love it, mainly, because it's alllllll mental. Well, mostly mental, I mean there is that pesky heart-rate-rising, sweaty element to it, too. But, you can't just call-in running or half-ass running (not for any considerable distance, anyway) and, from my personal (newish) experience, there are so many times when you have to become your own biggest cheerleader in order to keep going.

I ran 6.2 miles last month and I had to talk to myself -- positively, nicely, encouragingly -- the entire time. In fact, when my sister asked me specifically what I said to myself to push on when all I wanted to do was stop and collapse, it was this, "You're a runner and runners run." (Yes, that's a lot of word repetition but, damn, it helped.)

In short, running has made me nicer to myself in a way therapy, falling in love, good friends, or Oprah never could, and that is really something.

The other night I had a great run, one of my best, and I wish I could bottle how I felt during and after because it'd sure be marketable. But it's not always like that. Sometimes a run sucks because I can't get my head right, so it's all I can do to make it a mile or two before wanting to die (or punch something). Sometimes everything hurts and sometimes nothing does. Sometimes I don't like it and I hate that I'll have to do it forever in order to meet goals or keep goals and other times I think I want to run for a living.

Just like anything else in life, running is a process and for every step you take forward there will eventually be a step you take back. That's damn annoying but that's also just how it is with: life, parenthood, marriage, friendships, work, and on and on and on. You either find the grace or stop doing it.

During that great run the other night, Mumford & Son's "The Cave" came on and if there's a better song for pushing you across a metaphorical finish line, I haven't heard it. Damn, that song is motivating. Especially this part:

But I will hold on hope
And I won't let you choke
On the noose around your neck

And I'll find strength in pain
And I will change my ways

For me, that noose is a million things: carbs, fights with Mike, insecurity, my thighs, comfort eating, money woes, whatever. I could hang myself in a million different ways if I wanted because there will always be a million different ways to, and it's always going to be a fight to save myself, but running has whispered this tiny little secret to me, and now when I feel the noose tightening, I run.

(There are a lot of metaphors in that paragraph. I hope you got through it without rolling your eyes too badly.)

It's not that I'm fixed or that I always choose a run over a piece of cake or that it's a cure-all, it's just that I'm choosing it more than I ever did before. And if there's ever a way to change your life, if there's ever one thing I can say to someone who's feeling hopeless in order to encourage them to take that first step away from hopeless, it's this: just choose something good for you more than you ever did before.

The Year of the Rat

I know what I forgot to tell you about: OUR RAT!

How could I have kept such a thrilling (and disgusting) development from you? I'm clearly being selfish this week. But, no longer. Now images of rats living amongst my shoes are in your head and THEY WILL NEVER GO AWAY.

Hey, want to come over for a dinner date or to watch Gossip Girl or something?

No? Weird.

Okay, so I'm being dramatic. We do have a rat, yes, but the rat is in our garage, the garage that is detached from our house and is a good 10-15 feet away from my shoes with multiple walls in between.

The other night Mike came in from the garage -- where he spends so much of his free time, I sometimes think I should deliver his mail there -- and nonchalantly said, "there's a rat in the garage."

(You should know Mike's default setting is nonchalant.)

(My default setting is not.)

"A WHAT?"

"A rat."

"How do you know?"

"My eyes told me when I saw it."

"ALIVE?"

"Uh huh."

"WHAT WAS IT DOING?"

"Scurrying away."

"It could have been a mouse. Maybe it was a mouse. Mice scurry."

"It wasn't a mouse."

"How do you know?"

"Because it was a rat."

"Did it look vicous? Full of rabies?"

"It looked like a rat."

"You should know I'm okay if you kill it. I approve of that course of action."

"Don't tell too many people you're fine with killing rats."

(Pretend you didn't read those last two lines.)

We keep certain things in our garage that I need often enough -- the stroller, Diet Dr. Pepper, all of our Christmas decorations, but it probably won't shock you to know I haven't stepped foot in our garage since this "development."

In fact, anytime I need one of these things I just holler for Mike and say, "Garage assistance needed!" And when he gets back I always fire a dozen questions at him, "Did you see it? What was it doing? Did it have babies?" And he always says some variation of the following, "You exhaust me."

I swear, I'd rather live with a thousand Freds than a rat.

Well, maybe two.

October Recap (With a Hefty Side of My Deep Thoughts)

(January, February, March, April, May, June, July, August, September)

October may have been the fastest month yet. One day we're celebrating Mike's birthday, the next we're failing at Halloween. I just don't know how a conference call can go on forever and a month can fly by like that!

There was so much good this month: a (mostly successful) high school reunion, an incredible vacation with Mike, and then there was Kyle getting sick again, which suuuuuuucked.

A mostly good month with some bad and can I really complain too much about that? I don't think I should even if I could.

November should be great, too. I'm looking forward to Thanksgiving and visiting my grandma for a weekend and RUNNING A 10K OMG and cooking more than I did in October and lots of time with friends, too.

But looming on the horizon is 2011 -- can you see it, just a little bit? -- and with a new year comes lots of reflection on my to-do list this year and what I want to do/accomplish/become next year.

There are some things I just plain don't want to do anymore that are on my list this year and those things include: watching The Wire (I'm sorry, I tried), complete a boot camp class, and finish my blogroll. It's okay to change my mind, I'm learning. I usually feel really guilty about this because I want to be a person of my word and I feel whenever I change my mind this makes me unreliable and untrustworthy, which gives me anxiety.

But, if you're being honest in the moment, it's okay if that truth changes, right?

I think so.

I'm taking those things off my list.

But there's something else I'm adding to this year's list and adding to 2011's list, too: RELAX.

The day before we left for Boston we had a million things to do. We had to get Kyle's medical release forms notarized, extra bottles of Tylenol and Aquaphor and Triple Paste purchased, his clothes washed and packed, our clothes washed and packed, the fridge cleaned out, and the recycling taken out and ... hold on, I'm getting tired just reliving it.

We also had to figure out the getting-to-the-airport and getting-Kyle-to-school logistics for the day we were leaving, and when I called Mike to ask him a simple question and he blew me off, I LOST MY MIND.

It's so easy to get wrapped up in our own self-absorbed craziness, isn't it? I mean, getting ready to go on a vacation is not the most stressful situation there ever was. It's not something to freak out about. It's something to celebrate and to enjoy.

In a way, I was glad it happened -- that huge blow-up -- because it brought me back to earth and gave me perspective for the rest of the trip and we enjoyed the hell out of the rest of the trip. It felt like a second honeymoon, truly, and we laughed and ate and drank and slept and I'll be grateful for that week forever.

But, now that I'm back and reflecting and looking forward, it's quite clear that I sometimes don't handle stressful situations with any amount of grace and, you know, I really, really want to.

I had the urge, right after we came back from vacation, to just say "screw the rest of the year, I'll continue trying to become a better person in January." And then I slapped myself.

Not really! Calm down!

But this is the home stretch! If this were a race, this is where I'd get my second wind. This is the time to push harder, aim higher, do more. Two more months of the year!

I'm going to pack them full of good stuff.

Your Good Thoughts, Please?

We officially celebrated Mike's birthday this weekend and you can see the pictures here. You can also expect a detailed account of the three-themed menu I threw together later this week at Food Lush. It was a really fun party and Kyle, who was kept up way past his bedtime to join the festivities, charmed the pants off everyone.

Right up to the point he came down with the flu. (Again.)

Who else is sick of this broken record?

Mike and I leave next week for a week-long, much-overdue, much-needed vacation to Boston so taking time off work this week is painfully bad timing. Not to mention I'm pretty nervous that this could lead to something else, as the flu so often does. I hope he's okay by the time we leave. I hope he's okay by tomorrow. And not just because of our travel plans but because this kid just needs a break.

Suffice it to say, I'm not doing so well right now. He's sick so often I've lost count and when I think of what's in store for us in the coming fall/winter months, I'm driven straight into the arms of a bottle of tequila. I really don't know how many more sicknesses and copays and missed days of work I can handle without just crumbling into a pile of bad words and tears.

I don't want to complain too much because I know in the grand scheme of things, he's still a healthy child. He doesn't have anything that can't be treated and we have insurance, and I should never take those two things for granted and I don't ever take those two things for granted, swear it.

It's still really hard, though.

I guess all I can say is, please cross your fingers or throw up some prayers for him to be feeling better in no time, but definitely in time for our trip next week. He needs a break from all these fevers and viruses and yucky things and we really need to go on a trip without the guilt of leaving a sick kid with his grandparents hanging over us.

He needs to be well and we need him to be well and we need your good thoughts to help make that happen.

September Recap: I Promise To Only Bitch About the Weather a Little Bit

(Hey, I meant to finish writing/post this over the weekend. Oops!)

September. I barely knew you, feels like. You came, you went, and it seems you're taking the last of the brutal summer with you when you go.

Excuse me, but it needs to be said: hallefuckinglujah.

So, this month Kyle got to visit Aggieland for the first time, and that game was one of my favorite family memories to date. Way better than taking him out to eat for Mike's birthday this past weekend. Hoo boy.

September also had wine festivals, birthday parties, and more running. (One 5K with another in very early October.)

This is my absolute favorite time of year, you should know, so it's strange that I've been feeling a little off the last few weeks. Feeling down, in a funk, blue. Lisa, a writing guru, wrote this post I've been meaning to link to for ages, because it's some seriously powerful stuff. I couldn''t relate, when I first read it, but I have been relating recently.

Especially this: "The fall dreads sneak out in many ways: the too-often verge of tears; the constant simmering discontent that flares into anger too easily; the lack of patience; the longing for days past; the reaching for sugar, sugar, sugar."

I'm snappy, skittish, impatient, restless, and on alert more often these days than usual. I don't like it.

I'm just feeling like the year is flying by too fast, Kyle's at a difficult stage, my weight loss has stalled, and my house is always dirty. I want the summer sun without the heat, the cool crisp air without the pitch-black evenings, the fall foods without the reminder that another year is coming to an end much too soon.

Then there's that one topic I can't let go of but can't talk about either. A friendship uneventfully fizzling yet unexpectedly hurting like hell.

You should know this about me: I have a very, very, very hard time letting go.

Anyway, all that's to say that, yes, I'm in a bit of a funk.

This isn't how I usually like to end my montly recaps. Especially not when there's so much good behind us and so much good ahead of us. I have a high school reunion, a birthday party, a TRIP ALONE WITH MY HUSBAND ahead of me. Good stuff, people.

(There's always so much good, really.)

But, guys, I don't know how to keep this stuff from you. It's inside me and it has to get out in order for me to get over it. This is all I know. Some people clean their houses (ha!), some run marathons, some bake pans of brownies. Therapy comes in million-trillion forms.

Me? I write.

I'm in a funk, and I hope October shakes me out of it.

A Curse of the Internet: Geography Lessons

I'm social.

Mike would even say I can be too social.

The other night we went out with a big group, and I said, "eh, I don't really feel like being social tonight. You do the small talking, please." And he looked at me in a state of panic because if I didn't carry our social graces on my shoulders, we'd be totally screwed.

For the record, I think he's very good at being social when he wants to be, he just so rarely wants to be.

But I like to host parties. I like to host gatherings. I like to make plans. I like to be around people. I like to do it all weekly. Maybe even daily.

My boss even calls me the cruise director of our office.

Which is why I find myself in unfamiliar territory when it comes to other moms. I don't quite know how to say this without it sounding ... strange/weird ... so I'll just say it: in my neighborhood and at Kyle's school, the two places I'd most like to make mom friends, I feel young. Ish. Not like cool young or hip young but inexperienced, what-does-she-know? young.

I know this is all in my head, folks, as I'm 28, not 18, but I walk into Kyle's school or into the grocery store and I feel intimidated by the moms around me. Not in terms of parenting, but in terms of being an adult.

DOES ANY OF THIS MAKE SENSE?

I want more mom friends. I want to have big playdates where we all talk about things we're going through, parenting mishaps, crazy husband stories, tales of our hit-or-miss dinner from the night before, and then we all laugh and share and build a non-judgey community together that's minutes from my front door.

This may seem like a rose-colored-glasses wish, but ... I'm not quite ready to label it as such since I haven't done all that much to find it beyond mumbling and smiling at other parents and hoping they'll befriend me.

(They don't. Or this post would be pointless.)

The girl who feels like she could at least attempt a conversation with anyone is really struggling to find friends who have kids the same age as her kid.

(She's also now talking in the third person for whatever reason.)

I know I just need to get over it, introduce myself to as many parents as possible until I click with a few, or Google my heart out until I find a great group of moms willing to add another to their playdating ranks. So, I'm not quite looking for advice or resources as much as I'm hoping writing it out will light a fire under my ass.

I think what's especially tough, though, is that I have a parenting community online and my partners in parenting crime are all dotted across the country instead of dotted across my town, damn geography. (Thank goodness for A'Dell.)

It's hard finding people you click with and whose children you care about but who you can never have a playdate with because they live in California. Or Boston. Or Chicago. OR NOT TEXAS.

And it's really hard to walk out your front door and into your son's school or swim class or Wal-mart and feel like you're surrounded by all these parents you don't click with.

I mean, come on, it's already hard enough to walk into Wal-mart. 

So, yeah, could you just go ahead and move to Texas please?

It's been a drag around here, so let me do nothing to fix that

Man, with the flu and the mom guilt and the Rain of Epic Proportions (which I didn't mention to you but maybe the news did? in short: we got a lot of rain yesterday and also a couple tornadoes), it's been not-so-cheerful around these parts this week.

I'm going to do nothing to fix that since I have to say this: I'm not running my 10K this weekend.

I just can't.

Not physically, I think I could swing that part of it even after having the flu (my immune system? the opposite of Kyle's), but this run was an out-of-town one, and Mike wasn't able to get off work to go with me, so I'd be abandoning my still-recovering kiddo and my still-recovering husband to drive four hours away to run alone without a cheering squad waiting for me at the end.

I just can't rationalize it, especially considering the state of my family and the state of my house.

(Don't stop by unannounced, is what I'm saying to you or we will socialize on the porch whether or not there's a tornado* out front.)

It's just not the weekend to go and while marking off this list item would have felt fantastic, getting my house in order and my family healthy is more important, it just is.

And it's not like there aren't other 10Ks in the state of Texas between now and January. There are! I'll find another.

Or.

Well.

I've been thinking maybe I'll try to run my own 10K. Maybe I won't be able to -- there's something about the race-day adrenaline, I know -- but we have a few nearby lakes and awesome parks and I'd love to try and run 6.2 miles this weekend or the next to see if I can (in training, I've gotten to around four miles). Is this smart? Is this stupid? I have the race playlist already, why not put it to use!

And, hell, if I can't do it, I sign up for another race.

(Although, you should know, I'm keeping our dinner reservations for Saturday night, the dinner we planned to celebrate my 10K. We'll instead celebrate ... good insurance or fall premieres or these shoes or something.)

***

*Tornadoes are my Most Feared Thing, right above clowns and that little troll from Cat's Eye. I have had exactly one full-blown hysterical panic attack in my life and it was while driving through a tornado a couple years back. Mike has never seen me like that, and he's seen me give birth. Just a fun tip about me!

A Specific Kind of Mom Guilt

Kristie wrote a pretty great post about a specific "mom guilt" issue on her blog today, one I'm also struggling with.

Here's my situation:

Mike works wonky hours. They seem to change a lot, too. My hours are more "standard" but those standard hours place me smack-dab in the middle of rush hour traffic, both ways. For anyone who commutes, it's not really the driving that sucks out your soul, it's the traffic, the seemingly endless stopping and starting and people craning their necks while slamming on their breaks to see the accident four lanes over. (Stop doing that, by the way.)

So, Mike's hours are changing ever-so-slightly starting soon and I'm going to try to adjust my hours ever-so-slightly to get me into the office and back home with much less traffic.

Whoo!

But, this limits my options for working out at our local rec center (the place I've become very, very attached to). Basically I have a very specific window right after I get off work and before I pick up Kyle from school.

The guilt that's eating me alive over this is ... fairly impressive really considering we're talking about me RUNNING on a TREADMILL which is a GOOD THING.

I am fine working out once Kyle is fast asleep and I'm even fine working out before we all get going in the morning, but leaving Kyle at school longer so I can work out, WHOA, THERE IS GUILT WITH THIS CHOICE.

Why? I don't know. This is the same time period I used to be sitting in traffic to pick him up and I rarely felt guilty about that. I mean, we live HERE, my job is THERE, unless the gift of a plane, a pilot, and a landing pad is handed down to us, commuting was my only choice.

So while Kyle wouldn't be at school any longer with this new arrangement, there's just something guilt-inducing about choosing to do one thing I enjoy (running) over picking up Kyle from school earlier.

As Kristie said, it's not like I'm taking body shots off anyone at a local bar, I'm getting healthier, staying fitter, so I can chase that cute boy of mine around the house. And I don't feel guilty about leaving him with his dad or his grandparents to do the exact same thing (or to socialize with friends or host parties or take date nights with my husband).

So what's with this specific kind of guilt? The guilt of leaving him at school so his mama can go to the gym?

Have any of you dealt with this? What's your advice, yo?