I should have mentioned in yesterday's post how I've been trying to adopt Schmutzie's attitude of finding Grace in Small Things. Obviously, I don't always succeed...
...but today, I do have something to crow about - and you'll find it on High Maintenance (my diet blog).
This morning, I was delighted and surprised to discover that yesterday's post elicited a comment. This is something that used to happen with some frequency five years ago (when this blog was young), and each one was like opening a Christmas present. You never knew what was inside - but often, those comments led to some wonderful back and forth exchanges and even friendships.
Many of my closest friends today are people I met through comments on this blog.
But that all stopped a few years ago, when blogs and blogging got bigger and it was harder to keep up with the community. I miss that.
So I was eager to read my comment.
Too bad for me that this was not one that was going to make my day. Rotospherical is sick and tired of reading my whines about the bad patch of luck I'm (still!) going through.
And you know what? I agree with her (I'm assuming it's a her, because the readers of blogs like mine tend to be female). I liked me better when I was upbeat and happy, too, and would give anything to get back to that. Unfortunately, the continuing onslaught of icky things happening around me all at once hasn't been kind to my sense of humor, which appears to have abandoned me.
It also doesn't help that my VA clients are requesting more of my time. This is a good thing for my budget - but a bad thing for my blogging. I've never been a particularly fast writer - a 500 word post typically takes me a couple of hours - so when all I can find is a 20-minute window, what comes out is yesterday's irritating, sleep-deprived vent.
So I've made a decision. I've been trying to put something up here at least once a week, whether I've got something fun to write about or not. That stops now. If I haven't anything interesting to post about, I'm just not gonna do it.
I do enjoy reviewing products that fit into my lifestyle, and it's fun to receive them and a challenge to write the reviews. I'm doing a lot fewer of these, mainly because I don't have the time (it can take me up to six hours to write a review post). I'm sitting on one that should have been finished two weeks ago, because I shot video and haven't found the time to edit it. I will be doing fewer reviews while I'm so swamped, which makes me a little sad, because "fun" is something my life lacks right now.
That said, I thought you might like to see a sample of the kind of stuff that arrives in my email each day (which I was complaining about in yesterday's post). For the record: Most of the pitches I get do not offer me ANYTHING in return for giving them free publicity - not even a reciprocal link. Those are the ones that go straight to my trash.
The rest require some kind of response, and I try to do so - but sometimes, I sit on them for so long that it's ridiculous. So those end up in the trash, too.
Anyway - I got a couple of pitches today that made me laugh. One was titled "Summer fashion tips for 'haute' mamas." The pitch went like this:
As Courtney Cox's swimsuit malfunction demonstrates, Nippies Natural and Nippies from Bristols 6 are essentials for moms hitting up the pool with toddlers that hang on to your swimsuit. Our high-quality cover-ups shape curves and shields from overexposure and 'chilly' waters, giving stylish moms the confidence to wear a bathing suit without worry!
Nippies Natural is the first adhesive silicone nipple cover that is thin and matte, making it undetectable under clothing and swimsuits. The adhesive and non-adhesive versions are washable/waterproof/reusable, making it a budget-friendly find that you can wear during the day at the pool or out to dinner with your hubby.
For 'haute' mamas who want colorful coverage, Nippies are made from real lingerie fabrics in designer-inspired prints and sparkling sequins. Nippies are soft, stretchy and slightly supportive coverage in over 40 styles that coordinate with any bathing suit or outfit!
This is especially funny to me because at my age, I think of myself as "post-fashion." At 53 years old, nobody is looking at my body in a bathing suit, and even if they did, I don't wear styles where this would be a problem.
But the prize for the funniest pitch of the day goes to the guy (who obviously didn't realize that I live in Los Angeles) invited me to a performance in New York City:
Hello Schwartz Mills, (I guess he didn't notice that I have a first name, either)
I hope all is well. I am not sure if you had a chance to check out Puppetry of the Penis when it first came to NY several years ago. But this August the boys from down under (brothers, Simon and Justin Morley) will bring the ancient art of genital origami back to NYC (then to the rest of the country).
I hope you will able to join us. Let me know what performance works.
Puppetry of the Penis is a non-sexual, totally funny girl’s night out. I hope you will be able to join us. Our Penis Puppeteer are available to discuss this ancient high art and tutorials are available.
I look forward to hearing from you.
I actually wrote him back and asked him to let me know if they ever do a show in SoCal.
DISCLOSURE: I have not received anything from either of the organizations listed above in exchange for promoting their links. These actual emails just made me laugh.
To celebrate the last day of school, one of my daughter's friends hosted a sleepover, where she gave them all a little present: a particularly virulent summer cold.
I'm not sure the hostess gave it to her; Megan tells me that ALL the girls were complaining of sore throats and sniffles that night. But it is definitely the gift that keeps on giving. By Saturday night, I was feeling flu-ish, too.
And so Father's Day saw my husband taking care of us... and we are spending these first days of summer parked in front of the television, with tissues and cold medication at hand.
I have a meeting to attend tomorrow, and am doing all I can to recharge my batteries. I'm at the stage where my voice is starting to take on a sexy, husky quality... I'm praying it stays that way until after my meeting, but with my luck it will be replaced with a painful-sounding raspy cough.
I'm happy to report that I seem to have emerged from that bout of the blues I was suffering from these last few weeks. Maybe it's that booster I had on Friday... or maybe it's the result of the iron supplements I'm taking for my anemia. Or (more likely) maybe I just needed time to work through all the changed circumstances I'm dealing with right now and get to acceptance.
At any rate, I am feeling more like myself this week.
View the rest of this post here.
I've always struggled with my emotions -- but not in the way most people do. I don't hide my feelings well... or at all. It's fine when I'm feeling happy, because happiness is contagious and people LIKE being around me then.
But right NOW, my family and friends are having a hard time dealing with me, because I'm sad -- and I can't help showing it.
What they don't understand is that I am TRYING to bring myself out of my funk, and I've had some success at it... but my emotional state is very up and down right now, and it's hard to predict where it's going to be at any one moment.
On Sunday, our synagogue held a small ceremony for the 7th graders graduating from Hebrew School, and by the time the rabbi got through his sales pitch to keep the kids there for the confirmation program, I was a sobbing mess.
NOTE TO SELF: Pack tissues until this passes, as I've been bursting into tears A LOT since Megan's decision to quit gymnastics.
In fact, I've been wondering if I might be clinically depressed.
"Then you should see a doctor," my sister advised. "This isn't normal."
Well, it's not normal for HER. But my carefully crafted little world has been rocked this year: my home was invaded by a destructive fungus, the economy has taken a toll on our finances, and my sweet little daughter has turned into a teenager overnight -- plus, I have a possible surgery looming ahead.
My sister's advice to see a doctor reminded me of what it was like the times I actually was diagnosed with depression (and both of those bouts were triggered by outside events that were out of my control: the death of a friend and the loss of a job, so there's a precedent for that). However, this doesn't feel the same. I don't feel sad ALL THE TIME -- just some of the time.
This isn't depression. It's just... a lot of change coming at me all at once -- in the areas of my life that used to feel constant: My home, my family, my self. But like the things that made me depressed, NONE OF IT IS WITHIN MY CONTROL.
Plus, I feel like I have NOTHING to look forward to.
Last year, I lost weight, got featured in People magazine, traveled, went to both BlogHer AND the Democratic National Convention...
This year? I am watching my friends and family doing all sorts of exciting things while I feel left behind, because I've been focused on working on my virtual assistant business and putting our house back in order.
Last year I felt like I was moving ahead professionally and personally (even if I wasn't earning any income from it). This year, I spend my days plowing ahead on tasks I don't particularly enjoy (even if I like the people I'm working with) and listening to my husband nag me about getting a "real" job... something that seems even more impossible now that my daughter will no longer have the anchor of daily after-school gymnastics.
So last year was a good one. This one sucks. That's life. It will get good again -- just not very soon.
So I'm taking on more VA clients and hoping that will suffice for a while... and trying to let go of any dreams of having any FUN this year.
"You're re-doing your kitchen. Isn't that something to look forward to?"
Yeah, and I WILL enjoy that when it's done.
But I'd rather NOT be doing this AT THIS TIME. This home renovation was forced on me. We didn't plan for it and it's taken on a life of its own. And it's one of the reasons I have to take on more work I don't exactly enjoy and keeping me away from doing the things I love.
And I know that in the big picture, my stupid little complaints are NOTHING. So I feel guilty for throwing myself this little pity party... but that doesn't make me feel any better.
But writing this post does...
I spent over a decade in therapy. This blog is what keeps me (more or less) sane.
Immediately after I wrote this post (about how busy I will be for the next several weeks), I ran off to a routine doctor's appointment. Well, I thought it would be routine. The problem is, I don't go to the doctor often enough to have a routine.
I grew up in a family that was kind of hypochondrical. A case of the sniffles would keep me home from school for three days. And don't get me started on all the other diseases my parents suspected we all had. Ironically, my parents made it into their 70's before they started developing any real health issues, and the only time I've ever been in a hospital was 13 years ago, when I gave birth to my daughter.
It doesn't help that every year, our health insurance carrier changes and the coverage gets worse. Until I became a stay-at-home mom, I had a doctor whom I loved and I was diligent about my checkups. But after losing both our second income and my former employer's excellent insurance plan, I couldn't afford to see that doctor any more. In the decade since, I've periodically made an effort to visit whichever primary care physician available to us -- but I have never found another doctor I loved. And so it hasn't been a priority.
I subscribe to the theory of "what I don't know won't hurt me." I am pretty comfortable living in denial - which is how I ended up having to lose 50+ pounds a few years ago.
One of the reasons I went to the Lindora medical clinic to lose weight was so that I could avoid our last PCP (ironically, because he had made a big deal about my weight TO MY HUSBAND, which pissed me off). Anyway, I lost my weight, I improved my blood pressure and cholesterol, and I've been feeling pretty good...
...except for a chronic pain in my left shoulder that has been driving me crazy for months.
I chalked it up to age (I am turning 53 next month). But a few weeks ago, it got to the point where I literally couldn't lift my arm above my head - and my husband made me promise I would get it checked out.
So I searched our current health plan site for a new primary care physician. I really wanted a female doctor this time, and found one with a practice fairly close to home (she was actually the ONLY female listed in our area).
I figured the exam would be routine. After all, after losing the weight, I feel better than I have in years. So I was surprised at her reaction when I was on the table and told her I'd lost 56 pounds last year:
"On purpose?"
She frowned and she probed my midsection.
"How long have you had this abdominal mass?" she asked.
HUH?
She took my hand and pressed it against the right side of my tummy. "Feel that? This side is hard. Not like this one," (she moved my hand to the left).
She was right. I'd never noticed it before, but now that she pointed it out, I can feel this hard thing on my side. And most disconcerting: it's BIG.
"It doesn't hurt?" she asked.
Uh, no. If it had, I would have noticed it before now.
"It might be nothing," she said. I noted the words "might be nothing" instead of "probably nothing."
She then hooked me up to an EKG machine. She shook her head.
"The pattern is abnormal," she said, pointing to the printout.
She just found some kind of growth in my abdomen, which sounded pretty ominous to me. Of COURSE I had a funny heartbeat after that.
She asked me to come in the next day for an ultrasound and a heart echo.
I was more than a little bit freaked out. My daughter's birthday was Friday and Passover is this Wednesday and then my mother-in-law is coming out THIS Friday and staying with us for three weeks and then we have the Bat Mitzvah and my entire family coming out...
...and that was just ME. Around me, people I care about were having problems, too. One of my closest friends was having a mastectomy performed on Wednesday. Another of my closest friends had to fly home to the Midwest because her mom had suffered a blow to the head after a fall and was in a coma.
I agreed to a 10:30 appointment and called my husband, who freaked out a little, too.
"Maybe it's your fibroids," he suggested. My husband has present for our daughter's birth by c-section 13 years ago and he's never forgotten the sight of the bulbous growths on my uterus. (I have to take his word for it; my eyes were closed for the entire procedure.)
As I walked to the doctor's office the next morning, I remembered how much I looked forward to getting ultrasounds back when I was pregnant. This was not the same.
The ultrasound technician didn't see me until 12:15. I'd been instructed to fast and by this time, the lack of food and caffeine -- and the long wait -- made me extremely grumpy.
"Any changes in your health recently?" she asked. I told her about my weight loss and she had the same reaction as the doctor: "You did it ON PURPOSE?"
Sheesh. Most people give me a pat on the back for it! But I guess if you're in medicine, it's a red flag.
"I'm thinking it might be fibroids," I told her. "They're pretty big."
She shook her head. "This isn't your uterus," she said.
I'm glad I wasn't having the heart echo just then, because my heartbeat would likely have been off the chart.
This ultrasound was definitely NOT like the ones I had when I was pregnant. Where those were gentle and roughly in the same spot, this one was all over the place. I was instructed to roll on my side, roll on my back, roll to the side again... and she dug in with the instrument as she poked and prodded and tried to get a good image of what was going on there.
"Well, it's not your liver or your intestine," she said. GOOD NEWS. Then: "I don't know WHAT this is," she said.
I flashed on one of my favorite TV shows (House) and was sorry I ever found it entertaining. The last thing I wanted was some kind of mystery ailment that would take a lot of time and money to diagnose.
"You know - I'm not a doctor, so I can't diagnose - but I think it might just be a large fibroid that's popped out."
I was supposed to come back the next day for a pelvic exam so the doctor could confirm, but there was a slight wrinkle in that plan: My period had arrived. (Yes. I am nearly 53 years old and I am still fairly regular. Go figure.)
So I wasn't able to come in for my follow-up visit until today - and the doctor thinks the ultrasound tech was right.
"So, do you want to have it out?" she asked.
Well, I'm not sure. It doesn't hurt or bother me (although now that I know it's there, I do feel it). Is it dangerous?
She couldn't say. "I want you to have a CAT scan," she said. "In medicine, we can't say anything with 100% certainty until we take it out."
I asked if I could put it off until May, when my mum-in-law is back in the UK and my life is back to normal. After all, I've had it this long (I figure it's been there for years but it wasn't detectable under all that fat I used to carry) what's another month?
"I would rather you do it soon," she said. "We need to know if it's impinging on anything. Then we can make a decision."
I am cooking tonight, getting the rugs cleaned tomorrow, cooking the rest of Passover dinner on Wednesday and cleaning on Friday before Marion arrives. So that leaves Thursday to see the radiologist.
When this is all over, my husband and I are going on a weekend together in San Francisco. I'm going to need it.
I'm going to be brief, because life is coming at me like a wave right now.
I'm in a vortex of planning for my daughter's birthday (Friday), Passover (next Wednesday), and the Bat Mitzvah. In conjunction with the latter event, my British mum-in-law is flying out for a three-week visit: her first time in the United States since our wedding (16 years ago).
I have a feeling I'll be writing a more extended post about that later - that is, if I find time to tear myself away from all the housework, cooking, housework, preparations and more housework that I need to do right now.
On top of that, today is our first back at our old gym.
I won't go into details about what prompted the move back. I am happy to give up the 35-mile one-way drive out to Ventura County. I am happy to reunite my daughter with the girls she trained with since she was in third grade.
But we are leaving people we really love at the other place and because of that, the decision to return wasn't as easy as one would think. In fact, I've been something of an emotional basket case (I mean, more than usual).
So if my posting is sparse over the next month, you know why.
I think I've mentioned here that I've been trying hard to economize, with varied results.
I've managed to pare my own expenditures (for myself and the family) by about 25%. But some other family members are having trouble getting with the program.
"I have to read a book for my history project," my daughter announced on Friday. "So I need you to take me to Borders."
Uh, no.
She's been working on an in-depth report on the 1969 Native American occupation of Alcatraz Island, an event that captured her imagination in December, when we did a tour of the former prison. Even if I wanted to spend the money, a book on this topic might be hard to find in a store. This was a job for the Los Angeles Public Library.
A search on the library's online catalog turned up a number of likely resources. Unfortunately, none were available at any of our local branches. We would have to go downtown.
I have always had a soft spot for the Central Library, which was originally built in 1926 and features an Egyptian-influenced tower designed by architect Bertram Goodhue. It was extensively renovated and expanded following a 1986 arson fire and is was subsequently renamed the Richard Riordan Central Library (after the mayor who was in office during its 1993 grand reopening) - but I don't know of anyone who calls it that.
I spent a lot of time down there as a college student, taking advantage of cheap bus fares on weekends (an early '70's RTD response to the first oil crisis). I don't get a lot of opportunity to go down there much these days, thanks to the nasty traffic that chokes our freeways these days nearly 24/7. So I was kind of happy for the excuse to go down there and explore.
So was my husband, who loves to take photos of the architectural gems and natural features around the city (yes, the image above is one of his).
The only person NOT enamored of the downtown library was our daughter - but I guess I can't blame her. The only time we had to go was on Saturday afternoon, right after she finished her four-hour gymnastics workout -- and she was tired.
"Can't you check it out without me?" she whined.
No. It's her project, and I thought she should have the opportunity to browse the available books before deciding which one(s) to take.
We found a couple of good volumes fairly quickly -- but then, we lost my husband, who wanted to explore the library further. My daughter moaned when she realized we weren't leaving right away. I thought she was going to break out into a toddler-style tantrum when her dad returned.
"Did you know you can check out DVD's too?" he asked.
Yes. But with movies on demand, Blockbuster and Netflix, I never thought to actually do it.
"I want to check out 'Once Upon a Time in America,'" he announced.
Some background: My college major was Radio-TV-Film. I am the cinemaphile in the family, and when I was single, I went to the movies once or twice a week. Since marrying and becoming a mom... I don't go so much. Every so often, I organize Mom's Movie Days, where a bunch of us head to an early matinee while the kids are in school.
But my husband can take it or leave it (mostly the latter). We go to the movies together maybe once a year. (and it's always a "guy" flick - anything with Star Trek or X Men or Bourne in the title). We hold on to our Netflix selections for MONTHS because I keep hoping he'll watch with me (and in most cases, I give up and watch the DVD alone so I can return it and get the next one that I want to see).
But when he was in college, he saw this Sergio Leone cult classic and has always said it was the best movie ever. Ironically, I've never seen it and it's not on my list, because the older I get, the less tolerant I am of viewing violence on the screen.
So anyway... my husband wanted to check out "Once Upon a Time in America," even though he NEVER wants to sit still for a couple of hours to watch a movie. But there was a hitch: It wasn't at the Central Library. We would have to pick it up at the Hollywood branch.
Now the kid was whining about how tired she was. I reminded my husband that we could add the movie to our Netflix queue and he could have it in a couple of days, but he was determined to get it from the library... because he COULD.
So we drove out to the Hollywood Library (which was on our way home) and eventually found parking on a scary street a couple of blocks away. The kid and I opted to stay in the car while he went in. And we waited. And waited.
Eventually, he returned with THREE DVD's, which he showed me proudly. They all had stickers reading "2 DAYS."
"How long did they say you could keep these?" I asked.
Most library books can be checked out for three weeks. Hub didn't think to ask the librarian about the DVD's. It turned out that they were ALL due on Monday. On top of that, one of the DVD cases contained the wrong disk.
He didn't watch ANY of them and on Sunday night, he asked ME to return them for him. He had confirmed that I could bring them to our local branch, so I figured it would be easy just to slip them in the night deposit slot.
"I think you need to go inside and show them that wrong disk or they might charge us for it."
I didn't think that was necessary (they give you the wrong disk all the time at Blockbuster and nobody makes a big deal out of it) - but I agreed... and it's a good thing I did, because the librarians at Mid Valley thought it WAS a big deal, and their first suggestion was that I take it back to Hollywood . This is something I was unable to do on Monday as it was my turn to drive gymnastics carpool in the opposite direction and besides -- why should I have to drive all the way back there when it was the fault of the Hollywood library?
It took about 20 minutes to get it sorted out so I could return that last DVD without a penalty.
So... I love the library, but in the future, I'm going to stick to checking out books.
"Dancing with the Stars" is back on the air - which means I'm the designated driver on Monday nights again (because one of the other two moms in our gymnastics carpool works on the show).
The girls work out until 9:00 each night at a gym 35 miles from here, but it takes a good 40 minutes to make the drive - so we don't get home until close to 10:00 PM. Naturally, I'm always rushing them out...
...so I was not surprised when we got home on Monday and Megan realized she'd left her backpack at gym.
We expect a lot from her: she excels at school, at gym and is getting ready for her Bat Mitzvah (despite the fact that she only goes once per week instead of twice, because she spends so much time at gym). I can't be too upset with her when she forgets things. Even if she wasn't trying to keep track of a zillion things in her head, she has a disadvantage: as my daughter, she's inherited a certain level of absent-mindedness.
I have always chalked mine up to being a writerly type; I am rarely in the present and have always lived a rich life in my head. My dad is kind of the same way. Add in a schedule and juggling multiple deadlines and balls - or backpacks - get dropped.
I called the gym and got voice mail, which was no surprise - it was after 10:00 and I didn't really expect them to still be open.
If they had, would I have driven there and back that night? Yes, I think so. My kid kills herself to get her homework done in the hour she has from the time we get to the gym until her workout starts (at 5:00). She gets up early to take care of anything she hasn't finished -- and Monday night, that included four algebra problems. They don't cut her a lot of slack at her middle school - I hated to see her be penalized because I rushed her out the door without noticing she was missing something.
Besides, she was distraught. I don't think she would have been able to sleep Monday night if I hadn't promised her that I'd go back to the gym FIRST THING in the morning - after dropping her off at school. I also wrote four separate teacher notes, explaining exactly why she did not have her homework and begging them to excuse her for turning it in late.
She was pretty silent on the way to school yesterday - only speaking up to ask me when I thought I'd deliver the backpack. I mentally ticked off the time: the gym's recorded message stated that they open at 9:00, so even if I left right away, I wouldn't be able to get in until then - and there was no guarantee that anyone would actually be there so early. I estimated that I'd get back to school around 10:00 - or maybe 10:30.
"I won't have it in time for algebra," she sighed. Tuesdays are short days at Los Angeles schools, and the periods are condensed. She would be more than halfway through her day.
I dropped her off, I bought gas... and then I stopped at Starbucks for some caffeinated driving assistance. I was on the freeway at 8:30.
I was driving against the direction of traffic, and the roads were clear. So were the skies. I was passing through the Santa Susana mountains and into Simi Valley, which is verdantly green right now, thanks to the recent rains (the color of the hillsides is usually light brown). When the 118 turns into the 23 (towards the Reagan Library), the view is magnificent. With no kids in the backseat, I was able to turn my music way up. It was glorious.
I remembered how much I USED to enjoy just going out for a drive - a pasttime that few of us will be able to indulge in the coming era of environmental correctness. Even without environmental concerns, I find myself mired in my daughter's orbit. I don't stray too far, lest traffic keep me from getting back in time to get her from school. My leased car has a mileage limit. Gas is expensive.
I know we need to go green -- but I do mourn the end of driving for fun. When I was young, I would often spend an entire Saturday alone with my thoughts, just driving through the different canyons of L.A.: Laurel... Sunset... Topanga... Box... with occasional side trips along Mulholland Drive. I worked out a lot of my problems that way. I also worked up little writing projects. (As I said - I spend a lot of time living in my head.)
I made it to the gym at 9:05. It was locked. A sign on the door listed the first class at 10:00. I sat in the parking lot for 45 minutes before a coach arrived to open the place up. I ran in, found the backpack, and dashed back out. I dropped it off at school at 10:30.
I had about two hours before I had to go back to the school to pick her up. I went to the nearest Starbucks and put in as much work as I could, and spent the rest of the afternoon driving her to the dentist and then Hebrew school.
"Dancing" isn't on tonight, so I don't have carpool duty. I think I'm going to take another drive.
My house is STILL clean.
As I said to my friend Liz, I think it very possible that the real Donna has been abducted by aliens and I’m just a pod person waiting to make my move.
That's probably what my daughter is thinking, as I have been making a big deal about picking up after herself.
I actually heard myself emitting the words "I am not your maid!" last night as I wiped down counters after my husband made himself a snack. This is a phrase my own mother used a lot when I was growing up.
But I admit that I was not as vigorous yesterday about dusting and sweeping. That's because I pulled a muscle in my leg and I can't bend down without feeling a good deal of pain. This is something that is occurring a lot more frequently (I've been complaining about chronic shoulder pain for several weeks now, too) and it's more annoying because it reminds me that I'm not as young as I like to think.
If I really was an alien plant, I'd probably be more resilient, don't you think?
That has to be a relief to the family.
(Check out my latest post at my diet blog, High Maintenance.)
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