Please be forewarned folks - I need a place to vent while things in the real world are nothing short of chaotic at the moment. In my house, when things get overwhelming, I make a whine list (I feel like that should be trademarked) and get it all off my chest and out of my head in one dramatic recitation.
It helps to state it out loud instead of swirling around in my head.
And so, should you want to share in my current craziness, stick around. If that doesn't sound appealing, this is when you should stop reading. But I'm thinking this will end on an upswing, so your call.
1. SNOT. I'm fighting a cold. I've been achy for a couple of days and woke up stuffy. While that's not really something major to whine about, I'm not sure how to blow my nose with a new piercing. I can't neti pot, which I usually do every day, and so my head feels extra clogged.
2. PTA. I'm in charge of communications to 1014 families, many of whom don't speak English and don't have computers. Pulling contact information together is nothing short of daunting and everyone's waiting for me to turn things around when I'm not sure I can.
3. FAMILY. 2 people in my family are not well right now. And I'm not talking minor stuff - I'm talking serious, life threatening stuff. At the moment both are in crisis and I can't do anything to help either one. It's heartbreaking and frustrating. For one, much of the responsibility for day to day dealing is falling to me and I don't know how to do this. I'm scared.
4. BODY. I'm not recovering anymore from my bike fall. My hand still hurts all the time. My knee is still swollen and bruised. And my shoulder, the one that hurt before is back is now aching more than ever. But, I haven't had time to go for an MRI or even call the doctor back about next steps.
5. YOGA/BIKING. I can't do either and my mind and body are protesting. I miss them so, both the physical challenge and the mental break.
6. HOME. We had to clean our stuff out of basement storage while they reorganize the space and there are now 4 bikes, plus trunks and endless bags of crap in my apartment that shouldn't be here. I feel like I'm navigating a junk yard every time I try to find something.
7. DESK. I'm inundated with paperwork I can't get to because I haven't had time or energy to focus on cleaning everything.
8. WRITING. When? How? I haven't had a moment to concentrate and all the ideas I've had are floating away from me, balloons getting ever smaller in the sky.
9. PIZZA. I LOVE pizza but god help me, I don't think I can stand eating it for yet another day.
10. WHINING. All my attention spent on the above has been really hard on my kids who don't completely understand and so they're fighting for my attention.
To counter the above:
1. This cold won't last forever and I LOVE my piercing.
2. I'm helping this fantastic NYC public school move to a new level.
3. I have faith they'll both be ok in the end.
4. I'll recover eventually.
5. Both will be waiting for me when I'm ready.
6. In a couple of weeks my living room will be sparse again.
7. It'll get done.
8. I'm writing now.
9. I can never not love pizza.
10. Whining is a part of life.
And now, I feel better. Off to get 2 kids off to school, walk the dog, the pharmacy, a class parent meeting, move the car, clean the apartment, battle excel and hundreds of emails and see what the day brings.
Thursday, October 7, 2010
Wednesday, October 6, 2010
67 minutes left in the day
I've meant to write on and off for the entire day but it wasn't meant to be.
There are times when my life isn't mine. When my days are spent focused on people who need my energy, time, thoughtfulness, attention. Who need me to listen, to support, to encourage, to empathize. Who need me more than I need me.
I'm hoping to resurface soon.
More than ever though, I'm grateful for the life I have and the family and friends I love.
Meantime, I'm still loving my hair. And my pierced nose.
There are times when my life isn't mine. When my days are spent focused on people who need my energy, time, thoughtfulness, attention. Who need me to listen, to support, to encourage, to empathize. Who need me more than I need me.
I'm hoping to resurface soon.
More than ever though, I'm grateful for the life I have and the family and friends I love.
Meantime, I'm still loving my hair. And my pierced nose.
Tuesday, October 5, 2010
sigh
I wanted to write today. I was all set to recap yesterday's nose piercing (yes folks, I'm talking about mine). But, my day got derailed and I'm too drained to write, talk, think.
We'll do the nose tomorrow.
We'll do the nose tomorrow.
Monday, October 4, 2010
it's not summer anymore
Fall is in the air. As I'm sitting here in my car (for those of you who don't already know, I do NYC alternate side parking which means I sit in my car 2 mornings a week so I can park for free), the tips of my fingers are going numb. My flip flops are under my desk, not on my feet. I'm wearing a long sleeved shirt. And (this is the good part), I delved into my coat collection. This is the part of fall that I love. There are so many beautiful, funky, outrageous coats crammed in my closet and each has a distinct feeling that's right for the day, the outfit, the weather. I've found, now that my vintage collection is a few years old, I generally have a couple that get worn all the time, others that get broken out once a season.
Looking out my window this morning and seeing grey and dark, I pondered jacket selections. Even though it's on the chilly side, I'm not ready for the super fall jackets. And as it's drizzling, rain options seemed appropriate. For the past few days I've been wearing a sparkly beige faux crocodile textured 1960s rain coat. I found it in a vintage shop in Vermont where it was on half price special—it cost 4 dollars instead of 8. And it's stunning. Paired with a long fuschia scarf wrapped twice around my neck, or a hot pink one with orange flowers, or a black wrapped trimmed with pom pons, it's been perfect.
But today is chillier than that. I broke out the jacket I bought last week at the Maker Faire in Queens. While it was labeled a 60s jacket, I find that hard to believe. It's brand new and the zippers and contruction aren't vintage. But, it was impossible not to buy. Black velvet, cropped short, printed with hot pink and orange poppies up the sleeves and body, leaves of olive and brown edging the petals. While I never wear short jackets this was the second I bought this fall.
But then, the scarf. I pulled five or so out of my closet and couldn't decide which worked best. Long fuschia cotton with embroidered flowers at the ends felt too summery. The hand knit deep orange in linen/mohair wasn't quite bright enough. The black with pom pons felt too drab. The mobius loop I knit last winter in shades of pink, orange and brown matched best but I wasn't sure the style was right. The red and orange wrap overwhelmed everything else. I almost ran back to get another batch but I had to take Jack to school. Mobius loop it was. Is. And it's fine.
I bet the next time I go out today I'll be in something else entirely
And damn, that makes me happy.
Looking out my window this morning and seeing grey and dark, I pondered jacket selections. Even though it's on the chilly side, I'm not ready for the super fall jackets. And as it's drizzling, rain options seemed appropriate. For the past few days I've been wearing a sparkly beige faux crocodile textured 1960s rain coat. I found it in a vintage shop in Vermont where it was on half price special—it cost 4 dollars instead of 8. And it's stunning. Paired with a long fuschia scarf wrapped twice around my neck, or a hot pink one with orange flowers, or a black wrapped trimmed with pom pons, it's been perfect.
But today is chillier than that. I broke out the jacket I bought last week at the Maker Faire in Queens. While it was labeled a 60s jacket, I find that hard to believe. It's brand new and the zippers and contruction aren't vintage. But, it was impossible not to buy. Black velvet, cropped short, printed with hot pink and orange poppies up the sleeves and body, leaves of olive and brown edging the petals. While I never wear short jackets this was the second I bought this fall.
But then, the scarf. I pulled five or so out of my closet and couldn't decide which worked best. Long fuschia cotton with embroidered flowers at the ends felt too summery. The hand knit deep orange in linen/mohair wasn't quite bright enough. The black with pom pons felt too drab. The mobius loop I knit last winter in shades of pink, orange and brown matched best but I wasn't sure the style was right. The red and orange wrap overwhelmed everything else. I almost ran back to get another batch but I had to take Jack to school. Mobius loop it was. Is. And it's fine.
I bet the next time I go out today I'll be in something else entirely
And damn, that makes me happy.
Sunday, October 3, 2010
THE change
An anonymous poster here recently said that exposing so much of myself is detrimental to my children. My mother occasionally says the same thing. That I share too much. That there are things I should keep private. That words I post here can and will be held against me (or something along those lines).
I've been thinking about why I don't just delete the negative and move on. To be honest, those comments make me think. Am I a narcissist? Am I harming my kids? Is there a bright line between appropriate and too much? It never hurts to stand back and look at what I put out into the world from a more objective point of view.
I woke up this morning wanting to write about my body. And after mulling about it for a couple of hours, analyzing possible ramifications, projecting what my family might think or feel . . . I'm writing about my body. I put a book out into the world about menstruation and in my house we talk. We discuss. We know. Is this better than the silence I grew up with?
I don't know. Time will tell.
But for today I'm talking periods again. Specifically mine. For years, ever since having kids, it's pretty pretty damn regular. No surprises. Late every once in awhile. Less cramps than when I was younger. I'm happy to get it. I know my body's working the way it's supposed to.
While I was working on FLOW (and no, I don't think it's a coincidence), my period sped up. It now appears every 23 or 24 days, the first day bringing mind-blowing, double-me-over a hot water bottle cramps, crazy heavy flow for 24 hours and then it tapers off quickly.
But then, last month, it was a week early. That meant it was just over two weeks since my last one. And it was intense. Heavy for 4 days. In fact, it freaked me out a bit. This month? It barely started and then disappeared. I went through my monthly craving for sweets, the teeth-gritting bad mood, feeling bloated and cranky. I spent the past 3 days waiting for it to kick into gear and do its thing, but that seems to not be happening.
My body is changing.
Sigh.
I "know" this stuff. I researched it. Wrote it. Mulled it over. But it wasn't about me.
Now it is.
I don't like change. Even more, I can't stand the unknown. And, at least as it relates to my body, unknown is going to be a buzzword for the next few years.
I suppose though, it's not just about my period. It's about life. Life is one giant unknown, no matter how much I, we, think we can control it. It's in the learning to let go that I find freedom and strength. Growth. Joy.
So. Maybe this perimenopause thing will be a time to stretch and learn more about myself.
(I'm not holding my breath about that one).
I've been thinking about why I don't just delete the negative and move on. To be honest, those comments make me think. Am I a narcissist? Am I harming my kids? Is there a bright line between appropriate and too much? It never hurts to stand back and look at what I put out into the world from a more objective point of view.
I woke up this morning wanting to write about my body. And after mulling about it for a couple of hours, analyzing possible ramifications, projecting what my family might think or feel . . . I'm writing about my body. I put a book out into the world about menstruation and in my house we talk. We discuss. We know. Is this better than the silence I grew up with?
I don't know. Time will tell.
But for today I'm talking periods again. Specifically mine. For years, ever since having kids, it's pretty pretty damn regular. No surprises. Late every once in awhile. Less cramps than when I was younger. I'm happy to get it. I know my body's working the way it's supposed to.
While I was working on FLOW (and no, I don't think it's a coincidence), my period sped up. It now appears every 23 or 24 days, the first day bringing mind-blowing, double-me-over a hot water bottle cramps, crazy heavy flow for 24 hours and then it tapers off quickly.
But then, last month, it was a week early. That meant it was just over two weeks since my last one. And it was intense. Heavy for 4 days. In fact, it freaked me out a bit. This month? It barely started and then disappeared. I went through my monthly craving for sweets, the teeth-gritting bad mood, feeling bloated and cranky. I spent the past 3 days waiting for it to kick into gear and do its thing, but that seems to not be happening.
My body is changing.
Sigh.
I "know" this stuff. I researched it. Wrote it. Mulled it over. But it wasn't about me.
Now it is.
I don't like change. Even more, I can't stand the unknown. And, at least as it relates to my body, unknown is going to be a buzzword for the next few years.
I suppose though, it's not just about my period. It's about life. Life is one giant unknown, no matter how much I, we, think we can control it. It's in the learning to let go that I find freedom and strength. Growth. Joy.
So. Maybe this perimenopause thing will be a time to stretch and learn more about myself.
(I'm not holding my breath about that one).
Saturday, October 2, 2010
Thickening skin
I've been thinking lately about social media and the many ways we put ourselves out in the world.
Some people have online personas which have nothing to do with who they are in real life. I've found that out more than once and was shocked watching those two worlds collide. Who I am in social media is me, just me, me being honest, open, sharing from the bottom of my heart and moments when my soul is broken. That's not so easy for me to do in day to day life—I'm more reserved, my walls are pretty solid. Social media me is also braver, hypes better, is more self-assured.
But the edges of my life are blurred. Writer, designer, mother. Creator. Worker. Wife. Business owner. Blogger. Sister. Daughter. PTA president. Yogi. Me in my living room. Me in a coffee shop. Talking to a friend. Having a meeting. Or typing away on my laptop. When I write here, for Huffington Post, for Bust, when I'm writing a book, I bring me to the table. Not professional me or personal me. Just me.
Lately I've been slammed here. For being me. That used to hurt. But the last insult laden blog comment actually made me laugh out loud. It was hard, ridiculous, to imagine someone taking the time and energy to spew such venom at me. Being me.
While this road is never easy and while yes, I can be very complain-y times, I am grateful for the messiness of how my life works. I have opportunities in front of me I never would have imagined. I know inspirational and interesting people. I walk down the street and always find someone to talk to, to listen to, to share with. At 46, which when I was younger I'd thought was ancient, life is full of thrilling things. Challenging things. Pure love. Excitement. Satisfaction. And, yes, frustration. Pain. Drama. Angst.
Where would I be, if the growing, stretching, learning stopped?
Some people have online personas which have nothing to do with who they are in real life. I've found that out more than once and was shocked watching those two worlds collide. Who I am in social media is me, just me, me being honest, open, sharing from the bottom of my heart and moments when my soul is broken. That's not so easy for me to do in day to day life—I'm more reserved, my walls are pretty solid. Social media me is also braver, hypes better, is more self-assured.
My life online is anonymous in a way, it's easier to share, to open up, to examine. I connect, I flow more when it's just me and my thoughts, my emotions, my experience. I am truly present when I'm here, not caught up in the distractions and juggling of every day life.
Sometimes I wish my life was more compartmentalized. That I was a doctor or teacher or marine biologist (not really, those are just examples), that I worked in an office and could leave that part of me at the end of the day, behind a closed door. That I wouldn't wake up at 3 in the morning with an idea that I had to get down at that very moment before I lost it. That I was an expert in something and came to projects from that place instead of just as me.
But the edges of my life are blurred. Writer, designer, mother. Creator. Worker. Wife. Business owner. Blogger. Sister. Daughter. PTA president. Yogi. Me in my living room. Me in a coffee shop. Talking to a friend. Having a meeting. Or typing away on my laptop. When I write here, for Huffington Post, for Bust, when I'm writing a book, I bring me to the table. Not professional me or personal me. Just me.
Lately I've been slammed here. For being me. That used to hurt. But the last insult laden blog comment actually made me laugh out loud. It was hard, ridiculous, to imagine someone taking the time and energy to spew such venom at me. Being me.
While this road is never easy and while yes, I can be very complain-y times, I am grateful for the messiness of how my life works. I have opportunities in front of me I never would have imagined. I know inspirational and interesting people. I walk down the street and always find someone to talk to, to listen to, to share with. At 46, which when I was younger I'd thought was ancient, life is full of thrilling things. Challenging things. Pure love. Excitement. Satisfaction. And, yes, frustration. Pain. Drama. Angst.
All valid parts of my life. And all of it is helping me grow into me.
If I let other people shut me down?
I'm not willing to find out.
I'm not willing to find out.
Friday, October 1, 2010
Right now
I don't have it in me to write an entire post today so I thought I'd sort of fill in the blanks for my day so far. And anonymous, if you're lurking, this isn't complaining, it's stating.
I woke up at 7:11 to a rainy, dark sky, somewhat freaked I'd be waking she who must not be named up late.
She wasn't happy.
Fortunately, as there was about to be a meltdown about nothing to wear, I mentioned I'd washed all her cool shirts the night before so she'd have something to wear.
But, the machine apparently turned off mid wash and everything was sopping wet, including her gym uniform.
Blow drying didn't work.
Neither did screaming really loud and slamming doors (that was me).
I threw on clothes and offered to get her to school, as she'd already missed her usual bus.
One of us wasn't wearing rain boots, a rain coat and didn't want to use an umbrella.
That wasn't me but I'm soaked anyway.
We made it to school, with time to spare, only the person I needed to see was stuck in traffic.
Walking home I rubbed a blister onto my pinkie toe and discovered the fabulous new umbrella I was using for the first time doesn't close all the way unless I ram it so hard into my abdomen there must be bruising.
This is all after I went to bed before 10, feeling the very faintest glimmers of a coldy sort of thing.
This morning it's a raging headache.
My period started and then stopped.
The post bike fall pain in my left hand has now spread to my fingers.
My new hair isn't faring well.
I have a delicious puppy on my lap.
A friend is doing a massage therapy appointment in half an hour, for free, to help my leg and palm.
I found a t-shirt by my clothes-less child's favorite design for half price at Filene's Basement.
I'm alone until 3.
I woke up at 7:11 to a rainy, dark sky, somewhat freaked I'd be waking she who must not be named up late.
She wasn't happy.
Fortunately, as there was about to be a meltdown about nothing to wear, I mentioned I'd washed all her cool shirts the night before so she'd have something to wear.
But, the machine apparently turned off mid wash and everything was sopping wet, including her gym uniform.
Blow drying didn't work.
Neither did screaming really loud and slamming doors (that was me).
I threw on clothes and offered to get her to school, as she'd already missed her usual bus.
One of us wasn't wearing rain boots, a rain coat and didn't want to use an umbrella.
That wasn't me but I'm soaked anyway.
We made it to school, with time to spare, only the person I needed to see was stuck in traffic.
Walking home I rubbed a blister onto my pinkie toe and discovered the fabulous new umbrella I was using for the first time doesn't close all the way unless I ram it so hard into my abdomen there must be bruising.
This is all after I went to bed before 10, feeling the very faintest glimmers of a coldy sort of thing.
This morning it's a raging headache.
My period started and then stopped.
The post bike fall pain in my left hand has now spread to my fingers.
My new hair isn't faring well.
I have a delicious puppy on my lap.
A friend is doing a massage therapy appointment in half an hour, for free, to help my leg and palm.
I found a t-shirt by my clothes-less child's favorite design for half price at Filene's Basement.
I'm alone until 3.
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