Shortly after the first of the year I had surgery on my knee. Was I scared? No, not in the least. I have had five other surgeries in the past 7 years, all more involved than this. By comparison, this was the equivalent of getting my teeth cleaned. At the hospital. Under anesthesia. Was there a chance that my knee condition would be worsened by the surgery? Or that I might suffer cardiac arrest why I was under? Or respiratory failure? Or paralysis? Yes, yes, yes and yes according to the pre-surgery waiver I signed. But I wasn't concerned. But I was nervous. I was nervous about what would happen to my household while I was at the hospital for the better part of the day. I was nervous about what would happen while I was confined to bed after the surgery. I had visions of a domestic apocalypse.
In preparation for the surgery I ran around like a crazy woman tying up every loose end I could think of. I caught up completely on laundry for the first time in...ever. The refrigerator and pantry were stocked. I was as ready as I would ever be. The night before the procedure I looked my husband straight in the eye, told him I loved him and then signed an affidavit stating that I would be a good patient. I would obey doctor's orders. I would not attempt to spring from my bed less than 24 hours post-op and run off to volunteer somewhere as I have been known to do in the past. I said I would take it easy and as a show of good faith (besides the affidavit) I cleared.my.calendar for the following week. I didn't schedule a single meeting. I made a point of telling people that I was having surgery, not to elicit their well-wishes or promise of meals but so they knew not to email me with requests for my help that I would be unable to deny.
So I had the surgery on a Friday. My husband brought me home and I hobbled upstairs to bed. That night I had to use my crutches to get to the bathroom. The next morning I woke up and felt...fine. By the end of Saturday I was completely crutch-free and going up and down the stairs. By Sunday I was hardly limping. And by Monday I could put all my weight on the repaired leg. The outcome was everything I could have hoped for. And more.
What more, you might ask? The *more* was in the form of the affidavit I signed. The one that required me to rest. To lay in bed. Read my book. Ask people to bring me things. I used this opportunity to have my children help around the house in ways they would otherwise reject. Such as being quiet. I had my husband take the dog to the groomer, something I had been meaning to get to for a month. I asked people to do things without reproach or guilt. It was awesome.
And my fears of the domestic apocalypse? Completely unfounded. Thanks to my sister and my mother-in-law helping out by taking my children away from our house, it actually stayed cleanish. And intact. More or less.
When Monday rolled around and the kids went off to school and my husband went off to work I was alone. And my calendar was completely empty. At first it felt weird, and I admit I was a bit panicky. But I was also still exhausted from the surgery, so I took a nap. Okay, I took two naps. Make that three. With the dog at my side. It was the day there was a light snow falling and at one point the dog and I just laid on the bed while I drank a mug of cocoa and read my book.
I would love to say I spent the entire week like that, but then you would worry that perhaps they'd accidentally given me a lobotomy in addition to fixing the knee. So I admit that by Tuesday night I snuck off to a meeting and had a few other meetings throughout the rest of the week. Yes, I did not honor the affadavit but I don't think my husband ever expected I would. At least not for as long as I did. But for almost two whole days I did pretty much nothing. And I didn't feel guilty. I felt...rested.
Friday, January 20, 2012
Sunday, January 1, 2012
The New New Year
After giving it some thought, I have decided that I will not be starting my new year on January 1st. The first day of the generally recognized new year falls at a really inconvenient time. For starters, my house is a mess, I'm too exhausted to care, and the only thing I am resolving to do is get my children back to school. It has been a non-stop flurry of activity from Thanksgiving to Christmas, to my daughter's birthday on December 27th and then New Year's Eve and New Year's Day celebrating. I think I last sat down for more than 5 minutes right about the time the leaves started falling. Everyone is cranky and bitter because winter break is coming to an end and they have to get dressed before noon. My children are preparing to mutiny over the idea that candy will no longer be eaten at 10am. I am not ready to *start* anything, except maybe a nap.
When the Romans developed the modern calendar they started the year in March, which would work much better for me. I am even willing to consider using the Chinese New Year later this month. My old-school, hard copy18 month agenda-planner starts on September 1. But January 1st just won't do. So forgive me January 1, I refuse to recognize you as the start of the new year. I will be starting my new year on a yet-to-be-determined date. Most likely one when my house is clean, or at least doesn't look like something blew up, and I have something in our pantry besides pretzels to feed my family.
When the Romans developed the modern calendar they started the year in March, which would work much better for me. I am even willing to consider using the Chinese New Year later this month. My old-school, hard copy18 month agenda-planner starts on September 1. But January 1st just won't do. So forgive me January 1, I refuse to recognize you as the start of the new year. I will be starting my new year on a yet-to-be-determined date. Most likely one when my house is clean, or at least doesn't look like something blew up, and I have something in our pantry besides pretzels to feed my family.
Monday, December 5, 2011
Oh....Christmas Tree
I am not someone who jumps out of bed the morning after Thanksgiving and starts madly decorating our home for Christmas. Since I am always the one who hosts Thanksgiving at our house I am usually the one moaning the morning after about how exhausted I am and the thought of launching into the next holiday is unfathomable. As a result, we usually delay our Christmas decorating for a week. Or more.
We are a family that still insists upon getting a real Christmas tree. When the children were younger and our tolerance for activities that involved driving far distances and cutting things was low we got our tree from the lot down the street. These were always lovely trees with plenty to choose from in the perfect height and they tied it to the roof of our van with twine so we could drive it home. The whole process took less than 30 minutes including the time it took for me to dither over which of the perfect trees was truly the most perfect-est.
Last year I decided our children were old enough and our tolerances were high enough that we were going to drive out to a Christmas tree farm and cut our own. How festive! What a family bonding experience! When we told the kids they were excited. My daughter immediately got busy finding the appropriate outfit for the occasion which consisted of a skirt and blouse, tights, black patent shoes and her faux leopard coat and hat. The rest of us felt woefully underdressed in our jeans, sweaters, parkas and boots.
We drove out to the farm and while it did take longer than our usual drive to the local lot it didn't take days to get there. Or even hours. If I recall correctly, the drive took one hour. And yet our children complained bitterly, like we had been driving since before the sun came up. For several days on end. They demanded snacks and a video. I told them we are never driving across country. Or even to New York.
Once we got to the farm we sprang from the car and took big, deep breaths of the cool, crisp pine air. There was a fire pit and a rack of hand saws. My children immediately made a beeline for the saws. Once we sorted out who was allowed to use the saws (only daddy) and who would be carrying the bamboo measuring pole (them, taking turns) we started out in search of our tree.
As I mentioned previously, we do not come rushing out of the starting gate with our decorating the day of Thanksgiving. We kind of take a few weeks to warm up to the idea and get comfortable with the fact that it is already December. As a result, when we went to the farm to get our tree we were a little on the late side. At the lot back home that isn't a problem because they keep bringing new trees to replace the stock. At the farm, once a tree has been cut down it's gone, so you have to keep walking until you find one suitable. And walking. And walking. With your children who are complaining about the cold, dressed in faux leopard coats and black patent shoes, trying to beat each other with a bamboo pole and whining that they want to carry the saw.
Finally, after much searching we found the perfect tree. Well, almost perfect. There was a sketchy side but it could face the wall and would be fine. And we were tired and hungry and cold. So the husband got to work cutting it.
A few years ago we moved to a new house with higher ceilings. Much higher ceilings. And yet we had continued to buy a tree that fit our old house's lower ceilings. But not this year! We had measured and knew exactly what size larger tree we needed. What we didn't take into consideration was this much larger tree would have a much larger trunk. And so the husband laid on the ground with the small, dull, only slightly-sharper-than-a-plastic-knife, farm provided hand saw and sawed away at the large trunk. And sawed. And sawed. And got tired and so I sawed a bit. And then we got desperate and let each kid saw for a while. And finally it was almost cut loose and I misunderstood the husband's directions for holding the tree at the correct angle and when he finally cut it through completely it fell on him.
Once he crawled out from under the tree we realized we had to drag the massive tree a million miles back through the tree farm to the parking lot. It was big. And heavy. So we began the process of getting it back to the car. We had to stop a few times to peel off layers of clothing and catch our breath. And our children continued to straggle behind beating each other with the bamboo pole and swinging the saw at each other because by this point we had lost the will to care. But eventually we got the tree back, sat by the fire pit for a few minutes and drank hot cider, paid for the tree and the attendant tied it to the roof of our car and we drove home with our glorious tree.
Once we got home we cut it down from the roof of the car and dragged it inside. We got out our Christmas tree stand that we had been using for many years. It was the fancy kind from Brookstone that practically puts the tree up itself. Or at least it would've if it had been the sized tree we had gotten in all those previous years. Not the new massive one. With the massive trunk that didn't fit in our stand.
The husband was so overcome with the spirit of the holidays that he ran out to get a new stand that would fit our tree. Okay, actually he was nagged until he ran away, and it just so happened he ran off in the direction of the store. Which was out of the larger sized stands. At this point he was done for the time being. So the tree sat outside, leaning against the house in the back yard until the next weekend when we had recovered our Christmas spirit and banished our apathy and found the right sized stand after checking two more stores.
Finally we had the tree up, the sketchy side was facing the wall, we added lights and ornaments, and it was everything we thought it would be and more. And because of that lovely experience that has been transformed in my children's minds into the best Christmas tradition ever, I am now looking forward to a repeat of the whole event this coming weekend. But at least this time we already have the stand. And we are bringing our own chain saw.
We are a family that still insists upon getting a real Christmas tree. When the children were younger and our tolerance for activities that involved driving far distances and cutting things was low we got our tree from the lot down the street. These were always lovely trees with plenty to choose from in the perfect height and they tied it to the roof of our van with twine so we could drive it home. The whole process took less than 30 minutes including the time it took for me to dither over which of the perfect trees was truly the most perfect-est.
Last year I decided our children were old enough and our tolerances were high enough that we were going to drive out to a Christmas tree farm and cut our own. How festive! What a family bonding experience! When we told the kids they were excited. My daughter immediately got busy finding the appropriate outfit for the occasion which consisted of a skirt and blouse, tights, black patent shoes and her faux leopard coat and hat. The rest of us felt woefully underdressed in our jeans, sweaters, parkas and boots.
We drove out to the farm and while it did take longer than our usual drive to the local lot it didn't take days to get there. Or even hours. If I recall correctly, the drive took one hour. And yet our children complained bitterly, like we had been driving since before the sun came up. For several days on end. They demanded snacks and a video. I told them we are never driving across country. Or even to New York.
Once we got to the farm we sprang from the car and took big, deep breaths of the cool, crisp pine air. There was a fire pit and a rack of hand saws. My children immediately made a beeline for the saws. Once we sorted out who was allowed to use the saws (only daddy) and who would be carrying the bamboo measuring pole (them, taking turns) we started out in search of our tree.
As I mentioned previously, we do not come rushing out of the starting gate with our decorating the day of Thanksgiving. We kind of take a few weeks to warm up to the idea and get comfortable with the fact that it is already December. As a result, when we went to the farm to get our tree we were a little on the late side. At the lot back home that isn't a problem because they keep bringing new trees to replace the stock. At the farm, once a tree has been cut down it's gone, so you have to keep walking until you find one suitable. And walking. And walking. With your children who are complaining about the cold, dressed in faux leopard coats and black patent shoes, trying to beat each other with a bamboo pole and whining that they want to carry the saw.
Finally, after much searching we found the perfect tree. Well, almost perfect. There was a sketchy side but it could face the wall and would be fine. And we were tired and hungry and cold. So the husband got to work cutting it.
A few years ago we moved to a new house with higher ceilings. Much higher ceilings. And yet we had continued to buy a tree that fit our old house's lower ceilings. But not this year! We had measured and knew exactly what size larger tree we needed. What we didn't take into consideration was this much larger tree would have a much larger trunk. And so the husband laid on the ground with the small, dull, only slightly-sharper-than-a-plastic-knife, farm provided hand saw and sawed away at the large trunk. And sawed. And sawed. And got tired and so I sawed a bit. And then we got desperate and let each kid saw for a while. And finally it was almost cut loose and I misunderstood the husband's directions for holding the tree at the correct angle and when he finally cut it through completely it fell on him.
Once he crawled out from under the tree we realized we had to drag the massive tree a million miles back through the tree farm to the parking lot. It was big. And heavy. So we began the process of getting it back to the car. We had to stop a few times to peel off layers of clothing and catch our breath. And our children continued to straggle behind beating each other with the bamboo pole and swinging the saw at each other because by this point we had lost the will to care. But eventually we got the tree back, sat by the fire pit for a few minutes and drank hot cider, paid for the tree and the attendant tied it to the roof of our car and we drove home with our glorious tree.
Once we got home we cut it down from the roof of the car and dragged it inside. We got out our Christmas tree stand that we had been using for many years. It was the fancy kind from Brookstone that practically puts the tree up itself. Or at least it would've if it had been the sized tree we had gotten in all those previous years. Not the new massive one. With the massive trunk that didn't fit in our stand.
The husband was so overcome with the spirit of the holidays that he ran out to get a new stand that would fit our tree. Okay, actually he was nagged until he ran away, and it just so happened he ran off in the direction of the store. Which was out of the larger sized stands. At this point he was done for the time being. So the tree sat outside, leaning against the house in the back yard until the next weekend when we had recovered our Christmas spirit and banished our apathy and found the right sized stand after checking two more stores.
Finally we had the tree up, the sketchy side was facing the wall, we added lights and ornaments, and it was everything we thought it would be and more. And because of that lovely experience that has been transformed in my children's minds into the best Christmas tradition ever, I am now looking forward to a repeat of the whole event this coming weekend. But at least this time we already have the stand. And we are bringing our own chain saw.
Monday, November 28, 2011
My case of almost-insomnia
A few years ago I suffered from insomnia. It was a miserable and hellish existence that I wouldn't wish on anyone. The cycle of exhaustion during the day that borders on insanity and the dread as night approaches and once again you will be faced with the inability to sleep, even though there is nothing your body craves more. Luckily for me I no longer suffer from insomnia. Instead, I suffer from almost-insomnia. My almost-insomnia started around 18 months ago, in the spring of 2010 when we switched to daylight savings time. Something about the time change, the early morning light and my aging body created a perfect storm of which I have yet to escape.
The reason I call it almost-insomnia is because I fall asleep fine. I sleep well through the night. And then I wake up. At 5:30am. Wide awake. Did I mention it is 5:30am? I do not want to be awake at 5:30am. There is little to nothing to do at 5:30am except work at the computer. I could go running, but it is dark. I could watch television, but it is morning and technically I should be getting ready for the day. The grocery store isn't open. Target isn't open. So instead I get up and have some coffee and think longingly of all those people who have to set an alarm to rouse them out of bed at 6:30 or 7:00. This works well when I have a lot going on and tons of work to catch up on and am so busy during the daytime hours that I need the extra morning time to get it done. This totally sucks when I have nothing urgent to attend to and there is space open on my calendar to accomplish whatever needs to get done that week during normal person hours.
The downside of the almost-insomnia is that I am exhausted by mid-afternoon. By the evening I am a zombie. If I could go to bed at 7pm maybe that wouldn't be an issue. But for some reason my kids don't want to get on this schedule. They are burning the midnight oil, staying up as late as 8:30pm most nights. They have no consideration for mommy's almost-insomnia.
And yes, I have tried altering my sleep schedule by going to bed later. All that happens is that I get less sleep because regardless of when I go to bed, I am up at 5:30am. Even when I traveled to France this past spring, took a red-eye flight there, adjusted to the time change, flew back home and...immediately reverted back to my 5:30am wake up time.
The problem with my almost-insomnia is there is no sympathy. If I mention it to friends it sounds like I'm bragging. Saying *oh, I just automatically wake up at 5:30am* is only a few degrees away from *I try and I try and no matter what I eat I simply can't gain any weight*. No one feels sorry for you.
The medical profession truly cares about the insomniacs. They have lots of ways they can attempt to help you including several different medication options. The almost-insomniacs get sighs and reminders that we are technically getting the recommended amount of sleep for our age, and we are sleeping through the night, and it's not like we are waking up at 3am. In other words, we need to just.get.over.it. and accept this is our lot in life.
So I continue to exist with this condition and hope that one day it will get enough recognition and appreciation that there will be telethons and charity 5k races in its honor instead of eye rolling. In the meantime I think the best I can do is plan a trip to Hawaii where there is a several hour time change and then stay for a few months until my body's clock works things out. But until then, if you ever need someone to have coffee with you at 5:30am send me a text.
Saturday, October 29, 2011
That 5%
Yesterday I got home from a doctor's appointment shortly after 2pm and promptly checked our voice mail. There was a message from one of the moms of a child in my daughter's class. She was calling to apologize that she wouldn't be able to make it to help at the class party today because her sitter for her younger children didn't show. When I heard her message I stopped breathing. I was the snack mom for the class party and had thought it was on Monday, not Friday, today. And it started at 1:50pm, which meant that there were 24 kids at a party with no cookies to frost. No sprinkles to sprinkle, no sugar rush. I almost got sick and felt dizzy, like I may pass out. But I managed to make my way to my computer and pull up the email from the mom organizing the party to see when it was scheduled. And it was occurring...on Monday. I was beyond relieved. For that brief period of time I thought I had screwed up epically.
I am a very organized and efficient person. I can easily manage a ton of data, to do lists, projects, sew halloween costumes, all without breaking a sweat. I always have a million balls in the air that I am juggling but due to my OCD, neurotic control-freak type A personality I have things completely under control. About 95% of the time. It's that other 5% where I drop the ball. And unfortunately it tends to be in a spectacular fashion. A situation this past summer was relatively mild. After having my mother-in-law come home from work early so she could pick my daughter up from camp so I could take my son to his annual check up only to find out the appointment was for the following Monday at 4:15, not this Monday. So I had to recreate the fine orchestration of transportation a second time. One of my husband's favorites was the time we arrived at the airport ready to fly out to visit relatives in Seattle with kids in tow and their millions of pounds of gear only to attempt to check in for our flight and not have our reservation located. Because we were at the wrong airport. And then there was the time I accidentally paid the mortgage twice in one month. Which isn't a bad thing per se, except there were other bills that needed that money.
So I was feeling really lucky that I dodged the bullet with my daughter's party. What a huge relief, that would have been a fiasco. Because, really, with everything I have going on and the lack of sleep and non-stop craziness I was certainly due a debacle. And of course eventually I had one. Because the percentages weren't in my favor. I was overdue for my 5%.
For the past three years I have run a large fundraiser for my children's schools. It involves a tremendous amount of data and organization. And because I am an OCD, neurotic control freak type A personality I am not content to use the ho hum materials that are provided to me by the product company. Oh no, that would be too easy. So instead I recreate the instructions order form and price list to my higher standards. Like anyone cares. But I care. Last year was a near disaster when I was halfway through stuffing the packets that were to go home to the families with my beautiful flyer when I realized I had typed the due date incorrectly. So I had to make 800 more copies and re-stuff a few hundred packets. Crisis averted. I certainly wasn't going to let that happen again so I checked and rechecked the flyer for this year before I made those copies. And so all 820 fundraiser packets went out on Friday and I was feeling happy to have it done. Until I got the email.
A friend of mine sent me a message. She was confused because there were some items in the glossy product brochure but they weren't listed on my order form / price list. It took about two whole minutes before it finally dawned on me. Holy crap, I had sent out my beautiful brochure and all 820 packets with the price list and order form...from last year.
I'm not going to lie to you, I didn't just shrug my shoulders, have a glass of wine and figure I would deal with it on Monday. Because that's not how I roll. I freaked. There were a few tears. I may have actually hyperventilated. And once I got my wits about me I immediately texted my friend in a panic. And she texted me off the ledge. And another friend was willing and able to help me with my new brochure and a third friend helped me get my email blast out with the corrections. All at 8pm on a Friday night. And later that night yet another friend sent a kind note of condolence and support. And this is why I love my friends. Because they put up with the OCD, neurotic control freak type A personality that I am 95% of the time, and are there to help me recover from the epic fails for that other 5%. Thanks guys.
I am a very organized and efficient person. I can easily manage a ton of data, to do lists, projects, sew halloween costumes, all without breaking a sweat. I always have a million balls in the air that I am juggling but due to my OCD, neurotic control-freak type A personality I have things completely under control. About 95% of the time. It's that other 5% where I drop the ball. And unfortunately it tends to be in a spectacular fashion. A situation this past summer was relatively mild. After having my mother-in-law come home from work early so she could pick my daughter up from camp so I could take my son to his annual check up only to find out the appointment was for the following Monday at 4:15, not this Monday. So I had to recreate the fine orchestration of transportation a second time. One of my husband's favorites was the time we arrived at the airport ready to fly out to visit relatives in Seattle with kids in tow and their millions of pounds of gear only to attempt to check in for our flight and not have our reservation located. Because we were at the wrong airport. And then there was the time I accidentally paid the mortgage twice in one month. Which isn't a bad thing per se, except there were other bills that needed that money.
So I was feeling really lucky that I dodged the bullet with my daughter's party. What a huge relief, that would have been a fiasco. Because, really, with everything I have going on and the lack of sleep and non-stop craziness I was certainly due a debacle. And of course eventually I had one. Because the percentages weren't in my favor. I was overdue for my 5%.
For the past three years I have run a large fundraiser for my children's schools. It involves a tremendous amount of data and organization. And because I am an OCD, neurotic control freak type A personality I am not content to use the ho hum materials that are provided to me by the product company. Oh no, that would be too easy. So instead I recreate the instructions order form and price list to my higher standards. Like anyone cares. But I care. Last year was a near disaster when I was halfway through stuffing the packets that were to go home to the families with my beautiful flyer when I realized I had typed the due date incorrectly. So I had to make 800 more copies and re-stuff a few hundred packets. Crisis averted. I certainly wasn't going to let that happen again so I checked and rechecked the flyer for this year before I made those copies. And so all 820 fundraiser packets went out on Friday and I was feeling happy to have it done. Until I got the email.
A friend of mine sent me a message. She was confused because there were some items in the glossy product brochure but they weren't listed on my order form / price list. It took about two whole minutes before it finally dawned on me. Holy crap, I had sent out my beautiful brochure and all 820 packets with the price list and order form...from last year.
I'm not going to lie to you, I didn't just shrug my shoulders, have a glass of wine and figure I would deal with it on Monday. Because that's not how I roll. I freaked. There were a few tears. I may have actually hyperventilated. And once I got my wits about me I immediately texted my friend in a panic. And she texted me off the ledge. And another friend was willing and able to help me with my new brochure and a third friend helped me get my email blast out with the corrections. All at 8pm on a Friday night. And later that night yet another friend sent a kind note of condolence and support. And this is why I love my friends. Because they put up with the OCD, neurotic control freak type A personality that I am 95% of the time, and are there to help me recover from the epic fails for that other 5%. Thanks guys.
Tuesday, October 25, 2011
Everyday grace
Last Saturday I was at my son's soccer game when the husband of a friend of mine came by handing out flyers. He was holding a fundraiser at a local restaurant to raise money for St. Jude's, of which he was running the Marine Corps Marathon for on October 29th. My Marine Corps Marathon. What was most remarkable about this encounter was that I had no idea he was running the marathon. I had run into my friend just last week. It was the first time I had seen her since the summer and we talked extensively about my injury and disappointment over not being able to run and the hard work I had put in training for the marathon before everything fell apart. And my friend didn't mention her husband's training. Not once.
Did she just forget to mention it because it had slipped her mind? Or that it was no big deal? Highly unlikely, they have six children, including two year old twins. I am thinking that his time-consuming marathon training had a tremendous impact on the family schedule and there wasn't a day that went by where she wasn't painfully aware of the time it took for him to train. Was I miffed that she didn't tell me? No, I am in awe at her graciousness. Instead of telling me how excited he was that race day was almost here she focused on me. She didn't patronize me and say there would be other marathons. She didn't say how sorry she felt for me. She simply acknowledged my disappointment and the loss of something so important to me as running. And the psychological impact I was feeling. And assured me that even though a return to running at that distance seemed impossible I would get there. As a fellow runner she understood perfectly. And rather than having to fight the urge to tear up and put on a brave face like I do with most people who express their condolences about my loss I felt at peace. I am thankful to her not only for making me feel better about my situation, but for providing such a wonderful example of everyday grace.
Did she just forget to mention it because it had slipped her mind? Or that it was no big deal? Highly unlikely, they have six children, including two year old twins. I am thinking that his time-consuming marathon training had a tremendous impact on the family schedule and there wasn't a day that went by where she wasn't painfully aware of the time it took for him to train. Was I miffed that she didn't tell me? No, I am in awe at her graciousness. Instead of telling me how excited he was that race day was almost here she focused on me. She didn't patronize me and say there would be other marathons. She didn't say how sorry she felt for me. She simply acknowledged my disappointment and the loss of something so important to me as running. And the psychological impact I was feeling. And assured me that even though a return to running at that distance seemed impossible I would get there. As a fellow runner she understood perfectly. And rather than having to fight the urge to tear up and put on a brave face like I do with most people who express their condolences about my loss I felt at peace. I am thankful to her not only for making me feel better about my situation, but for providing such a wonderful example of everyday grace.
Saturday, October 15, 2011
You do what?
Last year my youngest child started full day kindergarten. Prior to that he was in a preschool that took me 20 minutes to drive to and the hours were only 9:15am until noon. And it didn't meet every day most weeks. In other words, I had very little free time, and what I did have was usually spent grocery shopping, doctor or dental appointments, and trying to fit in some exercise. So I started developing a list of things I wanted to do when I finally had more than 15 minutes a day to myself. Of course, at the time I had no idea of the secret that many moms of kids in school full time already knew - that once your youngest goes off to school you realize you do not have any more time than you did before. It is all taken up by the same things you did when they were home, except they aren't there to keep you company. Things like laundry, waiting for the guy to repair the washing machine, more laundry, going around to 10 different stores trying to find the stupid light fixture with the odd sized bulbs that seemed so cool when you bought the house, more laundry. Nevertheless, I had dreams.
One of my goals was to learn to play tennis. The last time I had played tennis was a class in high school that I had to drop out of because I had injured my back playing soccer. And for over 20 years I hadn't had the desire to touch a racket. But for some reason I decided I wanted to play. And so I did, I took tennis lessons in the fall and in the spring last year, and would have taken them again this fall if not for my leg injury. I enjoy playing tennis. I'm not super good at it, but it's fun and I hope to continue. Of course it would probably help if I could get over my anxiety of playing actual opponents in a real game instead of with my tennis instructor, but these are minor details.
Another goal was that I wanted to run a marathon. Sadly, due to my injury this summer that goal is on hold. Once my leg is finally healed I may revisit that goal, or I may need to alter it. Only time will tell.
My third goal was to learn how to sew. I had taken home economics back in middle school and managed to make a mediocre apron. When I was in my late 20s and we bought our first house my mother-in-law attempted to teach me how to make throw pillows. They came out lopsided. My daughter had made comments to me on more than one occasion about my lack of sewing ability. I didn't aspire to be on Project Runway, but it was a matter of redeeming myself. And maybe being able to hem some pants.
I took Sewing I at the local fabric store last spring. It was a six week course and during the second class we learned how to use the sewing machine. Once I put my foot on that peddle and heard the rhythmic sound of the needle going up and down I was hooked. It was so soothing, so relaxing, so therapeutic. I went home and told my husband we were buying a sewing machine. He just rolled his eyes so I took that as a yes and went out and bought one.
I loved Sewing I, where I learned to sew a tote bag and pajama pants so I moved onto Sewing II where I learned to sew a skirt with a zipper. I sewed lots of tote bags and pajama pants at home for my husband and kids. But then summer came and there was no time for sewing so the sewing machine sat forlorn and neglected. I figured I would return to sewing in the winter, after the marathon was over. But then I got injured at the end of July.
At first the injury seemed a small obstacle. By the time August was over and I was still unable to run it became clear that I couldn't do the marathon. I couldn't even participate in the local 5k fun run. I was despondent. And grumpy and emotional and restless. I didn't know what to do with myself. Especially since the injury prevented me from all other physical activity that could take the place of running. But to be honest, nothing can take the place of running so even if I were able I'm not sure I would have been interested.
But then one day I was at the fabric store because I needed a replacement button. They had out a big display of Halloween costume patterns. I had the idea that I would sew my daughter's costume this year. She wanted to be a queen, and they had a beautiful elaborate costume pattern for the perfect dress. This would be my fall project that would distract me from being unable to run. This is where I would channel my energy and time.
After the initial high of my decision wore off I realized I had no clue how to sew this pattern. It was way out of my league. Luckily for me, my previous sewing instructor is a wonderful woman who was very flexible. I asked her if I could sign up for another class but do my own project so she could guide me. Problem solved. I would sew the costume, have a positive outlet, and save some money to boot.
Here is what I have learned. First and foremost, sewing a costume yourself does not save you money. In fact, if you are like me and MUST have that beautiful fabric, or even the middle-of-the-road fabric once you calculate the cost of the beautiful fabric, it will cost you several times over what you would spend on several high-end Pottery Barn Kids costumes. I could have bought her a half dozen queen costumes for the price of this dress.
Secondly, I learned that sewing this costume takes a lot of time. Time I don't have. Running only took up an hour of my day and then I was done. And I didn't even run every day. Sewing the costume takes several hours of my day, that I attempt to squeeze in in between physical therapy and doctor's appointments along with everything else. Like the laundry.
And finally, I discovered that people think I am nuts. In my previous pursuit, when I mentioned training for the marathon the reactions I received ranged from disbelief to admiration. Mostly people said they were glad it wasn't them. I got a lot of good for yous. When I mention sewing people always ask *why*? As though they have wracked their brains and couldn't come up with a single hobby they would like to take up less. As though I had committed a crime and this was my punishment. Because why else would someone take this on? For some reason sewing has a bad rap. Perhaps to a large extent because it is somewhat irrelevant in our times. It would be a lot cheaper to buy this costume at Target. Just like it would be a lot cheaper to buy my tote bags, pajama pants or the skirt I made at Macys. And it is time consuming, and painstaking in the detail. Yet somehow it has been extremely rewarding. And when I see my daughter's face light up as I show her the latest progress I have made on her costume I know that sewing will be a part of my life even after I am back running again.
One of my goals was to learn to play tennis. The last time I had played tennis was a class in high school that I had to drop out of because I had injured my back playing soccer. And for over 20 years I hadn't had the desire to touch a racket. But for some reason I decided I wanted to play. And so I did, I took tennis lessons in the fall and in the spring last year, and would have taken them again this fall if not for my leg injury. I enjoy playing tennis. I'm not super good at it, but it's fun and I hope to continue. Of course it would probably help if I could get over my anxiety of playing actual opponents in a real game instead of with my tennis instructor, but these are minor details.
Another goal was that I wanted to run a marathon. Sadly, due to my injury this summer that goal is on hold. Once my leg is finally healed I may revisit that goal, or I may need to alter it. Only time will tell.
My third goal was to learn how to sew. I had taken home economics back in middle school and managed to make a mediocre apron. When I was in my late 20s and we bought our first house my mother-in-law attempted to teach me how to make throw pillows. They came out lopsided. My daughter had made comments to me on more than one occasion about my lack of sewing ability. I didn't aspire to be on Project Runway, but it was a matter of redeeming myself. And maybe being able to hem some pants.
I took Sewing I at the local fabric store last spring. It was a six week course and during the second class we learned how to use the sewing machine. Once I put my foot on that peddle and heard the rhythmic sound of the needle going up and down I was hooked. It was so soothing, so relaxing, so therapeutic. I went home and told my husband we were buying a sewing machine. He just rolled his eyes so I took that as a yes and went out and bought one.
I loved Sewing I, where I learned to sew a tote bag and pajama pants so I moved onto Sewing II where I learned to sew a skirt with a zipper. I sewed lots of tote bags and pajama pants at home for my husband and kids. But then summer came and there was no time for sewing so the sewing machine sat forlorn and neglected. I figured I would return to sewing in the winter, after the marathon was over. But then I got injured at the end of July.
At first the injury seemed a small obstacle. By the time August was over and I was still unable to run it became clear that I couldn't do the marathon. I couldn't even participate in the local 5k fun run. I was despondent. And grumpy and emotional and restless. I didn't know what to do with myself. Especially since the injury prevented me from all other physical activity that could take the place of running. But to be honest, nothing can take the place of running so even if I were able I'm not sure I would have been interested.
But then one day I was at the fabric store because I needed a replacement button. They had out a big display of Halloween costume patterns. I had the idea that I would sew my daughter's costume this year. She wanted to be a queen, and they had a beautiful elaborate costume pattern for the perfect dress. This would be my fall project that would distract me from being unable to run. This is where I would channel my energy and time.
After the initial high of my decision wore off I realized I had no clue how to sew this pattern. It was way out of my league. Luckily for me, my previous sewing instructor is a wonderful woman who was very flexible. I asked her if I could sign up for another class but do my own project so she could guide me. Problem solved. I would sew the costume, have a positive outlet, and save some money to boot.
Here is what I have learned. First and foremost, sewing a costume yourself does not save you money. In fact, if you are like me and MUST have that beautiful fabric, or even the middle-of-the-road fabric once you calculate the cost of the beautiful fabric, it will cost you several times over what you would spend on several high-end Pottery Barn Kids costumes. I could have bought her a half dozen queen costumes for the price of this dress.
Secondly, I learned that sewing this costume takes a lot of time. Time I don't have. Running only took up an hour of my day and then I was done. And I didn't even run every day. Sewing the costume takes several hours of my day, that I attempt to squeeze in in between physical therapy and doctor's appointments along with everything else. Like the laundry.
And finally, I discovered that people think I am nuts. In my previous pursuit, when I mentioned training for the marathon the reactions I received ranged from disbelief to admiration. Mostly people said they were glad it wasn't them. I got a lot of good for yous. When I mention sewing people always ask *why*? As though they have wracked their brains and couldn't come up with a single hobby they would like to take up less. As though I had committed a crime and this was my punishment. Because why else would someone take this on? For some reason sewing has a bad rap. Perhaps to a large extent because it is somewhat irrelevant in our times. It would be a lot cheaper to buy this costume at Target. Just like it would be a lot cheaper to buy my tote bags, pajama pants or the skirt I made at Macys. And it is time consuming, and painstaking in the detail. Yet somehow it has been extremely rewarding. And when I see my daughter's face light up as I show her the latest progress I have made on her costume I know that sewing will be a part of my life even after I am back running again.
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