The past couple of weeks

I haven’t posted in a while, and I feel really bad about that. It’s not that so many people read this and are dying to know what’s going on in my life that makes me feel so bad about slacking off. It’s more that I have had so many different things I want to write about, but haven’t had the time or haven’t made the time. All of a sudden two weeks have gone by and I haven’t written anything.

First things first, my grandpa is doing OK after that fall. Apparently he hit his head on a table. He didn’t need any stitches, but did have to have a tetanus shot. He ended up falling again just two days later. These incidents made me think about a post I want to write about him – I just need to make the time to sit down and do it.

I celebrated my 37th birthday a couple of weeks ago. My family came up to celebrate and on my actual birthday, we went to dinner at one of my favorite restaurants (Los Agaves). Griffin ate his first churro and somewhere Patrick has a picture of me wearing a giant sombrero that the waiter put on my head when everyone sang to me. I’m sure it will come in handy if he ever wants to blackmail me someday.

Griffin was sick again last week. Another bout of bronchitis, plus two ear infections. The steroids made him a complete maniac. No naps. Lots of aggression. Definitely a rough week for all of us. I did try to find the humor in the situation byfilming him in one of his steroid-induced frenzies. Enjoy (and know that I’m going to do my best to post more often):

 

Waiting

It’s almost 10 PM on Friday night. Our night has consisted of greasy Chinese food and cleaning out the basement, a project that was supposed to be completed before Griffin was born (for those who don’t know me, he’s now 18 months old).

Yes, it’s 10 PM and we’re cleaning. Well, Patrick and Duncan are throwing out junk and moving furniture around in the basement and I’m cleaning. Nervous energy, I guess. You see, I got a phone call from my mom about 4 hours ago. She and my dad got a call from the assisted living center where my grandpa lives. She said he fell and hit his head. The paramedics were taking him to the hospital. That was 4 hours ago, and I still haven’t heard from her.

I feel awful because when the phone rang tonight, I was on the couch with Griffin comfortably lounging on my lap. We were watching Mickey Mouse Clubhouse and I was daydreaming about the greasy Chinese food we were going to have for dinner and about the prospect of possibly getting a good night sleep, so I didn’t answer the phone. In my defense, I didn’t know who was calling. If only I had picked up, I could at least have spoken to my mom. When I tried calling her back, her cell phone had been turned off.

So all I can do is wait. I might try calling her in a few minutes. It’s very typical of my mom to have good news and then not call because a) she’s relieved she got good news and b) she doesn’t wat to disturb anyone (like I’d even be able to go to sleep).

I hope everything is OK. I bought my grandpa a thank you card the other day because he always gives me some cash to help pay for all my migraine medicine. I haven’t sent it yet. Another thing I regret doing. Hopefully the news will be good and I can pop the card in the mail tomorrow.

 

37

Me about 35 years ago.

Yesterday was my 37th birthday, and to quote my mom, “How the hell did I get to be 37?” (although my mom used the number 60 when she said this a handful of years ago). Seriously though, how did I get to be 37? Wasn’t it just last year when I turned 30 and then moved out here to be with Patrick? Wasn’t it only a couple of years ago when I was starting college and mooning over the brooding poet in my literary studies class as he discussed the deeper meaning of The Unbearable Lightness of Being? (true story – he actually said in class, “I don’t see this as a love story, but a story about the absence of love.” I was smitten).

In all honesty, I’m OK with being 37. I once had a boyfriend who told me that while I was chronologically 19, emotionally I was 40.  I always thought that my life would make more sense the closer I got to that age. Now that I think about it, it has. I mean, I’m still struggling with balancing everything – family, work, my own interests and dreams. But I have learned to let things go, to not worry about things I can’t control. I’m trying to live in the present and enjoy what I have instead of think about and obsess over what I want, because chances are, I’m not going to get those things. Besides, what I have is pretty darn good.

 

It’s January 7th and that means…

- I totally forgot to write a New Year’s post. Honestly, I was on vacation from work and being near a laptop made me think too much of writing grants and all the piles of work that were sitting on my desk just waiting for me. I didn’t feel like posting anything.

- Today marks the 11th anniversary of my aunt and uncle’s house fire. It seems like just yesterday that he died. It’s even harder to believe that she ’s gone now, too.

- I have a lot that I need to post about – the holidays, my new medication, writing, and the weirdo ear infection I had last week. Seriously, my ear was messed up for over a week…while I was on vacation. It sucked.

Because I haven’t posted anything in a while, I need to ease back into it. So here’s a total cop-out. It’s a video I took just a couple of hours ago. It’s Griffin being, well, being Griffin. There’s really no other way to explain it. Just do me one favor – don’t look at or comment on or even judge me for the condition of our family room. I’m chalking it up to fatigue, total vacation laziness, and the weirdo ear infection. Just watch Griffin and enjoy…

 

Courage

“Courage does not always roar. Sometimes courage is the quiet voice at the end of the day saying, “I will try again tomorrow.”

- Mary Anne Radmacher

 

The weight of the world

I don’t think the blues I’ve been experiencing on and off since August are going away. I want them to. I desperately want them to, but they’re not. Over the past 24-hours I’ve been trying to think of how to describe it because I know I’m going to have to see the doctor to talk about things. The word “depressed” doesn’t cut it. Neither does “overwhelmed,” although I feel both. This morning, when my alarm went off in my ear, it hit me. Heaviness. Bogged down. I wake up every morning, sometimes to the alarm and sometimes to Griffin fussing to find a more comfortable position in his crib, and I want to cry (and sometimes I do as soon as my eyes open). Why? Because I feel the weight of the world on me. And you can all try to convince me that I’m just overreacting. On a cerebral level I know this, but my goodness, it sure feels that way…and that’s what’s important. I feel this heaviness pushing down on me every single day. Every single second. And as hard as I try, and believe me, I’ve tried, I can’t get out from under it.

The heaviness is work and financial stress. It’s taking care of people – Griffin and Duncan and even Patrick. It’s feeling like I have nothing that’s truly mine. Seriously, as hectic as NaNoWriMo was, it was so lovely because it was all mine. It was my challenge and my time to do something for me. I’ve lost myself somewhere along the way and what I’m left with is this weight that sits on me, pushing down harder and harder. It makes me feel trapped and sometimes I have these flashes of “this is my life now” and that makes me feel even more claustrophobic.

I worry all the time. About Griffin and finances and everyone’s health. I used to love sleep, but now I find myself dreading going to sleep. As strange as it might sound, I’m worried that something bad will happen in the middle of the night. I think about Griffin’s bout with pneumonia and how he just woke up and had this insanely high fever. I think about the phone call we got at 2:30 AM almost one year ago that Patrick’s father had a heart attack and was on life support. I figure that if I stay up, nothing will startle me in the middle of the night. Stupid? Yes, but I don’t know how to work through that. And when I do sleep, I wake up to the smallest sound and I stay awake.

I have an appointment with my regular doctor this afternoon to discuss antidepressants. I tried my hardest to avoid them, but right now, I don’t see how I can. It makes me feel like a failure, like I couldn’t do it on my own (even with seeing a psychologist). It makes me feel like I’m not strong enough when I always thought I was pretty tough.

I don’t want people to think I’m relying on medication to make me better, but I think I need a jumpstart. The weight is so heavy that it clouds my view on everything. Going to work is frustrating. Cooking dinner is too much to handle. Griffin’s recent meltdowns are driving me to tears. This isn’t me normally. It’s the weight. And right now, I don’t see any other way to help lift it.

 

Something I hate, hate, hate

Let me preface this post by saying that I am in a pretty decent mood so far this holiday season. I’m enjoying the Christmas music, our decorated tree, and I’ve even thought about baking some holiday goodies. So this brief rant has nothing to do with me being in a bad mood.

I’ve been noticing a trend lately that really annoys me. Maybe I’m a little late on this one and it’s been going on for a while, but I cannot stand when people say “love, love, love.” As in, “I love, love, love Reese Witherspoon’s style.” Or, “I just love, love, love Christian Siriano” (and I really do love him, hence using him in that example). I’ve noticed this a lot while reading blogs – people tend to write that in their comments. It really gets under my skin. What’s so wrong with saying that you “really love” something or even putting LOVE in all caps? Why the love, love, love? Who started that and why? When is it going to end? Ugh.

I’m seeing it everywhere and I can’t tell you how much I hate, hate, hate it.

 

It was the best of times, it was the worst of times

Oh, who am I kidding? It was the worst of times. This weekend. Last night. Awful. Plain and simple.

Patrick and I took Griffin to Chicago to go to the One of a Kind Show where my sister has been one of the artists for the past four years. We went in 2006, 2007, and we skipped 2008 because Griffin was just too little and we were just plain exhausted. He’s 16-months old. We figured this would be a great age to take him downtown to see the show and maybe even the lights on Michigan Avenue.

To make that part of  the long story much shorter, I’m just going to say that about a month or so ago, we realized that Griffin had hit his Terrible Twos really, really early. We’ve nicknamed him Mr. Meltdown and Mr. Noodle (his whole body goes limp and he’s suddenly about 40 pounds heavier than usual). That’s what we dealt with all weekend. The poor kid was stuck in a carseat for three hours to get to Chicago and then we needed to get him in a stroller to look around the show. He wasn’t having it. He also wasn’t having someone carry him around. Those were our options. He struggled. I got frustrated. Patrick and I took turns. Thankfully my mom was there and gave us a break here and there (and of course, he wasn angel for her).

So two days of battling Mr. Noodle.

Then comes the drive home. Again, long story short, it took us 5 hours to get home. Coming straight from the Loop, it should only take about 2.5 hours. We hit some massive traffic and then Griffin screamed and screeched the whole way. In his defense, I think he was in a bit of pain (anyone with kids knows that sometimes eating a whole pile of grapes can wreak havoc on the tummy). So as not to bore anyone with this story in narrative form, let me just hit the highlights:

• Screaming commences before we get out of Chicago
• It continues until we pull over somewhere in Naperville (at this point, we could have been in freaking Alaska – I couldn’t focus).
• I change Griffin’s diaper in the car in the parking lot of Macy’s
• We drive to Portillo’s to get him out of the carseat for a while.
• All is right in the world and we leave.
• Screeching commences about 15 minutes into the drive.
• I pray he falls asleep soon.
• Griffin teases me with his fake snoring (and then a loud snort and a giggle).
• He screams some more and finally falls asleep.
• I fall asleep.
• I awake, 20 minutes later, to more screaming.
• This goes on for what seems like forever.
• I announce to Patrick that if I had a gun, I’d freaking shoot myself (I think Patrick contemplates pulling over and dumping me and Griffin off on the side of the highway).
• More screaming.
• I ask Patrick to smother me and put me out of my misery.
• Griffin finally falls asleep at Mile Marker 25 (yep, only 25 more miles until we hit the Iowa border).
• I sit still and rigid in the front seat, hoping he stays asleep until we at least get to the single digit mile markers.
• We pull into the driveway and relax.
• Griffin starts screaming.

He seemed fine once we got inside. He was smiling and laughing. I think he was really tired of being in the car seat all weekend. The only running around he got to do was at my parents’ house on Saturday night/Sunday morning. Not much.

Oh, and when we walked in the house, we were hit in the face by the overwhelming smell of natural gas. We had the gas company out at our house at 11 PM. They checked and said everything was OK, even though the guy said he could smell the gas.

So yesterday sucked big time. The only highlight was that we learned that if you ask Griffin what Santa says, he will say, “Ho Ho!” Definitely cute, but not enough to wipe away the memory of the crap day we had.

 

Finishing

Now that NaNoWriMo is over (and I won!), I’m left with a half-finished first draft of a novel. It’s a story that has been in my head for almost a year and I’m beyond thrilled to have gotten part of it down on paper (er, computer). Anyway, I’ve got too much invested in it to just let it go. Sure, NaNo was fun – and I’m definitely going to do it again next year – but for me the challenge didn’t stop on December 1st. I really want to finish my story. So I’ve decided to give myself the goal of finishing by January 18th. I initially said I’d have it done by the end of December, but with the holidays thrown in there, I know things are going to be tight. I picked the 18th because the very next day will be my 37th birthday. {OK, I just looked at that and freaked out because I’m officially going to be in my late-30s – very weird because I still feel 27}. I thought that the best birthday present I could give myself would be to wake up on my birthday and have a completed first draft.

I’m excited about the new challenge.

 

Winner, winner, chicken dinner!