Side Effects

July 29, 2005 | Category: In My Life

Well, it's been 2 weeks on Lexapro.

On the plus side, I have decreased anxiety overall. Not a huge change, and I still feel sad and overwhelmed, but there is movement in my life. I've been able to make some decisions, and enjoy things a little better.

On the negative side, oh - the side effects! During the day, now I'm sleepy. But at night, still struggling with insomnia. I mean... c'mon!

And I've got acidy stomach, acidy gas, and I feel like I licked tin foil - nothing tastes right and I'm not hungry.

And scariest of all (look away, mom!) is that I'm anorgasmic. And can I just announce how unnacceptable THAT is?!?!

I have to touch base with superDoctor today with my opnion whether I want to stick with it or try something new. And I have no idea yet what I am going to say...

Edited to add: CD would like it noted for the record that "acidy gas" was a euphemism for stinky, heinous, unannounced farting. Of course, he's overlooking all the practical applications of these, like removing paint from the antique door we bought.

Nobody said it would be easy... or cheap

July 27, 2005 | Category: This Old House

Kitchen:
Cabinets and Hardware: $3400 (plus delivery and tax)
Flooring: $500
Construction Materials: $250
New Sink: $200
New Counter: $750
New Electrical wiring: $250
Kitchen lighting: $250

Bathroom:
New sink: $250
New Cabinet: $200
New bath tile & Construction Materials: $350

Front door:
Hardware: $150
Glass: $300
Construction Materials: $200 (Sander rental)
New House numbers: $100
New Porch light: $100

New House Roof: $3000
Hallway floor patching: $150
Tool Rental for path break up: $100
Tool rental: Chipper/Shredder: $100
Dumpster: $300
Storage rental: $150

New lighting for dining room: $200
New poly for floors: $500
Paint: $300
TOTAL: $12,300

Additional WISH LIST:
Contractor assistance: $2500
Curtains: $1000
House Painters: $2500
Landscaping (new bulbs and bushes): $500
New Driveway: $2500

Decisions, Decisions...

July 26, 2005 | Category: In My Life

And from the "it's about damn time" files...

We've decided to sell the house. First to take out a home equity line of credit and take 6 months to fix up the obvious issues: finish the kitchen, the bathroom, the front door. (Oh, how I wish it could be faster!) Once we realized that we wouldn't be making it perfect for us, it was clear that we could make these things nice enough without nearly as much effort or investment.

We've decided to move to a nearby town that is quiet, green, and has an excellent school system. But is still close enough to Bear's current Montessori school to keep him there as long as he needs.

We've decided to buy the house that is right for us and to no longer hold ourselves to the rule that we must only buy enough house that I could pay the mortgage with just my salary. If CD wants to finish his education in Robotics, he will find a way - nights, weekends, whatever.

I know this is just a little baby step, but for me - a giant leap.

Don't you wisht y'd go on forever?

July 25, 2005 | Category: In My Life

We started traveling with him almost from the moment he was born, so I never hear things like "are we there yet?". But he's a little kid with a little bladder, so I did hear things like "I got to go potty" - and by that, he means now.

But the path to my friend's house in western Illinois was decidedly not paved with McDonald's. It was almost an hour on country roads once we exited the highway; it was farms and fields and cows and corn and, yes, at one point I think I saw a surrey with the fringe on top.

Luckily, we did keep finding potties just in time.

Then, finally, we found the "s" curve at the bottom of my directions. The nearly-hidden driveway that pulled up the steep hill. And we came to a stop right in front of the red barn. Bear looked at me and announced (as he eagerly pulled off his seat belt) "Mom! I like this place!"

5 rampaging boys made immediate friends. Through dog licks, kitten scratches, water fights, a wasp sting, bruises, running, screaming rounds of tag, tears, giggles, sharing, not sharing, stops for snacks and clothing changes, and the periodic shout to behave from my friend or I.... it was a wonderful time.

She and I had hours to visit, to chat or just sit and sip, to prepare dinner and do the chores of life, to marvel at how far our lives have come since college so long ago.

It was a whole 'nother day by the time I pulled into our driveway - in more ways than one.

By then, many decisions had begun to settle in my heart. As I watched CD carry our sleeping son to bed, the chubby hands instinctively wrapping into his father's hair, I knew the magic of the trip had worked on me. As I followed behind with the blankie and the luggage into the cool rooms, I knew the words would keep.

I took a deep breath, already missing the country air.

Now comes the work of setting vision to action. But in that moment, I was still in the medicinal peace of a day away. To a place I hope to go back again, soon.

When we hit that road, hell fer leather,
Cats and dogs'll dance in the heather,
Birds and frogs'll sing all together and the toads will hop!
The wind'll whistle as we rattle along,
The cows'll moo in the clover,
The river will ripple out a whispered song,
And whisper it over and over:
Don't you wisht y'd go on forever?
Don't you wisht y'd go on forever?
Don't you wisht y'd go on forever and ud never stop
In that shiny, little surrey with the fringe on the top!
- written by Oscar Hammerstein II, music by Richard Rodgers, originally from the musical "Oklahoma!" (1943).

I'm driving, Bear's got shotgun with the map

July 21, 2005 | Category: In My Life

My inner voice, and no- not the one that harrasses me buy some chocolate or get a breast reduction, no the other inner voice - the sane one, the one that sits back and watches the chaos with a raised eyebrow while taking breaks from Kant and Steinem, that inner voice... she tells me that it is time to take a break.

She whispers "load up the car, chick, and go for a drive..."

And I look left and right, and then peer at the drugs the nice doctor gave me.

She whispers "it's time for a tall glass of iced tea and some girltalk.."

I check my calendar, quiet-like, before anyone notices that I have some openings. Shhhh.

She whispers "you know you want to..."

There's an old friend, who moved to where the corn grows tall and that shed out back is called a 'barn'. Where sun tea brews on the back porch, and dogs bark as the sprinklers spray. Where her gaggle of small boys run through the grass and "going into town" is a half-hour's drive. She sends me an email, reminding me that I perennially promise to visit.

I grin at Bear, wrinkling my nose. He grins back.

"We're going on adventure," I tell him, as I tuck him into bed.

He nods, and I nod back.

"OK," he says. "You drive. I'll be the navigator."

"OK," I agree.

And we're off.

Impatient

| Category: In My Life

It's been a WEEK on Lexapro and so far here's what's going on:

1) My mouth feels like I have been licking tin foil
2) My poops are amazing, even by Bear's standards - and that boy has some OUT-freaking-STANDING poops
3) I could sleep all day
4) I just might
5) My world is still unshakable CHAOS with no end in sight
6) We can't afford to move just this second
7) My son is delicious, except for the poops thing
8) My blood pressure is in the normal range
9) WHEN WILL THIS HEAT END?

The doctor says give it another week... and all I can think is "fine, whatever."

Happy Birthday greetings to...

July 20, 2005 | Category: Well, That Was Random

Stacy! That drunk floozy thought it would be a good idea to hand out the password to her blog. Heh.

God and the Angels

| Category: Mother to the First Power

This has been a very dry summer but today we got some massive thunderhead action and finally, after hours of opressive humidity, we got rain.

I was running with Bear to the van after picking him up from camp, the sky opening up and the wind buffeting us. We held hands as we jogged to the parking lot and he shouted to me that the rain was good. That God and the Angels were watering the flowers.

"And the tomatoes," I said.

"Well," he yelled. "Maybe not the tomatoes. Just the flowers. And the grass."

"But not my tomatoes? Or the basil?"

"No! God and the Angels like chocolate!"

Go figure.

Too funny.

July 19, 2005 | Category: Well, That Was Random

I rarely do this, but it made me laugh almost until I peed myself. It's kinda mean, tho - so if you love the French for their courage as well as their croissants (KWA - SAHN!!), don't click xset.co.uk » Blog Archive » This news just in

Never put me in charge...

| Category: In My Life

Of dinner conversation.

At dinner, tonight, with newly engaged friends;

Me: ... I don't look good in white, I looked like a meringue. I wish I'd worn hot pink instead...

CD: You'd look good in hot pink.

Me: We have some hot pink hair dye at home, the idea of it on me gets CD all hot and bothered.

CD: What can I say?

Me: I don't think he knows it's only supposed to go on the hair on top of my head.

Our friends: (spewing out their drinks)

CD: No, no... I just think you should match.

Good Advice

| Category: In My Life

Fredette asked me an important question a few weeks ago: What do I want?

She assumed I knew the answer.

I don't.

Continue reading "Good Advice"

Like I don't have enough to deal with, or, Never Speak French at the Dunkin Donuts Drive-Thru

July 18, 2005 | Category: In My Life

The $250/hour psychiatrist put me on something called Lexapro. I've been on it 3 days and I can tell you, it clearly sucks rocks. I have not had any epiphanies. I do not see any light at the end of the tunnel. Or, if I do, I still believe with all my heart that it is a train come to smash me.

My little house is still a dangerous warren of chaos. Just yesterday, my son got a scratch on his tummy from smashing into a computer in the middle of the den and a bruise under his eye from frolicking in my bed (*ahem* possibly a tickle fight) and bumping himself on my desk -which is crammed up next to the mattress.

So it was with my continuing "running on empty" personality that I decided to tangle with Dunkin Donuts this morning. Not that I knew I was "running on empty" until recently, but now that I do know - well, it's my excuse du jour thank you very much.

All I wanted was an iced coffee and a plain croissant.

DD Drive-thru lady: "Football?"

Me: "Pardon? uh, no. I'd like a croissant (Kwa-sahn)."

DD Drive-thru lady: "Roll?"

Me: "Croissant!"

DD Drive-thru lady: "Donut?"

Me: "CROIS-SANT!"

DD Drive-thru lady: "Hot cross bun?"

Me: "Is this thing on? I want a CROIS-SANT!"

DD Drive-thru lady: "Please pull around!"

Me (at the window, pointing at the picture): "CROIS-SANT!, CROIS-SANT!"

DD Drive-thru lady: "Oh! You mean a crescent roll! Gosh, that accent of yours!"

I am SUCH a dumbass.

Live by the sword, Die by the sword

July 15, 2005 | Category: Well, That Was Random

Maybe I watched too many Capra movies growing up, but I honestly believe that most people working for the government - elected or appointed - want to do right by their job and this country.

See, I may not agree with all the things we, as a country, do. But the enemies are not the Republicans vs. the Democrats.

Nope.

It is the terrorists out there that would not blink about blowing up my home with me and my family it. THEY are the bad guys. They are who worry me, deep in the night. They are the people who need to be ousted, hunted, and addressed.

And I am counting on each and every man and woman who dedicates their lives in the service of this country to help protect us and, in the long term, think of solutions that will help move us towards a more tolerant and safe planet.

And for their sacrifice and dedication, I believe with all my heart that each of them deserves the complete protection and support they need to do their job.

It’s non-negotiable.

The thing with Karl Rove is that he disagreed with some people's statements on WMD's. He disagreed with how one of employees of the United States Government was using her position. Fine. He had a lot of ways to address his feelings. After all, he works across the hall from the President of the United States. He’s got a position, too. Right?

So according to these emails the reporter and Time turned over(with Rove's consent), it looks like he chose to use that position to expose her to the media. If he did, then he knew better. A high-placed employee of the United States government Intelligence community has her identity revealed to the enemies of this country because Karl Rove spoke to a reporter?

I don't give a shit why, and I don't want to parse the legalities.

If he identified her to a reporter. Knowingly. Then to me, what he did just about makes Karl Rove a traitor.

I don't decide what happens to him now. But I can tell you this from my heart. If it's true, I don't want President Bush relying on this man's counsel.

Confession

July 14, 2005 | Category: In My Life

I went to see a psychiatrist this mornng.

He was quiet and nice. When I sat down, and he asked me what brought me to his office, I started to cry.

I didn't tell him about my heart, or my high blood pressure.

Or how my doctor thinks that I might have a chemical imbalance that is causing a depression that is screwing with my heart and my blood pressure.

Or that I can't stand living in a rehab project.

Or that the garden is withering in this drought.

The words that came out of me were a surprise.

I said that my life has gone gray except for my son.

I said I didn't remember what happy felt like.

I said that all the things I love to do have become chores.

I said that I was angry, because finally my husband shows signs of healing and life and now everything around me was crumbling like a sand castle.

I choked on my tears on his uncomfortable couch and apologized for being incoherant.

And he said it was okay. He said it was okay. He said I would be okay. And that he would help me get there.

In the blink of a eye

July 12, 2005 | Category: Mother to the First Power

The last time we took Bear to the doctor's, we were still in the position of translating and advocating for him. The Dr. asked where it hurt, and Bear would point to his throat, and CD or I would say "Well, he began running a fever on Staurday and then yesterday he started having trouble swallowing..."

This morning, we touched the future again. As we did the first time someone rang the doorbell looking to play with Bear, as we did the first time we dropped him off at carpool instead of parking and walking him into his classroom.

He answered all the doctor's questions.

He knew how old he was, and where it hurt, and that he didn't want the doctor to use a tongue depressor ('They make me sick'). He knew when to lift his shirt and suck in a breath, and how to hold quiet and still for his blood pressure.

All CD and I did was nod.

She was a new doctor for Bear, but by the end of the visit he was complimenting her. He told her how he used to not like planes, but now they were fine. And that maybe he felt the same way about doctor visits.

When we filled out the paperwork, CD asked me how much Bear had weighed and how long he'd been at birth.

I couldn't believe he'd forgotten.

To CD, it's been almost 5 years. So much has happened and now, here we are, parents of a rough and tumble preschooler on the verge of so much independance.

To me, it was all just yesterday that he was a wriggling curious infant with curious blue eyes and a shock of red hair. I look and listen to our son with awe, and realize how much has happened in the blink of an eye.

Which is probably why I misted up tonight when "100 Years" came on the radio.

The sea is high
And I'm heading into a crisis
Chasing the years of my life

Giving Up

July 11, 2005 | Category: In My Life

We bought a fixer-upper and rolled up our sleeves with a 5-year plan, money in the bank, and a new baby on my hip.

In the 4.5 years since, we have started and stopped a thousand times, always keeping things as orderly and pretty as we could in the meantime. After all, this isn't just a job site - it's our home.

So even in the darkest days, somehow we managed to keep most things tended: lawn mowed, plants trimmed, paint fresh, pictures hung and squared on the wall, buckets and baskets to hold the piles of things that didn't have any other home.

But to look around now is to see tall weeds in the unmown lawn, grass growing in the cracks of the driveway, scattered mess and piles, and only a token effort made at keeping it all under control.

My doctor asked me to take a long look at what was going on in my life. She says that my heart is strong, and that my spirit is, too. But she says that my blood pressure is telling a frightening story. One that shouts "there are no reserves!"

She compared it to people who live paycheck to paycheck - there is just no "float" for emergencies, so they build up the debts on credit cards in order to get through the unexpected things you can depend will come regularly rampaging through life.

That is what is going on with my health. I am running on minimum tolerances and so with every crisis, every bad day - I borrow from my future in order to find the strength to last the day.

I am, slowly, damaging myself.

I look around this house and know what she says is true. There is no stretch of space in the home where you can rest your eyes. The chaos reaches every corner, and leeches from soul.

I have given up.

I now know that it will be years before I have a kitchen that would hold all my dishes, much less have room for pots and pans. I now know that it will be years before I have a closet that could hold my vacuum cleaner (so it will stay in the corner of my dining room).

All that energy, that hope, that time, I once had to get me from here to there is depleted.

I know this house has great "bones" and gorgeous woodwork, stained glass and a working fireplace. I know that it has brilliant possibilities. That the neighborhood is lovely, that the location can not be beat.

To give up and walk away would be to leave behind so much in dreams and possibilities - not the least to walk away from possible return on investment. To sell it in the state it is in now would be to take a loss.

But my body and soul are screaming out. This life I have is not working, and something must be done to bring serenity back, to refill my reserves.

So I dream of a house with closet space. I dream of a home that doesn't take my husband away from Bear and I in endless work. I dream of going wild with new recipes, and cooking without having to factor in twice the time just to dig through all the nooks and crannies for the right tools. I dream of floors new enough that you can get them clean. I dream of weekend hours spent any way we want, without the crushing reality of desperate projects that need doing before winter comes.

And although I love this place, I do - I dream of someplace else. And sleep with a smile.

Everyone tells me how stupid I would be to walk away from this house.

But I don't know how to stay.

A Blog's Moment of Silence for England

July 08, 2005 | Category:

Since I have no words, only prayers.

(AFP/Philippe Huguen)

Read Helen's account here.

Since I saw you last

July 07, 2005 | Category: In My Life

I've written this in snippets through the week and saved in a Word file. If it seems uneven, it's because it's really a gaggle of fortune-cookie-sized thoughts wrapped together in a big tortilla. Damn, I think I'm hungry.

Sunday, I took all the fine advice I was given to do nothing.

But then Monday dawned in hazy sun. And it was warm, wet, and full of chores. Thinking about my little "lost day", the guilt was a quilt over my head. I couldn’t see anything but what needed doing.

Laundry, dishes, paperwork, bills, getting ready for my trip, praying, cleaning, cooking, shopping.

My father called, a quick little "hi" in the afternoon. I debated saying anything. Finally, I took a breath. "Dad," I said. 'It's about my heart. There's been an ... event."

*That went about as well as could be expected. I told him I would call when I got the results next week.*

By sunset, I was back at it. Walking back and forth through my shotgun home, dropping off and picking up and putting away. It was dark when some noises startled me out of my working stupor and I went outside in thick mist to look.

Fireworks, floating in the sky.

Rev, my next door neighbor, came out. "I wasn't going to drive up for the show." he told me. "Traffic is always crazy, after. I forgot we could see it pretty good from our yards."

I nodded. We stood side-by-side and watched from that invisible property line between our yards. Watched through the trees, with many sparkles of colored light reaching so high we had to crane our necks back to see. Our silence was broken by snippets of conversation and far away booms. We stayed to the very end, even though it was raining and we got soaked through. And we clapped, though no one could hear.

Tuesday and more to do. Updated my spreadsheets, dropped off the dry-cleaning, cashed a check, packed, replicated the laptop to the home system, and headed for the airport.

Late afternoon and I was kneeling at the gateway door at an American Airlines arriving flight. Bear saw me and began running. I was crying in relief when I finally had him in my arms. I belatedly kissed CD. He was bemused at how adults get forgotten in the greeting process once children are added to the mix.

Our little family shared a picnic in a row of empty seats at a semi-empty gate and then I jogged down to my own departing flight. Looking back every few feet, hating and dreading the distance growing once again between me and them.

Tuesday night I got to the hotel and realized I had left my Gmail and Blog passwords back at home. Too tired to think about it, I went to sleep.

Wednesday and it was 11.5 hours straight in conference. It was stared with an ice-breaking exercise where we were asked, in all seriousness, "If we could be a dessert - what kind would we be?"

Breakfast and lunch catered in as we slogged through, arguing process and format and dependencies and interdependencies and predecessors and drop dates.

We were at a hotel outside St. Louis, Missouri. That night we ate at a local restaurant where the horde of us happily enjoyed clams and lobster and salmon that were better than any of us expected, accompanied by a surprisingly good wine selection. A lot of wine, actually. So much so that two hours later we were all laughing so hard that our cheek muscles hurt even though I don’t remember anyone as being all that funny.

Thursday morning was terrorism, disaster, broken hearts, and broken bodies. I awoke at 6AM to MSNBC's breathless coverage and quickly turned to CNN.

Called CD and begged him to send me my GMAIL password. Then it was a flurry of quick, frightened emails to dear ones in London.

And pause for prayer.

Then another 5 hours of more debate club antics back in the conference room. At 2PM, I excused myself and my team. Several of my projects got the green light, and we were gave a rah-rah teleconference to prepare for next week's kickoff workshop here in Chicago.

3PM and we commandeered my architect and his Audi to take us to the airport.

5:40PM and I was Earthbound once again, through cobalt skies dipping low to the concrete runway.

And finally, home again.

Alone Again, Naturally

July 03, 2005 | Category: In My Life

Happy Independance Day, America.

I am spending it alone, since Bear and CD are off on their every-other-year excursion to CD's buddy's house.

Don't ask why I don't go, too. Years of learning that some people are oil and water and better left in their separate bottles.

I have a "Honey Do" list for myself as long as your arm.

Ready, Set...

oooh. Pretty flowers.

I'll get started just as soon as I take a look.

Heartbeats

July 01, 2005 | Category: In My Life

When I arrived at the cardiologist's office, it was all business and smiles.

The folks at the reception desk guided me through the paperwork. They liked my purse. It's an aqua leather shoulder deal with white piping. I've become a purse whore lately, like some are with shoes. But I have platypus feet, so it's purses.

Once in the testing room, the two lab women introduced themselves quietly. I was told to strip to the waist and put on a gown, open at the front. I was asked if I wanted privacy.

Hell, yes.

A few minutes later, we begin. They open my gown and have me hold my ponderous breasts out of the way while they stick 10 plastic circles all over my chest.

Then they strap an octopus of wires around my waist and up clipped onto each lead. The glue on some pulls at my skin and I twinge.

I haven't eaten or drank anything in almost 3 hours, on a day of 95 degrees (F) and no central air conditioning at my house. Now my tongue sticks to the roof of my mouth. I lay on my side, my chest open to anyone walking down the hall.

"Close the door, please," I ask softly. She pushes it mostly shut, and I decide not to argue the last inch.

A wand with cold goo is pressed, hard, against my sternum. The little bit not covered in wires. I look on the screen. Last time I went through this, I was watching Bear squirm and hiccup.

This time I watch an impossibly small muscle beating.

I try and relax.

That little thing is all that keeps my world going.

I feel infinitely frail.

They lead me over to the treadmill. I tie one of the ribbons on my gown shut and then begin the fast walk.

I try not to look at the screens. I try and look anywhere else. I am panting immediately, dehydrated and out of shape.

I imagine my house, after a rehab. I imagine finding a pink party dress and dancing with CD (clearly a fantasy since neither of us knows how to do more than shuffle around together), I imagine cooking school in France, I picture Bear's grinning, freckled face.

None of it helps. I can see the monitor. I can see the irregularities.

In only 5 minutes, I am done. Moved off the treadmill and over to the bed again. More with the wand and the goo. Wait. And then again.

And again.

And my blood pressure, many times.

I am light-headed, now, and chilled from the air conditioning on my sweaty body. I keep trying to cover my breasts, a modesty born of the door that they left opened, again.

These women, they are trying to be nice. They rush to close the door again when I point it out. They get me a small paper cup of tepid water. They cluck to me that it is almost over.

I am feeling exposed and broken.

Alone, I wipe myself down with wrinkled gown. Dipping a corner in the small sink and cleaning the goo off as best as I can. The sweat from under my breasts. The leftover adhesive from the circles ripped off my skin.

My breath is sour. My eyes close to tears.

I dress. Brush my hair. Reapply lip gloss. Deep breath, purse over shoulder, I leave.

They say the results will be given to my doctor in less than 24 hours. I nod.

I pass through doors and hallways and down the stairs. I think about that small beating heart that keeps my whole life going. I think about what happens if it stops. If it is sick.

I feel disgusting and unhealthy and afraid.

I get in my car. And go home.