Category Archives: nothing at all

When Your Mom Tells You It Has Been Too Long…

…between posts, you know it is time to write another post.

I haven’t written much lately, because my life has become a bit of a black hole of same same same.  Not bad.  Tiring.  Not much new to say.

Except that my stomach problems are still here.  I’m still stressed out. I nearly got depressed, which if you know me in real life, would make you shake your head and say WHAAAAT?  I am one of those people who is normally so happy, that I annoy people.  But the stomach thing makes everything worse.  If I have a stressful day at work, then come home to a tantruming two-year-old and an annoyed five-year-old and I do my best to feed them and love them and get them ready for bed… I can’t have a @#$%$^% glass of wine after they go to bed!  And I can’t have a coffee when I get up.  There is only so much I can do without a little bit of chemical help from food and drink.

But I reached a bit of a low point and went out for drinks with a very good friend (mind you, I couldn’t actually drink) and it helped me re-adjust things.

Things have gotten better.

I’ll talk about my stomach.  I’m sure you logged on tonight because you are just so excited to hear about my digestive system!  Goody!

I was sent by my regular doctor to a GI specialist, who basically told me that there’s nothing to be done.  Some people just have over-active intestines.

This visit, of course, made me stick my middle finger high up in the air (yes, mom,  but in a figurative way, of course) at western medicine.  I decided to stop trying one thing at a time and get all eastern on my stomach.  So I’ve started the following things: a retired teacher in my building insists that aloe vera gel saved her stomach, so I’m taking that; another good friend was saved by a probiotic called threelac (the GI doctor did say that some people have had success with probiotics) so I bought a similar product and have been taking that; aaaaannnddd oh, and acupuncture.  I’m getting to something fairly interesting, I promise.

I don’t care what anybody says, acupuncture does hurt.  And it is weird.  I found this great place that does community acupuncture.  That means that several people are getting treatments at the same time in the room with you.  It also means that it is a lot more affordable than having it done privately.  I really like it. I mean, I would like it more if I actually enjoyed the acupuncture.

So, I sit there on a chair, and the wonderful, healing nurturing acupuncturist sticks needles in me. And they do hurt (maybe it is a red-head thing).  My limbs get heavy.  I can’t really move them.  Some of the needles throb (the acupuncturist says that means they are working).  I start to imagine what would happen if the building caught on fire.  I don’t actually think I could get out of the chair with all the needles in me.  Then you have to sit there with the needles in.  For a long time.  I have trouble sitting still.  But, I don’t recommend fidgeting with needles stuck all over you. No. Not recommended.

I’ve had two treatments.  In both of them, the fact of my infertility treatments has surfaced like a dusty penny from under the couch.  Have I had my ovaries checked? Well…. I was very familiar with my ovaries two years ago.  Very familiar.  Have I had any stressful, traumatic experiences? Have I mentioned two years ago?  Can I blame my current state of imbalance and messed-uppedness on follical-stimulating hormones?  Please?  I would love to.

So I sit there and think.

I don’t get to do that very often.  Just think.  Without a child jumping on me.  Without my phone in my hand.  No book.  No computer.  No stack of papers to grade.

Tonight I started to think about what has made me sad.  A big part of it is the current assault against my profession by a billionaire boys’ club.  I’m taking it too personally.  Another part is that I don’t get enough adult time.  Another part is that I feel like I never finish anything.

I’ve made it a priority to spend more time with adults.  I can do that.  I’m trying to let go of my anger about education reform.  Also, trying to do something about it.  But what about the finishing bit?  Has anyone noticed that I’ve had a page about my so-called book for three years?  And no book?  No freaking book.

Maybe what I need to do to feel better about not finishing things, is to finish something. Yeah. Maybe that.

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My Head Is Full of Children

When I lived in Provincetown for a summer, there was a T-shirt in one of the toursity-gifty shops with art by one of those crafty greeting-card women that said that: My Head Is Full of Children.  And it had a picture of a head.  And there were children all over the woman’s head.  And she looked happy for it.

Well.  My head is full of children.

I wake up and dress and feed and prepare lunches for them.  Then I drop them off at various places.  Then I go to my workplace —  which is full of children.  And then I go straight from my workplace to the other building of my workplace to get my eldest child.  Then we walk home.  Perhaps run and errand together, then pick up the youngest child.  Feed, bathe, jammy, read, bed them.  My head is full of children.

There is happy and ummm…not the opposite of happy, but not happy, to this situation.

Here’s some of the happy:

  • My son’s warm hand in my cold one, walking to school on a chilly October day.
  • Looking at, and discussing various Halloween decorations on our walk.
  • Listening to my eldest opine about choice time in his kindergarten.  Listening to him retell the read alouds.  Trying very hard not to jump in and reveal that I know how the story ends.
  • Seeing my little one dressed in a vest and a hoodie with the hood up and his little curls flipping over the edge of the hood.
  • Every little success I have in making and getting the children to eat healthy(ish) fast(ish) food made by moi.
  • The children I spend my day with?  The students?  They are an amazing, hilarious, interesting group of people.  I love them.
  • Seeing how responsible my Cakie is about doing his little kindergarten homework.

Here’s some of the not-exactly-opposite-of-happy:

  • My baby is two.  Full-on one-hundred percent two.  Melt-down city.
  • I don’t even have any kind of cushion of time for myself.  I have a sitter twice a week after school.  For one of the days I plan with the third grade.  For the other day I plan with my co-teacher.  Done.  Then I pick up Cakie.
  • If I stop home before I pick up the two-year-old, the five-year-old is really difficult to wrench back out of the house to fetch two-year-old.  I wish I could flash back to the seventies and just leave him there for the ten minutes it takes me to cross the street and fetch the melt-down king.  But I cannot.
  • I never get to cook.  Not for real.  My co-teacher was sick yesterday when we usually plan, so I got to make potato leek soup.  It was awesome.
  • My honey doesn’t get home until at least 7:30 most nights.  That just sucks.
  • What I really really want is to go out with some adults and drink some freaking alcohol.  But if I do, I’ll get horribly sick because of my stupid stomach/intestinal problems which have yet to be resolved.  Don’t I deserve some good motherf*cking white wine about now?  Don’t I?  Huh???
  • I have no time to putter in my classroom.  I miss puttering in my classroom.

I’m in limbo a bit.

That’s all I have to say right now.

Thanks for listening.

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Filed under nothing at all, Parenting the school boy, teaching, working motherhood

I Still Exist, I Swear

So much has happened.

My big boy started kindergarten.

I’ve begun my year of team teaching.

I now do zee wacky Zumba.

My honey got a new fabulous job and doesn’t get home many nights until boys are in pajamas.

I’ve become an obsessed person about education reform and the fact that the current reform efforts are going to form education into a lump of playdough.

I’ve rediscovered that insomnia I got rid of when newborn Cakie introduced my body to the desire to sleep via the “you don’t miss your water till the well’s run dry” technique.

I assure you that someday soon, I’ll have the energy to blog about some of this stuff.

Oh, and Trucker is still deeply in love with trucks.

PS — When Bloglines goes away, what should I use?

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Purging

One thing I like to do in the summer, like is too strong a word.  One thing I do in the summer is try to clean out the house a bit and throw things away.  I don’t like doing this because it involves making decisions about throwing things away or about where to put the things I decide not to throw away.  I do like doing it, because aside from having a much more orderly house–or at least small section of the house–I inevitably stumble across things that I only stumble across when going through my closets.

Some things were easy to decide.  Lovely pottery from an ex-friend who decided not to be my friend any more because I’m gay, even though she knew about it for ten years went straight into the trash.  That felt good.  As did endless dry cleaning bags, photos which only included my best friend’s ex-girlfriend. Lots and lots of sweaters I never wear went into bags for donation (upon approval from my honey.)  The dress I gave birth in… the dress I gave birth in?  Yeah.  That’s going back into the closet.  I know.  I probably won’t wear it again.  But nor will anyone else.

Then there are the treasures.  I found this photo of myself at 14 months old, in which I look very very much like my Trucker.  I’m even riding something with wheels.  I also found a photo of my best friend from high school.  It is his first grade portrait for which his mother dressed him in the world’s largest red bow tie and a home-made knit red and blue sweater vest. I immediately sent it off to him via facebook.  The photo was tucked into a teeny leather wallet, lined with red velvet, that also contained a four leaf clover once carried by my grandfather.  I found a card entitling my grandfather to play golf at Oxford University Golf Club until October 1, 1930.  And proof–PROOF– that I did indeed pass the American Red Cross beginner swimming course of instruction on July 23, 1982.  I found a copy of a speech sent to me by James Howe, author of Bunnicula and Pinky and Rex.  I remember seeing him speak at Teacher’s College and being very upset/inspired that I had not been writing.  He also declared to the crowd that he was gay, which seemed brave to me at the time.  I still skirt around it sometimes, especially in front of lots of teachers I don’t know.  So, I’d written him a letter thanking him for the speech, and for inspiring me to write.  He wrote me back, and took the time to print out and sign a copy of the speech.  He’s good people. If I throw these things away, how will I ever stumble across them the next time I clean out the closet?  Hmmm?

So now here I am.  The bottom of my bedroom closet is clean and empty.  My front hallway is full of stuff to throw away or donate.  Right in front of my closet door is the pile of treasures.  Where should I put them?

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Mish Mash of Newsishness

Three things I am excited about this very minute:

1. Brown rice sushi for lunch on a 100+ degree day.

2. I signed Cakie up for FREE swimming lessons at the public swimming pool.  It makes me feel like a good mom and a frugal mom.  Win.  (Here’s to hoping we get more than we paid for.)

3. I ate two big pieces of yummy cheese on the fourth of July and I did not get sick.

I guess Trucker deserves his own post.  So maybe I’ll do that.

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All Whine, No Wine

I’m very whiney.

See,  I think this digestive situation I’ve been having may be IBS.  Which is worse, it turns out, than being lactose intolerant, because I also can’t have coffee, or chocolate, or booze.

I just came home fairly early from my staff end-of-the-year party, I can’t drink and I can’t eat any of the delicious desserts on the dessert table.  (Though I did have watermelon.  I love watermelon.  But there is only so much watermelon a person can eat.)  So I was just bummin.  It was nice to chat with people.  But still.

There have been two times in the past three weeks during my first, no coffee and high fiber, then no dairy diet, that I’ve messed up and gotten sick for several days.  The first one involved a plate of “Super Nachos” and three cocktails, followed by four sips of coffee the next day.  The second one involved two Bombay Sapphire Gin and Tonics and three pieces of rugelach.  I’m thinking the alcohol was a deciding factor in both slips.  So I’m not drinking that anymore, either.

I know things could be a lot worse.  I could have cancer or chronic hiccups or something far more disruptive.  It still could be celiac (nooo!)

But this is such a buzz kill.  I love food.  I love it.  Especially baked goods and cheese.  It just puts me in a bad space.

So say something to cheer me up, kay?

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Bellyache

When A was pregnant with Cakie, our birth educator asked each person in the class to describe how they deal with pain.  That’s when I realized that for me, telling other people what hurts and how much it hurts really helps me cope.

So let me tell you about my belly.

It hurts.

It has hurt on and off since March.

I finally went to my holistic-yet-still-traditional doctor yesterday.  And would you believe her holistic-yet-still-traditional ass?  She told me to go dairy-free for two weeks.  But I’ll tell you something about lactose intolerance, it will not be tolerated.  I can’t have that.  I love cheese.  I’m facebook friends with cheese for god’s sake.  I had a retirement plan to become a cheese expert.  Plus, I’m not even sure I believe in it.  At least not for women with as much Britain in them as I have.   I’m about 1/4 Scottish, 2/4 English and Irish (more English than Irish) and the rest Luthuanian, with a little French Canadian.  My point being, my people eat cheese.  We eat cheese.  We eat cheese on our deathbeds.

Needless to say, my first dairy-free day hasn’t gone so well.  Considering last week I quit drinking coffee to help my stomach, I’m already a royal bitch.  But I pretty-much lost it when my colleagues ran into the room where I was eating lunch with birthday cake for my friend.  Red-mother-F’ing-velvet cake.  I’m proud of myself for not bursting into tears.  But I’m about to right now just remembering the cupcake I didn’t even taste.  Everyone’s life should be so hard.  Ugh.  I’m so spoiled.

Anyway, if it isn’t lactose intolerance, which it isn’t.  It might be IBS which has such an ugly name I’m not going to spell it out.  I have most of the symptoms for that.  The thing that sucks about that one is that it is chronic.  And you can’t have caffeine.  Frankly, I’d rather have cheese.  And ice cream.  And pizza.  Of course my disgestive issues also might be a few other things.

As if to prove that there is no possibility in the world of my having a lactose intolerance, my whole digestive system is out of whack right now and I’m in pain, topped off with a no-coffee headache.

I am grateful for everything I do have.  Grateful and cranky as hell.

Good night, dearies.

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