At Least I'm Not As Crazy As Basil Marceaux. Though That Leaves A Whole Lot Of Room For Crazy.

I'm tending towards silence here these days not only because my days are filled with packing or children or both, but also because my thoughts have been tumbling about from one point to another and don't seem to settle down into one coherent post. Well, except for when I'm driving, per usual, and then long and lovely and loquacious posts spin themselves out in my mind, only to be lost by the time I park.

(I do remember the tag line I'd composed for a potential post about Basil Marceaux, quite possibly the craziest political candidate I've ever seen. Well, at least the most obviously crazy. I had planned to write a snarky post starting with his shockingly bad TV spot, then his horrendous website, with an additional focus on page 4 where he includes his letters to the United Nation [sic] and the FBI, at which point my friend Heidi and MTL and I started debating whether he was schizophrenic or had suffered from closed head trauma. I was going to end the post with Oh Tennessee. Bless yer heart. Yer crazy is showin'.)

Here's the thing about change: it's stressful. Even when it's good change, and change that I love, and involves people I love, and I know that I will be and am very happy about it all. Nevertheless, it's change, and it's stress. I feel rather as though over the last two years my entire life has been turned inside out, shaken, scrubbed thoroughly, taken apart at the seams, and resewn into a new configuration. Which, really, is rather a good thing, but is nevertheless rather exhausting. So I find myself attempting to scrape up the energy to finish packing in these last two days before we move on Saturday. The attempt is rather weak.

I've done more cleaning, purging, tossing, donating, and packing of Stuff over the last month and a half than I think I've ever done, largely because I did it The Right Way. This means that rather than just tossing anything and everything in boxes with the vague idea of Sorting It Out Later, I've been going through things very thoroughly. Perhaps too thoroughly at times: I threw out some items that I probably should not have thrown out and had to deal with a very unhappy Ex at one point. I've made seven or eight (I've lost track) visits to donation centers with a car packed to the brim with giveaway items. I've tossed dozens of giant garbage bags of trash onto the curb. I've stripped away the useless and the broken and the unwanted and the forgotten.

And still there is so much left to move this weekend. I won't tell you how many bins of shoes are involved. Or boxes of books. We all know about my addictions.

I'll admit to some anxiety about my new paradigm. To jump from two small boys to five children ranging from three to fourteen is a bit of a shock to one's system. I mean, just imagine. I have to learn how to braid hair!!!

It's a good thing we all, in general, get along. There are bumps, of course, but it could be so very much worse. And MTL is so very worth it.

Nevertheless...it's all quite stressful. So last night I slept restlessly as I suffered the consequences of not doing my physical therapy exercises yesterday and as anxiety dreams flitted through my head. From what I recall, they mainly dealt with trying to move and discovering that everything had unpacked itself, or the trucks got lost somewhere in the handful of miles between one place and the next, or the children kept climbing into boxes trying to pack themselves, or I kept forgetting what I was supposed to take. Oh, and then there were the dreams triggered by work starting up in a month coupled with the need to get children registered and ready for school once we move.

Have I mentioned that I'm a worrier? Yeah.

One day at a time, right? The only problem is that there are only two days left...and still so very much to do.

So I better go work on that mountain of laundry and finish packing the dishes. If you have some extra energy, go ahead and send it my way, would you? Oh, and dark chocolate would be awfully welcome too. Especially with raspberry filling.

Pardon My Sneeze

Apparently I am allergic to something in or around this condo, because I have had almost instantaneous allergy symptoms whenever I step foot in here for the last couple of weeks. MTL suggested I was allergic to the children. I suggested I was allergic to him.

Fortunately for us all, neither seems to be the case: I've had the symptoms both with and without any rugrats of either genetic makeup on the premises, and I just got back from having lunch with MTL, where I had no sniffles or congestion whatsoever. As soon as I walked back in the door, however....

*sniff* 

*sniff sniffle snuffle snoooork*

*whaaaachooo!*

Excuse me.

It's a good thing we move in five days.

In the meantime, I'm going to go blow my nose and try not to think longingly about the Benadryl sitting in the cabinet (or is it packed by now? Sigh. Can't find anything these days) because I'm already having enough difficulty getting my tookus in gear today.

Has anyone seen the Kleenex?

Just Another Hysterical Female With Unreasonable Girly Bits

****FAIR WARNING SO I DON'T GET GROSSED OUT COMMENTS: This post contains references to icky medical and "girly" issues both past and present. If you are easily skeezed out, horrified, or otherwise proven a total wimp by such details, skip this post. If not, or if you're just all, you know, curious now, read on. Just don't say I didn't warn you.****

Yesterday I was reading, with great empathy, the latest post on ongoing medical issues Betty at The 52 Seductions has been facing. Her most recent session with her gynecologist resonated with me, not because of her specific medical problems, but because of how the doctor continues to approach both her and her mysterious condition, which apparently he finds quite annoying because it won't cooperate by being easily diagnosed or treated. His disgruntlement extends to Betty, who is also quite uncooperative since she won't agree that his treatments are actually doing much of anything. It's all quite inconvenient for him. Apparently, paying any real attention to the details of her case or listening to her like she has much of a clue about her own body is also inconvenient.

One of the commenters wrote, Sometimes I have the feeling that gynaecology consultants are not *actually* listening and are just hearing, “blah, blah, blah, woman’s complaints, blah, blah, blah.”

Been there. Felt that.

Let me explain. When I was a nubile young thing of eighteen, I started experiencing occasional bouts of severe but short-lived pain. These incidents would occur every couple of months and last for only a few hours, but I was incapacitated during that time. The pain was very much like that of a severe bladder/urinary tract infection paired with a nasty yeast infection, but would manifest out of nowhere and depart just as suddenly. While in pain, I pretty much could only lie about wearing as little as possible and popping Advil like it was candy.

Time after time, I would take myself to the doctor the next day: he (or more rarely, she) would run the routine tests for a UTI or yeast infection, find nothing, and send me on my way. Occasionally I would be given antibiotics and creams anyway, on the off chance that I had an infection that was escaping their tests.

As time went on, the incidents gradually increased in frequency, severity, and duration. My menstrual periods, which had been relatively consistent, started arriving earlier or later and heavier or lighter than usual. I began spotting between periods, something that had never happened before. Something was wrong.

According to the expressions on the doctors' faces, they started suspecting something was indeed wrong--not with my body, but with my mind. The symptoms were most common at night, so invariably I had nothing to "show" when I was in the doctors' offices. Not a single doctor ever seemed to listen to the whole story. Not a single doctor ever varied in their approach. It was always the same exam, the same tests, the same results.

Looking back, I should have insisted on something more. I was too young and intimidated--all those years of school, all those diplomas, all those shiny metal instruments!--to challenge them. You'd think that since I grew up in a family filled with nurses and doctors I'd be different, but in truth I had grown up believing that all doctors knew what they were doing. The ones in my family certainly seemed to. It didn't occur to me to ask more questions or push for different tests.

After two and a half years of increasing pain and desperation, I was nearing the end of my rope physically and mentally. I was starting to think maybe those expressions were right--maybe there WAS something wrong with my mind. And yet, the physical result was undeniable. The pain was so much worse and so much more frequent that others were noticing. Once, in the middle of my African Lit class, it arrived like a freight train. The professor actually stopped class because I turned white and started sweating. He had another student escort me to the health center, concerned that I might collapse on the way. Same results. Same facial expression.


Then in the fall of 1998, I scheduled my routine pap smear and exam like a good girl, at the university health center. I requested an appointment with the same Nurse Practitioner who had performed my very first gyno exam years before, because I appreciated her approach. I felt like a person with her rather than a pair of legs in stirrups. Let's face it, having one's lady bits messed about with is difficult enough without feeling like the person doing the messing about views one as an unfeeling slab of meat. Or a mannequin.

After the routine part of it all, she let me sit up and regain a bit of dignity, then asked if I had any concerns to raise.

Actually, I do, I said. And I told her the whole story. From start to finish. With every detail. Because unlike every other medical practitioner who had seen me in the previous two and a half years, she actually listened.

Once I completed my tale of woe, she said, Please lie back down. I think I might know what this could be. She then probed my lower abdomen with her fingers, quite firmly, for perhaps a minute. Oh yes, she said. There's definitely something there that shouldn't be. You need an ultrasound.

Two weeks later an ultrasound technician found, in almost no time at all, a single massive fibroid on the posterior of my uterus. It was seven centimeters in diameter, about the size of an orange.

Not quite two months after that, four days before my twenty-first birthday, the fibroid was surgically removed. It had apparently been growing quite rapidly, which explained the increasing pain, because it was then nine centimeters in diameter, about the size of a grapefruit.

I haven't had problems since.

Well, at least from uterine fibroids. I did have to have planned cesarean sections with both children because of the risk of uterine rupture. The scar is...interesting. At least I can still wear a bikini.

And along with the joint issues I inherited from family, I also am prone to REAL urinary tract infections, a problem I share with a close relative or two. I get them way too frequently, despite precautionary measures and cleanliness, and almost half the time the infection makes a run for my kidneys. I've learned to hie myself to the doctor post haste at the first signs of discomfort. And every time, that pain brings back the nasty memories of those years of misery.

So when I read Betty's post yesterday morning, I wrote a comment summarizing my story (yeah, it was long, but shorter than this post, trust me), and then decided I really wanted to write about my own experience over here. Because the main point is true for both of us: medical professionals need to stop jumping to conclusions without truly listening, and they need to start believing that patients can and do know their own bodies. I know enough doctors and nurses who practice excellent and compassionate medicine to believe that it is possible, even under the time and financial constraints so common today.

Here's the fun little kicker, though. Last night, just after popping a handful of cranberry pills, I had to use the bathroom. And lo and behold, I felt that telltale burning.

Went to the doctor today.

Irony, thy name is...well, apparently it's cystitis. And occasionally, when you want to be really nasty, pyelonephritis. Your timing is impeccable. Damn you.


****For an added little TMI bonus, I made sure to text DraftQueen with my test results right away. Because we have this very weird tendency to get UTIs at the same time. Sometimes within hours of each other. Even though we're miles and miles and states apart. I kid you not. She's gorging on cranberry as we speak.****

home

i wasn't looking for you
didn't know
for sure
that someone like you was even there
i hoped
dreamed
without even understanding what
might be possible

this collection of pieces that make up
you
yourself
ingredients combined to create
this man
whose being calls to mine with echoes
of self and not-self
complementing and contrasting

like the puzzle pieces
in that song
shaped by our lives
and the hand of God

you asked where i have been
and i made you laugh with my reply
but here's the reality behind the words:

God knew what He was doing
keeping us apart til now
i wasn't ready to meet you before
too broken
too lost
my edges were too rough
they would have snagged and caught against yours
rather than sliding smoothly into place
snugged tight
firm
like completion
like peace
like coming home

Ten Sensations

Sights I Love To See:

• all four children sitting on a green blanket sharing green grapes as their afternoon snack
• The Widget folding a blanket, however awkwardly, in his desire to Help
• chocolate pudding traces smeared around small mouths
• the stirring of wind through the leaves, a breeze alleviating the heavy heat of the day
• a grin on DramaBoy's face, frequent on a day when he has been Having Fun and Avoiding Trouble

Sounds I Love To Hear:

• the giggles of my Widget when I tackle him with kisses all over his neck and face
• the laughter of my children, biological and otherwise, as they play games of their own invention all over the living room and down the hall
• the beep of a text message arriving from DraftQueen or MTL
• the swooosh of the dish- and clothes-washers running, evidence of a reduction in the level of messiness about the place
• the click of the downstairs door signaling MTL's return home

Stress Fatigue

I have been tired and a little worn around the edges the last few days, despite all those lovely days of relaxation with My True Love. As I sat on the couch last night, wondering why I felt like I'd been running a marathon or at least a fast-paced walkathon (since a marathon would probably involve much more Death), I suddenly realized that while I have been rather layabout physically, I have been involved in a good bit of emotional exercise lately.

I can't really go into details here, for various reasons, but over the last few days I've had several encounters with beloved people that involved us disagreeing over Stuff. You know, the kinds of issues and points of view that often find people who otherwise get along quite well on opposite sides. The kinds of situations where we may decide we need to share our opinions, but the reality is that neither side will ever change the other person's mind. And because we do love each other, and none of us like conflict, especially with people we love, we're all very stressed and tired and sad that there's the conflict to begin with.

It doesn't help that none of these people are remotely nearby, location-wise, so these conversations have had to be conducted via phone and online chat, so we can't hug each other and feel the physical connection despite the disconnect otherwise.

This too will pass, but I rather wish I could crawl into a hug right now.

Guilt (Mine) and Consequences (DramaBoy's)

Apparently the most votes are for details on DramaBoy's Full Day Time Out, and really I will write about that, but first I want to note that today I am in enforced idleness. No, really. I had planned to head back to the house while The Ex was at work and do what packing I can do until we have our Official Negotiations over items like CDs and DVDs and dishes and pots and pans and children's clothing and toys. Also, I was going to watch the recorded sessions of "So You Think You Can Dance" from the last couple of weeks.

Instead, I am sitting on the couch contemplating how I can make this day Useful and Productive in other ways, because this morning I received a text from The Ex requesting that I not go to the house today. I don't know why. Perhaps he's working from home today; perhaps his girlfriend will be there; perhaps it's trashed and he doesn't want me there until he cleans (though that's unlikely). It doesn't really matter. The end result is the same.

I find that, as lazy as I am and can be, I don't deal well with Doing Nothing, at least by myself. Apparently I can spend hours and days and weeks Doing Nothing (well, nothing Productive, at any rate) in company with MTL and be as content as a cat on a sunny windowsill. Find myself alone with nothing much to do for a day and the Guilt begins. I mean really, God forbid I spend a day doing nothing but relaxing.

So far I plan to fold that load of laundry that is still in the dryer, mail MTL's Jury Summons Questionnaire (he's SO EXCITED), pick up Change of Address cards, go to a couple of banks, and call my former student C. who needs a responsible adult *giggle* to chaperone her in some driving practice so she can get her license. Don't worry, you legally-minded people: she graduated, so I'm no longer in that teacher/academic legal position.

Oh, and I may also go shopping for my cousin's wedding present and perhaps even some things for my sister's baby shower.

I'm living on the edge, Peoples.

*********************************

So you want to know how this whole Full Day Time Out thing happened with DramaBoy, huh? Okay, here goes.

I mentioned a while back that DramaBoy is a mini-me in more than looks: he's also all-too-frequently full of defiance and disobedience. Don't get me wrong. He's a good kid at heart. Well, let me rephrase that. He's not a bad kid. I'm not worrying about him ending up in Juvie. Yet.

He is, however, a handful and a half. Lately MTL and I (and apparently also The Ex, when we discussed it) have been noticing a disturbing trend. DramaBoy has developed an attitude that, frankly, pisses us off. And I helped create it. You see, I've always insisted that when DramaBoy and The Widget do something wrong, they have to apologize for it. Over time, that became part of the end point of punishment. Somehow, in DramaBoy's mind, this came to mean that if he apologizes for something, then everything is over--and he started acting like that should be enough. He apparently thinks that if he says sorry, he shouldn't get punished.

Ha.

On top of that, his apologies have stopped meaning anything. They have become flippant, something that he seems to see as a joke. He's become cocky and arrogant, or as much so as a four-year-old can be. And he's stopped paying attention much to what Adults In Charge are saying.

(MTL and I spotted a t-shirt the other day that, if it had come in DB's size, I might have bought for him. It read It's Cute How You Think I'm Listening To You. We agreed that might as well be DB's motto. Enough said.)

The first day up north at Nana and Papa's (MTL's parents) place was like a dream. DB behaved perfectly. He was outside all day playing, having fun, staying out of trouble, being a wonderful big brother to The Widget and "almost brother"/playmate with KlutzGirl. He was cheerful and polite and helpful. MTL and I both praised him for it, wanting to give some positive reinforcement for such behavior.

Sunday morning went well too. Then in the afternoon things took a turn for the worse. DB started playing around the outdoor air conditioning unit, putting things like leaves and wood chips through the wire mesh. Nana told him to stop, that what he was doing was dangerous. He ignored her. Then when she called him over and lectured him about listening and obeying, out came that attitude. So off he went to Time Out in a lawn chair--and the attitude kept coming. That earned him a Gibbs. He ended up falling asleep in the chair, and we hoped that a nap would help. After he woke up, he apologized to Nana, and we let him run off and play again.

So we figured he could go along when we all went off to Dairy Queen that night. Except when we arrived (we had to take two cars), MTL came over to my car to talk to DB: The Padawan had informed him during the drive that DB had been throwing sticks at MTL's car as well as climbing on my car and had been rude and disobedient when told to stop. MTL asked DB if he had done this.

And DB said Yep. With a look on his face like So what? What you going to do? And then he said, Sorry! Again with a look like I don't give a damn, but I'll toss you an apology to keep you happy.

And the attitude kept coming, even after punishment, even after being denied ice cream, even after the long wait and then the long ride home. I told him to say sorry for real to MTL, and he said the words--but the look on his face and the tone of his voice said that it was all a joke to him. MTL refused to accept his apology. And I was fed up.

Tomorrow, I told him, you are grounded. You'll be in Time Out all day. No playing, no toys, no TV, no fun. 

But I said sorry! he protested.

It's not enough to say sorry, I replied. You have to mean it. And if you were really sorry, you wouldn't keep doing these things. You would listen. You wouldn't do what you know is wrong. And you wouldn't have this attitude. You're not getting grounded because you threw sticks. You're getting grounded because you don't care that you did something wrong and you won't listen to the Adults In Charge.

So that was that. The next day, from the time he woke up until the time he went to bed, he had to either sit in a chair next to me or, when it started raining and we went inside where there was the TV, lie on Nana and Papa's bed in the back room. With no toys, no books, nothing.

MTL and I both talked to him about the situation throughout the day, emphasizing that the problem lay with his attitude. DramaBoy protested a few times in the morning, and once again tried "apologizing" in the hopes of getting out of the punishment, but we stuck to our guns. By afternoon he was resigned to his lot and remarkably cooperative. He fell asleep for a while, and then came out to eat pizza while The Widget was put back in Nana and Papa's room for a nap. Once DB was done eating, he went back to lie down on the bed again--without even being told. He didn't try to sneak toys in, he didn't complain, nothing. He only got out of bed to go to the bathroom and then to tell me that The Widget was awake and crying for me.

We were all rather impressed, truthfully.

The next day the grounding was lifted, just in time to climb into the car and head home. And lo and behold, DB lied to MTL about something as we were getting ready to go, and then at a pit stop disobeyed me about something else--and the attitude flooded back.

So MTL slung the boy over his shoulder, dumped him back into the car, and traded keys with me so that I could drive his car while MTL drove mine--with The Widget and a screaming DramaBoy inside.

There are many reasons I love that man.

Apparently DB was quiet and obedient for the remainder of the ride. Meanwhile, I easily quelled a few incipient quarrels between KlutzGirl and The Dark One while The Padawan slept, and I drove in relative peace for the second half of the drive.

So. Did the grounding work? I think it did. I'm not naive enough to have expected it to fix the problem in one Swell Foop, but it did lay some solid groundwork. I talked with The Ex about it, and we're all going to be tackling that attitude problem.

I think DramaBoy's about to find out that he's messing with the wrong adults. He may be stubborn, but so are we. And we outnumber him.

Thank God.

Any advice from all of you Peoples? What have you done with your Strong Willed Children?

The Sun Is Hot, The House Is Cool, And This Couch Is Awfully Comfy

It's been a true vacation week. I could write all the details, but I'm still in vacation mode and find myself rather uninterested in working that hard.

I know. I'm awesome.

So let's see. How about a nice little bulleted list? I love lists. And then you could tell me what you're most interested in hearing about in greater detail, and I could be all happy about getting comments (because you know I'm a comment whore, Peoples, and all the comments on my last post gave me warm fuzzies and that's a Good Thing), and then I'll just focus on what you'd like to read rather than giving you some long drawn out commentary on a whole week's worth of activities like some modern literary version of those slide shows people make guests sit through showing them standing in front of a hundred different poorly photographed landmarks from their latest vacation.

You're welcome.

Since last Friday, the following major events have occurred:

• MTL and I drove north to his parents' place with all five kids and camped in their yard for over three days while sharing one kitchen and bathroom with eight other people (that makes fifteen total for the math challenged)
• DramaBoy earned his first ever full day Time Out (a.k.a. You're grounded, boyo.)
• I cohosted a hotel sleepover birthday party involving four thirteen- and fourteen-year-old girls with MTL's ex-wife
• MTL and I had a lovely couple of days All By Ourselves over on the west side of the state in a lovely little harbor town called Saugatuck

It's been quite the week, Peoples.

At the moment we're relishing our final days on vacation without kids and without responsibilities. On Monday reality takes over again. MTL will head back to work, and I will get back into the sorting and tossing and donating and packing process as well. It's only three weeks until we move. Time, it has wings.

And now back to relaxing with My True Love.

One More Girl And It's The Brady Bunch

DraftQueen says I'm crazy and yeah, I probably am a bit (okay fine, more than a bit, but I OWN my crazy, peoples), but here's the thing: I'm kinda enjoying this multiple kids thing. You know, as in five all told.

Oh, didn't I mention? MTL has three kids. We finally agreed on appropriate blog names for them this last week. First there's The Dark One, his daughter who turns fourteen on Sunday. She's snarky and sarcastic and a touch emo and we get along quite well. Who woulda thunk, right? Then there's The Padawan, his almost-twelve son who is being trained in The Way of the Geek. He shows great promise. Finally there's KlutzGirl, who is seven and, well, an adorable klutz. The Padawan is delighted to have boys around, and DramaBoy and The Widget already treat him like a big brother, wrestling and teasing and emulating included. KlutzGirl already calls them her "almost brothers" and bosses them unmercifully. The Dark One tends to hold herself somewhat aloof, but thaws enough to play along when all seven of us get going in a rousing toy light saber battle.

(Yeah. We're the Dorks. Meet the Dorklings.)

Anywho, it turns out that I rather enjoy having five kids around. Well, other than the times when the whining and fighting escalates and mostly I just want to go huddle in a closet with a bottle or three of Raspberry Mike's Hard Lemonade. But really, it turns out that having older kids to help out makes things much easier, and this summer has been rather fun with visits to parks and shopping trips and whatnot. The logistics can be a bit tricky, since I don't have a vehicle large enough for them all, but we're making it work.

And it's the comments I get in public that have me giggling. Today I had KlutzGirl, DramaBoy, and The Widget with me grocery shopping for our holiday weekend camping trip (I told you we'd be braving it again). They were being active and cute and fairly well-behaved, and therefore we received many smiles and comments on how cute they are.

You have your hands full! said a few people.

And there are two older ones at home, I would reply with a grin.

My favorite response was from one woman who then exclaimed, And you have such a lovely figure!

I had to confess the truth at that point.

You're brave to take it all on! she said.

It's worth it, I replied.

And it is.

A Year Older and Wiser and All That Crap

It's back. Last year around this time the same thing happened. Post after post in my blog reader centered around the same topic: BlogHer Conference.

Last year, I was pretty much consumed with jealousy because there I was, fully steeped in all things bloggy, even tweeting away all day, and I WASN'T GOING. I even wrote a post about it. And then swore that in 2010 I'd find a way to go.

Here it is: Summer 2010, and BlogHer 2010 is about to begin, and guess what?

I'm not going.

And I couldn't care less.

No really. This isn't sour grapes talking. I truly have no desire to go to BlogHer this year.

You see, something has shifted over the last year. Last summer blogging and tweeting had center stage, pretty much top priority. I was trying to work out how to increase my readership, I was attending occasional blogger meetups and tweetups, I paid to have my blog redesigned (SO not regretting doing that, by the way--totally worth the money, which wasn't much), I was making plans that focused on my identity as a blogger.

That focus has shifted these days. I still enjoy blogging. It's an important way for me to lay out my thoughts and connect with peoples (that would be YOU!) and develop my voice. It just doesn't have center stage any longer.

I think the change is due to a crucial change in me. Last summer, despite tremendous growth and a good bit of healing, I was adrift. For years my identity as The Ex's significant other had been center stage. Suddenly that identity was threatened, then lost, and I needed to fill that void. Blogging was both safe and cathartic. So...I was a blogger. That identity was my life raft.

Now? Now I don't need a life raft. I've come to understand and know myself better. I'm happy in my own skin and no longer need to be defined according to someone else. Not that people have no significance in my life. Other relationships have flowered and taken more focus. I have friendships that are deeper than any I'd had in nearly two decades. I'm developing increasing confidence and peace as a mother. I found MTL.

So instead of heading to BlogHer, I'll be spending time with friends and family and kidlets and my beloved.

And I'll still show up here when inspiration strikes. Because I'm still awfully fond of you, peoples.