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My insurance company cares deeply about me….I guess.  I just got this glossy catalogue in the mail all about dealing with arthritis.  They must look at medical records or something, so they know all about me.

You know how you can learn things from media without even reading the text?  Here is what I learned just by looking at pictures that are hoping to depict people dealing with arthritis:

Exercise, even if it is sort of lame and you are sort of shubby*, is good for you.

*  When I was teaching, a student wrote an entire essay about how her friend should feel good about herself even though she was “sort of shubby.”  This spelling cracked me up.  It sounds so cute, so non-threatening, so fuzzy.  I did not tire of reading it, ever.  Then I read it to Brad.  Then we started calling ourselves “shubby”.

You can have arthritis, even if you are Black!  Arthritis, not just for white people anymore!

Think of some good one-liners to use on your doctor when you see him/her.  You might even get better care if your doctor thinks you are clever!  Don’t forget, they don’t want to see you sad!

And finally:

Just because your body is screaming out in agony does not mean that there are not hot, romantic moments of SEX coming your way SOON.  It all starts with a little two step.  Take your aspirin so that you don’t miss out!

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Today I have been plagued with a  whole host of what a friend calls “First World Problems”.  First World Problems are all those things that have a first world mom completely at wits end, but upon reflection are kind of stupid.  I lost my debit card.  Inez wrote on the wall.  Francis has all these weird “developmental” dental problems that even though the dentist didn’t actual say were my fault, I can’t help but think mean that I did something wrong while she was in the womb.  Inez grabbed strawberries off the shelf in the store and dumped them on the floor.  Then I had to buy them.  I found myself saying, “This is NOT how you get strawberries” even while realizing that her method actually worked quite well because I got distracted and let her eat them.  Zephyr was late to school because of the slow dental appointment.  Zephyr can’t seem to walk through a store or down a hall without hitting or kicking something.  My son is a spaz.

Oh Third World Mothers, give me perspective!  Today I had clean water.  Today all my family had enough to eat (and have the energy to be naughty).  Today my children went to free public school!  Today my children are safe.

Bless you third world mothers.  Help me be less of a whiner please.

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I found them, then tucked them away.

They were close, but too large yet.
They were a find!  They were cheap!

I brought them home, tried one on a sweet little foot and decided,

Maybe next year.

Then into a bin, clicked on the lid, and shoved under the bed

to wait,  a jewel to present when the time was right.

Now, I pull them out, find the foot in question.

They fit!  Just right!

But wait.  One foot feels a little wrong.

My pride wilts to chagrin.

What the hell do I do with two left feet?

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Lord you have blessed me with children, but I do not want 5 of them.

My two nephews are staying the night.  They are perfectly lovely kids.  Really.  There is nothing wrong with them, but when paired with the chaos that is already present around here, it is… enough for angry face.  Someone peed in a board game, two someones rubbed diaper ointment all over a window, the same two someones took scissors to a philodendron, and then emptied an entire kitchen cabinet.  Someone else emptied the entire basket of trains….wait!  That was me!  (Now why did I do that?  I’m sure I had a good reason to do that.)

Zephyr this evening took a fork to one of my very expensive dining room chairs.  Then he lied about it and said Inez did it.  The hilarious thing about the lie was that I misheard him and in an attempt to clarify said, “She scratched the chair with a knife?!” and he answered, “No, a fork”.  Who had the fork in his or her hand?  Zephyr.  That is the problem with lying.  The minute you give details, you enter the problem zone.

Brad is completely incensed by lying.  He is entirely upright and ethical.  He sees no reason to lie EVER and accuses me of dishonesty for all sorts of minor offenses.  He was disgusted with me when our kids bit holes in an expensive toy of a friend’s and rather than tell the friend, (who I knew would say–”No big deal!”) I just replaced the toy with a matching one.  ”Dishonest!” he bellowed.

He is not upset about the chair, but heaped on punishment for the lie.  I am upset about the chair, but I sort of understand the attempt at lying.  It bothers me in a sort of cosmic way, but I understand why a kid would try to dodge the bullet.  I also understand that lying WILL screw you over.

Not can but WILL.  I have gotten caught for every lie I have ever told, (except to Brad for the purpose of surprises and such—those always work.  He is incredibly credible!), so I guess when I punish the kids for lying I only want them to understand that lying makes things worse, not better.

Zephyr was feeling the pain tonight.  He was sent to bed right after dinner, and his computer password was changed for the week (No!  Gasp!  This is really akin to cutting off a hand or something.  I swear the kid seems to have one week of computer privileges and then lose it the next.  And Brad who would seriously die if someone removed his computer privileges seems to have no problem banishing the offender.)

I had better be good this week.  No lying!  Never!  Not even when I tell my sister, “It was easy!” tomorrow morning.

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Just thought I ought to tell you—yeah, I’m fine.

It’s hard when you quit writing for awhile and then try to start again, but find that maybe you need to waste a bunch of time writing about why you weren’t writing, writing about why you should be writing, etc.  Brad’s cousin’s wife did this really sweet (like awesome) summation of her year—6 parts and beautiful photos to boot.  I was impressed with it, but couldn’t pull that off.

I thought about my philosophy of art too.  Maybe people are really dying to hear about that! I composed lengthy and elegant musings on what it takes for a working individual to have something left over to create—in my head.

For the most part, my excuses are boring.  I got sick.  I actually had more art to do and less time to write about it.  The kids are unrelenting.  (Did anyone tell you that when you were younger?  I just want to make sure that everyone hears this.  Guess what?  KIDS ARE UNRELENTING.)  I’m freaking tired.  Just finishing the laundry and keeping the house running is sometimes too much for me.  I didn’t feel too creative.  I got hooked on this awesome YA book series and would rather that the author just downloaded his crazy ideas to my brain than to have to work to come up with any of my own (Uglies by Scott Westerfeld).

But, I’m here.  I’m fine.  I’m even kind of happy.  I just didn’t have the energy to tell anyone about it.  But now, I’m gonna’, I’m gonna’, I’m…oh, we’ll see.

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If you get on line and look up health information, you find a bunch of hypochondriacs bitching about their bodies and using technical terms like they got a PHD in their spare time but decided not to use it.  In order to avoid sounding like them, (because really they make me cringe), I will be brief.

My neck and shoulders have been hurting more and more recently.  I thought that this was just how it goes having little kids and all.  I went to a chiropractor because there was a “massage available” sign out front—and that is what I was really angling for.  Rather than giving me massage, (which I wanted RIGHT THAT MINUTE!), he did the more forward-looking thing and took an x-ray.  Turns out that my neck is all f-ed up.

It doesn’t work well to try to photograph an x-ray, but I can tell you about it.  This condition has a name, which I would drop, but I don’t want to sound like those people….  essentially my neck has lost its proper curve and is now going the wrong way.  In the x-ray, the doctor drew in something like where my neck should be going.  Mine is curving towards my face rather than towards the back of my head.  Where the flash of the camera ended up with where my spine angles in (yuck).  And my vertebrae are getting all smashed and pointy with bone spurs.

I knew there was something not quite right about my neck, but I always just thought of it as sort of delicate, the result of a terrible car crash in my early twenties.  The chiropractor says that I can go two different routes— pain management or an attempt at correcting the curve (which might not even work).  I know some people have had very good experiences with chiropractic arts, (and please tell me about that if it is you), but I have always been skeptical.  I realized that as a strong believer in midwifery, that might be ironic that I am not as comfortable with chiropractors who are essentially the same thing, specialist who don’t prescribe drugs.

Anyway, I am depressed and bizarrely my neck and shoulders REALLY ACHE all the time.  I think some of the constant pain might be that I am so freaked out about my neck that I am trying to maintain good posture all the time plus sleeping on my back a little more.  Anyway, I have an appointment with a spine specialist next week for a second opinion before I have to decide what direction to go in addressing this.  Oh man, it is hard to get old… especially when you are still young.

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I recently finished Ayelet Waldman’s new book Bad Mother. While I enjoyed the book, I wasn’t much impressed with the various things that she listed that made her feel like a bad parent.  My theory is that any parent who offers up their “bad mother” story is really only sharing something from the middle ground.  Most people wouldn’t pipe up with the real dirt as those parenting “dark moments of the soul” are not so funny and make for pretty terrible anecdotes.  You want to make all the mommies at the playdate fall into an awkward silence?  Share one of those!  “This one time I got so sick of him throwing bark dust that I grabbed a handful and crammed it down his throat!  And I didn’t stop until he was screaming and barfing up bark chips!  With blood!  HA ha ha……uhhhh, yeah.”

Oh wait a minute.  This isn’t suppose to be about my problems!  Anyway, Ayelet in a very offhand manner said one thing that I have pondered much this last few weeks.  It isn’t even one of her major points, but she asked when it became inappropriate to ask babysitters to clean up while watching the kids.  I thought about this a bit, because while I seem to employ many babysitters (and often), I haven’t really thought much about what I am actually expecting them to do.

The young women I am using right now all seem nice.  They all seem to like kids, and yet, no one seems to know how to put away food after dinner, or get kids to bring dishes to the kitchen, or pick up toys or projects around the house.  This wasn’t too big a deal until I found myself repairing the damage of being gone—for two hours one day.  I had only been out of the house for 3 hours.  How could things get so messed up?

And so I ask you fair reader—  if you were ever a babysitter, were you expected to clean up after dinner?  Or did you clean up even if not asked?

If you are a parent, do you ask your babysitters to clean up or put away food?  Or are you just glad the baby is still alive when you get home?

Weigh in—let me know.

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I actually don’t quite feel that good.  Frazzled is more like it, but I am trying to think positively in the hopes that some might wear off on me.  It is a “fake it until you make it” sort of philosophy.  Those clever Alcoholics Anonymous have so many good ideas for living!

Last week was the first week of Zephyr’s school AND Brad was on a business trip, so I was slogging through by myself, trying not to collapse into tears too many times (confuses the kids a bit) or scream obscenities at them (confuses the kids a bit).  In short, I was trying to be a better person than I am, which is always hard but a worthwhile dream to pursue.

Our new life is way too time-based.  It involves short, intense pushes in order to get dressed, fed, shoes on, out the door, then fed, shoes on, out the door, then nap, then diaper changed, shoes on, out the door.  We run out of here THREE times a day.  We have to be on time somewhere three times, which just about kills me.  On Wednesdays when there is soccer, we have to be on time FOUR times.  I sort of hate it.

I have always prided myself on being somewhat organized.  I am pretty dependable.  I do what I say I am going to do.  I hate being late.  Now I hate being on time, or rather, hate having to be on time.  I yearn to space out.  I yearn to not have to be responsible.  My sister Kendall says that you know you are overwhelmed when you start day dreaming about ending up in the hospital—hurt, but not too hurt, just hurt enough to merit a bit of rest where no one expects anything from you.  I’ll admit that the thought did occur to me last week.

Now Francis is in school from 8:45am to 3pm, and Zephyr joins her from 12:15pm to 3pm.  Inez naps in there, so I do have a nice block of complete quiet that I need to learn to maximize.  Don’t let the internet suck you in for hours!  Don’t get stuck scrubbing toilets!  It’s thankless! I am stuck at home a lot these days (because there is no freaking time to go anywhere or do much of anything), but that doesn’t have to be bad.  And on the bright side, my seven year old has become super helpful and responsible.  And she’ll scrub toilets for 50 cents.  I don’t know.  I guess I am not a good Buddhist.  I can’t wait until next year.

Not sure if I am thrilled...

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That is what they say to you when you are running sprints and tired but suppose to give more.  You are pushing (something) out, which is odd.  Pushing out tiredness?  Pushing out weakness?

Whatever it is, I need to push it out, but can’t quite get ahold of this week yet.  We’re halfway through and my daily tasks seem hard and unsavory.  I have piles and piles of laundry to fold.  I keep starting that job and end up abandoning it pretty quickly.  (Push it out.)

I can’t seem to get the kids to quit dumping stuff, throwing stuff, picking things apart.  Zephyr actually tried to remove the shredded zucchini from his zucchini bread.  Then he peeled his grapes.  Then he shot me in the head with a beanbag arrow—(on the bright side, I learned that these are not nearly as dangerous as they look).  Someone dumped the toilet bowl cleaners IN the toilet and then sprinkled salt all over the floor.  Yesterday I swept and wiped one place on the floor FIVE times.  (Push it out.)

Inez is going through this nasty masticate and THEN dump on the floor phase.  Apple chunks all across the upstairs.  I don’t actually allow kids to eat anywhere in the house except at the table, but I somehow missed this apple.  Don’t worry though.  I found it again…under the bed.  (Push it out.)

And as I addressed issues of excrement and urine previously and I don’t wish people to think I am anal retentive, I will only quickly mention that I cleaned up pee or poop (off the poor floor again!) 3 times yesterday.  Once was my nephew, but really, who is keeping score here?  Well, I guess I am.

At times like this when I am behind on every job, the dishwasher is full of clean dishes I don’t want to unload, there are leftovers in the fridge I don’t want to investigate, and everything is a mess, what I need to do is stay up late and get organized.  I need to finish something so that my life doesn’t feel like such a disaster.

Hey I know!  I think I will go finish my book!  I’m going to push it out!  Yeah Mockingjay!

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Sorry I haven’t posted for a bit.  I am recovering, kind of slowly I might add.  Something about returning on a serious red-eye and going straight back to the needs of clamoring children plus a big old house to pull together makes for, well, tiredness.  Returning from Japan was sort of bittersweet.  I missed Brad and the kids of course.  I didn’t miss the laundry.  I didn’t miss keeping the refrigerator stocked.  Or the construction dust that covers every surface around our house right now.  Or waking up to no milk for my coffee.  Time out for some self-talk—-(Stay positive.  Quit bitching!)  Okay!  So I am glad to be back!  And all the things I just named can only predicate MORE TRIPS, so what is so bad about that?

Kobe, where my dear sister is living, is an interesting little corner of the planet.  Osaka/Kobe itself is not a gorgeous place.  It has some nice elements like the way that the city nestles in between the mountains and the ocean.  It is clean and orderly.  The hills are green and the ocean is wild and lovely.  Coming in from the airport is a trip though!  I couldn’t figure out if it was just the efficiency of a port area, good zoning, or if I should be incredibly depressed with the consumerism that fuels so much industry, because all you see for the first hour on the bus in from Kansai International airport is just warehouses, docks, and manufacturing for miles and miles and miles.

These two photos are actually sort of charming, but I truly saw electrical plants the size of cities.  And no actual housing to be seen for miles and miles.  Is this good or bad?  I guess it is good.  Keep all the ugly stuff that keeps society going in one place…and yet to see it all in one place is sort of depressing.  Some of the factories looked like sets from apocalyptic movies.

Oh dear.  I’ve run out of time.  I have to get to chores around here.  Today is the day to run stuff to proper recycling places: namely, Free Geek and Rebuilding Center.  Stay tuned for Japan Rocks the Asian Continent Part 2!

2 Comments | In: Environment, General bitchin', on the road again | | #