Odds and Ends
Our Baby Is Systematically Destroying Our Sanity
This morning, Quinn woke up at 5:00 a.m., and when John told him it was still time to sleep, gave him his pacifier, and turned his sleepy music on, he WAILED and screamed and cried until I stormed in to get him so he wouldn't wake Bryce up. What the hell is he trying to do to us? I'm pretty sure this falls under cruel and unusual punishment, especially when combined with the gibbon abuse and the Super Cuts massacre. I know it's only an hour of sleep I missed out on, but it felt like so much more. I actually left my office this afternoon to hide in a closed bathroom stall just so I could fully slump and rest my head on my knees while sitting on the toilet. Now that's desperation.
The Fashion Show Must Go On
This morning, as I drove to work in a numb stupor, wishing I had stopped for a cappucino on the way, wondering how the hell I was going to survive the day without taking a cat nap at my desk (little did I know it would be by taking a cat nap on the toilet), my mom called: "Hey, I just wanted you to know that your mother-in-law called me last night to ask me AGAIN if I would be a model at the fashion show on Saturday." Someone, please. Put her out of her misery. My mom held her ground and said "NO! I don't want to be in your stupid fashion show! I told you no twice, then I paid money to be polite and attend this weird event with my victimized daughter and grandson, and you're lucky I'm even doing that. Now don't ask again, you passive aggressive psycho!" Well, okay. She didn't say that exactly. But it's what she was thinking, believe me. What I was thinking as she told me all this was, "if there is any good left in this world, Bryce will humiliate the hell out of this woman on Saturday."
My "Problems" Are Profoundly Unproblematic
I mentioned recently that I've been feeling down, and that's true. I've noticed over the past few years that this time of year finds me on the blue side, and now that I'm aware of that, I can identify it earlier in the season, and I can try to keep myself from sliding down the slippery slope of blueness into the wallowing quagmire of full blown self-pity. This year I'm watching my diet closely, staying in some semblance of an exercise routine, and basically treading emotional water. During my drive home today, I heard an interview with a woman whose mother had been at one of the New Orleans hospitals during Hurricane Katrina; she is part of a lawsuit that is alleging certain critical patients in trapped New Orleans hospitals were euthanized as the rest of the patients awaited rescue from helicopters that at the time seemed non-existent. This woman was told that her mother had been sedated, and armed police officers escorted her away from her mother as she died. She described the last time she saw her mother, and explained that her mother knew she was going to die because of the rescue problem, and asked her daughter to sing to her one last time. Surrounded by the police, doctors, and hospital staff, she did, while her mother cried, then went to the stifling, sewage-flooded first floor to await boats that also weren't coming. She had heard that DNR patients were being euthanized, and she said "DNR means 'do not resuscitate. It doesn't mean do not rescue, do not help." What a horrible lack of control over her circumstances, to be escorted away from her mother by armed officers AS SHE DIED. If anything will keep you from wallowing in self-pity, it's hearing a story like that. What the hell do I have to be blue about anyway?
Green Eggs and Ham Would Have Been Less Emotional
Tonight Bryce wanted me to read the book by Dr. Seuss that people always quote at
various graduations. Between my fatigue, my blue tint, and the after-effects of the euthanized mother story, the damned thing made me cry, what with all the talk of how you start off in life so confident and excited and sure of yourself, and you're king of the world! but then you're really low and lonely and confused and clueless, until you find a small crack in the wall and some light breaks through and then look! you're back on top again, everybody loves you, and you love everybody...but then the tides turn again, and now things are even worse than before. It's all a big mess. Chaos and confusion, ups and downs, black and white, constant change and challenge and forever and ever the unknowns will plague you. Right as we got to the part where Dr. Seuss is slogging you a good one, telling you how deep the terrifyingly dark valleys can really go, right when he says that thing about how you won't win any games you play because you're playing against yourself, Bryce stopped me with a gentle hand on the page and posited a half-statement, half-question to me: "But, mom? It's okay. It's okay if we don't win. You know?"
Oh yeah. Thanks, buddy.
This morning, Quinn woke up at 5:00 a.m., and when John told him it was still time to sleep, gave him his pacifier, and turned his sleepy music on, he WAILED and screamed and cried until I stormed in to get him so he wouldn't wake Bryce up. What the hell is he trying to do to us? I'm pretty sure this falls under cruel and unusual punishment, especially when combined with the gibbon abuse and the Super Cuts massacre. I know it's only an hour of sleep I missed out on, but it felt like so much more. I actually left my office this afternoon to hide in a closed bathroom stall just so I could fully slump and rest my head on my knees while sitting on the toilet. Now that's desperation.
The Fashion Show Must Go On
This morning, as I drove to work in a numb stupor, wishing I had stopped for a cappucino on the way, wondering how the hell I was going to survive the day without taking a cat nap at my desk (little did I know it would be by taking a cat nap on the toilet), my mom called: "Hey, I just wanted you to know that your mother-in-law called me last night to ask me AGAIN if I would be a model at the fashion show on Saturday." Someone, please. Put her out of her misery. My mom held her ground and said "NO! I don't want to be in your stupid fashion show! I told you no twice, then I paid money to be polite and attend this weird event with my victimized daughter and grandson, and you're lucky I'm even doing that. Now don't ask again, you passive aggressive psycho!" Well, okay. She didn't say that exactly. But it's what she was thinking, believe me. What I was thinking as she told me all this was, "if there is any good left in this world, Bryce will humiliate the hell out of this woman on Saturday."
My "Problems" Are Profoundly Unproblematic
I mentioned recently that I've been feeling down, and that's true. I've noticed over the past few years that this time of year finds me on the blue side, and now that I'm aware of that, I can identify it earlier in the season, and I can try to keep myself from sliding down the slippery slope of blueness into the wallowing quagmire of full blown self-pity. This year I'm watching my diet closely, staying in some semblance of an exercise routine, and basically treading emotional water. During my drive home today, I heard an interview with a woman whose mother had been at one of the New Orleans hospitals during Hurricane Katrina; she is part of a lawsuit that is alleging certain critical patients in trapped New Orleans hospitals were euthanized as the rest of the patients awaited rescue from helicopters that at the time seemed non-existent. This woman was told that her mother had been sedated, and armed police officers escorted her away from her mother as she died. She described the last time she saw her mother, and explained that her mother knew she was going to die because of the rescue problem, and asked her daughter to sing to her one last time. Surrounded by the police, doctors, and hospital staff, she did, while her mother cried, then went to the stifling, sewage-flooded first floor to await boats that also weren't coming. She had heard that DNR patients were being euthanized, and she said "DNR means 'do not resuscitate. It doesn't mean do not rescue, do not help." What a horrible lack of control over her circumstances, to be escorted away from her mother by armed officers AS SHE DIED. If anything will keep you from wallowing in self-pity, it's hearing a story like that. What the hell do I have to be blue about anyway?
Green Eggs and Ham Would Have Been Less Emotional
Tonight Bryce wanted me to read the book by Dr. Seuss that people always quote at
various graduations. Between my fatigue, my blue tint, and the after-effects of the euthanized mother story, the damned thing made me cry, what with all the talk of how you start off in life so confident and excited and sure of yourself, and you're king of the world! but then you're really low and lonely and confused and clueless, until you find a small crack in the wall and some light breaks through and then look! you're back on top again, everybody loves you, and you love everybody...but then the tides turn again, and now things are even worse than before. It's all a big mess. Chaos and confusion, ups and downs, black and white, constant change and challenge and forever and ever the unknowns will plague you. Right as we got to the part where Dr. Seuss is slogging you a good one, telling you how deep the terrifyingly dark valleys can really go, right when he says that thing about how you won't win any games you play because you're playing against yourself, Bryce stopped me with a gentle hand on the page and posited a half-statement, half-question to me: "But, mom? It's okay. It's okay if we don't win. You know?" Oh yeah. Thanks, buddy.
Labels: angst, profundities, summoning gratitude
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