January 22, 2009

It's all Greek to me

Remember how in Mary Poppins, the wind changes and she arrives and then when it changes again, she leaves? That's how I feel right now. Everything goes well and I'm a fully functioning parent, wife and aspiring freelancer and then... the wind changes. In small increments, I've been getting farther and farther from my confidence.

It starts with small anxieties, brief flittings through my mind, in and out, of little worries all day long. As you'd expect, that's exhausting and incredibly distracting. Then I start to get short-tempered with the girls (not that I wouldn't get miffed anyway with two tiny whirlwinds in my face) and do my best to avoid them rather than interact. They are miraculously skilled at playing on their own most of the time, a fact I've been taking inconsiderate advantage of. I know That Place is sneaking up from behind when the sound of the phone ringing gives me a jolt of actual fear. Sort of like, "EEK! Oh no, someone wants to talk to me, it's probably bad or they need something and I can't think of anything to say, I'll say something stupid, best to save them the trouble and not answer."

It's not that I'm having a major moment of mental bad. It's simply an unjustifiable burst of fatigue, worry and defeat. I know it'll pass, as these things do, but in a weird quirk of memory, it's also hard to remember NOT feeling like this. That goes both ways, though. When I'm better, back to normal irritations and inspirations, I find it hard to believe I need anything so mind-altering as a mood stabilizing pill. I hear often that these shifts are an organic problem, a direct result of the postpartum tweak in my brain chemistry, but I have trouble, on either side of the block, believing that. It feels more like a vast character flaw.

From where I stand now, I'm disappointed that my efforts to muscle through and fix myself leave me back where I started- tired, worried and detached. It's such a defeat to not be able to think myself out of the blues. But I have learned, knowledge ingrained like scars through my skull, to stick to my routines, regardless, even when I feel like Sisyphus with that damn boulder. Routine, fresh air, clean food and exercise are as much, or more, a part of my cure as that silly little pill that leaves me in doubt. Those are things that keep this moment from turning into moments from surreality past.

So I will play Candyland, I will go to the gym and I will take the girls to the park. I will drink enough water and write in my journal and finish the laundry. There will be a spaghetti hurricane and subsequent baths tonight. These are the things, the small, boring, little things, that pull me through the day. I'll probably snap at my kids, too, for having the audacity to ask me for juice and a snack. Sure, I may have a little cry off in a corner during Little Einsteins, but doesn't everyone from time to time? There's only so much of Leo, June, Quincy and Annie a girl can take, after all. Tonight, when I finally go to bed and find myself bizarrely unable to sleep, I will swallow yet another pill and get my rest.

Maybe tomorrow I'll actually wake up instead of walking, nearly asleep, through this fog. And if not? I'll lean into that rock again and start up the mountain. Unlike Sisyphus, I have some hope that soon it will settle in at the top, where I'll catch my breath and enjoy the view.

For now? Let's just say that the DVR didn't record the LOST premiere last night and I am pretty sure it did it on purpose just to hurt me.

January 11, 2009

New year, new horror

Just underneath my jawline, I have a small freckle which, from time to time, sprouts a thick, wiry, black hair. I don't know about you, but this invasion triggers a very visceral response in me. Ewwwww.

Please believe, I do not disclose this fact lightly. Even considering everything else I've shared here, it is harder for me to admit to one errant whisker than to all the other stuff I've shared. (You know, like my practically perfect parenting and general cheery disposition. Spoonful of sugar and all that.) Still, I feel that it provides some unique insight into my, admittedly skewed, point of view. Cuz that's been missing up 'til now, right? Moving on.

At the first sign of this vicious weed, I make a beeline to my tweezers for immediate pruning- no mercy! Today, however... I discovered there are worse things than having facial hair.

Like having GREY facial hair.

What is wrong with the universe, I ask you? It's not bad enough to be a young woman growing a beard, now it's a grey beard, too? Seriously?! I have had ENOUGH- you hear me, oh fathomless cosmos? Cut a girl some slack already!

January 08, 2009


New Year's Revelations:

Maida and Doug....

Kurt and Me...

Hey, it's all love, no matter where you look! Happy New Year!

January 06, 2009

Hand me another cup, please

As if I needed an excuse...

Coffee may protect against oral cancers-

I still get a tingle of giddy excitement every morning as my Keurig coffee maker heats up, but that's recently been tempered by a slight sigh of disappointment. After a holiday fling with the Einstein Brothers Winter Blend (ohmygodthebestcoffeeever), I went out and bought the reusable Keurig coffee filter so I could experience that tasty nirvana at home.

I immediately opened the bag of coffee (I bought the last two bags left at the store when they discontinued the BEST BLEND EVER. Bastards.), carefully measured it out, popped it in the machine and pressed the brew button. What came out was... not quite very close to good.

It was thick, filled with a delicate mist of grounds, and it lacked almost any of the amazing flavor that had inspired me in the first place. The mesh filter was not very filter-y and the coffee definitely needed more brew time. I suppose nothing is flawless, not even this most perfect of coffee makers, but I seriously thought my Keurig friends could have come a little bit closer to the mark then that.

Still, all is not lost and the Winter Blend can still be treasured for many weeks to come (weeks, not months, as I have no restraint on these matters). The secret? Carefully measured and timed brewing with a French Press. The fact that I had to go out and buy a french press which cost as much as that darn reusable filter is something on which I try not to dwell.

And now that I have so clearly sung its praises- anyone want a reusable filter for the Keurig brewer?