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Getting a Head Start

I mentioned that I don't typically make resolutions, but will sometimes choose a goal or a theme. I've known for a few months now that I was going to have to work to better de-stress my life. When I can feel the physical effects of stress on my system, I know it's time to do something.

The question is - what?

Let me back up just a bit. I've been a writer and a journaler (not to be confused with a journalist) ever since I can remember. There have been dry spells, certainly, when life was just too mundane or depressing to keep track of, but for the most part I have kept either a journal or a blog for the most of the last 30 years. One thing I have never done is journal in any deliberately therapeutic way. Mooning over teenage crushes doesn't count, and besides, my sister stole that journal years ago and threatened to pass it around on the bus. Me, need therapy?

It might surprise you (or not) to know that I'm a sucker for "finding your path*" and "40 days to work you love" type books. I've had a ton of them over the years, each one pretty much the same as the next. I've even been through that dreadful Purpose Driven Life book (it took me a little over an hour standing at the book table at BJs Wholesale I certainly wasn't going to add more money to fundy coffers) and that told me a whole lot of nothing. The result is almost always the same - I quit when it gets to the journalling part because:

A. It's too much work and requires too much discipline to keep up with

B. This $%!# is way too New Agey for me

C. If God has a purpose for my life or wants me to do things for his glory, it would be nice it he would tell me what the hell those things were so I could quit wasting my time dabbling.

D. There is no path, just a series of detours. Especially with kids (screaming and fighting in the car).

E. I'm not going to write in this book, that would ruin it!

Ok, yeah. See! I have a really hard time taking this seriously. The truth is, I tend to be on several paths at once. Managing them all or getting them to merge is what stresses me out.

But I do have to get serious about this. While most people are making goals in the next couple of days, I know that I cannot fit another thing on my plate, yet there is so much more I want to do. This year is probably not going to be a gaining ground year, we'll be very lucky if it's not a losing ground year.

So, although I don't intend to have this effort totally consume my blog, I have this tool, I might as well try to use it. So, more on these efforts to come.

Revels and Meditations 2

Continued from Part 1

The thing about my Guilford friends is that, now that I don't live down there anymore, I tend to see them only for the big events and, oddly, around times of transition in my life. I've long said that they made me who I am today, but I see now that's not entirely accurate. Rather, they accepted who I was then, and it was with them that I developed and honed my quirky sense of humor, my tendency to want to do things outside the mainstream. They encouraged a sense of adventure that I may have had before, but had never been properly channeled.

We didn't manage to get everyone together this time around, but I met up with two of the original group for dinner. It had been a good five years since I had seen one of them and almost as long for the other. Out with them, with no children, I felt almost young again, with the added benefit of years of hindsight and wisdom.

Dinner and dessert complete, we were not ready to part ways, for three of us, the evening without kids was a rare treat. Where to go in Connecticut at 10:00 at night? Mohegan Sun! (See! A sense of adventure.)

Um, yeah. I'm not much the gambling type. Foxwoods had not been built when I lived in CT and I didn't much like the sound of the project, but living in Massachusetts, I had no vote. Mohegan Sun came after Foxwoods and was reputed to be a bit higher in quality.

Perhaps I've been watching a bit too much Danny Ocean, I always thought that casinos were a place you dressed up to go to. I was disabused of that notion within the first few minutes of walking in the place. It's like entering an airport, when you first drive in. On this particular evening, completely packed, there was not a suit in the place save those on the employees. The lasting image is one I will always associate with gambling. A 300 pound person of indeterminable gender garbed in sweatpants and oxygen tubing plugging away at a slot machine in a smoke filled room. I did not see if s/he was smoking, but a wheelchair waited next to the slots. You had to know the player was on disability, probably gambling away a government check.

Beyond that, the place was interesting. Faux Native American decor that fluctuated between beautiful and tacky; a performance space in the middle of the gaming halls that on this evening featured Starship - or what was left of it; a shopping area featuring everything from Tiffany's to Yankee Candle; and a real concert hall that was letting out about the same time we showed up and was, on that evening, featuring someone named Chris Brown, of whom I've never heard but who is apparently a favorite among teenyboppers. Oh, and mechanical wolves, who pricked up their ears and stared at you as you walked by.

The bar was fun, the walls were modeled after crystal formations and the ceiling featured a starry sky. I had a Tiramisu martini, which was very good and at $12, should have been. If it were not for the smoke, I could have gotten quite a bit of exercise just walking around people watching, though frankly, many of them gave me the creeps.

I haven't stayed out until 2 AM in many, many, years. When we got back to my mother's (she was still up - I was afraid she was waiting up for me like the old days, but she swears she got sucked in to the original Sabrina on TV). My hair smelled so badly of smoke that I had to take a shower and really didn't make it to bed until about 3 AM. Yikes!

Sunday's entertainment was an afternoon at the Peabody Museum at Yale. Small, but interesting. Had the boys been a bit older, and Pumpkin more in control of himself,  I think I would have enjoyed it more. That's a story for another day.

I'm back home now and feeling more energized and less stressed than I have in a long time, maybe a few months.  I'm sure that part of it is that Christmas is over. Much of it, actually. I'm equally certain that some of it can be attributed to seeing my friends, and being regrounded (if that's a word) in some of our mutual outlooks and experiences. Both of my friends seemed less edgy than they normally do, maybe because we are all in our 40s and they are fairly comfortable with their paths.

I wish I could say the same for myself, but I'm trying. I like where I am, but not how I'm handling it. The only year I can think of that was more stressful was the first year I had both boys. I've been so stressed out at times that I've lain awake obsessing over how the stress was going to shorten my life. That's helpful. When I get this anxious, things don't stay in my head, and I forget crucial tasks and things that would normally be no problem to remember. I go into OCD mode, and constantly second guess whether I've turned off the toaster, or the stove. I leave my phone at home or my wallet in a shopping cart (someone, elf or angel, turned it in, cash and credit cards intact - thank you and Merry Christmas).

All of this, and the 10 pounds I have gained from stress eating and a lack of time to exercise, is scaring me and making me uncomfortable. I don't want my life to constantly be a race to get there, a rush to just get things done, with no time to enjoy either the process or the product. I'm worried about my health.

I don't, generally, make resolutions, but I often set goals or themes for the year. For 2009, I know I must reduce my stress level. I must have a better functioning work and home life; I need to somehow be less overwhelmed. I need to get more sleep.

I'll have to work on that.

Revels and Meditations

Part 1 - Mostly Revels

All right, I've calmed down a bit. As has the Pumpkin.

I did a little more running around the morning of Christmas Eve and actually took the Pumpkin with me. I explained where we were going and what we were doing every step of the way, and he did okay. I was able to take advantage of some of the after Christmas sales that Macy's was running - before Christmas. I got a couple of nice sweaters and some basics for Piper and an outfit to wear for myself. Got back in time for Pumpkin to try to take a nap before the evenings festivities began (he didn't really nap but just having a little quiet time helped me get ready).

The Christmas Eve service at our church is a children's service. They pull in as many children as possible to read, sing, and place the baby Jesus in the manger. There are no less than three children's choirs, and some of them, including Tigger, also played bells.

This is also the first year that Tigger read. He had one line - something about the cowbell being the symbol of the manger and the farm animals that surrounded the baby Jesus when he was born. I was very surprised that he had no objections to being asked to read up at the lectern and he did well.  When it was his turn, he tried to adjust the microphone down to his height and the protective foam thing fell off. He was momentarily alarmed, but caught it, replaced it, and read his line with ease.

After church, we went to the neighbors' for dinner. She had fewer guests than usual and so the evening was fairly low key and ended early. We all had to go home and wrap gifts.

It was still dark when the kids woke us up. I hadn't even made it down the stairs before they started a fight about something. Piper got it on tape, much to my chagrin. He thought it was hilarious. I just tried not to let it ruin my morning.

I kept thinking that we were not going hog wild, but the boys still had quite a bit to open. There was no big present - no Xbox or Wii - the focus was on giving them things to entertain themselves - books, paint sets, clay, a couple of movies and computer games, Legos. Self preservation, really. It's all piled up over by the fireplace; a stack of ammunition against the whining of winter.

Christmas morning turned out to be a beautiful day with weather in the 40s. We bundled everyone up and took a long, jaunty, walk around the neighborhood before piling into the car to head down to the family Christmas party. That particular gathering has its ebbs and flows. This year was a flow, with several of Piper's cousins in attendance with their children, or in one case, new fiancé (as of that morning). Piper's brother, sister-in-law and three daughters were there, having made the trip from the DC area the week before. Unfortunately, our schedules didn't gel, so that's the only time we saw them for the week that they were in New England. Our kids didn't even interact that much. Mostly the girls sat daintily in a corner while Tigger and Pumpkin reeled around the house and eventually discovered the Ping Pong table in the basement. Pumpkin's beserkoid level remained elevated.

Today, we are headed to Connecticut to have Christmas with my mother. This year, I think my favorite gift is going to be time spent with a couple of my Guilford friends. I've been thinking about them a lot lately - needing to see them. As it happens, the one who lives in Pennsylvania is headed home as well this year and has reached out to the group to get together. They are like a touchstone when I'm adrift.

And boy, am I adrift.

Giddy! *Stressed*

It is impossible to overstate how excited the Pumpkin is about Christmas. Add to that the early (at least compared to the last few years) snow and he is positively giddy. 24/7 giddy. For the last five days he has been this way.

I may have mentioned that when Pumpkin gets overstimulated, he closely resembles his beloved Curious George. He becomes an energetic, loud, incoherent, little monkey who laughs about everything and cannot stop climbing and jumping, especially when it is inappropriate to do so. And like Curious George, he is cute, and he means well, but he is utterly exasperating. His reaction to everything these days is a top-of-his-lungs "EEEEEEEEEEEEE!" By now, if I never hear that sound again, it will be too soon. I can't count how many times in the last few days I have said "use your WORDS!"

My shoulders, normally in a self-protective hunch, are frozen that way. Ok, the frigid nasty weather hasn't helped, but I was so stressed out Saturday that every muscle in my body was stiff and sore, like I had just been on a ten mile hike with no preparation.

After many months of hesitation, eventual resolve, and then newsless waiting, I had an appointment last week with a psychologist about Pumpkin. We have, for a very long time, been talking about getting him a neuropsych evaluation to see if we can get a little more guidance on how to help him help himself - self control issues, self-monitoring, self-regulating - maybe put something official in place at the school, so if they need to take him aside, because the gym or assembly hall is too loud for him to handle himself in, there might be someone there, put into the school budget, whose job that became. There might also be guidance for us, in how to help him conduct himself appropriately in places that we dread taking him.

I spoke for an hour or so with this guy, the interview was solely to make a case to the insurance company that Pumpkin merited evaluation. I will find out in 10 or so business days if they will cover him. At the conclusion of the interview the doctor said that of course they would be evaluating him to rule out Aspergers (!), but he said it in such a way that it was clear that he was concerned that it might be. He also mentioned ADD. That would be the second time in two months I have heard that from a medical professional.

Last month, his pediatrician said that's what it looked like to him, and if so, this was actually good news because ADD kids are usually smarter than the general population. That's the Pumpkin. Definitely smarter than the general population.

I'm not even disheartened by these possibilities, and though I remain distrustful of my own ability not to get lost in the wrong diagnosis, wrong medication, repeat, loop, that I have seen some families go through (Would you believe a four-year old diagnosed as bipolar? I know one.), at this point, I just want the out of control behavior to be a little more in control. He's climbing the walls and I've hit the wall.

My own stressors aren't helping. I'm in that place where there's so much to be done, that I don't know where to start. I caught myself the other day literally turning around in place because I couldn't decide which task to tackle first. I was out shopping the other day (I did nothing online like I planned, because I couldn't make decisions), and I could feel my heart racing as I got into the HUGE line at Borders. There's so much to be done, a lot my gift choices seem really lame, and all I really want to do is go back to bed and read a book.

I'm not even going to go back and look, but I seem to recall writing something like this last year - for so many years it didn't seem like Christmas without kids in the house, and now it doesn't seem like Christmas should be with them.

Unreasonable expectations?

Tomorrow is Christmas Eve. So whatever hasn't gotten done by now, is going to be late. It's almost a relief that there's nothing I can do about it.

Stars Fell on Alabama -- Part 1

I'm not in Alabama. I'm in Florida for a business meeting, My rental car has an Alabama license plate and that's what is printed around the tag number. It made me feel better about driving a Pontiac.

I don't have the most sensitive nose in the world, so I know that my hotel must smell really bad to those who do. The hallway to my room smells like a gym, that is, it smells like feet. The real gym is 3 floors below and I've never seen anyone in it, so I know it can't be that.  I can walk to the office from here in five minutes. When I did so this morning, I disturbed a blue heron wading in the small man-made wetland in front of the parking lot. I also broke out in a sweat from which I never really recovered. For the rest of the meeting I wanted to go back to the hotel to take a shower.

It's in the 80s. It was apparently "cold" before I got down here and it will be rainy and stormy tomorrow after I leave. Now that my meeting is over I kind of wish Piper and the boys were here with me. I rarely want to come down here, but once I get here, the sultry evenings win me over. I wish the hotel had a patio to sit on even though it is on the edge of industrial park central. It might be nicer out there now that the sun has gone down. The air conditioner in the room is working very hard and it is still 74 degrees in here. I'm not sure I'll be able to sleep in that.

I'm trying to take advantage of the evening alone. That meant a trip to the local mall because everytime I called home Tigger asked if I had bought them anything yet. Unfortunately what I wound up getting them could have been found in the Barnes & Noble 30 minutes from our house. So I spent an hour in the mall down the road from the hotel. I have to say that I don't understand UGG boots in Florida. I really don't understand UGG boots and shorts.

There are many amusements for a New Englander in the South. One of them is Christian Radio. Yes, I'm sure it exists in New England, but we relegate it to the AM dial. Forgive me if I'm a little cynical about the hypermarketing of Christian Media. It seems akin to Rush Limbaugh continually telling his fans how smart they are for listening to him. I understand that the Bible is the bestselling book in the country; it's all the repackaging and reselling that weirds me out. There seems to be something objectionable about God being for sale. There are private businesses down here that wrap themselves in Christian fish the way that stores wrapped their displays in the flag after 9/11. It seems wrong. Christian radio listeners must have very short attention spans, I swear no program lasted more than 10 minutes. I listened to that for as long as I could stand it, and then found a public radio station - playing jazz. Not quite Billie Holiday, but cool enough.

One of my first trips to the South was actually to Alabama. A story for another post.

Madame Secretary

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