Wall

You know that wall we all hit at some point in the day? The one where we just can’t get over it and we need to just be done?

My wall seems to be right around 3:30, or if I’m lucky, 4pm. I just get so tired and so ready for the day to be over.

Of course, I also know as I’m flinging myself against this wall in a futile attempt to continue to be productive for the last hour-ish of my work day that even when my paid work is done, the real work begins because when I get home I will not be able to just stop and be, not even for five minutes.

No, there’s always homework to be done, dishes to be washed, dinner to be cooked and look, there are more dishes that need to be washed.

Most nights, early in the week, there will also be some towels that need to be folded and there’s a child who needs to be washed. Sure, she can bathe herself but she can’t be trusted to wash her own hair so there I am, kneeling over the bathtub, dumping water over her head while she screeches that I’m killing her. I always remind her that she’s not dead yet so yeah, be a little quieter in your protests, would you?

After bath, that same child always demands (that’s a strong word but go ahead and try to deny her) dessert. And yes, I know this is my fault because I always provide it for her but I’m a parent who will more often than not chose the path of least resistance and just giving her the stupid dessert is so much easier than arguing with her for what feels like hours on end.

I have it good. This same dessert demanding child takes medicine without complaint and never runs from me in a parking lot, she never has. I know there are others out there with children who refuse medicines without a horrible, physical fight and who have to leash their kids to keep them safe in a parking lot. I have a pretty darned good even if dessert can often feel like the straw that is breaking this mom’s back on a Wednesday night after what feels like a month of Mondays has led to it only being freaking Wednesday.

Sigh.

Where’s my freaking Christmas spirit? I need to find it and get over these December blahs.

Envy

I find myself feeling envious of some of the people around me.

I know how lucky I am. I know that I’m so much more fortunate than so many others. And yet…I envy people their time. Those who have enough disposable funds that they can take Christmas trips, or take weeks off at a time to spend with family.

I wonder why some have so, so much and others have to work so hard just to make ends meet. For what it’s worth, I’m somewhere in the middle of those two extremes.

Maybe I was spoiled by the time I spent at home last year at this time. I’d just started my medical leave on this day last year. I was looking down a long road of not having to go to work each day, not having to think about what the weather was going to bring. I was there with my kids during their Christmas break. It was lovely.

But I’d also just finished with a job where I had four weeks of paid vacation and a full week of paid sick/personal leave which could be used in fifteen minute increments. I knew I had it good but I guess I just didn’t realize how good.

I’ve had to start over with a new job. This job is a good one. I’m lucky to have it. I am lucky to enjoy the work I do (for the most part) and to very much like my co-workers. But…there’s always a but.

But I will receive three vacation days next year; one in March, one in June and another in October. That’s it. There is no paid sick time. I’m lucky to have flex time, I can come in early one day and leave early another day in the same week. But it’s not the same as paid time away.

I will get ONE week of vacation starting in 2020 through 2023. Then, whee, I’ll get a second week. I know, this sounds an awful lot like whining. I’m sorry. I don’t mean to sound ungrateful.

I am grateful to be working. I’m grateful to be alive and earning an income to keep my family clothed and fed and to help pay our mortgage. Of course I’m grateful that I will be able to provide a good Christmas to my family.

But I’m also finding myself a little bit angry with the way life has twisted and turned in the past year and I find myself in a job that I’ve had for a whole four months instead of a job I’d had for almost eighteen years.

I know. We all have to start somewhere but damn it, I’d started somewhere almost twenty years ago. I’ve paid my dues, why am I having to start over?

I know so many others (former co-workers, for example) are in the very same boat. I know this. But this time, misery isn’t exactly loving the company.

It sucks and I guess I just needed to say so.

Complaints

Okay, even though I just said that I’m not one to complain (it was said sort of tongue in cheek) I kind of want to document my current complaints, just in case I need to look back and try to remember when certain aches and pains might have started.

So I think my right hip/lower back started hurting about mid-October, 2018. I know I was trying to figure out if I should mention it to Dr. Z when I saw him on October 30. I did mention it to both the nurse and the nurse practitioner and they both didn’t seem to think anything of it.

I also mentioned it to Dr. B, the surgeon, in mid-November. He also didn’t seem to think it was a big deal.

I saw my family doctor on November 27 (O’s b-day!!!) and was going in to talk about both the pain and my blood pressure. Lo and behold, the pain stopped the weekend before my appointment.

It comes back now and then these days, mostly at night, when I lay weird. But…it bothers me that I have this pain and no one seems worried about it.

At this point, I don’t know who else to tell. Do I request some sort of scan? Do I continue to ‘wait and see’? My problem with waiting and seeing is that if I’d done that when it came to the pain in my left breast, well, I’d be fighting a completely different battle these days. So yeah, I don’t like the wait and see game.

I just…don’t know.

Anyway.

I don’t know if the blood pressure meds are working. I don’t feel any different. I suppose I should check my pressure at some place like WalMart or Walgreens just to see. But I feel fine. Then again, I felt fine when my pressure was deemed high, so who the hell knows?

One thing I do know is that I need to lose weight. I need to go on a diet, move more and lose weight. The pain in my stupid right hip/back would probably go away if I’d lose about eighty pounds. Or, it might not and then we’ll have something to investigate.

Sigh.

This is why I don’t really talk about this stuff (ha!) What good is it doing me until I see a professional who can actually order the tests necessary to rule out some things or find something? It’s just a bunch of annoying venting.

Sorry about that.

Full Circle

One year ago yesterday was my last day at my former job. I was starting my new chemo a year ago today, December 19th. On the advice of my HR manager, I’d decided to go on full-time medical leave for the remainder of my treatment.

The facility where I’d worked for over seventeen years closed on December 31, 2017. Because I was on medical leave, they couldn’t officially fire me until I was finished with treatment.

Talk about a relief, right? The knowledge that I had insurance coverage, that I was receiving a percentage of my original pay, that I could concentrate on getting better and not drag my sick self to work each day…it was a huge blessing.

But honestly, being back to work feels like a blessing too. I feel so very lucky to have come full circle.

Here I am, working, taking care of my family, feeling pretty good (for the most part, but we all know I’m not one to complain *cough, cough*)

As Christmas looms, I find myself grateful just to be here. Just to get to see my kids’ faces on Christmas morning.

As I fell asleep last night, I prayed, giving thanks for each and very thing that I have. I know that things could have been so very different.

They’re different for my Auntie Nell. She’s facing her first Christmas without her daughter. Her first great grandchild was born last month (on Liv’s birthday!) and her daughter isn’t here to celebrate being a Gram.

It would have made Amy crazy knowing that her daughter was out in California with a newborn and Amy was stuck here in the Midwest but maybe she’d have found a way to go be with them for a few days.

I believe with all my heart that she’s with them now, keeping watch over her daughter and that beautiful baby girl.

Amy was so sick this time last year.

I was going through treatments, trying to get well. We were all doing our best with the cards we were dealt. I know I got the better hand. I’m sorry that Amy didn’t get a better one too.

But I’m not sorry I’m here. I’m so very thankful for every single day I get to be here. I pray that there are many, many more December 18ths and Christmas mornings and all the days that come before and after and in between.

Broken aka In Need of a Nap

On Thursday night after Olivia finished eating, Tom mentioned that there was some linguini in the fridge that he’d left for me.

I sighed (because I’m a drama queen) and said, “Alas, I cannot eat that. I’m out of mushrooms.”

“And you have to have mushrooms to eat the linguini?” he asked skeptically.

“Duh,” I replied.

He offered to drive to the local Family Dollar (four miles away) and get some canned mushrooms but that seemed like a lot of work for mushrooms. I delicately declined his generous offer.

A bit later, I lamented that I could not possibly go to Family Dollar myself because my hair was especially awful yesterday.

Tom looked at the mop perched upon my head and said, “But this is Edon. Your hair is perfectly normal for Edon.”

I was crushed. I blinked at him, as if holding back tears and said, “That’s the meanest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

He looked mildly confused so I continued, “How could you say that I have NORMAL Edon hair? Have you seen the Edon moms’ hair? I’m broken.”

And at that, I took to the couch and pulled a blanket over my horrifyingly ‘normal’ head.

Tom laughed and went about his business.

Ten minutes later, he came back into the living room to find me still on the couch.

He said something to Olivia and I told him, “I’m not actually pouting, I’m just resting.”

And then…I fell asleep for an hour. It was glorious! I haven’t had a nap in months. Maybe he should ‘hurt’ my feelings more often.

Best Laid Plans

There was so much laundry to do on Sunday morning. Actually, the laundry pile was so high, I started it Saturday afternoon, getting two loads washed and one dried before bed on Saturday night. I planned to do the rest (probably seven or so loads, there were blankets and sheets in there to be washed) on Sunday before and after Alyssa’s band/choir concert.

Alas…the best laid plans are just waiting to be derailed.

Friday night I noticed that Olivia sounded congested. I asked her if she felt okay. She said she felt fine. Saturday dawned and she still sounded congested and wheee, let’s add a runny nose to the mix just for fun.

We did our usual Saturday errands and by the time we got home, she was achy but not feverish. I got her settled and did those couple of loads of laundry, adding her sheets to the pile because germs.

I noted in the night that she actually sounded better as she slept. I’d given her some night-time Mucinex in the hopes of letting her get a decent night’s sleep.

When she woke up at about 8:15 Sunday I knew from the first few words out of her mouth that whatever was making her congested was settling into her throat and chest.

I also knew that a trip to the doctor/Urgent Care was in our very near future.

Tom was already gone for the day, taking care of family business, so I put O in the shower, woke A long enough to tell her I was taking her sister to Urgent Care and asking if she wanted to stay home alone (hello, she’s almost 16 years old!) or if she wanted to go with us.

She opted to stay home. Smart girl.

Olivia got out of the shower, I told her we were going to see a doctor and she asked, “What about breakfast?”

Obviously the gunk in her head was not affecting her appetite. After eating three blueberry Eggo waffles, away we went. We left at 9:40am, after I’d put a load of laundry in the washer.

We arrived back home at 12:50pm with an antibiotic, some nasal spray and three boxes of tissues.

Tom was on his way home to stay with Liv while I went to the concert Alyssa’s high school band and choir was putting on.

I managed to switch the clean laundry to the drier and start another load before heading to the concert.

I got home from the concert at 3:30. Tom told me there was no need to rush to the basement to check on the laundry because he’d already transferred what was in the washer to the dryer and started another load. Then he left again to return to his family business.

I made Olivia some hot tea, swept the kitchen floor and vacuumed, confident in Tom’s ability to load a washing machine.

When I finally made my way to the basement, both the washer and dryer were finished with their cycles. After emptying the dryer, I opened the washer. It was so stuffed full of towels I kind of wanted to slap someone. Alsas, Someone had already left the building. So…I stupidly put ALL the towels into the dryer and started another load to wash.

Three dry cycles later, and the freaking towels were finally dry. I’d actually had to separate them into two piles and dry each pile separately, hence the three cycles. By then, I’d managed to wash two more loads of laundry, so they sat in baskets, damp, waiting for the dryer to be free.

I did tell Tom later about how much he’d over-filled the washer. I tried to say it kindly because that’s how I’d want to hear it if I did it.

In the grand scheme of things, it’s not that big a deal if the laundry is finally folded and put away on Monday instead of Sunday. The important thing is that Olivia is on the mend and eventually, the laundry will be done, until the next load, which is currently being worn by my entire family. Sigh.

Contrary

I don’t think I’m all that stubborn. I don’t argue for the sake of arguing. I mean, that sounds exhausting and if I don’t feel strongly about something, I don’t usually want to put forth the energy necessary to fight about it.

But I suppose you could say I’m contrary. If someone tells me I should try something, my automatic response is to not want to try it. For example, most week nights after I’ve made food for Olivia, I’ll be scrounging around the cabinets and fridge looking for something to stuff into my own face. Tom’s learned not to make any suggestions whatsoever because whatever he suggests I will scoff at and not eat. I don’t do this on purpose. It’s not a conscious decision to NOT eat what he suggests, but my subconscious doesn’t want to be told what to do.

I do realize how childish that is but after 40+ years, I don’t see myself changing in that aspect. Lucky for me, it’s become a running joke in our house.

I do like to be right. In fact, I don’t usually argue unless I know I’m right.

I refuse to argue about opinions because there’s no proof either way. You have your opinion, I have mine, we can almost guarantee that no one is going to change anyone else’s mind, so why argue?

My freshman year of college I didn’t work the first semester. My grades reflected the fact that I had too much time on my hands.

I ended up starting to work at the cafeteria in my residence hall during the spring semester of my freshman year. My neighbor worked there and it seemed convenient. She’d told me how awful the dish room was and how everyone hated it.

Guess which job in the cafeteria was my favorite? Yep, the dish room. It was away from the public (my own peers) and I was able to just go in, rinse dishes, load and unload the huge dishwasher as needed and get through my shift with little to no interaction with anyone except the others who were working that shift in the dish room. It was awesome. And I can’t say whether my innate contrariness was what made me like it more than say the serving line (which was awful because college students are assholes) or even the check-in station where you had to swipe every ID card for every student coming in to eat that meal. I hated that one because the person manning that station was supposed to stop people from taking food out of the cafeteria. I’m sorry, but most 19 year old college students aren’t going to stop their peers from taking a freaking apple back to their room. That seemed like a lot of work for someone who was not at all invested in the process.

When I took the year off between high school and college, I knew I’d go to college. I just wanted to stay home for a year and help my mom with my littlest brother, who started kindergarten the fall after I graduated from high school.

I have a cousin on my dad’s side who is old enough to be an uncle. This cuncle (Ha! I just made that up and it cracks me up because it fits Phil perfectly) declared that if I didn’t go to college immediately after high school, I’d never go. He told me more times than I can count that I was going to waste my intelligence and that if I don’t go to college RIGHT THEN, I’d end up working production in a factory at 30, divorced with three kids. Now, I admit that Phil is a dick even on his best days but his insistence that I would never go to college was probably a big part of why I did go. I would show him, I thought in a state of contrary indignation. No one was going to tell me how my life was going to go!

And off to school I went that very next fall. Thank you, Cuncle Phil for pushing me to reach beyond that dire future you laid out for me.

Now, there are times when I probably come across as a pushover because I just don’t care enough about something to stand up for myself or others.

I’m working on that. I don’t want to come across as being spineless just because I don’t think something is worth a small argument.

I admit that even at 48, I still have a lot of growing up to do. I feel lucky that I am still here to do just that.