For the past week or so I have been in a funk. Not your average, I-have-too-much-to-do-and-not-enough-time-to-do-it chaos, but a REAL FUNK. For days now, the voices in my head have launched an all-out assault on my self-esteem. Simultaneously, I feel fat, exhausted, angry,sad and inept. Granted, there is the ever-present foundation of gratitude for my children and their continued good health, but beyond that lies a vast sea of bitchiness. And quite frankly, I have been drowning in it.
This happens to me occasionally, usually in the abyss between the darkest days of winter and the fleeting promise of the first days of spring. Ironically, my answer to the criticisms has been to sedate myself with carbs, take to my bed and let my obligations pile up around me. Certainly, I get the kids to school, get the homework done, make an occasional appearance at the office, etc. But the bulk of my waking hours is spent berating myself and mining my psyche for enough energy to get a shower. It isn't a pretty picture and believe me. I am certainly intelligent enough to know I need exercise, accomplishment and distraction until the fog clears. But somedays, hell, some weeks, the demons win and you look for relief in box upon box of Girl Scout Cookies.
Perhaps you are wondering why I would choose to blog about this now. Or perhaps you are realizing that just reading this dribble is bringing you down! Wholeheartedly, I confess that sharing my funk is a self-serving act. For the majority of my life when I was not able to perform to my own standards, I would slink away from the world and hide. Very few people were allowed to see behind the curtain with the Powerful and Mighty Wizard of Melanie was not up to par. But nearly forty-six years of fighting demons has taught me that isolation is precisely the fuel they require to continue their rants. And that reaching out....and carrying on....is the best way to fight back.
My sedation of choice was once alcohol...but then I reached an age where being sedated in that way cost me dignity and the entire next day (or two). I am a vivacious, funny, acerbic person when I drink....until I crash and get sad or mean. I am proud to say that my children have never seen me in that light and at this rate, hopefully, they won't ever. Prior to alcohol, throughout my childhood, food was my best friend; and the only comfort that did not require me to seek permission or approval from others. Unfortunately, I have now reached an age where being sedated in that way also costs me a day (or two, or three), trying to undo the damage, physical and psychological. Having been a fat child, I am enslaved by the all powerful number on the scale. Once you have been a Fat Chick (or Chicklet, as the case my be), you are always a Fat Chick....at least in your own mind.
So, I know that my thinking is Funked Up. I have heard the Pink song and seen the Today show segments about how women constantly berate themselves and other women the way men exchange sports scores. At this moment the demons are actually protesting my inability to Believe in Myself More....how ironic that they taunt me for giving them so much power! In case you are frightened for me, fear not, I am medicated. And I know that if I continue to put one foot in front of the other, this too, shall pass. I have a seventy-two hour stretch of few commitments and capability to check things off my "to-do" list. I should be back on track in a hundred different ways by Monday!
But you should also know that if you ride with me you get it all, the Great, the Not-So-Great and the Demon-Possessed....It is called Being Human. In this life all you can really offer others is your willingness to carry a pound of their load when their arms are weak and the path goes uphill. I know I have tremendous support both seen and unseen; I know that I have carried loads when others felt the way I am feeling. So, fear not, go about your lives, and thanks. Demons absolutely abhor being shoved out into the open....I am feeling lighter already.
Thursday, February 24, 2011
Thursday, February 17, 2011
Stream of Consciousness
I am a writer simply because I write. Of course, that doesn't make me a prolific writer or even a readable one, but I have enough experience with those who read my writing to know that sometimes my words strike a chord. I have enjoyed a lifelong love affair with words on the printed page and I revel in the company of people who are precise with language. Throughout my life books have instructed me, shaped me, comforted me and without embellishment, contributed significantly to my healing.
Recently I read a memoir that was described by the author as being "creative non-fiction." She didn't offer a Webster's definition of the genre but I laughed out loud while reading her book, so I am almost sure she meant, "my life, only dressed up in funnier words." Which aptly describes the way I approach this blog; the exception being, my words sometimes describe my life only dresssed up in words that are more glamourous, chaotic, sarcastic, judgmental, inspirational....fill in the blank.
It feeds my experience of writing, and often my ego, when people tell me they like what I write. As my artistic muse, David Smith, recently addressed in his blog, 1000 Words (shameless plug for David!), the balance of ego and humility is an ongoing and precarious process. But I feel very privileged to be able to swim in the river of life and relate my experiences in words that sometimes resonate. Undoubtedly, I would be a writer even if I had no readers. But the swimming is richer, more meaningful and a hell of a lot mre fun when you jump in the water with me! I am humbled and abundantly grateful for your time, you support and your feedback.
Recently I read a memoir that was described by the author as being "creative non-fiction." She didn't offer a Webster's definition of the genre but I laughed out loud while reading her book, so I am almost sure she meant, "my life, only dressed up in funnier words." Which aptly describes the way I approach this blog; the exception being, my words sometimes describe my life only dresssed up in words that are more glamourous, chaotic, sarcastic, judgmental, inspirational....fill in the blank.
It feeds my experience of writing, and often my ego, when people tell me they like what I write. As my artistic muse, David Smith, recently addressed in his blog, 1000 Words (shameless plug for David!), the balance of ego and humility is an ongoing and precarious process. But I feel very privileged to be able to swim in the river of life and relate my experiences in words that sometimes resonate. Undoubtedly, I would be a writer even if I had no readers. But the swimming is richer, more meaningful and a hell of a lot mre fun when you jump in the water with me! I am humbled and abundantly grateful for your time, you support and your feedback.
Monday, February 14, 2011
Aerial Introspection
I cherish the quiet and anonymity of the time I spend alone in airports. They are one of only a few places where I allow myself to merely sit, breathe deeply, eavesdrop, read, eat salty snacks and do nothing else. Occasionally, I will make a list or return a call or text. But even these small tasks occur in the expanse of nothingness that fills my head. Quietly sitting among the noise and activity surrounding me makes me keenly aware of how many hours I spend bustling and multi-tasking; which inevitably leads me to conclude that these feelings of peace and contentedness may be available to me practically anywhere I am, if only I would slow down long enough to court their presence.
For the majority of my life P.C. (pre-children) I was a "together" kind of person...arrived early, dressed fashionably, highly organized and prepared to tackle whatever tasks might lay ahead. Then I was graced with two incomparable boys who, with each passing day grow less interested in joining my Cult of Effectiveness. So, now, most days I am running behind, low on gas, with no idea how I will cram in one more commitment. I tell my most critical self that these things are true because I shoulder so much responsibility and simply have too much to do. But honestly, the lateness and chaos represent a more personal rebellion.
Stealing moments to linger and accomplish things that matter only to me is a form of revolution against the unrealistic expectations that live inside me. Realistically, on any given morning, all three of the men in my life could be up and out the door in less than twenty minutes and still consider themselves prepared to meet most anything life might send their way. Curling my hair, making all of our beds, choosing a particular pair of shoes or trying on three different sets of jewelry consume quantities of valuable time and seemingly serve little to no purpose.Yet I firmly believe that I am constantly reflecting not only who I am now, but also who I want to become in the next moment. To my way of thinking this reflection shines outwardly towards other, but perhaps more importantly, it also shines inwardly for my consideration.
Granted, these days my thoughts are less about judging myself against others and more about creating the life I want by virtue of my own choices. Which means that often I choose to stay under the blankets and watch the weather instead of hopping out of bed the first time the alarm clock rings. Or that I wear my pajamas when taking the kids to school so I can have privacy while getting ready for work when I return to the house. And frequently, these choices are responsible for my tardiness and lack of "togetherness". But somehow they also help gird me for what life might throw my way during the sixteen hours before I am crawling back into bed. Literally, hitting the snooze button in the A.M. and eating Hershey's kisses in the P.M. are counter-revolutionary choices that help me cling to my sanity!
And to think I unraveled the clues to these great mysteries, all while sitting in an airport today.
Footnote: I also relish that after all of the technological advances of my lifetime and a thousand flights in the past five years (not literally a thousand...but lots), I am awed (literally) that I can have breakfast in Florida and lunch in North Carolina. However, I don't fancy the people in the airport who talk too loudly on their cell phones, complain too strenuously to strangers about the delays or stare too disdainfully at the hapless parents of screaming babies. And I abhor flying away from the people I truly love most...on either end of my journeys.
For the majority of my life P.C. (pre-children) I was a "together" kind of person...arrived early, dressed fashionably, highly organized and prepared to tackle whatever tasks might lay ahead. Then I was graced with two incomparable boys who, with each passing day grow less interested in joining my Cult of Effectiveness. So, now, most days I am running behind, low on gas, with no idea how I will cram in one more commitment. I tell my most critical self that these things are true because I shoulder so much responsibility and simply have too much to do. But honestly, the lateness and chaos represent a more personal rebellion.
Stealing moments to linger and accomplish things that matter only to me is a form of revolution against the unrealistic expectations that live inside me. Realistically, on any given morning, all three of the men in my life could be up and out the door in less than twenty minutes and still consider themselves prepared to meet most anything life might send their way. Curling my hair, making all of our beds, choosing a particular pair of shoes or trying on three different sets of jewelry consume quantities of valuable time and seemingly serve little to no purpose.Yet I firmly believe that I am constantly reflecting not only who I am now, but also who I want to become in the next moment. To my way of thinking this reflection shines outwardly towards other, but perhaps more importantly, it also shines inwardly for my consideration.
Granted, these days my thoughts are less about judging myself against others and more about creating the life I want by virtue of my own choices. Which means that often I choose to stay under the blankets and watch the weather instead of hopping out of bed the first time the alarm clock rings. Or that I wear my pajamas when taking the kids to school so I can have privacy while getting ready for work when I return to the house. And frequently, these choices are responsible for my tardiness and lack of "togetherness". But somehow they also help gird me for what life might throw my way during the sixteen hours before I am crawling back into bed. Literally, hitting the snooze button in the A.M. and eating Hershey's kisses in the P.M. are counter-revolutionary choices that help me cling to my sanity!
And to think I unraveled the clues to these great mysteries, all while sitting in an airport today.
Footnote: I also relish that after all of the technological advances of my lifetime and a thousand flights in the past five years (not literally a thousand...but lots), I am awed (literally) that I can have breakfast in Florida and lunch in North Carolina. However, I don't fancy the people in the airport who talk too loudly on their cell phones, complain too strenuously to strangers about the delays or stare too disdainfully at the hapless parents of screaming babies. And I abhor flying away from the people I truly love most...on either end of my journeys.
Saturday, February 12, 2011
Sweet Indulgences
It is 6:43 AM and a balmy 39 degrees in scenic Bartow, Florida. I am sitting in bed propped up by pillows wondering why I am awake so early on a day when I could be sleeping late? In a few hours Gerald and I are off on another wondrous adventure....taking the grandkids to the park and out to lunch! Ella, our granddaughter,who is 3, is a delight; she adores her Papa, she is very loving to her Gigi, and she indulges my sweet tooth for all things pink and princess-like. For you newcomers, Gigi is me. The name is derived from the fact that when she was born I was not yet married to her Papa. Thus, at my request, I became known as the Grand Girlfriend...G.G. In the written form, Gigi...a way to show deference to her "other" grandmother and to pay homage to the idea that I am way too young to be a Mamaw! Tucker, our grandson who is 21 months, is another chapter. He, too, adores his Papa, but he is in that phase of life where his favorite pasttime is clinging to his Mama's leg. Which makes it imperative that we take them out for a while, to give him a chance to exercise his independence and to give his Awesome Mama a few hours of alone time. Later tonight we are headed to Tampa to the Gasparilla Night-time Pirate Parade with a raucous bunch of scalywags...sure to be a night of memories made and tales recounted.
Being in Bartow is one of the most luxuriant aspects of my life...like having a vacation home that someone else maintains and cleans and stocks with all your favorite things before each arrival. After 5 years of coming and going I have made deep connections with a few friends who arrange to spend time with me when I am here. I know my way around town, there is always something new to discover and I don't feel the pressure to work my checklist the way I do when we spend time in North Carolina. The first time I came here my life was in a state of chaos and I was running from it. This town and our Towhead friends gave me laughter, acceptance and a place to come to sort through the jagged pieces of my life, one weekend a month. In this bed, I sleep more soundly than in any other place in the world, so far. But as peaceful and replenishing as it may be, the renewal I receive here is also bittersweet and wrapped in a thin sheet of guilt. Some of the guilt is residual...a reminder of those I crawled over to get to this point in my life. But the bulk of the guilt is perpetual. Because most often, when I am here, my kids are not.
To most folks in the outside world, the specifics of our family life are peculiar, and therefore subject to scrutiny. "Let me get this straight", people will say, "you are married.....but you live separately?" Pause, pause pause...."Like a long-distance kind of thing?" Then they look at me befuzzled. "Yes", I inevitably reply, "exactly like a long-distance kind of 'thing' (with air quotes)." And it has been this way for our entire relationship. Ironically, when we were dating, people would look at me with empathy and talk about how hard it must be to be so far from someone with whom you are in love. Now that we are married, almost without fail, people will think for a second and then say "Wow! That actually sounds like a Perfect marriage!" And most days, it is nearly perfect; heavy on the NEARLY, at least for us.
I have my job and my Rowdies, a few relatives and the bulk of my life in North Carolina where the boys have their dad, their school, their sports and their buddies. Gerald has his job, his friends, his daughter and grandkids and a lifetime of memories here in Florida. More simply put, I am and forever will be, a Carolina Girl, and he is Grizzly Old Gator to his core. We are both fiercely independent people who liked most parts of the lives we were building before we met. But we also came to love each other in the deepest way I have ever experienced; in a way that gives me the only real contentedness I have ever had outside of parenting. So having everything we want out of our lives with our children and doing everything we need to do to keep our family ship afloat requires us to live in different states.
Will it always be this way? I don't know. Just like I didn't know five winters ago that I was walking off a plane and into the next phase of my life. Is it complicated? Sometimes. This weekend I am missing Jackson's first sleepover (is that what you call a pajama party for boys?) and both of the kids have basketball games today. A part of me feels anguish to be there only via text and the sparse details they will report if they feel like talking tonight when I call. Constantly, I juggle the work to be done before I leave and the work that is piled up when I get back. But everyone I know has a life that is complicated by some circumstances...illness, job loss, heartbreak, financial troubles, etc. We just happen to wear our complications on our lapel for all the world to gaze at....like a Modern Family Freak Show. So I am definitely not complaining....most days my life is a Sweet Indulgence. Instead, I am going to haul my widening butt up, make the bed and hop into the shower...okay, I will lumber into the shower. Because it is now 7:31 AM, a balmy 40 degrees and there are adventures afoot. Happy Saturday!
Being in Bartow is one of the most luxuriant aspects of my life...like having a vacation home that someone else maintains and cleans and stocks with all your favorite things before each arrival. After 5 years of coming and going I have made deep connections with a few friends who arrange to spend time with me when I am here. I know my way around town, there is always something new to discover and I don't feel the pressure to work my checklist the way I do when we spend time in North Carolina. The first time I came here my life was in a state of chaos and I was running from it. This town and our Towhead friends gave me laughter, acceptance and a place to come to sort through the jagged pieces of my life, one weekend a month. In this bed, I sleep more soundly than in any other place in the world, so far. But as peaceful and replenishing as it may be, the renewal I receive here is also bittersweet and wrapped in a thin sheet of guilt. Some of the guilt is residual...a reminder of those I crawled over to get to this point in my life. But the bulk of the guilt is perpetual. Because most often, when I am here, my kids are not.
To most folks in the outside world, the specifics of our family life are peculiar, and therefore subject to scrutiny. "Let me get this straight", people will say, "you are married.....but you live separately?" Pause, pause pause...."Like a long-distance kind of thing?" Then they look at me befuzzled. "Yes", I inevitably reply, "exactly like a long-distance kind of 'thing' (with air quotes)." And it has been this way for our entire relationship. Ironically, when we were dating, people would look at me with empathy and talk about how hard it must be to be so far from someone with whom you are in love. Now that we are married, almost without fail, people will think for a second and then say "Wow! That actually sounds like a Perfect marriage!" And most days, it is nearly perfect; heavy on the NEARLY, at least for us.
I have my job and my Rowdies, a few relatives and the bulk of my life in North Carolina where the boys have their dad, their school, their sports and their buddies. Gerald has his job, his friends, his daughter and grandkids and a lifetime of memories here in Florida. More simply put, I am and forever will be, a Carolina Girl, and he is Grizzly Old Gator to his core. We are both fiercely independent people who liked most parts of the lives we were building before we met. But we also came to love each other in the deepest way I have ever experienced; in a way that gives me the only real contentedness I have ever had outside of parenting. So having everything we want out of our lives with our children and doing everything we need to do to keep our family ship afloat requires us to live in different states.
Will it always be this way? I don't know. Just like I didn't know five winters ago that I was walking off a plane and into the next phase of my life. Is it complicated? Sometimes. This weekend I am missing Jackson's first sleepover (is that what you call a pajama party for boys?) and both of the kids have basketball games today. A part of me feels anguish to be there only via text and the sparse details they will report if they feel like talking tonight when I call. Constantly, I juggle the work to be done before I leave and the work that is piled up when I get back. But everyone I know has a life that is complicated by some circumstances...illness, job loss, heartbreak, financial troubles, etc. We just happen to wear our complications on our lapel for all the world to gaze at....like a Modern Family Freak Show. So I am definitely not complaining....most days my life is a Sweet Indulgence. Instead, I am going to haul my widening butt up, make the bed and hop into the shower...okay, I will lumber into the shower. Because it is now 7:31 AM, a balmy 40 degrees and there are adventures afoot. Happy Saturday!
Monday, February 7, 2011
Monday Rants and Ramblings
Why is it that my 10 year old can get up 10 minutes BEFORE he needs to and complete his morning routine in 7 seven minutes when he wants to hang out with his friends but it takes 45 minutes for him to drag himself out of bed and put on a pair of pants on the days I have 8:00 AM meetings with the Judges?
What is the proper response when you say "Good Morning" to your 8 year old and he greets you with a guttural, "AAAAAGH!"? I thought he was the happy go-lucky one? Does this mean that all three of us neurotic, grumpy people now? Am I being punished for letting him stay up to be bored-to-death by the Black Eye Peas at halftime? (Today he said he was the only one in his class who knew Slash...that's my boy!)
Did I just pass a goat on the side of the road? ( Probably so, I am flying through Stokes County on my way to scenic Dobson, NC...) And was he really wearing a red dog collar with a tag on it?
Is there really a man standing outside 1987 Trans Am at the Surry County Courthouse smoking a cigarette while he talks to a frail woman wearing an oxygen mask? Are we all going to be blown to Hell when he throws the smoldering butt on the ground near her tank? "AAAAGH!"
Does the man wearing the red wife beater and the American flag headband inside the Courthouse really believe he was Willie Nelson? And was it 31 degrees when he came in? Because I was just outside and it felt like 31 degrees to me. Perhaps he should sell some of his excess body hair and buy a jacket?
Why does it cost me $56.08 at Food Lion when the only thing on my list was Goldfish, Cheezits and yogurt to use for school lunches this week?
Is it possible to do a math worksheet, write spelling words three times each, study the 7's multiplication table, correct a math test, study for a vocabulary test, read for 15 minutes, practice recorder, eat a snack, take a shower and eat dinner in a 3 hour time span? On a related note, why does Mom fall asleep during "snuggle time" watching Dukes of Hazzard re-runs on CMT?
Does it ruin a day of fasting if you eat 5 oreos and two handfuls of Chex Mix? Should a 46 year old woman be this consumed by her weight when she can't get to work on time and she falls asleep at 8:30 PM at night?
It has been an interesting day...
Thank Goodness it is only 68 hours until I am sipping Boat Drinks at Bahama Breeze on Tampa Bay and partying with some pirates, 61 days until Jimmy and I are reunited in Margaritaville and 165 days until I am at HOME on my barstool at Sloppy Joe's..... even on an interesting day, it's a damn good life!
What is the proper response when you say "Good Morning" to your 8 year old and he greets you with a guttural, "AAAAAGH!"? I thought he was the happy go-lucky one? Does this mean that all three of us neurotic, grumpy people now? Am I being punished for letting him stay up to be bored-to-death by the Black Eye Peas at halftime? (Today he said he was the only one in his class who knew Slash...that's my boy!)
Did I just pass a goat on the side of the road? ( Probably so, I am flying through Stokes County on my way to scenic Dobson, NC...) And was he really wearing a red dog collar with a tag on it?
Is there really a man standing outside 1987 Trans Am at the Surry County Courthouse smoking a cigarette while he talks to a frail woman wearing an oxygen mask? Are we all going to be blown to Hell when he throws the smoldering butt on the ground near her tank? "AAAAGH!"
Does the man wearing the red wife beater and the American flag headband inside the Courthouse really believe he was Willie Nelson? And was it 31 degrees when he came in? Because I was just outside and it felt like 31 degrees to me. Perhaps he should sell some of his excess body hair and buy a jacket?
Why does it cost me $56.08 at Food Lion when the only thing on my list was Goldfish, Cheezits and yogurt to use for school lunches this week?
Is it possible to do a math worksheet, write spelling words three times each, study the 7's multiplication table, correct a math test, study for a vocabulary test, read for 15 minutes, practice recorder, eat a snack, take a shower and eat dinner in a 3 hour time span? On a related note, why does Mom fall asleep during "snuggle time" watching Dukes of Hazzard re-runs on CMT?
Does it ruin a day of fasting if you eat 5 oreos and two handfuls of Chex Mix? Should a 46 year old woman be this consumed by her weight when she can't get to work on time and she falls asleep at 8:30 PM at night?
It has been an interesting day...
Thank Goodness it is only 68 hours until I am sipping Boat Drinks at Bahama Breeze on Tampa Bay and partying with some pirates, 61 days until Jimmy and I are reunited in Margaritaville and 165 days until I am at HOME on my barstool at Sloppy Joe's..... even on an interesting day, it's a damn good life!
Wednesday, February 2, 2011
Love, El-e-men-tar-y Style....Revisited
I have always heard that you shouldn't judge a book by its cover....and apparently, you shouldn't judge Unnamed Fourth-Grade Girls by their hair color. The blog I wrote last week was written purely in jest....if you know me, then you also know that sarcastic humor is my native tongue. Obviously, I was really writing about the angst I feel when I realize that my child is growing up so fast. Since then it has occurred to me that my child would be mortified, and possibly hurt, if he ever read it.
Also, I met Her face-to-face for the first time this wee and she is adorable...big blue eyes, a sprinkling of freckles, and nice manners. She looked me in the eye and talked to me directly when I asked her questions and she smiled at my True Lover like he was the yummiest thing since Reese's Cups! I chatter with her Mom who seems great; "no-nonsense" and very straightforward. We agree that we don't mind them spending time together under close supervision, but we want to be clear that they are not "dating." Jackson and I have started discussing what it means to be respectful of women and keep personal information private; the whole experience has deepened our mother-son relationship.
Some people think I am taking the who thing too seriously and they can't believe I am so "permissive" with my child. But that's okay, I try to take the praise, criticism and advice as graciously as possible. I don't think Kate and Wills have to worry that these two will be distracting the world from the Royal Wedding. I just know that I was wrong....even though it was in jest...and for the record, I needed to say so.
Also, I met Her face-to-face for the first time this wee and she is adorable...big blue eyes, a sprinkling of freckles, and nice manners. She looked me in the eye and talked to me directly when I asked her questions and she smiled at my True Lover like he was the yummiest thing since Reese's Cups! I chatter with her Mom who seems great; "no-nonsense" and very straightforward. We agree that we don't mind them spending time together under close supervision, but we want to be clear that they are not "dating." Jackson and I have started discussing what it means to be respectful of women and keep personal information private; the whole experience has deepened our mother-son relationship.
Some people think I am taking the who thing too seriously and they can't believe I am so "permissive" with my child. But that's okay, I try to take the praise, criticism and advice as graciously as possible. I don't think Kate and Wills have to worry that these two will be distracting the world from the Royal Wedding. I just know that I was wrong....even though it was in jest...and for the record, I needed to say so.
One Miraculous Night
It is 3:07 on Wednesday afternoon and I am at home in my fleece Valentine's pajamas. No, the Hot Cable Guy is not here. I am watching "Dr. Phil" and eating the last piece of chocolate chip birthday cookie with vanilla ice cream. The sun is shining through the blinds and I am breathing deeply....breathing in gratitude, breathing out peace. Today is one of the two most miraculous days in the History of Me.
Ten years ago yesterday I woke up at 5:31AM with a fierce need to pee. I grunted, rolled and thrust my body upward...weighing 53 pounds more than "normal" made moving cumbersome...and off I went to the bathroom. Before I had taken my first step towards the door, my water broke. I awakened my husband (at the time....hereinafter referred to as HATT) and said, "It's time! My water just broke!" He didn't even roll over as he said, "Are you sure?" I looked at the puddle under my feet; I was pretty damn sure.
The drive to the hospital was absolutely the worse part of the entire birthing experience. Every time a contraction would start I would scream for HATT to stop the car so I could breathe and focus. Then every time a contraction ended I would demand that HATT "HURRY UP AND F*(&ing GET ME TO THE HOSPITAL." (This scene was also repeated when I went into labor with our second son but he knew the drill by then so it didn't faze him.) As it turned out, there really was not a need to hurry. We were at the hospital dealing with contractions for another seventeen hours before Our Groundhog came out of his hole.
I am proud to say that I handled the first nine hours of labor without pharmaceutical intervention. Every seven or eight minutes I would simply quiet my mind, assume my stance and do the "hoo hoo hoo...hee hee hee" breathing. Unfortunately, this required everyone around me to be quiet too and oddly enough, the nurses, doctors and techs at the hospital didn't see the necessity of stoppping their work each time I had a contraction! Finally, I got tired, started to cry and gave in to the epidural....and that may have been my first lesson as a parent: Sometimes you have to re-think the "plan" and do whatever works in the moment!
By this time my mother and my brother had arrived. So after the anesthesiology resident, which in Greek must literally mean "inexperienced and shaky", stuck the foot-long needle into my spine, while I was having a contraction, the lower quadrant of my body went numb. And this may have been when I learned my second lesson as a parent: Modesty was going to be a thing of the past. Because every time I had to shift positions or sit up or drink water through a straw, my legs would splay off the sides of the bed. Granted, I could not feel this happening but I could feel the cold air as it whipped up under my hospital "gown". And dutifully, my brother and/or my HATT, would come over, pick up my trunk of a leg and put it back under the covers. Ah! The joys of giving birth!
Did I mention that I was giving birth on the night that Carolina played Dook at Cameron in 2001? Or that multiple family members bet money on this very date in the "Delivery Date Pool"? (Actually, one of these same relatives also won $50 from my mother when my first marriage didn't last five years....to their credit, they didn't tell me about this wager until after the divorce and I think they gave me the money...but I digress.)
By 2001, our beloved Dean Smith had retired and ascended to Mount Olympus. His hand-picked successor Bill Guthridge had also retired and the Powers of Infinite Basketball Wisdom had hired former TarHeel Matt Doherty when the Heir Apparent Roy Williams turned them down. Poor Matt never stood a chance....the Rebound Guy never does. He complied an 8-20 record that season and we finished seventh in the ACC.....behind Florida State and Clemson. It was only the second time in the history of the Atlantic Coast Conference that we finished with a losing conference record (4-12). But as I lay there in the delivery room preparing to birth my first child, I swear, there was a TV positioned on top of the cabinet and we were watching the Heels beat Dook at home!
I kid you not. My HATT was there on my left leg encouraging me to PUSH, PUSH, COME ON, PUSH and my baby brother was there on my right leg saying things like...."Okay...we are up by three...we have the possession arrow....and THEY HAVE JUST FOULED BRENDAN HAYWOOD!" In all honesty, I don't remember if it was Brendan Haywood. It may have been Joseph Forte or Jason Capel. I was busy giving birth. But I do remember that we won the game 85 to 83 and it saved Matt Doherty's job for another year...all while I was pushing out my child's giant head!
As soon as we got past the head, he slipped right out of hiding and they held my wondrous miracle up for me to admire. His dad was crying as he cut the umbilical cord. My mom was circling like a buzzard, waiting to get her hands on MY baby and my brother had tears in his eyes because we had just beaten Dook at home (just kidding, Uncle B!) It was at this moment that I learned parenting lesson number three: Boy babies will pee on you if you don't cover up their private parts! Literally, I gave my child the gift of life and when he saw me for the first time he peed all over me! Immediately, I laughed out loud, told my mom to back off and sent my brother to find me a grilled cheese sandwich. Even without the instruction booklet, I knew that raising this Miracle was going to require something stronger than popsicles and ice chips!
And so, today marks ten years since the day Jackson Robert Miller made his appearance on Groundhog Day. In the years since he arrived, we have weathered harsh winters and hoped for early springs and every day he makes me confront my shadows. So each year when we eat the cake and sing the song and celebrate his "First Day on Earth Day", I am mindful to take a moment to breathe in gratitude....and breathe out peace.
Ten years ago yesterday I woke up at 5:31AM with a fierce need to pee. I grunted, rolled and thrust my body upward...weighing 53 pounds more than "normal" made moving cumbersome...and off I went to the bathroom. Before I had taken my first step towards the door, my water broke. I awakened my husband (at the time....hereinafter referred to as HATT) and said, "It's time! My water just broke!" He didn't even roll over as he said, "Are you sure?" I looked at the puddle under my feet; I was pretty damn sure.
The drive to the hospital was absolutely the worse part of the entire birthing experience. Every time a contraction would start I would scream for HATT to stop the car so I could breathe and focus. Then every time a contraction ended I would demand that HATT "HURRY UP AND F*(&ing GET ME TO THE HOSPITAL." (This scene was also repeated when I went into labor with our second son but he knew the drill by then so it didn't faze him.) As it turned out, there really was not a need to hurry. We were at the hospital dealing with contractions for another seventeen hours before Our Groundhog came out of his hole.
I am proud to say that I handled the first nine hours of labor without pharmaceutical intervention. Every seven or eight minutes I would simply quiet my mind, assume my stance and do the "hoo hoo hoo...hee hee hee" breathing. Unfortunately, this required everyone around me to be quiet too and oddly enough, the nurses, doctors and techs at the hospital didn't see the necessity of stoppping their work each time I had a contraction! Finally, I got tired, started to cry and gave in to the epidural....and that may have been my first lesson as a parent: Sometimes you have to re-think the "plan" and do whatever works in the moment!
By this time my mother and my brother had arrived. So after the anesthesiology resident, which in Greek must literally mean "inexperienced and shaky", stuck the foot-long needle into my spine, while I was having a contraction, the lower quadrant of my body went numb. And this may have been when I learned my second lesson as a parent: Modesty was going to be a thing of the past. Because every time I had to shift positions or sit up or drink water through a straw, my legs would splay off the sides of the bed. Granted, I could not feel this happening but I could feel the cold air as it whipped up under my hospital "gown". And dutifully, my brother and/or my HATT, would come over, pick up my trunk of a leg and put it back under the covers. Ah! The joys of giving birth!
Did I mention that I was giving birth on the night that Carolina played Dook at Cameron in 2001? Or that multiple family members bet money on this very date in the "Delivery Date Pool"? (Actually, one of these same relatives also won $50 from my mother when my first marriage didn't last five years....to their credit, they didn't tell me about this wager until after the divorce and I think they gave me the money...but I digress.)
By 2001, our beloved Dean Smith had retired and ascended to Mount Olympus. His hand-picked successor Bill Guthridge had also retired and the Powers of Infinite Basketball Wisdom had hired former TarHeel Matt Doherty when the Heir Apparent Roy Williams turned them down. Poor Matt never stood a chance....the Rebound Guy never does. He complied an 8-20 record that season and we finished seventh in the ACC.....behind Florida State and Clemson. It was only the second time in the history of the Atlantic Coast Conference that we finished with a losing conference record (4-12). But as I lay there in the delivery room preparing to birth my first child, I swear, there was a TV positioned on top of the cabinet and we were watching the Heels beat Dook at home!
I kid you not. My HATT was there on my left leg encouraging me to PUSH, PUSH, COME ON, PUSH and my baby brother was there on my right leg saying things like...."Okay...we are up by three...we have the possession arrow....and THEY HAVE JUST FOULED BRENDAN HAYWOOD!" In all honesty, I don't remember if it was Brendan Haywood. It may have been Joseph Forte or Jason Capel. I was busy giving birth. But I do remember that we won the game 85 to 83 and it saved Matt Doherty's job for another year...all while I was pushing out my child's giant head!
As soon as we got past the head, he slipped right out of hiding and they held my wondrous miracle up for me to admire. His dad was crying as he cut the umbilical cord. My mom was circling like a buzzard, waiting to get her hands on MY baby and my brother had tears in his eyes because we had just beaten Dook at home (just kidding, Uncle B!) It was at this moment that I learned parenting lesson number three: Boy babies will pee on you if you don't cover up their private parts! Literally, I gave my child the gift of life and when he saw me for the first time he peed all over me! Immediately, I laughed out loud, told my mom to back off and sent my brother to find me a grilled cheese sandwich. Even without the instruction booklet, I knew that raising this Miracle was going to require something stronger than popsicles and ice chips!
And so, today marks ten years since the day Jackson Robert Miller made his appearance on Groundhog Day. In the years since he arrived, we have weathered harsh winters and hoped for early springs and every day he makes me confront my shadows. So each year when we eat the cake and sing the song and celebrate his "First Day on Earth Day", I am mindful to take a moment to breathe in gratitude....and breathe out peace.
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