Category: Me Myself & I

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The little things

Today I’m wearing a necklace that has been one of my favorites for about 10 years now. It’s nothing fancy, just a little silver necklace with some purple crystals every couple inches interspersed with pale lavender freshwater pearls. I wore it every day for the longest time after I got it, but it has since come to be worn mainly when it perfectly matches certain articles of clothing, like the lavender shirt I have on. Do you do that too? Match specific pieces of jewelry to corresponding outfits? It’s like I never think of some of my jewelry until I put on that one shirt or dress. Funny. Anyway.

The reason this necklace will always hold a spot dear in my heart is because it was the first gift R ever gave me. And I will never ever forget the moment either. It was my last minute in Madison before I had to drive home to Peoria and make the big move out to NYC in the summer of 2001. I think I moved out there July 1, so this would have been the last weekend in June when I left Madison. And it was the absolute last thing I wanted to do by then. For R and I had become so close (though we weren’t “dating”, mind you. that became official later), and I had some incredibly good friends who I couldn’t bear to leave. Fortunately they all came to visit me shortly after I moved out east, but still. The actual leaving process was horrible.

The whole day I was dragging my feet, putting off leaving as long as humanly possible. R had helped me load up the stuff I was taking in my car that hadn’t been shipped out on the moving truck, we grabbed some lunch at Qdoba on State Street, then we watched a movie over at their apartment on Dayton that afternoon. And believe me, those closing credits were the last thing I wanted to see. For they meant I had to go. So we were like ok, this is it. He ducked into his bedroom quickly as we were heading to the door, then walked me downstairs and across the street where I was parked. I gave him a big hug that I never wanted to end and said something dumb like, “Well, it’s been fun.” I honestly felt like I was never going to see anyone from Madison again, as crazy as that may sound. That’s when he reached in his pocket and handed me this little necklace.

I was absolutely floored. One, I was certainly not expecting a parting gift, but two, did this mean he actually had feelings for me beyond the “friends with benefits” thing? Holy shit! And now I’m literally getting in my car and moving 1,000 miles away?? Great timing. And I thought I didn’t want to leave earlier that day. Once he gave me that necklace I would have cemented my feet right there in the street in front of him if I could have. That was one long, lonely, confusing drive home.

Obviously he did have feelings for me, and I for him, which we finally admitted when we started officially dating a little over a month later. And whaddya know? We’ve been together ever since. Awww… sappy, I know. But sometimes it’s just the little things that really do mean the most. And every time I wear this necklace I’m taken right back to that day a decade ago when I first thought hmm, maybe this could actually turn into something more.

I love that the clasp is a heart

 

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Are you there God? It’s me, SM

A few weeks ago I stumbled across a post on the blog Not-Calm, and after I read this paragraph from it I felt like my head had been struck by lightning. Or 1,000 light bulbs had gone off inside it. Or something along those lines. (emphasis added by me)

When Lex was in kindergarten and went through a time where he couldn’t sleep at night because the idea of dying was upsetting him too much, I told him that before he was born his whole world was inside of me.  He could hear my voice, in an underwater, warped way, and he maybe knew that he wasn’t alone, that there was something else keeping him company.  And, I told him, it would have been impossible for him to imagine the world that he was about to be born into.  Light, colors, air, trees, smells, cars, houses, seashells, rockets, food, even his mother – everything he could think of – all of it was so close to him all the time but he had no way to know.  I told him that we have no idea what happens after we die, but that if we have the sense that there’s more out there, then I think it’s because there is.  That there’s something holding us that we can’t see or imagine, but we can still feel is there. It seemed to help him.  I know it helped me.

That part in bold is basically the exact view I hold of religion, yet have been unable to put it into words. Thank you, Jenijen, for doing it for me. Now that we have a daughter and will hopefully give her a sibling or two someday, the concept of religion and my feelings toward it has been in my thoughts a lot more often than it used to be.

I do believe in God, or a god of some sort, but my religion basically stops there. Which may seem pretty odd, considering I grew up going to Sunday School and church pretty much every week, was baptized as a baby, and went through Confirmation in my church. I was raised Presbyterian, and R and I were even married in a Presbyterian church. It was a very non-denominational church, but a Presbyterian one nonetheless.

I have never denounced organized religion or anything like that, nor have I ever had a bad experience with the church either. I guess I basically just got bored with it, and never saw the point of having a book that was written thousands of years ago govern my way of thinking and living. Although we attended church regularly, my family was not overly religious when I was younger, so it’s just not something that was deeply ingrained in me with much importance. And quite frankly, the highlight of the sermon for me each week was counting the pipes in our church’s organ. There are 152. That is a number I don’t think I will ever forget.

So when we decided to have kids, I knew I probably wasn’t going to feel the need to raise them with a strong emphasis on religion either. I felt I may get a little pressure on this from R’s family though, who are pretty devout Catholics.

And for some reason, and this will probably totally expose my religious ignorance, Catholicism has always seemed to me to be a religion that wants to push you until you join them and follow their rules. And man do they have a lot of rules, something I’ve discovered in the 11 years R and I have been together. He’s not even a strict Catholic anymore either, more along the lines of barely even practicing. He’s given up on the no meat during Lent thing, and neither of us has been to church in years. And no, he has not forsaken his religion either, it’s just not something that is high on either of our lists.

Some people may be gasping in horror at this lack of faith in our lives, but it just is what it is. It’s not even a complete lack of faith really, but maybe a lack of practicing that faith actively anymore. And personally, I don’t see this as having had a negative impact on our lives at all.

But back to the having kids without really having religion. What then? From the start I just assumed we would not have our children baptized as infants, but let that be a choice for them to make on their own when they’re old enough to make it.

Seems fair, right? I mean, why force a religion label on a baby who has no idea what any of it means, and whose parents are not only 2 different religions but don’t really practice either of them anyway? Which one would we choose, and why?

I know scads of people will disagree with me on this, but I kind of find the notion that God will shun any life simply because it has not been baptized ridiculous. Many people hold the baptismal rite as something profoundly sacred, and I fully respect that. It’s just not for me. I think if, god-forbid, D passed away before she was baptized, she would not spend eternity rotting in hell simply due to that fact. It just doesn’t jive for me. I think if there is a heaven, her spot has been reserved for almost a year now, no matter what happens from here on out.

There are so many different religions out there, 99% of which I know extremely little about, it just makes sense to me to allow our kids to discover them, learn about them, and see if there’s one that they really feel drawn to. Just as long as it’s not some crazy unibomber kool-aid-drinking cult, I’ll be satisfied. And who knows, maybe someday I’ll feel the need and/or desire to go back to church, and then maybe I’ll even see if D wants to be baptized into it, but right now I’m happy how we are.

Here’s kind of how I see things. Like I said, I do believe in a god figure of some sort. Is it the exact God I learned about in the Bible, the one who we all grew up picturing as a grandfatherly man with an enormously long gray beard dressed in enormously long flowing white robes who lives up in the clouds? Eh, maybe not. But I definitely think there’s something out there.

I do believe in evolution, and the Big Bang theory makes much more sense to me than the story of Creation (a person from a rib? does not compute), but something had to have caused that spark that ignited the Big Bang. Something had to make that second in time happen so that the entire universe could then spill forth.

That something is kind of more how I picture god. And I think I’m more comfortable with it being a lower case g god, too. I’m not convinced it’s a human figure, but more of a spirit. Like those words above say, it’s that sense we have that there’s more out there, because I totally have that sense.

And you may find this part really weird, but yes, I do say bedtime prayers. In fact, I say the exact same “Now I lay me down to sleep…” version that I made up with my mom when I was little that includes all of my family members, pets, and my youngest sister at the end since she came along after I already had the list solidified. I have come to add my own touches here and there too as I feel the need, especially now that I have my own little family. D always gets a shout-out for protection, and R makes the list too on those days when he’s being nice to me.

But what about Baby Jesus? I don’t know, what about him? Did he exist? I don’t know. Why do we celebrate Christmas as his birth then? Good question. Don’t ask me, I didn’t devise the religious calendar for that part of the world’s population who believes in it.

See here’s the other thing. I don’t know why, but for as long as I can remember I have always gotten the weirdest feeling about the Bible. Like, how do we know it was really written by the people by whom you believe it was written? I know there are the Dead Sea Scrolls and all, but still. And how did its words come to stand as the law of the land? Um, that’s why it’s called faith, SM. Yes, I get that, and I guess that’s just where mine differs from many others’. I place my faith in the something more out there instead of those ancient pages.

This kind of turned into a jumbled vomit session. Sorry about that. Point is, though, that no, we’re not baptizing D. At least not anytime in the foreseeable future. And fortunately we never did get the push-back I was expecting about that either. R’s mom did ask him a few months ago if we were going to, he said no, we hadn’t planned on it, and that was pretty much that.

And as for my religion/faith, I think it’s better described as a spirituality that I have, and I have finally found the right words with which to express it. It’s not a rock-solid foundation that I turn to in times of need or weakness like many people have in their own spirituality, but it’s the sense that there’s something bigger than all of us out there keeping tabs on everything and maybe giving a little nudge here and there so things don’t get utterly cosmically out of whack.

I have no idea what happens at the end of it all, but it will work itself out when the time comes. And to me, that strange little notion is kind of comforting.

 

 

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Army crawl

That’s what I was almost forced to use as my exit strategy from D’s room tonight after I put her to bed. Seriously, what is going on with this kid? Bedtime is turning into wartime again, and I am not amused.

She has to fall asleep taking a bottle, and if she rolls over and wakes up when you put her in her crib, forget it. You’ll have to start all over because she’ll stand up and start crying. Tonight it took no fewer than 5 tries to finally get her to sleep. And on that last time I held my hand on her stomach so she couldn’t roll over when I laid her down, or else I might still be in there, on round 476.

Why has this happened? She used to be fine going to bed – when she was nursing we could even put her down with no issue if she was still awake after her last feeding. She would put herself to sleep no problem. I want that D back. This one isn’t as nice.

I want to just let her cry it out, but R usually can’t take it as long as I can and goes in to rescue her. The other night he even said, “Oh, we’ll just spoil her until her birthday.” Meaning we’ll keep going back in to get her and continue giving her a bottle to go to sleep if she starts crying at bedtime until she turns 1 in a few weeks. Ugh. I don’t think that’s called “spoiling” her, I think that’s just teaching her a bad nighttime habit.

And no way could I try letting her cry tonight because R’s still sick and had gone into the bedroom about 3 hours before I was playing bedtime ranger. His Highness with the Sickness would not have been pleased. I was already chastised earlier today for making too much noise as I was responding to D’s little squeals and noises with my own.

As if.

I don’t know how much more of that I can take either. His doctor did put him on antibiotics yesterday for rheumatic fever (eh??) and strep throat (although his throat doesn’t hurt), but then he started feeling worse after taking them. Um, that’s not how they’re supposed to work. Then his side starting hurting because he thinks he fucked it up sleeping on the futon so often this week.

Splendid – that’s the same futon upon which I will be sleeping tonight so he can have the bedroom to himself.

Oh, and don’t tell me D has another ear infection. I know that was the diagnosis when she first pulled the bedtime crying stunt back in March, but I find it really hard to believe that it’s back just 2 weeks after the doctor gave us the all-clear.

When I took her in right before we went to Canada the infection was totally gone in both ears. There was just a little bit of fluid left in one of them, but her doctor said that was completely normal.

Sooo… what gives here people? Tonight she even kept lying down like she was going to go to sleep as long as she could still see me each time she picked her head up. What the? Finally she was like f this, I’m just going to get up. And there we went again.

So finally at 9:30, about an hour and a half after I first started trying to put her to bed, I was able to take a shower. And then since I had the house to myself at long last I gave myself a pedicure. Don’t laugh at either my gross feet or my horrible nail painting skills. There’s a reason I don’t do this for a living:

This little piggy

It’s a rad color I picked up at CVS yesterday, and is much more aqua than it looks in that picture. For some reason only the blue hue got picked up, none of the green. I did take it with my iPhone, though. I wanted a change of pace for the urban adventure race I’m doing tomorrow with my trainer and another girl. Not that anyone will be able to see my toes through my running shoes, but still.

And now I’m going to go eat some Kopp’s frozen custard. I cleaned out and up the whole garage today, walked up to the grocery store with R and D, mowed the yard, and played single parent for a while.

Damn, I hope R’s meds kick in soon. I don’t need 2 babies to take care of in this house.

 

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I Stormed

Last night I ran a 5k that kicked off this weekend’s downtown festivities, Bastille Days. It was called Storm the Bastille, and dudes, I stormed the shit out of that Bastille. I haven’t done this run in a couple years, but it’s a pretty easy route that winds through the city streets of downtown. I always had a fond remembrance of this race, but had forgotten that it’s actually pretty annoying. Here’s the sitch.

It’s a fun run, so it’s not chip-timed, and if you want to know your time you have to just keep it yourself. They do have a clock, but it’s so ridiculously crowded that the time you see when you cross the finish line is nowhere near accurate unless you were the very first person to start the race. (side note – of course my watch was dead when i pulled it out to wear last night, as was my old sport watch, as well as ryan’s sport watch. awesome. so i ended up wearing his clunky gps watch. very stylish) Everyone is crammed into a 1 block space at the beginning, so by the time I finally made it up to the starting line the clock already read 3:18. Then for I’d say the first solid half mile you’re barely able to keep a jog going, since most of your time is dodging people and jockeying for any clear pavement. The runners and walkers are all mixed in together, so each time you think you’re going to be able to get moving, you practically slam right into the back of a walker you didn’t see as someone else narrowly missed knocking them over too. Yeah, fun run.

They also had a ton of beach balls flying around and over everyone’s heads the whole time, which I could have done without, too. Don’t get me wrong. I’m all for them at, say, a Jimmy Buffett concert, but not while I’m trying to run. I know, I know, stop taking it so seriously, it’s a fun run. But I wanted to try to make it a real run.

I was hoping to get a good run in and try to beat the time of my last 5k, so this logjam beginning kind of got on my nerves. Fortunately I was able to weave a pretty good path through the sea of bodies, didn’t run into anyone, did spend more time going sideways and around for a while instead of forward, but was finally able to pick up the pace by the middle of the route. And pick it up I did. I realized that the majority of the mid-section of the race was downhill, so I took full advantage of gravity and tried to just go as fast as I could. I never do this in races – go balls out that early – and now I remember why. By the last couple blocks it took all my steam to keep going just to make it to the finish line. And you couldn’t even cross that line, it was so crowded again. So I stopped my watch within just a couple feet; I figured that was close enough.

So my time was 27:20. Not the sub-27:00 I was hoping for, but it did take me 17-18 seconds to get to the actual starting line/clock after I started my watch, so that puts me close to 27:00 right there. Then with all the sidestepping and non-race-pace running I did for a while there in the beginning, I think I could easily have broken 27:00 again had I had a clear course the whole time. So I wasn’t too disappointed. Plus it felt like I’d gotten a good run by the end, and I was able to get right out of the parking lot in which I’d parked with no delay on the way home. In my run mapping program, it was a total of 3.22 miles in 27:02 (i just went ahead and took the liberty of knocking off that 18 second lag at the start), for a 8:23 pace. Decent.

I was also pleased with this time because I haven’t been getting much running in lately in preparation for it. I ran once in Canada a week ago, but no runs the week before that, so that’s pretty slacking. I did get out Tuesday this week, though – I ran 3.45 miles in 30:57, for a 8:59 pace. Getting better. I still feel like I just need to knock the cobwebs out and really get into good shape.

I’m doing another race on Sunday – an urban adventure type race with my trainer and another girl. The description of it says part 5k, part “Amazing Race”, so it should be fun. You go all around the city trying to solve clues, and you can only travel on foot or by public transportation. Great, the bus, my favorite. It sounds like it takes about 2 hours to complete, and it begins and ends at Rock Bottom. At least we know the beer will be good.

 

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Mean girl

How do I prevent D from becoming one?

There is nothing I hate more than girls of any age, really, whose main goal in life is to form cliques, be the top dog of those cliques, and subsequently make life a living hell for anyone not in with them.

You know exactly who I mean. We all experienced them in school or even outside of school in life at some point, I’m sure. I know I did. And I was never the top dog. Nor was I ever really in, either. And when I think back and am perfectly honest, it sucked.

I don’t think I was ever the direct target of any cliques’ disdain or fun-making, but I was never really invited into a lot of stuff either. I don’t mean invited to join in torturing other non-clique members (even though i wasn’t), but just in general.

Sure I had a good group of friends all through school, but I was never one of the *cool* kids or the popular girl that everyone wanted to befriend. And up until pretty much my senior year in high school, I was really, really shy.

Me, initiate a plan with friends or an idea for something to do with others? Not a chance.

Hence, I spent most weekend nights just hanging out at home rather than out at parties like a lot of people in my class. (in my defense, though, i actually did like spending time with my family. maybe it was because i felt most safe and comfortable there, or maybe it was because my group of friends just weren’t the big partiers, but i didn’t mind staying home on those weekend nights one bit.)

Throughout grade school, and pretty much all of high school, too, I always felt like I didn’t quite fit in with everyone else. I’ve never been able to figure out why that was, either.

Maybe because I had such a weird last name that no one could pronounce (Picl – take your best shot, but i’m sure you’ll get it wrong. teachers taking attendance became the bane of my existence).

Or maybe because I was always one of the “smart” kids.

I think my shyness definitely played a big part, too. In a group of people or unfamiliar situation I would never go talk to someone I didn’t know or who I thought I wasn’t “friends” with, I would just stand by myself if my friends weren’t around and try to blend into the walls or background.

Finally by the end of my junior year and into my senior year of high school, I was much more confident in myself and stopped being so hung up on everyone else’s perceptions. So what if they didn’t like me? Not everyone has to. I liked me. And so what if I didn’t know someone that well? I could still say hi to them in the halls instead of averting my eyes and pretending I didn’t see them.

I made a lot more friends in my class (well, ok, acquaintances anyway) and actually had some fun. I was valedictorian of my high school class and athlete of the year, which was an unbelievably huge honor for me, since I never considered myself an athlete either. I was just a swimmer. But senior year I single-handedly outscored our entire football team at the State level. Now there’s a confidence-booster if there ever was one.

I was still beyond ready to get out of both high school and Peoria by the end, though, but at least the days became a little more bearable. “Glory days” high school definitely was not, for me.

But enough of my therapy session. Back to the matter at hand, which is making sure D doesn’t turn into one of those clique-forming, classmate-heckling mean girls.

Unfortunately I did tease kids in my classes from time to time when I was younger, like in grade school. And I am sorry for that. Why is it that everyone always picks on the fat kid? But I was also teased sometimes, and I didn’t like it. It hurt my feelings. Too bad I never turned that around in my head to see that’s how the kids I teased felt, too.

I guess it just worries me now more than ever, as a parent, how judgmental kids can be of those who are different from them. And why do so many parents not instill the value of acceptance and tolerance in their children?

My parents never really said much about it not being right to make fun of people (even though i didn’t really make it a habit. remember the wallflower? she usually came out to play more often than any sort of teaser), but that is one of the main things I am determined to teach D – don’t be mean to someone just because they don’t look or act just like you do.

I want her to learn that everyone has a story, everyone has feelings that can get hurt just like hers, and just because you think someone is “different” doesn’t mean they don’t get a chance too. I don’t want her to be a pushover, by any means, but I just want her to know how to treat others with respect. All the bullying stories that are out there now make my stomach turn, and it’s something of which I never want D to be a part.

I guess on the flip side, how do I teach her to handle a situation if she is on the unfortunate receiving end of teasing?

That one’s harder, and I’m really not sure.

Of course my wish is that she becomes a nice, funny, friendly girl who no one wants to make fun of, but I would hope that if she is she would be confident enough not to let it bother her too much. Or, something that I would never have dreamed of doing when I was little, be able to tell the person who’s teasing her that she doesn’t appreciate it and to knock it off.

Obviously confidence isn’t something she’ll really know for years, but I think you know what I’m saying. I just want to be a good enough mom to raise a strong, self-confident daughter, not a mean girl.

I just found this paragraph from a woman’s tribute to her father, and although it came from a completely different scenario than that of which I’m speaking here, this is exactly what I want to teach D:

“My dad taught me so many, many things, and the most important of them were things he taught me by example.  He taught me to be considerate, to give people the benefit of the doubt, to not be judgmental, and to be patient.  He taught me that honesty is best, even when it’s the more difficult choice, and he taught me to treat everyone with respect.”

 

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What? Huh?

Poor R. He probably hears those words come out of my mouth more than any others. And I know sometimes it annoys him to no end. But you see, I have this problem. I don’t hear things a lot. I don’t mean like I’m going deaf already, but if I’m not paying attention and you start talking to me, there’s a very good chance that I will miss the first couple of words you aim in my general direction.

I don’t do it on purpose, I really do want to hear what people say to me. But sometimes I just can’t help it and I’ll miss the first part of a sentence. This happens at home all the time. We’ll be watching tv, or I’ll be on the computer or something, and R will start talking to me. Well, I’m all engrossed in whatever it is I’m doing and not anticipating the words that are about to come out of his mouth, so 9 times out of 10 I have to ask him, “What?” Or, “What’d you say?” It’s even gotten to the point where if he says something to me or asks me a question and I don’t respond but instead just sit there blinking at him, he knows he needs to repeat himself. Sometimes he gets fed up and just shakes his head saying, “Never mind,” which then drives me crazy because I really do want to know what it is he said.

Again, I blame this not on disregard for what is being said to me, but on not paying attention. R will swear he’s told me something that I cannot remember for the life of me. And it’s honestly not because I’ve ignored him. It’s just because I probably wasn’t paying full attention to him when the conversation started. I’m not not listening to him, I just don’t hear him at first. And I’m sure he wouldn’t admit it, but he mumbles a lot too. He does. So that doesn’t help either when words start coming my way and my ears aren’t primed and ready for them.

I have so many dialogues and lists running through my head at any given moment, that if someone catches me off guard with their words it’ll take me a second to catch up to the conversation at hand. So if you start talking to me and I have to throw in a couple “What?”s, please don’t be offended. It’s just my own special little way of letting you know I care enough to want to hear what you’re saying. I’m listening, I promise.

 

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I.was.run-ning

Said in true Forrest Gump fashion.

Dudes, I killed my run last night. And I mean killed it – whipped it, spanked it, made it call me mama. This was a really long one for me right now, and I had been mentally preparing for it for a couple days. I had originally planned on trying it this weekend sometime, but, well, we all know how this weekend turned out…

So I sucked it up and went out last night after I got home from work and picking up D. R might have to work some nights this week which means I will be playing with Miss Thang and not running or seeing my trainer, plus the weather these next couple days looks pretty crappy (something new and different). So I had to seize the opportunity while I could. And I knew I’d need a good chunk of time to complete this run, so I had to make sure R wasn’t busy so he could watch D for a while. I was figuring it would take me around an hour, so I told R my route and said if I’m not back in an hour and a half come get me, because I’ll probably be lying in a gutter somewhere along the way with broken ankles and collapsed lungs.

Now, are you ready for this? I ran 5.24 miles in 48:07 – that’s a 9:11 pace! Yeah, yeah, I know I’m not breaking any land speed records with that by any means, but this was the first time I’d done this route in 3 years. And that time from last night is only 2 minutes off my fastest time ever for it! I was blown away. I couldn’t believe I 1) ran it that quickly, 2) didn’t die along the way, 3) didn’t walk at all along the way, and 4) actually felt good and was able to kick it into a higher gear in the home stretch.

Maybe I am finally getting back into shape after all. My trainer has said she sees a lot more muscle mass coming back now too, which is good. I said I need to be in even better shape before I get pregnant whenever the next time comes than when I got pregnant with D, because she said everyone says stretch marks come with the second child. Whether or not she’s right, I have no idea. But I fortunately didn’t get any with D, and I don’t want to get any with any other Raulings. So I will continue to blast this booty.

I will, however, admit that my notion of attempting a half marathon later this summer was inane. After running 5 miles last night, I really can’t fathom trying to tack 8 more onto the end. That’s just silly.