Insanity

There are a few words in the English vocabulary that make my skin crawl: anniversary, cummerbund, zit, slacks, blouse, etc.

There are two phrases that drive me crazy with annoyance. One in particular, that my husband uses non-stop. "I'm going to hit the bathroom." The other is, "Can we be adults about this?" (Which, for the record, MacTroll has never used.)

The first time the second phrase made the hair on the back of my neck stand up, I was in college and some guy that my freshman roommate had been doing something with while she partied away her weekends was basically whining into our answering machine. He'd done something stupid and insensitive. And in response, she'd gotten mad, and spoken her mind to not only him, but to her close girlfriends (who also happened to be partying with his close guy friends, so I'm sure he was most annoyed that his friends were having to hear about how he was a jackass). 

And so I began to notice that when people used the phrase, "Can we be adults about this?" It was usually when the person who speaks those words has done something utterly juvenile in the first place. And on that observation alone, I immediately discount that person as having any valid complaints and not worthy of the seconds or minutes that they want to put into "fixing" whatever was wrong so that they can feel, on some emotional level, like they're okay. 

It's kind of like lying to someone, feeling guilty, and then coming clean -- to make yourself feel better, while you make the other person feel terrible (insert half or more of the politicians caught in any kind of public relations scandal). You effed up. You should live with the terrible burden. Why hurt the person (or people) who didn't do anything wrong with your admission? Oh, yeah, because you want forgiveness, so you can start feeling better about yourself, which to me, is another selfish act on top of the initial selfish act. You're human. Try to figure it out and make it better. Tell the truth when it's required and live with the consequences of your actions. It's all you can really do.

The other problem is the "Can we be adults about this?" often implies the person NOT saying those words is acting irrational when, more likely, their emotions are right on target. They're feeling something. They're not shutting down and suppressing. They're letting you know that they're angry, sad, annoyed, in disbelief, etc. That's how it's supposed to work with someone that you have in your life. You're supposed to be able to have emotional responses. You're supposed to talk in I statements and talk about how you feel -- postive or negative. And if someone tells you that your I statements make them feel in some other way than you're feeling -- that's not on you. That's on them. 

But it doesn't help your ass get out of the fire that's for damn sure. You're just stuck in there with them looking at you like you're this demon from hell, when, really, you don't feel in your heart that way at all.

But they're telling you how you feel over and over -- because to them that's the truth they want. Because that makes them feel better.

Even thought it's not the truth you've spoken, and that ain't right. 

Gender Bullshit

My child is driving me apeshit these days with girl v. boy things. It started a few months ago when a friend of his decided she only wanted girls at her birthday party. And I totally understand this, but X-man was kind of -- shocked. He would have no trouble being the only boy or being surrounded by girls (he takes after his father). But he started taking note of things and apparently the social situation at school has taught him this whole gender thing that has driven me nuts.

For example, he has a poster that he got from another birthday party last year that has the Disney Princesses on it. We hung it up in his room so he'd look at it and think of his friend. Then we had a friend over who saw it and made fun of him for it. And the first word out of my kid's mouth wasn't, "It makes me think of my friend." It was, "I'm going to tear that up."

Sigh.

Then I was at Meijer in the clearance aisle and I found some clearance Tag reader books. Those things retail for $15 each, so the fact that they had a selection for $3.50 was a big deal. I took home a Tiana and the Frog book and a Diego Undersea Adventures book. He totally gave me grief about Tiana. I offered to read it with him, and then it was okay. But at Skate night at school, we ran into another one of his friends who saw that they were having a princess night and he was disgusted. Again, I totally get that princesses aren't my kid's favorite things. I'm totally okay with that. But here again, he joined the boy bandwagon and began dissing on the princesses with his friend. It was a cultural norm. Big shock, that for the next 5 years girls will be some kind of enemy. Sigh.

And all the years I spent explaining that there are no girl toys and boy toys there are just toys went right out the window. Then this morning as Bubba and X-man were eating their breakfast, I brought home special donuts. Bubba asked for chocolate donut with chocolate frosting and sprinkles. X-man asked for a vanilla donut with vanilla frosting and sprinkles. Well, Schnuck's was out of vanilla donuts except for the Long John's. So I grabbed one of the colored frosting -- you know it's vanilla but with food coloring in it. The choices, because it's near Valentine's Day were pink and purple. I grabbed the purple one.

My child refused to eat it. Bubba could have cared less that his donut had little pink sprinkles and red hearts on it. Maybe it's because he was happy it was a donut. Maybe it's because he has a little sister. Maybe it's because Bubba has really liked the color pink over time. But my child was throwing a fit -- over deep purple. He finally just got up and went to get a yogurt out of his drawer. When I pointed out that his favorite ice cream (strawberry) was pink and that his favorite yogurt (cherry) was pink was he going to stop eating those -- he sighed and asked if we could just put the donut away for later.

Fast forward four months to now -- when he only wants boys at his party. I limited him to a total of 10 kids this year. Last year was at the Little Gym so we could invite lots of children. But this year is more intimate. I tried to keep it to 8, but he struggled a lot between old friends who he felt should be there and that he loves like family with new friends from school.

He has Lego Club at the Orpheum today. They have it the first Sunday of every month. About two weeks ago I got a call from someone from the Orpheum. Apparently, she was calling because there were two kids in Lego Club bullying X-man. They wouldn't let him talk when he was explaining his project. They made fun of what he created at show and tell time, and they were what MacTroll described as being rather "disruptive" to everyone. The Orpheum woman was very concerned that X-man wasn't going to come back because the college kids that were working the Club said that the kids made X-man cry. I asked if X-man had done anything to provoke the words. Was he keeping his hands to himself? Was he acting crazy because he was so excited? The woman said, "No." But my child was the only one that cried. Since this was what was happening at school and related to some of his anxieties, I took a deep breath and thanked her for letting me know. MacTroll hasn't told me he'd been crying at pick up. Apparently, the kids were still picking on him at the end of club to the point where X-man didn't even want to pick the few free Legos they get to pick out at the end of the class. He just put on his coat and wanted to go. MacTroll played with him in the museum for an extra half hour.

This morning when X-man and I were playing Legos in his room, he asked if those boys would be back today. I said, probably. The Orpheum lady had also called their parents to tell them if the bullying happened again they would not be welcome back to Lego Club. I told him they were on their last chance. So that if they picked on him again, he should use his words and tell them to stop because it's rude. And if they don't stop after asking to go tell the instructor.

I was at Target the other day looking at the new "Friends" Legos that were made supposedly for girls. The fact that the series has people who look like Polly Pockets wasn't lost on me. But over all they looked very babyish. More like toddler toys with tiny pieces. I mean, if it were me, I'd make a giant castle, a sports car, a treehouse, a science lab, a doctor's office, a school building, etc., and I would have left the regular Lego figures. I'm getting schooled in my classroom about the importance of pink to this generation of little people. So, you could make all those ideas in pink colors, since that will apparently sell like hot cakes. But really -- most of the sets I saw were -- stores for shopping.

I know that boys and girls don't often like the same thing, but how much of this is really innate and how much is just watching how other kids react because that's how they've been socialized? And why does it just take four months to undo all my good work?

The Mess

While we were in California, MacTroll and I were able to have some heart to hearts. Well, to be fair, I was doing the talking and he was doing the listening. And I think he did a good job of not trying to stare at me slack jawed as I confessed that I've been feeling like I've been failing pretty hard as a wife and mother.

Other people seem to enjoy this whole parenthood thing more than I do. And as much as I love my kid, there are distinct times when I think -- some other woman would be much better at this than I am. I don't know how others feel about it, but it's shitty to know that you're giving something your all and that it will never be enough. I always figured I'd break my kid in different ways than my parents broke me. But I promise that I'm trying my best -- just like they did.

I started reading a book tonight called Perfect Madness: Motherhood in the Age of Anxiety by Judith Warner. It was published in 2005. And it's a doozy. I can't stop reading and feeling even more and more sick about the state of motherhood. Because what the book spells out for me, is that I'm not alone in my feelings and that this situation has been going on for a very long time. And it doesn't matter if you work full-time, part-time or if you stay at home. It doesn't matter if you're an attachment parent or a formula feeder or a single parent. The guilt. The expectations are all very much the same.

She focuses the book on the middle to upper-middle class mothers. She interviewed over 150 of them. Some online and some in person. She did a lot of comparative research about motherhood over the last 60 years and traces that what is popular in mothering -- is what is popular during that time in culture.

She goes through the decades of the Murphy Brown Mommies of the 1980s and the Soccer Moms of the 1990s. And then she gets to the "Minivan Mom" of 2000. And whammo, this giant bat hits me in the head.

"The new definition of motherhood was, in the popular imagination, the state of being 'almost always on-duty.' Yet the duties of parenthood had now reached epic proportions. It wasn't enough, if you were 'at home' or working part-time, to be there to pick up your kids at school if you wanted to clock in virtuous mommy hours. You had to do homework with your children, bake for their bake sales, and volunteer at their schools. You had to give quality and quantity time -- and if you wanted, at the same time to set your child on the path to a productive future, you had to model productive behavior, and keep yourself in a state of constant busyness. Your love for your child was judged not just by the amount of time you spent with him or her but by the amount of time you spent doing for him or her..."

'We were the girls who could Do Anything. This was not something we had to shout about, or something we had to prove, it just was...Coed gym and woodworking shop, and told us to never let the boys drown out our voices in class. Often enough, we did better than they did in school. Even in science and math. We called our teachers 'Ms.' We went to college in classes that were more than 50 percent female... We believed that we could  climb as high as we wanted to go, and would live adult lives that would allow us to be the people we wanted to be. Other outcomes -- like the chance that children wouldn't quite fit into this picture -- never even entered our minds... In the 1980s, while our baby boomer elders continued their quest to achieve firsts in the worlds of business and politics and elsewhere, we earned the dubious distinction of being the first generation ever to register an 'epidemic' of eating disorders... 'Even though feminine dependency is no longer in fashion young women combine traditional expectations with a quest for equity and power. To be brainy and beautiful; to have an exciting $75,000 a year job; to nurture two wonderful children in consort with a supportive but equally high-powered husband-these are the personal ambitions of many in the present college generation'."

Groan. Groan. Groan. And it only got worse...

"Now her little boy was in weekly occupational therapy and, at more than $100 per session, it was worth every penny, she told me. She laughed about it. She was un-self-forgivingly clear-sighted. 'OT' might or might not be doing much of anything for her son. But it was proving highly therapeutic for her. 'Look, I'm a very high-anxiety person,' she said. 'I'd rather believe my son has issues -- that he doesn't listen to me because he can't, because, as the occupational therapist says, he's too busy listening to what's going on in his body-- than to have to think it's just because I'm a bad mother.' A bad mother? I asked... She looked down and twisted her napkin nervously. 'If I did things right,' she said softly, "he'd listen."

... because I identify with it all.

And what makes me feel the most terrible -- Is that my whole life suddenly feels like a total cliché.

If There are Taxes There Must be Death

On Tuesday, my great Uncle Bud passed away. He was 85 years old and his health had been declining steadily. When my favorite aunt called to tell me her father-in-law passed away, I eyed my calendar. X-man had a birthday party on the schedule at 3 p.m. I was going in for eye surgery on Thursday and didn't know if I'd be okay to drive. So MacTroll was going to have to go with me if I couldn't drive. I knew one of my friends would be fabulous and offer to take X-man. But on the other hand, X-man had been asking a LOT about death over the last year.

So, I took a chance and asked him that night if he'd want to go to the funeral. I explained to him who Uncle Bud was, how he died and that a funeral was a chance to say goodbye to the people that you love and get together to remember the person who died with family.

"Do I get to go by the stones?" X-man asked.

"Stones?"

"The ones with the names on them?"

"Oh, the grave stones!"

"I want to play hide and seek in the graveyard like on Scooby Doo."

"Mmmmmmmm. Let me explain further."

As it turned out, he really wanted to go. He was even willing to wear his "fancy clothes" without complaint. So, we left our house at 7 a.m. this morning. We drove up to Western Springs and made it to the 9:30 a.m. visitation. X-man saw Uncle Bud's remains in the casket at the end of the aisle. He asked questions about his skin color, about how the casket worked, about why everyone was going up to see a dead body, if he wasn't going to talk or move or answer back. These were all good questions. It helped that the church was very kid friendly. They even had activity bags in the back of the church for kids to use that were labeled with age appropriateness. There were also booster seats in case the kids wanted to see more of the service.

We'd done a fair job of covering the technical parts. Things like explaining that the choir and piano were upstairs in the balcony. That the candle that was lit was really a light bulb that looked like fire, but wasn't so the church wouldn't catch fire. We could explain who each of my relatives were and why they were so sad that Bud had passed away. That, yes, just like there was an Anthony in his school, he had a baby cousin named Anthony. The part we hadn't figured he'd have the most questions about was the frequent use of "Our Father" and "Jesus." And little informational sentences whispered into a five year old's ear at the back of the church service only leads to more and more questions about some giant topics.

I thought I was doing fairly well regarding God and Mary and Joseph and Jesus. But he couldn't quite figure out the whole aspect of spirit impregnating a virgin (who was married to someone else) and her giving birth when he knew only people could reproduce with people. Just like before the service started when he asked me about the toy ark and why it had two animals. I told the story, and his reply was, "Mommy, that's made up. That can't be real."

"Why?"

"Because there's not enough room for EVERY animal. There are a lot of birds. And how would one guy feed them all?"

I thought this was a fairly logical question.

But in the sanctuary, he asked a big question. "Is God Dead?"

I took a breath and looked at MacTroll. He nodded his head at me indicating that it was time we started talking about world religions with X-man. We'd been wondering when this was going to happen, because we've been on the whirlwind of what is real and what isn't. Most of the time it's really easy to explain that so far aliens, werewolves, vampires, Handy Manny and The Joker, aren't real.

But with religion, there are so many parts that many, many, many, many people do believe are real. So many variances of how literally they take the Bible or don't, whether or not Heaven takes everyone... or not. Reincarnation. Confession. Vegetarianism. All kinds of different aspects. MacTroll and I always thought we'd share what he and I believe but explain that X-man can believe whatever he wants to believe. That when it comes to spirituality, there's not really a wrong answer. Be an Atheist. Be Jewish. Be Buddhist. It's all fine to us. Just be peaceful and kind and treat everyone like your equal.

I whispered in his ear that some people think he is just a story, but some people do believe he is alive and looking over everyone.

In the end, we were able to grab a quick lunch at McDonald's and hustle back to Champaign for a 3 p.m. birthday party. It was definitely the first birthday party that all three of us had attended in fancy clothes. MacTroll in his suit, me in pantyhose and a skirt and X-man in a collared/button-down shirt. We looked totally out of place, but X-man had a totally good time, and was sad when it was over.

Thoughts

Which comes first, a child who is self-reliant and self-fulfilling (because no one is ever around) OR the negligence of others because they assume the child is self-reliant and grounded and therefore doesn't need people? And then what happens when that child grows up?

I'm reading a book. It's picking at my brain. Go figure. Stupid literature.

Living without Self-Love

I'm sitting up tonight thinking about some conversations I've had in the last several months. A couple of them were with people I love very much and one was today with a complete stranger. The conversation topics were different for all three people, but the feelings behind them were very much the same. They all felt completely helpless to make a major change in their lives that they knew would help them lead happier and healthier lives.

I sit through these conversations listening, and, of course, being a person who really believes that in order to survive even the most hostile environment, you have to adapt. If you don't, you end up sinking into the quicksand. Adaption is your rope to safety. These people know that, too. But it's like they've given up. They're lying down and just flailing in the sand. And I feel two ways about it. On one hand there's a desperation and sadness, mostly for the two people I love, but with the stranger, I threw my hands up. She's making a choice to victimize herself. I figure you either get out of the fire or you burn.

Is it a lack of self-esteem? Is it biological? What makes someone repeatedly choose behaviors that they know will kill them? Where did their lust for life go?

I've made some pretty terrible errors in judgment in my lifetime. I've learned some pertinent lessons from each and every one of those situations. I'm not perfect. But the older I get, the more I start to see the triumph in just surviving the crap that life gives you. It sweeps in, knocks you over, and you claw your way up. Then, at least this is the way my life goes, it sweeps in and immediately knocks you on your ass again, over and over and over and over. What happens after the 453rd time it knocks you down and you decide you're not getting up any more? Are you tired? Injured? Depressed? What gets us up and what keeps us down?

I know there are many times when I wanted to stay down. I know I've been an enemy to myself on many occasions with my self doubt, negative speak and worse. Strangely, through all that experience, I never quite got how I could help someone else see themselves in a different light. Part of me understands that they have to make that kind of self-discovery on their own. It can't be taught or provided by someone else.

And I'm sad that I know so many people who appear to be in the same deep holes right now, and that  even though I can listen and love, there's not much else I can do, except hope that they begin to see themselves the way the people who love them see them.

Contemplation

Well, how was the 10-day break from me? In the last 10 days, I've had to come to grips with a lot of things. And right now I'm ready to reflect and digest. Because I've had 24 hours to myself while living on the Plateau in Montreal by myself to concentrate. I can't help it. It's what I do here. I decompress, I evaluate, I move on, grieve and welcome new adventures. I reset. I'm not sure if I laugh more or cry more when I'm here.

When I got out of the 60-minute wait in Immigration, I walked past the mountain of people waiting for loved ones. And every time I'm here, I dream and wish that someone would be here waiting for me. Some kind of friendly face in my favorite town. Unfortunately, Mr. Taxi Driver is usually the one who ends up with me. It was the first time since 2005 that I arrived at night. It had rained all day, and the air was cool but refreshing after standing in line with a bunch of sweaty people for an hour. I got into the cab and gave the address and cross street to the driver. He drove toward the highway and then picked up the phone and called in to have someone google where he was going for him. I thought that was hilarious. From time to time I do that for MacTroll when he's on trips, well, before the invention of the iPhone. I hate to say it but that damn thing is actually had more negative effects on our marriage than positive ones. That is, if you value communication with your spouse as a positive. 

Anyway, when he turned onto Rue Berri, I explained he could just drop me at Sherbrooke and Laval because Laval was a one way and the only way down it was going all the way up to Av. des Pins. He thanked me profusely, and I realized, as I do when the family goes to St. John. I'm becoming a regular. (Of course, the woman at Immigration also looked at my passport and said, "You're here all the time!")

I walked about 50 feet up the street to my apartment. It was the second floor, an apartment rental known as Lux Suites. It's a total guy apartment. Everything is red and chocolate brown. There are 3 TVs in an 800 sq foot place, a grill on the stove, espresso and a small container of milk in the fridge, and he was taping Elles on the ARTV channel on his DVR. I wondered if this was his bachelor pad, that they redid (so he wouldn't have to sell it) and they lease it out. But I also wondered if someone ran over here to "work on the apartment" and watch his shows. :-)  The remodel of the old building is very nice. Particular attention was paid to the lighting (every switch dims on and off with cool blue lights) and the bathroom.

The first night I sat down with my HMR meal starving. I wolfed it down and then took off to walk to the store for some fruit and vegetables and diet sodas. My preferred Fruiterie was a little far to go on a night where it looked like it could start pouring at any moment. So I opted for the lame little grocer instead. The path to the grocer takes me down Prince-Arthur, which is pretty much a pedestrian only street lined with primarily Greek, Italian and French Bistro restaurants. There's also a liquor store, a couple of quickie marts, etc. It's well lit and lots of people were walking home with groceries or going out to dinner. It's my first time in Montreal in the fall. I've only really ever been here in the summer, except for one trip in January a long time ago.

When I returned, I sat down with my food journal for my emotional eating class. (I think this is a challenge I'll always have, but it helps that Carle has a special class devoted just to this issue.) I wrote down my dinner and my night time snack, brushed my teeth and slid under the covers of my queen-sized bed. No cats to clean up, no kid to put to bed, no husband asking where his shoes are... The truth is, I spent most of my first night on Facebook. I was avoiding thinking. In the end, I'm pretty sure that's what Facebook gives me. It saddens me to know that if I left it, what few interactions I have on there with friends would stop and I'd be left behind and forgotten. But I know it's true, and I hate it. 

Today, was a different day. I got up at 7 a.m., put in my contacts, got dressed and went for a run. A restaurant on Prince-Arthur burned down last night. I do remember waking up to sirens but I thought it was because my apartment is near a medical facility. When I interned in D.C. my studio apartment backed into GW Hospital. Eventually, you get used to it. But I'm used to hearing trains in Savoy, not so much sirens, so the fact that they were coming and going for 2 hours doesn't surprise me that I wasn't all that rested at the crack of dawn this morning (and I can say that because the sun rose at 7:11 a.m. here). 

On my run, I felt like I was going to die. I originally was supposed to come up here to do a 10k on Sunday, but due to the fact that I haven't run much at all all summer, and have only had one 5.3 mile run in the last three weeks, I'm probably just going to run by myself and not go to the race. Sad, isn't it? But I'm not eating my way out of it. I'm confronting it. Dealing with it. Trying really hard to accept it. I'm not Wonder Woman, right? No matter how much my 4 year old thinks I might be or how much I want to meet that expectation.

After 10 minutes, I slowed into a comfortable pace and started thinking. Today's topic was work and future. I still have not heard anything back from Eastern regarding my transcripts. I've e-mailed 4 times since Labor Day and called twice. I'm being ignored. I find that rather rude. But they're the only ones near me that focus on nutritional education for RDs. I could do an online program, I guess, but I kind of wanted a support system. The truth is, I do too much on my own as it is. I'm feeling disconnected. 

I could apply to different programs that would require us to move, I thought. But I'm afraid of not selling our house. 

Then came the idea that I really don't want to write any more research papers in my lifetime. I sighed. Do I really want to do more school? I could. I'd do it. But it has to work with my life. And let's face it, my life has a lot of freedoms, but it's also been feeling like a very decorated, elaborate cage. 

It's not wrong to want to take care of your family. It's not wrong to identify that my relationship with MacTroll has never, ever fit in a real "normal" mode. It's not ideal, but it's our norm. There's comfort in what you know, but at the same time, our life makes me feel very much alone because I'm the only one I can depend on in the house. And I feel like my life is always around the boys. I lose sight of myself. I feel dizzy. 

And so I go forth and I make things where there weren't things before. I'm good at it: making something from nothing. I'm good at helping people. I'm useful. I'm thoughtful. I have a high level of empathy, and I'm extraordinarily good at organization. I love kids, animals and old people.  I volunteer, I organize, I work part-time, I take classes. And at a snail's pace I move forward, having no real idea of where I am going. I get an idea that makes me excited. And then two months later the bigness of it tires me. The idea still excites me, but the practicality of it happening while I live in my bubble is non-existent. 

I wonder, often, if a full-time job would give me the outlet I'm looking for. And then I wonder, what would that job be? Would it be in publishing again? Public relations? Would it be something new? 

Then something hits me. The amount of money I'd make doing one of those jobs is nothing in comparison to my husband's check. The check he receives for having a job that is 24 hours a day, 7 days a week of being on his phone, his computer, at the airport. The idea of it makes me feel stupid. More lonely. Less of a help to my son. I treasure our freedom, even though I know in less than a year, we'll be more structured due to kindergarten. 

Is this really how it's supposed to be? How is it that what's probably best for me, isn't, at this point, what's actually best for my family? And how do I move forward knowing that the theory: "if Mama ain't happy no one's happy" makes sense in my head, but in my heart, it tells me that the best thing for most of my family is to continue with the status quo. 

The other thing on my mind is MacTroll's future at his company. It's likely if he's to move up the ladder (likely=his boss told him, "You know if you want to move up in the future...")  he'll have to move to California. The idea of this makes me cringe. Mostly because I'm not a big fan (too many freaking people), even though we'd probably see other friends more often as they all have to come to Cupertino/San Francisco at some point or another. But those aren't friends I can leave my child with and go out on a date with, you know? They're the ones who fly in and fly out. Where would we live? How would we afford it? I'd have to go back to work, even with MacTroll's mega paycheck. And what would California (particularly in an area where everyone has to have two incomes to pay for their incredibly expensive housing) think of someone who stayed home for years to raise her child? And what the hell would that job be? Would it be better to have some full-time work experience here before going there? 

So many thoughts. So many doors and possibilities. And this is only the first 24 hours. 48 hours left... And that was all just in a 30-minute run. Know what helps you get out of that funk? A hot shower after running through the cold rain, warm clothes and a bowl of fruit for me and pastries for a friend over honest and high-quality conversation. Sully, thank you for getting me out of my funk and reminding me that I have the potential for greatness in whatever I choose to do. You have no idea how much I needed to hear that from someone today. 

In other news, it appears as if all of my emotional eating for the last six months was basically fruits and carbs. My lack of energy, hair falling out and other health issues I'd been having since May have to do with the fact that I have a protein and iron deficiency. I'm back in the HMR box for the next 5 weeks (which will help raise those levels and kind of reset my eating patterns) and then I guess I'll be having meat for Thanksgiving with a baby spinach and strawberry salad (vitamin C helps your body absorb iron). I'm also on an iron supplement, but my thyroid didn't break down, so we'll take it. 

In My Head

This morning I did something that I don't normally do. I got up at 5 freaking o'clock and went for a run. I aimed for 60 minutes or five miles, whichever came first. (5.25 miles at 10:23/mile) The streetlights were still on. First light was just cracking and sending a warm orange glow over the Prairie Fields subdivision across the street from my house and the temperature, after nearly a week of 25-45 mph gusts, was perfect.

I've had a lot on my mind lately. We're working on some household improvements. (And by we, I mean the flooring professionals at Flooring Surfaces in Champaign and Nusbaum Custom Carpentry in Mansfield) School just ended. X-man's been a constant 4-year-old neurotic puzzle. My husband seems pretty engaged as a father, but kind of tired and checked out and in need of a vacation otherwise. I have a number of friends with uncontrollable life drama happening at the moment. There are other things I know I should be paying more attention to, but I'm not.

Is it just me? Because I'm so distracted, I'm not sure my head is still connected to my body.

Working It Out

It's 11 p.m. and I'm pooped. One would think that being a student/stay-at-home Mom I'd get a lot of rest. But no. I sleep like crap a lot. I've been writing down when I have trouble sleeping... and 90 percent of the nights are nights when MacTroll is gone.

Lately, by the time 8 p.m. rolls around I'm exhausted. Mostly, I think, due to my exercise schedule. When I need to think about something now, I end up doing it while I run or swim rather than sitting at a desk. Multitasking the big thoughts through the rhythmic gliding through the water or pace of my plodding feet.

And when I have big things on my mind, suddenly the calories burned per day goes through the roof. Since Monday I've burned over 2,300 calories. My usual average is somewhere between 400 and 540 a day, six days a week. So, it's almost double the lower number. About one week a month, I do this double workout thinking about my big picture.

And there's one question I can't seem to answer: Who am I?

Fleeing the scene

MacTroll got home today at 2:30. I was in the middle of a crappy headache, and done with single parenting. X-man had been asking every time Riley barked at something if it meant that Daddy was home. 

So when he finally was, I was happy to hand him X-man and go upstairs to try and get some rest. 

But part of me wanted to get in the car and just drive away for a few days. Be unreachable, untouchable and unknown. I wanted to do wild and crazy unexpected things that I didn't ever have to share with anyone.

I longed for it. The anonymity. The independence. The Freedom.

Mostly, I understood that I need a break that's longer than the 36 hours I'm going to get this weekend.