Thoughts After 3 Weeks on Medication

It's been a little quiet here. It's been a little quiet in my reading life. It's been a very quiet in my Scrivener document, where I write my novel. I have been laying low, for many reasons. One big one? I started medication for generalized anxiety disorder, and I've been sleeping. A lot.

I had a physical three weeks ago, and it happened to fall right in the middle of a Very Stressful Time. We had just accepted an offer on our house, and we had a small window of time to find a new home. You know, the home we expected to meet our family's needs for the next thirty years? That one. We needed to find it in a matter of weeks, while working full time with little to no childcare for ANY non work hours. Our family rhythms had also shifted in January, with Ben home during the day and working nights and Saturdays, and it was hard. Hard on the (bored) kids, hard on Ben and I. Add in evenings and weekends being dragged to look at houses where you weren't allowed to touch anything, and our family was...raw. Snapping at each other. We were in survival mode.

What a beautiful problem to have, right? Touring potential new homes? I don't fail to recognize that only privilege of a special kind can turn this opportunity into something to be endured. House worries were not my only anxiety, though. Over a stretch of several months, I had found myself getting into something that I would describe as "thought loops." I would say something at work or write something on the internet and then obsess over my wording, terrified that I had offended someone or that my words would be taken the wrong way. I would think of a possible worse-case scenario involving one of my students, and then perseverate on it until I had to hide my phone so I wouldn't call and check with parents at three in the morning. For all my talking about myself, I'm a terrible self-reflector, but I'm fairly certain these were recent personality developments. I used to be good at shrugging things off, or at least as good as the average citizen. These new worrying behaviors were making me miserable.

So at this well-timed physical, I checked off "nervousness" on the form where you talk about recent symptoms. The chatty nurse came back to the room with another mental health form, rolling her eyes. "Sorry, but you checked off one of the no nos, so you have to fill this one out. Circle all zeros and they'll leave you alone." Yeesh. I answered honestly, marking off how many times in the last month my nervousness had made me feel sad or unmotivated, how often I was unable to stop thinking about something upsetting, how often I had mood swings. When my doctor came in, she read the form, checked her schedule, and said that because she had no appointments after me, we were tackling this today. We talked about coping strategies, meditation, regular physical exercise, and therapy, all things that I have tried and some of which had been extremely helpful to me in the past. Very quickly, though, we arrived at medication, and I was surprised at how easily it was brought up an how much it was encouraged. I thought she would push other methods of handling my anxiety and ask me to come back. The thing that really got me was her description of it as a tool that could get you through tough times (house buying, legal paperwork, moving with toddlers?) and her insistence that we could constantly revisit whether I wanted to stay on it.

I left with a birth control renewal, a directive to take a women's one-a-day, and a prescription for an anti-anxiety medication.

This was about a month ago, and things have changed. In fact, it is a whole new world in our family. This new medication has altered our home life in a way that I could not predict. See, I knew my worries were making me upset, but I had no idea how much they affected my moods. Whenever I am scared or unsure, my knee jerk reaction is to get mad- I've been this way my whole life. So when I was worried a lot, I was mad a lot. When I am mad in public, I tamp it down. I am a Libra, a diplomat, and I make sure everyone is happy. When I am mad at home, my anger is loud and quick and huge. No one outside of my family is privy to the way I can fall apart when I lose my temper. It's big. Big decisions make me fight or shut down altogether. Until now.

A week or so into my new med, Ben and I had to decide what offer to put in on a house that we were fairly certain was The One and The Only One For Us. Ben wanted to offer low, very low, figuring that the house needed a lot of work and it was the opening of negotiations. I felt that we were buying someone's family home and I didn't want to insult the owners. We went back and forth, explaining our sides. I was nervous, but Ben insisted, "They'll just counteroffer! This is the right move."  I nodded. "Okay." He looked at me weird. It took him three more cautious days to admit it, but he told me, "I've known you for 12 years, and you have never stopped in the middle of an disagreement with an 'okay.' In fact, the entire process of putting in that offer would have caused huge blowouts a month ago." I realized he was right. Moving into our first home had been incredibly stressful, resulting in huge fights that I am humiliated to recall. My fear and worry about the big changes in our lives had translated into little microbursts of rage. I was blamed "my temper." I never ever realized that medicine could affect these unpleasant emotions that I just figured were an unwelcome part of my personality.

In the past month, I cannot recall one single outburst that felt like a loss of control. I have been able to face challenges and stressful scheduling and minor family emergencies without spiralling and taking out on my husband or berating myself mentally. It has been truly life changing.

I don't want to sugarcoat this experience. There have definitely been drawbacks. As the medicine builds up in my system, I can feel myself getting more and more sleepy during daytime hours. I'm a person who has always loved waking up early, but in the past month, that has gotten harder and harder. Sometimes my eyelids flutter shut even as I'm drinking my coffee. I've had an incredibly difficult time getting to the gym in the evening, which used to happen at least three times a week- these days, I'm just too tired, even with extra sleep in the morning. The gym is my number one reading time, so as that time has dropped away, so has my interaction with books, something that greatly improves my mental health. I've had trouble getting into any book lately, and I can't tell if that's because of the medicine or just where I'm at right now. And my writing has taken a huge hit. I can usually sit and have a post come flying out of my fingertips, edit it up and have it published within an hour. This post has taken me three days four days a solid week to write, not because I'm unsure about sharing, but...sentences are harder to find. Words are more jumbled. And it's easier to just save what I have and drift away, where leaving a post unfinished used to really bother me.

The best way I can describe it is that everything feels like it's turned down. Like before I was at eleven, and someone clicked me back to five. 

There are ways to tweak this. I have an appointment tomorrow to discuss my progress on the drug and I am going to ask if I can try a lower dosage. I can also flex my willpower muscles a little more for the things that are truly important to me. I used to use my willpower to try and keep from blowing up over little things. If I failed, I yelled at my family. If this new normal means I exercise willpower to keep my hobbies in my life, and failure means a missed day of writing or one less chapter of a book, my more pleasant home life is worth it. For my husband and my kids and myself.

I want to make sure to stress that I am not a doctor and I am SURE that this course is not the best for everyone. This is definitely not a tacit endorsement of medication for all. It's a little spooky to realize that a small pill has so much control over my life and my emotions, but for me, it's also comforting to have help quieting a part of me that keeps me from feeling like the woman I want to be. I may not feel this way forever, but my doctor assured me that the conversation about whether this is the best for me is always open, and that, too, is comforting. 

I've always shared about my health on this blog, mostly because I overshare and talking about myself is one of my favorite hobbies. I also felt drawn to write this down after reading this great piece by Veronica Roth, a popular YA author who shared her story to encourage others who are struggling with mental health. Nothing is too small or silly to go unnoted- talk to your doctor about how you're feeling. If they dismiss your concerns, find another doctor. I have built a really special relationship with my primary care provider by being blunt even when it's uncomfortable, and she, in turn, listens to me and guides me. I trust her.  If your doctor doesn't make you feel safe and cared for, find another. You deserve a positive health care experience, no matter who you are or what symptoms you're struggling with. 

I would be happy to answer any questions you have about my personal situation, building a relationship with a health care provider, or anything at all that crosses your mind. Take care of yourselves as best you can, accept help whenever you want to, and never let anyone question the way you choose to live in your glorious body.

Some links for further reading:

http://fatfriendlydocs.com/ A list of fat friendly doctors listed by state and region, a great starting point for finding an open minded health care professional.

https://findtreatment.samhsa.gov/  Behavioral Health Treatment Services Locator- completely anonymous, let's you find the help you need in your area.

Both of the above links are from the indispensable resources page put together by The Militant Baker. 

brain dump 2.12.16

Things are hard right now. Not like world-ending, irreparable-damage hard. But life-changing hard. Everything about my family is changing right now, and it's hard.

I didn't realize how deep my head was in the sand. I wouldn't have said I was resistant to change until change reared up and my body is resisting. My heart is resisting. Even though everything is for the best, even though this is good change, even though the outcomes all make our family stronger and healthier and happier. It's hard. And I'm out of practice dealing with hard things.

The boys will start preschool in September, but for now, they are home with Ben. This is an amazing gift, something my soul had been begging for. Already, just a a few weeks into our new life, they are happier. I notice changes in behavior. I know we made the right choice. Amazing Ben spends the day playing with them, cleaning up the house, and then heads to work the second I am home for some night hours. The boys feel like they are on permanent vacation, celebrating having so much time with their favorite person, and the awkward stress that existed every day at daycare pick up is gone. I've been praying for this for months.

And yet. This means no breaks for either of us. Ben's little kid-free time in the morning, my little kid-free time in the evenings...gone. Being the sole provider for my kids' entertainment and education is a little daunting; the necessity of playdates is suddenly looming, huge. I feel more pressure to Do Something in the afternoon hours I have with them. I'm afraid they'll miss their friends, get weird about sharing, never potty train. These are first world, upper middle class problems, and I feel guilty even letting them worry me. "My KIDS might not get the same level of GERM EXPOSURE at home." I think I'm a little scared that all the cool things they know how to do were taught to them by someone else. I have taught them to enjoy books and jump when a text message notification goes off.  ("Mama! Your phone!") And that might be it.

I'm afraid I'll never write again, or feel healthy again, or stop whining. I had a routine and it was rad. Wake up early, write and tinker and read book reviews online. Go to work, scoop up the kids, have a little outing. Put them to bed, kiss Ben hello, and to the gym for a session of reading on a machine. Home by 9 to fall asleep on the couch. Start it all over again. The tiniest glitch in this plan is unraveling me. I am talking epic levels of drama over the fact that I now need to gym it in the morning and write at night. I've only managed it a few days, and by 7:30-8, when the kids are finally asleep the kitchen is passably clean and I've found something warm to sip (because I always write with a huge pot of coffee at my side) I don't FEEL like writing. Cheryl Strayed reminds us that no one cares if you FEEL like writing. If you have to do it, do it. Still, it took me a few years to fall solidly into the groove I had going, and I'm scared it will take me that long to get back into it.

Plus we're moving. We have a beautiful new kitchen with new appliances and a dishwasher for the first time in seven years and I can't stop getting weepy because I miss our old smudgy cabinets and shitty countertop. This new kitchen is very clean and very lovely and very sterile and it's not ours. It's not for us. It's the first step of distancing ourselves from this place where we've thrown BBQs and painted ceilings and brought home our babies and I cannot even believe that I am still struggling SO much with the concept of a new space.

This porch/office/bonus room, where I am sitting right now, is my favorite thing. I love this place as much as if it were a little church sewn onto the back of my house. We never talked about it this way, but I always felt like Ben built this for me. It was for us, ostensibly, but really, it was for me. I used to write balancing my laptop on a side table and pray no kid spilt formula on it, and my books were in the basement. Ben hired the people and got the loan and ordered the carpet and painted the walls and took me to Ikea to pick out a desk and built me the bookshelves and gave me my first office. Ever. And sitting here watching the sun come up in a quiet sleeping house while I drink coffee and make up worlds is my idea of heaven. It is most fantastic gift Ben has ever quietly given me.  And we have to leave.

I know why we have to leave. The kids don't have enough space. It's not fair to them. I can't spread my books and Funko pops and subversive postcards all over a huge chunk of the house but ask my children to sleep on crib mattresses for the rest of their childhood. I can't keep skipping buying big toys because there is no space for them. The boys deserve more room, and that's why we have to go. We will make another home charming and funky and wonderful. We will paint the cabinets smudgy green, if that's what it takes. Give the boys more space for their art supplies and rocket ships and make a reading nook for Milo and Elliott that is as wonderful as the little haven I have now.

I don't know how much of this emotion is because it's also finally winter, or because the tension of the last few months was compressing me and now I can finally feel things. I don't know if I'm hormonal because my birth control ran out or if I'm just dramatic (that goes without saying) and I'm giving into it right now. It's probably just that change is hard and I haven't had to change in awhile. I'm going to be fine. Writing everything out helped a ton.

Thanks for listening xo

What'd I Miss?

My last post was well over a month ago, and there was a point last month when I nervously wondered if it would be my last ever. I was deep, deep into my goals for National Novel Writing Month, and I didn't have an extra ounce of energy to spend creating any other sentences. But even before November kicked off, there were so many other things flooding in to fill my time.  Nice things, like visiting with friends and family, celebrating my 30th birthday (my sister threw me a mind-blowing surprise birthday party mid month and family came in from all over the country to celebrate), getting ready for Halloween with my costume-loving husband and kids. I have been reading a lot, and listening to a ton of music, and I've had some great day trips. It's been a fantastic fall.

But I miss writing here. I miss sharing ideas and stories, and I am holding out on you with some really inspiring interviews about ladies who are uniquely their own, and who are living their best lives, even if it means making unconventional choices. There is a lot to think about in the world right now, everything from refugees who need our support to the newest Broadway musical that I can't stop singing (spoiler alert: it is called Hamilton and it is amazing). I have links COMING OUT OF MY EARS to share with you. 

I feel like I have not done ANY justice to Be Your Own Book Club this year, and I'm so grateful to you guys who have followed along with my bumbling efforts! I'm hoping to be more organized going into 2016, maybe planning the books further ahead, and possibly even doing an IRL meetup to talk bookishly. I loved The Ocean at the End of the Lane (our October read) and got to see Neil Gaiman and Amanda Palmer (his wife) at the Boston Book Festival at the end of October. I'm not going to have a pick for December, but I will plan on rolling things out officially a bit before January 1st!

Here is the PSA I need to read for this time of year, in case you need to hear this, too: "the holidays" can be extremely draining, regardless of how you celebrate. Guzzle water like you need it to live (you do), try to stick to normal meals with green things included, and move your body as much as possible. If, by some freak accident, you do end up dehydrated and laying under a table with powdered sugar ringing your mouth and last night's mascara crusted in the corners of your eyes (this has never happened to me), be gentle with yourself. Drink a big glass of water and wash your face. You can try again tomorrow.

The wonderful Sam Axford won The Daily Note planning pad! It's on it's way, Sam!

I just wanted to touch base and let you know that each of you lovely ladies and gents are on my mind, I'm grateful for my little readership, and I'm looking forward to chatting more in the days and months and years ahead. Much love! xo

(The image above is an example of my husband's devotion to Halloween- both boys had alternate trick or treating costumes as well. The pictures were taken by Ben and edited into the background by our good friend Vatche. Despite the fact that I am wearing a sheet and not totally into how I look in this pic, it may well be our Christmas card.)

In My Next 30 Years

I remember listening to this Tim McGraw song when I was younger. I thought it was pretty clever, all about the things he was going to do in his NEXT 30 years...watch his weight, hang out with his family, drink less beer. I think he might have alluded to finding God again. It made 30 seem old. Ancient. Hang up your hats, guys, your fun is over, time to settle down.

I've been thinking a lot about ten years ago. I spent the last night of my teens crying. I was living in a little apartment on Highland Avenue with an older guy and I loved the novelty of being his teenage girlfriend. I liked being younger than all the people I went to college with. I wanted to do everything quickly, so I could do it YOUNG- get married, have kids, start my career.  Last night, in the last night of my twenties, I made my grandmother's banana bread, kissed my kids goodnight, and pretended to work out while I read a book on the treadmill. I thought about my full, full life and how glad I am that it's impossible to get your 19-year-old wish of staying "young" forever.

I'm 30 today. I kind of hoped I'd wake up with some blast of maturity and knowledge, but I fell asleep on the couch watching The Fly when I snapped to at 3:50 am, curled into a weird position with drool drying on my chin, I thought, "HOLY SHIT, I'm 30!" and went to bed without washing my face. I guess it's going to take the legwork to keep getting awesomer, but I'm definitely finding it easier with each passing year.  Here are a few things I figured out so far.

GIRLFRIENDS ARE KEY

I've sucked at this for most of the first third of my life. I could blame it on losing my dad (I've tried to justify it in this way) but in all honesty, I know that my personality craves attention, and male attention most of all. Especially in high school and my early college months, I would often go after relationships with guys, romantic or platonic, at the expense of my female friendships. I never claimed to be one of those "girls who gets along better with guys" [I heavily side-eye this statement from anyone], but I was a crappy friend to lots of people who deserved better treatment. I'm sorry.

At this point in my life, I'm finally in relationships with several women who are EVERYTHING to me: therapist, confidante, mentor, hilarious entertainment. Home. These are the people who diagnose my symptoms when I can't tell if I should call the doctor, indulge me with hours of talking about young adult literature, tell me when I need to get over myself and apologize to my husband, suggest gymnastics camps for my toddlers, leave love notes on my desk at work, text me articles about my favorite fandoms, or show up with Thai food on the night before my birthday. Some of these women I see every day, and some of them are only a text or a call from me, but all of them make my life SO much richer. I wish I had realized how much better I could be if I invested in the female friendships that I was so lucky to have in high school and college. WHATEVER AGE YOU ARE, GIRLFRIENDS ARE KEY.

SLOW DOWN

To a sloth's pace. I'm not going to reference two country songs in one post, but there's an Alan Jackson song called You're Gonna Miss This, and now I've done it. STOP RUSHING. There is time, and if you allow yourself to have it, you might come to a better decision. Lots of what I did in my twenties is because I thought it was what was NEXT. I'm dating someone. Next is getting married! I'm in an apartment. Must be time for a house! I've graduated college. QUICK, get a job with a ridiculously high level of responsibility that directly affects LIVES! 

I want to be clear that I love my husband and I'm fond of my house and I'm proud to be in my 9th year of teaching. But I did things without thinking. I was lucky that Ben turned out to be such an incredible husband and father, because I married him after knowing him for two years, one of which was while I was a teen and legally brain dead [I actually think teens are legally brain dead, at least all the ones like me who AREN'T inventing things and solving major social problems]. I got into teaching because someone said I was good at with kids, and I never thought much about my own personal goals at any point during college or afterwards. Right now, I'm fairly certain that I would like to explore a career working with books and writing. Maybe teaching at a higher level, or the ultimate goal- LIBRARIAN? But I am going slllloooowwww. Gathering information. Feeling myself out. There's no need to rush.

TAKE CARE

of your butt. I have reached (at a somewhat early date) the point where I am literally exercising for no other reason than to stay alive. Actually, I just want to be able to go on amusement park rides and not have to replace my beloved brown autumn jacket. As much as I want to love myself and my skin and I firmly believe that my worth is not equated to my size, I know that I have a family history of health problems and I want to stick around. I wish I had spent a little more time on fitness FOR THE RIGHT REASONS. It would have been less depressing and easier to stick to. 

I spent lots of time in twenties waiting to become someone else. I pictured her- she was gorgeous, ultimate, ideal, skinny, funny, quirky with no uncomfortable weirdness. She had a perfect wardrobe of boyfriend tshirts, converse sneaks, and bright dresses. She kept a clean house, an organized desk at work, read all the most literary titles, and was never afraid of the obscure horror movies her husband watched. The saddest part of this is that I really thought all I had to do to unlock her was lose weight. I had to remind myself that THIS BITCH WAS NOT REAL. And I wouldn't even like her if she was.  Now I READ WHAT I WANT (fantasy princesses and love triangles?) and WEAR WHAT I WANT (mostly what she would have worn, in plus sizes) and I MOVE WHEN I WANT (so I can stay alive). I want to take good care of myself because I deserve to feel healthy and my family deserves to get me for as long as I can torture them by hanging on. That's what fitness is going to be in my next 30 years.

FOURTH AND MOST IMPORTANT: PLEASE RECOGNIZE THAT YOU KNOW LESS THAN NOTHING. I spent most of my early twenties thinking I knew a lot. I was wrong.

In my next 30 years I'm going to finish my book and maybe the trilogy. I'm going to decide on my next career- or maybe retire from teaching first before starting round 2. I'm going to go on trips with my sisters. I'm going to make taking care of myself a cornerstone of my life. I'm going to cement some family traditions. I'm going to get more tattoos. I'm going to make a million more mistakes. I'm probably not going to stop writing about them.  Any advice for this new decade? I'm all ears!

(image credit)

Diary of Going 96 Hours Without My Cellphone

On August 6th around 6:35 pm, I broke my fifth cell phone. It was the stupidest way I've done so yet- just a tiny bump from a heavy bottle of olive oil while I was cooking dinner. The glass didn't even break, but I must have hit a sensor in the screen. The touch capability worked long enough for me to send out one more text, and then the entire thing kind of spectacularly fell apart.

The worst thing was not the knowledge that I am still paying for this latest phone (as part of our cellphone bill every month) or the torture that came as I could still SEE incoming texts and notifications, but not swipe across to answer them. The worst thing of all was this sick, thick panic that overtook me when I realized my phone was not going to heal itself with a hard power down. As I worked through the absolutely ridiculous emotions that swelled up during the FOUR DAYS (FOUR DAYS) that I went phone-less, I took some notes.  This is the diary of 96 hours without my cellphone.

Moment of Impact: My phone just broke. It broke for good. There is nothing, nothing, nothing that I can do at home to save this phone. At the moment of impact, I had this pathetic hope that everything would clear itself up. That the phone would bounce back. With shaking hands, I restarted the phone, not letting myself be worried because being worried is admitting defeat. We all know the power of ignoring something is strong enough to fix literally any situation, so during those torturous two minutes that it took to turn off and turn back on, I was full of arrogant, blissful ignorance. Then the screen came into view, the entire bottom half wonky and broken, and a choked back a sob. I told myself it was okay- I've lived with mangled screens and come up with ways around pecularities of phones at the end of their lives.

Then it started ghost texting. Whichever part of the sensor that broke when I bumped the screen allowed the touch screen to move by itself. I tried to delete the ghost letters that kept popping up, but the sensor was not my servant anymore. It did as it pleased. I panicked as the wonky, broken coloring spread to the entire screen. My husband texted to tell me he was coming home and I watched in horror as the phone texted back "On my way! Call you later? Field pop eat the dream distance." It was autocorrecting every random letter the sensor picked. I felt like Hal had betrayed me. I turned off the phone. I turned it completely off.

Now I'm wholly disconnected (except for my home line, laptop, and Kindle, of course, but what good are they?). It's late and we have plans tomorrow and I have no clue when I can get this fixed. I'm furious because my outfit tomorrow was SO cute, and I wanted to Instagram myself and the boys at the Gloucester Baazar. I'm also not sure how to get to Gloucester without Google maps. I think Ben would agree (and especially since we're meeting his mom there) that maybe our need is greater? And let me use his phone for the day? He's only going to be at work, not that big a deal. I think I'll talk to him about it.

End of Day One: This is weird, weird, weird, weird, weird. Last night while I was watching TV with Ben, I left my completely dead brick of a phone balanced on the arm of the couch because that's where it always is. We had watched an hour of TV before I even realized I was doing it. Today I spent all my waking hours living my life without a phone, and I feel like I lost a hand or something. I am constantly drafting messages in my head: status updates and tweets (different audiences, of course) and messages to Ben and Laurel and my friends. All my brilliance is just petering out without an audience. It's depressing.

Our travel to Gloucester was canceled, which was slightly relieving because I have no clue how we would have gotten there. I could have written down MapQuest directions but I haven't done that for 15 years and it would have depressed me. Instead we met some friends at a lake in town, which is still in a direction I don't usually travel, and I wasn't able to just space out while we drove over. We stopped at a mall kiosk to ask about replacing the screen, but it was still $100 dollars (about the same as the Apple price) and I'm not even sure that will solve the problem. We got back in the car and I reached for my phone to text and see if anyone wanted a coffee from the drive thru. The boys asked for music, but all our playlists are on Spotify. This sucks.

I am still carrying the phone with me all the time. It came to the beach with us in my backpack like always. I'm not sure if this is making it better or worse.

Day Two: There is a possible solution to this madness. My mom recently upgraded to a fanciful 6 Plus, and I'm sure she would pass her old phone on to me until I can figure out what the problem is with mine. I know that mine probably just needs a new screen, but I can't spend anymore money on it in good faith. As soon as I fix it, it will just break again.  The only problem with my Mama solution is that her old phone is a 4. A 4. I can't. But I will.

I had a tattoo appointment in the afternoon and had to write down the number of the tattoo parlor so the babysitter could contact me if she needed anything. It felt indescribably weird to leave knowing that my sitter would not be shooting little "Everything's cool!" or "Can Milo have these crackers?" texts. But I did love blaring some old school tunes in the car. I found all my old CDs and brought a huge stack of them with me. I completely forgot about the mystery of putting in a mix and having no clue what is going to pop up. I also forgot how awesome I was in high school.  

Tonight when I wanted to order Chinese food, I had to look up the number and *shudder* use the landline. When my cell number pops up at our local place, they have my name, address, and card number saved in their system. I order in two sentences and my food is speeding towards me. When I called from the landline, they didn't even know who I was.  On the plus side, when it arrived, I didn't have to consciously remind myself to pay attention to my husband or the movie we were watching. The major distraction was (forcibly) removed.

I miss idly texting Ben and my sisters all day, but I don't miss that void I go into when I'm mechanically checking Facebook/Instagram/Twitter without knowing what I'm looking for. I'm talking to my kids with frightening frequency.

Day Three: Today I had to ask total strangers what time it was. We were at Davis Farmland, an outdoor adventure park and petting zoo that I have visited twice weekly this summer and never realized is completely devoid of clocks. I felt self conscious about asking and would instantly get verbal diarrhea, explaining the entire ordeal. People just took out their phones and told me. I've also been using an old digital alarm clock that I haven't physically set for YEARS. At the beginning of my teaching career, alarms and watches were must-have tools. I haven't used either forever, until now.

I felt a lot of petting zoo picture opportunities slipping me by, but instead of snapping and then heading to Afterlight, I actually hung out with the boys. We talked about the animals and had thoughtful conversations about which part of the park we wanted to head to next. While they played on the playground, I read my book without updating Goodreads or checking out the author on Twitter. After I buckled everyone in the car when it was time to leave, I didn't spend five minutes scrolling through my stuff, seeing if anyone had liked my pictures while we were walking through the parking lot. We just hit play on the CD and started to drive. Milo clapped.

I always talk to my kids. We do lots of things together and get along really well, especially each year that they get older. But I'm noticing- in a way that makes me uncomfortable- that the day is running a lot smoother and there is a lot more laughing when I'm not glued to my phone. Dinner time, especially, is a lot more interactive when no one can ask to check how far away Daddy is and we're not all perking up at the buzz of an incoming text like Pavlov's dogs. I miss the connection that I get from being able to reach out to anyone at any time- phones are not evil. But I'm definitely a better mom when I'm on mine less. I wonder if any of this will stick when I'm connected again?

My mom overnighted the 4 today. One day more.

Day Four: The phone came today at naptime. At first, I moved slowly. Getting a phone back is no big deal. I've been in the harsh world for almost four days now with no connection, there's no rush. Then, as I was casually setting it up, there were some glitches in getting my service switched over. I instantly felt that panic. Why isn't it working? What the hell is this? I NEED MY PHONE!

It's back. It's hooked up. It's small. My contacts didn't transfer, so I'm slowly reentering people. It feels weird and old fashioned. I'm downloading apps as I need them and getting used to that instant gratification of likes and notifications.  I get to use the Steve Zissou case that Ben bought me two Christmases ago. Things are good. I know it will take me much longer than four days to rewire the habits that I have around my phone, and frankly, I'm not looking to change much about them right now. I do hope, however, to remember how good it felt to get to the end of dinner time with no out-of-house interruptions. And I will keep listening to my mix cds.

This is dedicated to my mom. Thanks for the phone!
(image credit)

Midsummer Check In!

There is a line in Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire that I have always adored. I just spent too long looking for it, which turned into reading huge passages from it, which turned into almost abandoning this post, so I'll paraphrase. Basically, it's about time doing strange things, passing in dollops so entire days and even weeks are gone before you a can blink an eye. That's what's going on this summer. Sometimes I feel like I'm waiting around for bedtime, other times I'm wondering how an entire four-day vacation vanished so quickly, or how I completely missed strawberry picking season for the first time ever.

This has been the easiest summer I've had yet home with my kids. For the first time, they can both talk and walk (so we can do more activities with less facilitation by me) but they also still nap (and the two to three hour period that they nap every afternoon is literally the highlight of my day). I have more free time for myself than ever, and I'm capitalizing on it. I'm blogging here and for other sites. I'm working on my manuscript for the YA novel I've been writing. I'm reading as much as possible, and buying more books than I can keep up with. I'm watching Buffy the Vampire Slayer kind of obsessively. I'm meeting up with friends and going on day trips and buying my first bikini (almost 30 and the heaviest weight I've ever been seemed like a good time to get over that hurdle) and having a damn blast. Seriously.

There are a few problems with this lifestyle: I'm not 20 anymore. If I had been a little more in tune with myself when I was in my twenties, then I could have had a whole freaking decade of this behavior. Maybe I was too jammed up with self conscious bullshit. Maybe I had to get here before I was ready to truly let loose. I should have been writing with less distraction, wearing a bikini on the beach with friends, planning more dates with Ben.  Now that I'm closer to thirty, I bounce back from hangovers more slowly, have to squeeze my hobbies into smaller blocks of time, and while hanging with friends is doable, time for Ben and I is rare and precious. There are so many things I'm dying to do, and to quote another paraphrased saying, I can do anything, but I can't do everything.

My mind is kind of exploding with the all the goodness in my face this summer- amazing books, breakthroughs in my story, fun with my kids, really tasty beers, wonderful friends, hopeful plans for the future. I'm at a point where I need a little discipline (some salads. some exercise.) and a solid long list to organize my thoughts. I need to balance my beers with water. I need to balance my friends time with family time. I need to set some concrete goals, to be a little more proactive. Reactionary living has been really fun, but it's not sustainable long term.

I've been being my own lady pretty ferociously, and it's freeing and a little frightening.  It can feel weird to take a lot time for yourself. It can be awkward to admit that you need to key back into the more boring but more stable parts of your routine.  It is downright scary to reevaluate the plans that you've been blindly hanging on to for several years. But that is part of being your own lady. Living wildly and checking in with how it feels. Making plans so that you're living an intentionally fabulous life, instead of hoping that the life you want blossoms in front of you. 

How is your summer going? Are you diving into any crazy projects, listening to good music, day drinking something delicious that I need to know about? Are you at a point where you need to stop and check in with your goals, or are things singing for you right now? I'd love to hear from you.

Keeping with tradition, I've joined Spotify about seven years late, so here is my summer playlist. A Great Big World is my favorite new band, and the new songs from Sia and Adam Lambert are making my life. 

"I want it all- and I would like it delivered." -Bette Midler

I'm home today with the boys.  Elliott has strep throat and hasn't been to school since Tuesday.  His antibiotics are finally kicking in, but daycare is closed for a family death, so both boys are rocking it with me.  It's been awhile since we've been settled into our comfortable routines, with my grandfather's funeral last week and the germy rebellion taking place over the last few days.  We're in that part of our lives where a few off days can hit hard hard hard.  I'm a little grumpy about it. 

Life right now is not pretty or balanced or predictable.  Things I eagerly anticipate (like seeing my whole family in one place last weekend) can be screwed up by things I never would have imagined (like drastically overestimating the boys' ability to hang/sleep in hotel beds/sit through a funeral/not puke constantly/let Ben and I enjoy the company of each other or anyone else for the entire weekend).  Some meaningless errands end up being so fun and I enjoy my family so much, and then the next second we all can't stand each other for the length of a Disney movie.  There is lots of hiding in the bathroom.

I'm finding solace in lots of solitary, nerdly pursuits. I've been reading my brain out and writing less than I'd like.  I'm stalling a little in my novel, and I think some of it is that I need a reader who can help me wade through the mess.  There's too much story now (350+ pages) to make an easy job of it, and finding someone who will take me in hand and be harsh when I need it is not simple.  I may start putting pieces up here, just to get some feedback and be motivated to keep going.  If nothing comes of this, I'm going to name my next kid after the main character.  I think Hazen is a cool name.  And I do want to find out what happens to her. 

I'm realizing (again or for the first time, I'm not sure) that this is not my life.  Not teaching first grade, or always doing daycare pick up, or having my weekends completely free.  This is a season.  This is our current situation.  Nothing all that huge will have to happen for a shift to come.  It just will.  Different things will click and pop and shudder and then the routine will be different for a few months and stuff might change again. 

I felt it today, being at Target on a Friday morning, chatting with other comfy-clad moms.  I feel it when my sister FaceTimes me in her glamorous work makeup, making passing statements about clients, or eating dinner at 8pm.  I do love my uniforms and my routines, but its scary to think of being stuck here forever. I find it weirdly comforting that in the shitty moments, (which are, when put in perspective, just fine) I can count on the fact that this might all be different in a year.  It mostly certainly will be different in five.  I have a lot more things I get to be before I'm done.

So that's a quick check in, as banal as it's possible to be, but I still appreciate, when I look back later, hearing myself talk out loud.  Seeing patterns (you're sad in the winter, dear) and realizing that most of my problems are petty and I'm blessed as hell.  Hashtag blessed.  Lucky.

(image credit here)

Parks and Rec is ending, and other things making a mess of me

I've been struggling with routine and winter doldrums.  I can't stay awake past 8:00, I can't get my act together and write the to-do lists that usually keep me focused. I'm living in a constant state of scraping by, and it's too hard.  Some of it is weather and some of it is depression that Parks and Rec ends tonight.  I also need to pull my head out of my ass.  Lovingly.

I pulled some good articles about self-care and made a little Pinterest board.  There is some cute/helpful stuff.  Most self-care advice is shockingly mundane: eat some healthy food, stretch your muscles, light a candle, get some rest.  But that's the shit we're not doing that makes us seek out self-care advice in the first place, so I get it.

Also, I encourage to watch your favorite shows, drink some spiked cocoa, and browse pictures of cats and dogs being friends without shame,  Looking up the GIF for this post cured half of my ails instantly (the link to GIF above and 1000 more is here).  Also making me happy: 

Reading: Yes Please by Amy Poehler, The Grisha Series by Leigh Bardugo, and Daughter of Smoke and Bone by Lanni Taylor.  I love the main character in that last one, and starting the second book of that trilogy might be another thing that perks me up. (My Goodreads profile for all the info)

New podcasts I've discovered: Book Riot and Invisibilia.  Makes chores melt away.

Binge-watching: Friends, New Girl, Firefly, Portlandia (all Netflix)

How do you take care of yourself when you don't feel like it?What's lighting you up in the dead of winter? Also, please feel free to share your favorite Parks and Rec GIF because that made my morning.

February 14th, 2015

There are a lot of things I need to do right now.  I need to make a grocery list.  And a meal plan.  One before the other.  I need to scrub the tub crayon off the tile in the bathroom.  I need to read my library book before it's due, and work on my story before I lose steam.  I need to read the play one dear friend wrote, and mail a book to another.  I need to take the tags off the little play animals I bought the boys for Valentine's Day, and dig their little metal mailboxes out of the hall closet.  I need to take out the trash, and fold the laundry that has been in a heaping pile on the armchair for a week.  For a week. There is probably at least one toddler snack tucked in those once-clean clothes.  My house smells a little, and I really want to take a shower.

This morning, though, I've been cleaning digital house.  Doing the purge that I often do when I'm feeling stale and stilted- getting rid of blogs and Instagram accounts that make me feel icky.  Searching for feeds that will feed me.  Ones about writing, and picture books, and magic, and astrology. I've been browsing pictures of women around the world celebrating Galentine's Day, and it's been making me slightly weepy.  Good weepy. It's taken me so stinking long to recognize the need for girlfriends.  Girl Friends.  Women to go arm-in-arm with.  Ladies to laugh with at 10:30 on Friday night at Chilis.  Ladies to share Harry Potter buzzfeed articles with.  Ladies to trade badawesome puns.  Ladies to cry about raising kids, to admit "failures" to.  Ladies I trust to see the inside of my car (read: the floor, and the things that gather in cup holders). I can't list them all.  I'm so lucky to have them.

Today is Valentine's Day, and we usually celebrate by going to a museum.  I think this year we might just settle for a diner outing, maybe a stop at a bookstore.  Our family's love is best celebrated by reading, watching movies, staying local.  Ben took me to Barnes and Noble on our first Valentine's Day. We're not glamorous people.  He rubs my feet.  If I stay awake to the end of a movie, it's considered an act of passion.

I just wanted to check in.  To hear myself talking out loud.  It's a rough time: family illness, endless snow storms, mental exhaustion. The kids aren't sleeping.  Ben and I are restless. My computer is broken, the boys keep peeing in our bed, and jumping on the couch (I'm not like the other moms, I'm a cool mom!) has led to broken springs that push into our asses when we try to relax.  BUT oh BUT BUT BUT. We have oil in the tank and we are together.  We are healthy and mostly happy.  We live on the greatest iceberg with the best museums and schools. We have shared interests and personal projects and a tiny scrap of wisdom that lets us realize that this mess is temporary and it is to be cherished.  At least 70% of the time.  

This ends my stream of consciousness. Stay warm, lovelies.

When All Is Not Calm, When All Is Not Bright

The house is messy.  Piles everywhere, items that have no permanent home: wrapping paper, Christmas cards that should already be sent out, suitcases that, in my idealistic plan of a few weeks ago, should already be filling up with swimsuits and warm weather clothes that I'm digging out of the basement in free moments.

Free moments.

I have huge stacks of books that I wanted to wrap for my students, because just arranging books as gifts for them was not enough.  I have rotting bananas that I promised myself would become banana bread for coworkers and neighbors.  I am trying to honor Ben's birthday, a family Christmas, a Florida Christmas, and stay on top of all the normal stuff like work, exercise, an ever-shrinking social life, writing, reading, and constantly being better.  I'm trying to get it right, and getting annoyed with myself when I fail.

There is nothing new about this list of seasonal "failures." I cannot blame it on having children or working full time or any life circumstance- I would follow this pattern no matter what was happening in my day-to-day. Every single person has felt this way, and 90% of it is brought on by myself.  I set up my own expectations.  I put off my own success.  I tell myself, angrily, hissing under my breath, "Next year, you'll start in July.  You won't be so lazy and unrealistic.  You'll be done before November, your cards addressed for December 1st, and you'll never be scrambling the weekend before Christmas again." 

Instead of letting myself get caught up in all this stress, I'm trying to remember that it doesn't matter.  It really doesn't.  It will all be over in a blink, anyway.  Wrap, unwrap, Christmas movie, hot chocolate, drive, fly, visit, love, and then we'll be on the other side of it, slightly out of breath, moving into a season of abstinence and optimism, telling each other in work hallways and banks and the check out line, "It went so fast this year!"

Every year.

I won't condescend.  It's impossible to escape the busy of this season, and it's lovely when it clicks and you're watching The Muppet Christmas Carol for the 13th time and tree lights are on and you're digging into one of the gingerbread cookies you decorated while your kids drank frosting like energy gel during a marathon.  There's also the sweet sadness of crying with your husband after wrapping gifts in two different colors of wrapping paper (Santa and Other), picking tape off the soles of your feet while Harry Bailey toasts "To my big brother George, the richest man in town."  I hope you can find something about this riot that you can love, and try not to let the rest of the noise ruin the good parts.  This was the reminder I needed to write to myself today.

After the storm,  when we're lugging bags of cardboard and ribbons to the curb and eating one last cookie, I swear, I encourage you to take a second to think about 2014 as a whole.  Go back through your Facebook statuses, your journals, the picture files on your phone, the box where you keep your ticket stubs and postcards.  Think about what worked.  What were you proud of?  What do you want to do again in 2015?  What do you want to change?  Christmas is like a huge send off for a 12-month year, but sometimes it takes up so much mind space that we stumble into the next one swearing to lose weight and save money as a knee jerk reaction to treats and presents.  There is more to you than what you did in December.

Let's sum it up: Christmas is busy and crazy for most people.  You're not alone.  Enjoy what you can and don't beat yourself up.  Watch The Muppet Christmas Carol.  When it's all over, take some time to look at your entire year.  Make sure to celebrate at least one thing you're proud of.  Talk yourself up, brag about the wonderful being that you are.  If you feel the need to plan for 2015, do it by taking into account all that you've done in the previous year.  Do not sell yourself short. Do not sell yourself short.

This ends my ranty December PSA for the weary and stress-inclined.  I hope that you have some love to be thankful for and some love to give away.  I hope you're ready to enter 2015 bad ass and beautiful.  I hope we all keep finding the courage to be our own lady. Happy everything.

Some more in this vein: A reflection sheet from Tsh Oxenrider (I used it last year) and a post I wrote last December about self care in this crazy season.  Be well, lovelies! XOXO

Lately

I feel like I'm starting another post by apologizing, and I don't want to do that.  Let's just say, I note my unusually long absence, and I can't put my finger on exactly why.  Getting up and writing here used to be one of my favorite things to do- something I looked forward to.  I fought to buy the time to spend putting together posts.  It was this huge, exciting privilege.  And in November, I fell out of the habit.

In all parts of my life, I'm feeling a little disconnected right now.  I keep using the word "floating" to describe the weird feeling, even though I'm very lucid and not exactly having trouble concentrating.  I'm just untethered. I feel like I have no time to do all of the things I need to do (original, I know) and at the same time, I'm a little bored.  I don't exactly feel Christmasy, but I'm not feeling hectic or annoyed.  It's a gentle funk.

I think it's because all of last month, I had one very clear, very measurable, very large goal.  It was the thing that I was doing, and I arranged the rest of my life neatly to make space for fifty thousand words.  Without that goal, I'm unmoored.  There is time for everything, so I'm doing nothing.  I want to pick at my story, I want to read other people's work, I want to make gift guides and plan out my attack of my birthday list.  I'm not even digging in that deep into the typical chores of this season.

Another thing I'm realizing is I just finished nine long novels by the same author in about a month and a week.  I loved the world she created and I loved always having another book, another chance to find out what would happen.  There are two different series within this world, and they crisscross, and I'm already rereading the one story where they overlap the most to try and make new connections, but in all honesty, I need something new to read.  I hadn't been so hungry for books in a long time, and I definitely redefined my priorities to disappear into an imaginary world more often.  It was wonderful, but it's different.

I'm liking who I am when reading and writing take up most of my free time, but I need some balance.  December is one of my favorite months- I love year-end reflections and imagining what I want the next 12 months to bring.  I'm hoping I can shake this case of the blues and get back into a routine that makes me proud.  

What do you do to break a funk?  Any book recommendations?  I need all the help I can get.  Love you all!

On the Other Side of November

I missed you.

I didn't know exactly what November would look like.  It's a full month, anyway, and I had this challenge I wanted to try.  It's even on my birthday list: 3. Participate in National Novel Writing Month.  I participated.

I referenced it a few times, but NaNoWriMo totally took over my life.  I did less chores, spent WAY less time watching TV (and consequently had to be more deliberate about spending time with my husband), did minimal blog reading & writing, and generally lived in my story world.  By the end of the month, even my three-year-old knew the drill.  "You going to work on your writing?"  He put a little chair and a cordless keyboard in the office next to me, and we worked together.

There were huge pros and minimal cons that came from a month of needing to write an average of 1667 words a day.  Next year, I will have some posts lined up so the blog doesn't go completely silent for a month.  I will also make sure that all Thank You cards from October birthdays are squared away well in advance...not that a stack of them are still sitting in a lonely pile in the office...never.  I also drank a ton of beer and coffee while sitting at my desk- next year, more water and chopped up fruit, less cookies and candy cane Hershey's kisses.

But I loved working on my story, hunting down weird names for characters, writing scenes just to get them out of my system, picking a word that means 'glare' but isn't 'glare' because I've already said 'glare' four times.  Ben, is great at dialogue and plot from his years of screenwriting, and he took such a flattering interest in the story, helping me hammer out tricky parts and talking me through big ideas.  I made some playlists of sad, mournful, pretty music (Ingrid Michaelson's Ghost featured prominently) to listen to while I created a spookyish world.  I had a freaking blast.

Most days I would get a chunk of writing done in the hour from 5:15-6:15 am, but this time was also eaten up by making coffee and eating breakfast and checking Facebook.  If any kids woke up while I was on a roll, I would lose steam.  I'd come back to writing around 8:30 pm or so, after I went to the gym for a half hour of reading time speed walking on the treadmill.  The website stats say my average was 1,672 words a day, but there would be days where I'd only get a few hundred, or even nothing at all, and then return on a weekend morning or holiday and pound out 3K-5K in one sitting.  On Sunday, November 30th, I woke up at 4 am and started clicking, with plans to stay planted all day.  Around 11:30 am, 4,567 words later, I validated my chunk of text and "won" National Novel Writing Month.

My story isn't finished.  I have about 2/3 of the action down, but I don't write in order, so I need to fill in some gaps.  It's also ROUGH.  One of the hardest things about NaNoWriMo is training yourself to leave it all on the paper, but that means you have to go back later and clean it up, and I need to seriously tweak most of what I wrote.  I'm stepping back from the whole thing in the month of December, but when I come back to it, I'm going to clean up one chapter at a time and I'd like to share it here.  Fiction Fridays, maybe?

Yesterday afternoon, I laid in the living room and read a novel by the light of the Christmas tree while Ben and the boys watched the Polar Express and did gymnastics on the couch cushions- no trying to squeeze 200 words in while the boys were occupied. This morning I woke up, made coffee, and browsed through some of the blogs I've been ignoring for a month- no pulling up my document and forcing myself not to waste time rereading my last chapter.  Tonight, at the gym, I am going to do the weight machines circuit that I really love.  There will be time to read when I get home.

Thank you so much to all you lovelies who have been cheering me on (or even just patiently tolerating my droning about this- I hear your words) for the past month.  It helped me give myself permission to take this silly challenge seriously, and I am grateful.

An excerpt from the beginning of my story, tentatively titled The Family Historian, can be found here.  

NaNoWriMo Is Eating My Soul and I Like It.

As I predicted, almost all of my time has been consumed with working on NaNoWriMo.  On one hand, it's a little crippling, because I've adjusted almost every part of my life to make this work: I've stopped running or doing a circut at the gym, because while I'm on the elliptical is my only chance to read.  I've stalled halfway through a big stack of adorable thank you cards I made after Milo's birthday.  We picked out a new dresser from Salvation Army a week ago, and I still have baskets of laundry surrounding empty furniture.  I think about reading and writing all the time.

Still, I'm loving this.  A big part of what makes it so exciting for me is how interested Ben is in the project, and how much he encourages me.  We were out to do some Christmas shopping and errands together last week, kid free, and we talked about my plot and characters and he gave me a tip that changed the structure of the story to something I felt much more comfortable bringing to life.  I remember sneaking his printed screenplays into class to reading during lectures in college and being so impressed with him.  I've always admired his writing style, especially his dialogue, so having him compliment me and talk about my story with true interest is super flattering.

I was thinking about how I'd like to do this every November from here on out (unless it gets torturous and painful near the end and I change my mind completely) and how lovely it is to add another tradition to month that's already full of it.  I'm into Thanksgiving.  My family doesn't travel, my sister always comes Black Friday shopping with me, and we get a tree that weekend.  But I also love some of the lower-profile happenings.  Small Business Saturday is a huge push for some of the holiday-season cash flow to get rerouted into smaller businesses in your community, and I love hunting down the best local places to pick up some gifts.  I'm also getting happy tingles about The National Day of Listening.  StoryCorps is one of my favorite things in existence, and I wish constantly that I asked more questions of people who are already gone.  Here is an instruction guide for recording your own interview, with some sample questions that are sure to get a deep convo going.

I'll leave you with some of my favorite pieces of writing from past Novembers:

This is the two part story of my first time hosting Thanksgiving at my house, when I ended up in the ER with poison ivy in my throat: Thanksgiving Nightmares, Part One & Part Two

Something I was grateful for every day in November 2011.  Milo was a month old and I was on maternity leave and it was a good time to be Ashlie.

Last year I did some more detailed notes about Small Business Saturday and The National Day of Listening.

This is some writing about my dad, who died in November 17 years ago.  Recently Milo has been asking lots of family tree questions ("Who is daddy's daddy?  Who is your mama?") and I'm trying to make Grandpa Kevin a big part of our conversations.  To All Who Said I'd Find Relief, You All Have Lied and Why Your Middle Name is Kevin

Lastly, here is a link to my homepage for National Novel Writing Month.  I have an excerpt of my story, with the working title The Family Historian.  I'm hoping to share much more very soon!

Thanks for being patient, lovelies!  Be your own lady!