The Massage

The Massage.

What’s the point of getting a massage if you don’t totally relax, drift into never never land and forget your worries?  I had to stop my blogging brain this evening and let it all go so I could let my friend / therapist work her magic on my two day migraine.  At the start I was thinking “ I need to blog about this or I will forget” (remember the Swiss Cheese syndrome?) Then I started to reprimand myself, remembering why I was there in the first place. I was avoiding another trip to my neurologist, another increase in my medication, eww!  Not that I don’t like my neurologist, I think she is extremely smart and very likable. However, I really don’t want to increase my medication right now and she has suggested strongly that massage therapy is a highly proven treatment for migraines.

So there I lay, a few words exchanged and I said politely “okay, I’m going to zone out now” My friend understood.  I sunk into the table forgetting the stress of past 3 days; the pain of the migraine dissipated with every skilled move of my therapist hands. 

Half way into the massage, (maybe? I wasn’t keeping track) I felt myself in a dreamlike state, wanting to open my eyes I knew better than to break the momentum. I was waiting for that moment, when ever bit of your body lets go of its angst and worry.  It’s that moment just before you fall asleep: conscious yet not conscious, heavy yet weightless.  You are a blob of solution set free on a child’s bubble wand carried freely by the wind, drifting carelessly somewhere and you just don’t care where you land.

An hour later as I write this, I can close my eyes and go back to that massage table and still be the bubble floating freely.  That folks is a skilled massage therapist.
(nepb)

UnDone

Breast Cancer has claimed the live of another friend, a young friend.  I write this with such a heavy heart.  When I was diagnosed she came to me, she spoke to me in church and offered her support, at the time she had not been diagnosed.  One year later she began walking that same path.  
She asked me many questioned.  I offered suggestions as best I could, there was light at the end of the tunnel.  Our lives went on, we would run into each other infrequently due to our busy schedules. Whenever we did, checking in on each others medical updates was top priority.

Circumstances changed drastically late last summer and the downhill spiral began; along with it my guilt. I kept telling myself I would go see her.  I wanted to her know that as a sister in breast cancer I would be her voice.  I was willing to write it for her.I would give her a voice if needed and address those issues that not everyone is free to discuss.  Not to say that I am the best writer, I would give it my top effort.   This opportunity has now past. and I am filled with such regret.

It sounds so cliche, don’t put off till tomorrow what you can do today, This has never rung so true as this morning. What have you left undone: a good deed left unfinished, a kind word unspoken, a promise unfulfilled?  

I sat this morning in a glorious mountain paradise looking out on a lake while two of my children play, thinking about what I have done and what I have left undone.   I don’t mean self- improvement or a physical household type chore.  I’m referring to the people in your life. Your family, friends, acquaintances and that new term, “frienamies”.

Can you find your cliche and avoid the regret?  I wish this for you.

Blue Moon

One of those occurrences as rare as a Blue Moon is about to occur.  I’m going to be alone for the weekend.  My two youngest children will be away from home, my significant other will be swamped with work obligations and my best friend is beginning a week long practice session.  

It’s not like I haven’t had time alone in the past 28 years, in the past I’ve had to run away from home to get “me” time. I will be home, just me. I will have the puppy and two fat cats for company, following me and fight for that prize spot on the bed every night. 

What to do?  There are about 5 junk drawers screaming for attention, twice as many “catch all” baskets over flowing in corners of every room. (Yes, I am still working on the “less is more” theory.)  We all have these cleaning projects we need to accomplish when no one is around and underfoot. We never seem to have the time to do it or when we do, never remember.

I could call up some of my neglected friends and make plans but I hesitate, why not savor the “me” time?   There are fun things to do alone, a long walk with the puppy,  a bike ride at my own pace without kids turning around giving the “what’s taking you so long look?”. I could read one of the five books I have started, although deciding which one might be a chore in itself.

And then there is the biggie, the journal article that I have been working on for several months. An article that’s at a standstill, pieces that I just can’t decide how to put together the way I want.   A friend has been urging me to just do it.  I need a big block of time to sit down uninterrupted and write.  Time that I can get up from the keyboard and not worry that my 7 year old will come to computer and start painting a picture if I take a break, forcing me into a discussion of what’s more important,  sunflowers and rainbows or Mom’s creative spark.

 Once in a blue moon you get it Right?  Write. 

The Order

The order from the Neurologist only listed 7 or so items to screen.  Okay blood work, I am used to this. Not wanting to waste any sick time I went to my small town hospital during my lunch hour to get the lab work done, there shouldn’t be any crowds at 1 o’clock in the afternoon,  no biggie.

This is one of the good things about living in a small college town in the summer.  Our population shrinks by ~25,000.  The students are gone. Lines everywhere are gone.  Residents are in and out of town on vacation or goofing off in our beautiful scenic wonderland. 

 Nope!  They were at the hospital getting procedures done while the town was in sleepy mode.   Walking through the front door, I stopped dead in my tracks wondering if I had walked into the wrong place.  Am I dreaming?  Has there been some problem I don’t know about? Maybe these are just families waiting with their patients.

I fought with myself for a little bit, deciding whether to go back to the office and try on a different day. It didn’t have to be done today after all.  I finally decided to wait it out so I registered at the desk and took a seat.  Grumpy  all the while because I had left my book in the car thinking it wouldn’t take long. 

When my number was finally called and I was allowed to go to the lab I sat in the chair and answered the obligatory questions. The technician spent several minutes entering the order in the computer, while I sat across the room, looking on a little puzzled at the time this task was taking.  Another technician was called, questions were asked, no answer.  Draw the specimen anyway, the answer would come later.  

  The technician turned her attention to me, and asked which arm I preferred.  I am I informed her, she could only access one arm.  She nodded, proceed to open her specimen drawer and pull out vials. 1,2,3,4,5,6,7,8,9,10…I stopped counting around 15, wait!  The order only had 7 items listed. 

“Do I need to chug some water really quick?” I asked looking around in a little bit of a panic. I’m thinking to myself, she’s going to get all that out of one arm?  No, no, no,no,no.  Now I’m not afraid of much, I had Chemo for 18 months. Needles don’t scare me; Being injected doesn’t scare me.   I still see my Oncologist every 6 months but they only take 2 vials.  The tech must have seen my apprehension.  She said they didn’t all have to be full vials. Well that’s a relief.   “Okay, Ready?”  “Sure, just do it”.   15 minutes later and 17 or so vials later, it was all over and not a moment too soon.  I practically took the catheter out of myself just so I could get out of that room faster. No long good byes necessary here.  I heard the technician calling after me to “leave that wrap on there for a while….. we took a lot of blood from you honey…….”    Echo echo echo through my hollowed out veins.

My neurologist better find whatever the world she is looking for.  Maybe she will find cure for my awful cooking, I hope so.   The children will be so happy.

 (results: all is well. Mystery remains. Wobble on, Bike harder!)

Swiss Cheese

You may have heard it called CRS amongst the over 40 female crowd, Can’t Remember S***.  Women who suffer from this syndrome usually (I am stereotyping here, forgive me) have multiple children, work more than 30 hours week and the children each have at least 1 extracurricular activity. We simply can’t remember everything family or society expects us to remember.

I have been using a different excuse for my lack of memory  for the past 4 years.  Chemo brain: It is a scientifically proven "non-fact".  (For more on this you can look it up on the American Cancer website)  My oldest daughter rolls her eyes and ask me “How long are you going to use that chemo excuse?” when I say I can’t remember something.  It appears she doesn’t appreciate the chemo card any more, and can’t possibly understand it.  Maybe she will understand this.  Swiss Cheese.

Yes, Swiss Cheese. I think my brain has turned into a big round of Swiss cheese, tunnels of holes intertwined with really great solid parts. Problem is you have to navigate through the emptiness to get to the great parts. 

 Swiss Cheese: The next time I go to the grocery store with the list that I spent 10 minutes digging for through my compartmentalized handbag (sure! That was supposed to help) I can blame it on Swiss Cheese. 

Swiss Cheese that caused me to write an unintelligible  word on that list, which I will only realize when I finally remember what in the world I am cooking for dinner. (special note: I rarely cook:  I can never remember what I am doing ahead of time to plan correctly)

Swiss Cheese is to blame when I carry an empty bag upstairs to my child’s room, knock on the door and stare blankly at them, grimace and walk back down the steps.  They won that round.  I don’t have enough fingers and toes to count the number of times I walk into a room and forget why I am there.  I never remember.  What was I saying?

My 15 year old says my theory is completely flawed.  In his highly educated way he informed me that the holes in Swiss cheese are caused by the bacteria introduced into the milk whey during the process.   My problem he informed me, is over-load and too much hair dye, not bacteria.  “ You could get that fixed with a drug Mom”  He laughed.  

As many of the over-loaded population have done, I have turned to assistant  devices.  Mine are far less technology driven than most: The planner/calendar with pockets, the notebook gadget on my cell phone and calendar with alerts 

.  One would think that with these 3 helpers I could remember the simple daily routine.  Not so, Swiss cheese wins more often than I care to admit.

For now I will continue to struggle, listen to the advice of fellow Swiss cheese sufferers for  helpful hints and pick up a box of crackers the next time I am grocery shopping. 5 grain goes really well with Swiss cheese.

Another one leaves the nest.

Child number 3 has left the nest.  He had been living on his own for several months now but still in the same town.  But now he has moved cross country, a 2 day drive, pursuing some wild dream that only he understands.  He had wanted to go for some time and the opportunity presented itself and he took advantage.

I feel sad, not unlike when his older brother joined the marines then two months later his older sister went off to engineering school. Somehow this feels different.  Deep down I feel like this Man-Child will discover that he wants to stay in this part of the country permanently.   The two oldest were far away during their training and studies, but I knew deep down they would return.  They now reside in the same state, and hour from each other and 3 hours from me.  A comforting distance for mom, for sure.

However this is my 3^rd child. Maybe it has something to do with birth order.He came along 9 years after a set of twins. Having one baby to care for was simple.  He received tons of attention, was nursed on demand and was a bit of a mama’s boy. Yes, I know, not the best terminology but somewhat true.  Maybe this is why the family finds his desire to move so far away unsettling. We are a pretty close knit bunch. Most of us live within a day’s drive of each other, if not closer.  On the other hand he is finally expressing his independence.

I find myself defending his actions. His big sister and I had many conversations about the possibility of him going, never really believing he would do it.

I have said many times that if you are going to pursue a wild dream it should be done when you are young. Go West young man, go west! Do it before you marry, children, endless bills and commitments.  

Which leads me to the bucket list: Many of us have the infamous bucket list. There are even books on the subject:  Ten places to see before you kick the bucket. I don’t like the titles.  It makes it seems as if the life we have lived was not worth living, that if we haven’t seen these places then we have missed something. 

Child number 3 is making sure he doesn’t have to a bucket list or read one of these books in his golden years with regret. For this I give him my heartfelt wishes for success.   Not just because I am his mother, because he had the fortitude to set out on his own into the Wild West.

I love you Child of the West may you find success and remember the good lessons I taught you and remember to laugh, always laugh.

The Room of discontent

  It was Sunday afternoon, forced inside from my small patio garden by yet another storm cloud I dragged myself upstairs, full of fear and dread I knew what waited for me, my 7 year old daughters room.  The puppy came along happy to lend moral support and a nose to sniff out anything eatable.

  I’ve put off the cleaning of the room for several weeks. In my defense your honor, I do work 40 hrs during the week, have activities after work 3 of those nights and as for the other nights, I simply collapse in a heap.

  I cleared a spot on the floor, gave the puppy a giant hug which was reciprocated with an even bigger lick on the face, and started sorting.  Making piles of doll clothing, Barbie (she dresses better than me- darn her!), office supplies, is my daughter running an accounting service on the side? Well you get the picture.  I noticed while placing what I knew to be clean clothing on the bed that one of the cats was there hiding amongst the stuffed animals taking a nap.  He opened one eye and gave me a sly judgmental look, telling me this mess was my fault.

  How is it my fault?  I am responsible the contents of that room.  I purchase most of her clothing and toys.  I am the reason she looks at her room and cries when I tell her to clean it up.  I have “Mommy guilt”. She has too much of everything.

  I know how I feel when faced with an extremely long list of tasks or a day of endless appointments.  Think of how a child feels when faced with a pile of possessions and told to put it all away. Oh sure it was terrific at Christmas or on their Birthday, but it certainly wasn’t Saturday when I told her to clean her room.  It wasn’t a popular statement at my friend’s house this weekend when she told her 6 year old to clean her room.  I saw my own frown reflected on that sweet child’s face.  Her mother and I have had this discussion. We are causing our children distress by giving them too many possessions to care for. We in turn, are upset with them when they can’t keep clean their rooms or keep track of their belonging.Wasn't just a few weeks ago that my friend was complaining on facebook about yet another pair of dance tights lost in the room of  discontent?  It was the "millionth" pair this year. Yes, Moms we have over done it.

  I’ve seen many articles lately about living leaner, doing with less and not just due to financial reasons.  My oldest child, a self proclaimed OCD sufferer, swears that any clutter in your house is also in your head. It keeps you from thinking clear.  If this is true, is it any wonder my youngest child is bewildered when told to clean her room?  Is her head as cluttered as mine with the massive amount of belongings?

  I’ve been making a effort for the past two years to clean up my act, fix my feng shui.  I have been getting rid of clothing I haven’t worn for over a year, purses that while pretty were never practical and shoes that never fit properly. (Hello- My name is _____ and I’m addicted to Shoes)  I accumulated extras in nearly every category of household accessory; how did I get seven sets of single sheets?  And pot and pans, I don’t cook that much.  

  I am doing pretty well with this philosophy.  However, it is a constant process and you have to have everyone’s cooperation. The most difficult to tame is that little voice in your head, the one that says “ooooh!  That is so pretty… She would look so cute in that!” 

  If you have fewer belonging, you have less to take care of, less to clean, less to put away. Doesn’t this also mean more free time, a little more money? Okay that’s a stretch.  It’s definitely something to consider.

 As for my daughters room, I’ve been donating access toys and clothing, while making a conscious effort to buy less when she outgrows her clothes.  The room is looking much better and she is enjoying the new roominess.  Happy Feng Shui.