Earthmovers and Sandcastles

Prepare for TMI.

So, on Thursday night, I found myself violently ill. In a useless surge of optimism, I convinced myself it was food poisoning. You see, if it was something I ate, then I alone was likely to be affected, as everybody else in the family seemed just fine. The illness and general ugh-itude carried over for almost all of Friday, though it was hard to tell how much was being sick and how much was exhaustion and caffeine-withdrawal (I hadn’t slept much, and my stomach felt too delicate for coffee).

Alas, Saturday night, I was awakened to a shrill cry of distress from Gabe. “Why is this happening?!” he howled wretchedly while standing in front of the commode, Eric toweling him off and comforting him while I dealt with the horror that was his bed. (Note for young and expecting parents: mine was the role you want. It might seem the grosser of the two, but it also apparently has the result of causing the child to view the other parent as the default support person for any subsequent needs throughout the illness. Poor Eric got no sleep at all, as Gabe summoned him repeatedly for the rest of the night.) Eric’s help was a surprise stroke of luck, as he wasn’t even supposed to be home; his connecting flights to Germany, where he was meant to be heading Saturday afternoon, had gotten jacked up, so he wound up coming home and departing Sunday afternoon instead.

This evening, Sam is clutching his belly. Ostensibly, according to him, this is because he ate too much tonight at Empty Bowls, where he had two bowls of soup and his body weight in bread. (Every time I turned around from dealing with a manic little Gabe, he had another roll in hand…) I’m shaking my head, because…it’s not the soup. Not the bread. I’m simply not that lucky, and neither is he. He’s at least said that he’ll take my advice and sleep with a bowl again tonight, as I made him do last night, as well, and he’ll make sure the path is clear between him and the ladder down from his bunk. Not much more can be done, I guess.

In the meantime, I keep my fingers crossed, and I wait for the email from Germany telling me of how quickly an English-speaking American can find a bathroom in an emergency. At least, I joked to Eric before he left, I’m pretty sure that one hand clamped over one’s mouth and the other waving wildly is a universally-understood signal.

(This is sort of a lingering thing, too. I’ve had waves of sour stomach over and over for the past several days, including this evening; Gabe keeps periodically moaning that he feels like he wants to throw up, but he’s been fine a few minutes later. We’re both eating yogurt, but the damage left by this bug appears to be tough to repair.)

Anyway, at least being sick has been a distraction from the fact that, good GRAVY, do I miss my husband. He’s only been away for one sleep, and I can’t believe I have to get through five more.

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Apparently, cell phone batteries aren’t meant to be immortal. I suppose I knew that, but I don’t like signs of weakness, even (especially?) in technology. The past several days, though, I begin the day with a fully-charged phone and end it with a “Your phone’s battery is dangerously low!” message. (”Dangerously?” As though something extremely dire will happen the moment it tips into the red zone? Exploding plastic and rubber buttons all over my purse?)

I use an old phone, as such things are determined. It’s a Palm Centro, and it does everything of which I require it: not much. I don’t surf the web on it, and my motto is that if I can’t wait until reaching a real computer to check my email, then I have an Email Problem. I don’t even text on the phone. What I want is a cross between an ordinary telephone and a file-handling PDA – specifically, one that can talk nicely with my Mac computer and automatically sync up with my calendar and contacts over a USB connection. That’s it. (Oh, and Sudoku. Shaddup.)

So when I went into the Sprint store to see about getting a new battery, I was most displeased to learn:
A) They don’t have a battery for my (positively antique, quite discontinued) phone;
B) I could buy one at the battery store…for about $50;
C) It’d be cheaper just to upgrade my phone, which I’m eligible to do, but…
D) All the phones to which I could upgrade that would do what I want them to do would require having a data plan.

I don’t want a data plan. Honestly, the only reason we’re on Sprint right now is that Dad went out and got Sprint phones for me and my brother so that he could call his kids and grandkids whenever he wanted to. I could switch off to another carrier, but then Dad would have to pay more to call us when he wants to, which he naturally would prefer not to do. Further complicating things, Eric’s work might choose to provide him with a phone in the coming days, but it won’t be Sprint. Switch me to his carrier? Get my own plan?

The guy at the Sprint store was all about trying to sell me on the idea of switching our family’s plan to a data plan, even though I’m the only one with a phone that would use/require it and even I don’t want it. Only forty more dollars a month! A true bargain! Ugh. I don’t think my level of “enthusiasm” was what he wanted, for some reason.

I just want my own phone to keep working. $50 for a new battery is looking pretty keen compared to the other options, which seems sad. Maybe some folks walk into the phone store and go all “Ooh, sparkly!” but that’s not where I’m at right now.

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We went back to the dentist today. Sam cooperated. Gabe…did no handstands, I’ll give him that. Sadly, that’s the only credit he can get for the visit, aside from not actually screaming in the dentist’s face that he hated him or wished him violence. It did end in the hygienist and I restraining Gabe’s flailing arms and legs while the doctor managed a cursory brushing (no tools, just a regular brush) and exam. Thank God, he says his teeth looked fine and not in need of deeper cleaning. Had they not…well, let’s say that the words “pre-sedation” and “Valium” were used, and not by me. The dentist said that the main drawback is that Gabe wouldn’t remember the appointment if we had to do that, and what he really needs is experience with a complete appointment or two so that he can see that it’s not so bad. His fears are making it the ordeal it is, with sobbing and choking and several instances of staring down into a proffered trash can, on the edge of vomiting.

But Gabe actually let the dentist hold his hands when it was all over, listening to what he was saying, with the last of his whole-body shudders and lower-lip quaking. The dentist was remarkably calm and patient through the whole thing; I think it was me, honestly, who tipped the event into the “Let’s just get it done” territory. Mom Fail, probably. But, hey, Sam did well! As well he might, considering that it’s still a distinct possibility that he could need orthodontia for the laterals that look to be coming in via the Soft-Serve Ice Cream Swirl Method.

Phew. Glad that’s over for another six months. Somebody please tell me that we’ll see remarkable strides in self-control between now and then? Doesn’t have to be the truth, so long as it’s convincing. (Not gonna go look through my archives at Sam’s history; it’s becoming less and less relevant, anyway, as Gabe grows and evermore plows his own path.)

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Workin’ on somethin’. It’s a little consuming, but it’s almost done, at which point, I’ll be happy to share with the class. At the moment, though, I’ve got to wrap that up, do a quick look-over Sam’s homework with him (which appears to be mostly stuff due next week, thank goodness), and take the kids out to eat, where I’ll go over their Bible Blast work with them before heading to church.

Unrelated, but making me smile: Sam left his copy of The Lightning Thief at school, “where I have more free time to read it!” And I think I believe him. (Little brothers do tend to interrupt quiet reading time around here.)

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Well, lookee there. A podcast!

It’ll be running-oriented, mostly circulating around the things I see on my runs. Since I have a knack for “discovering” weirdness on the run (see: gas station holdups, drunk people cat-calling, dogs off-leash, mysterious signs on telephone poles, etc.), I contemplated attaching a video camera to my running hats to capture it all…but then I decided that this would be a lot less work. Also, it allows me the latitude of including other people’s stories, via emails or voicemails! If you want to be heard on the show, call in to 206-350-9501 and leave a message! Doesn’t have to be just about strange sightings – I’m eager to hear from anyone – but if you have some of those to share, all the better.

Music on the show comes from the Podsafe Music Network. Tracks used were:
42 shades of grey – State Unsteady
Dave King – The Cold’ll Kill Ya

You can subscribe through iTunes, or you can download the show here. Please let me know if anything behaves badly!

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I took an “unscheduled” rest day from running (”unscheduled” because I haven’t started my formal training plan for Devil’s Lake yet); I’ve been very slowly amping up the mileage for the past several weeks, for no particular reason except that I felt like it, and after kissing fifty miles per week for the past three, it’s time to step back. Plus, I sort of felt very slightly hinky (is so a word) in my ankle the past couple of days. I make the best decisions when I pretend that somebody else is presenting my situation to me, asking what I should do, since I’m much better at giving advice to other people than to myself. Anybody else, I’d tell them to take a rest, so that’s what I’m doing. Might do some gentle yoga later tonight. I did a brief “energizing” flow this morning, and, well, it’s a little less than relaxing when two kids are attempting the flows next to you, with limited and comedic results. (Doing some standing pose that the guy on TV didn’t name but which I call “Stretching My Quads Like I Do After Almost Every Run, Go Me,” and Gabe’s hopping back and forth with his ankle in his hand like he’s MC Hammer, while Sam flails and falls and howls with laughter next to me = totally zen, am I right? ) On the other hand, I did head to church in a much better mood than I often am, even running ten minutes behind schedule as we usually are, so perhaps it wasn’t a total wash.

I haven’t the foggiest idea what I’m making for dinner tonight, and we don’t even have much in the way of raw ingredients to begin making it, but the boys are playing happily and peacefully upstairs and I don’t want to ruin it. On the other hand, Eric’s at the gym, and sometimes he comes home from there with some pretty wonky blood sugars (oh, come on; “hinky” isn’t a word, but “wonky” is?), and it might be nice to be able to present food to him. What would be really nice would be to have an idea for a dinner that both boys would enjoy. Sam has been begging for white bean soup for a while, and I’d like some, too, but Gabe would probably eat the bowl and spoon before so much as tasting the soup. (He’s still on a jag of mostly cheese, bananas, and ham, with occasional requests for chicken nuggets and pizza. Only the fact that I know Sam did this, too, keeps me sane.)

Oh, here they are. Playtime has ended; nightly demands for food (”Can we make cookies? Right now?”) have commenced. I guess it’s grocery store time. (And not (just) for cookie-related items.)

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(If you’re seeing this through a feed, odds are you’ll need to click through to see it.)

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Valentine’s Day was awesome.

Eric did himself proud! I was in culinary heaven from beginning to end. Now I’m all sad, because he’s away for the week for work; after this, we’ll have him home for one week, and then he’ll go away again for yet another week. It’s easier to weather these trips now that the boys are a bit older and busier, as well as able to comprehend that a week is a finite thing, but…I miss him. I miss him so much. Even nights where I don’t see him, because he’s out past the time when the boys and I go to bed, I’ll stir in the dark and be happily aware of his presence. It’s hard not to have that.

Tomorrow is Ash Wednesday. I’m supposed to sing with the choir, but I’d thought to skip the service, since there’s no childcare and I don’t trust Gabe to sit in the sanctuary without me next to him. One of his Wednesday night teachers, however, offered to let him sit with her during the service, so I might be able to go after all. I’d like to; Ash Wednesday service has become rather special to me, since I first attended one while I was in college. My childhood church didn’t follow a liturgical calendar, so I’d never experienced it before, and certainly never had the imposition of ashes. When I first had that at the Episcopal church where Eric and I would eventually be married, it was such a powerful moment – a time when my own humble position in the world and relationship with God was made so perfectly clear that I nearly shook in the knees.

Sam is slowly working his way through all this, but Gabe…well, I tried to talk with him a little about it today, but it’s harder than it was with Sam at this age. He’s finally beginning to move a little out of his “I am the center of all things!” mindset, but there’s still much of that going on, and he doesn’t really want to think about sacrifice or reverence or any of that. On the other hand, trying to explain how Christ’s resurrection applies to him was a nearly complete failure. It necessarily involves mention of his own mortality, you see, so…”You’re making me SAD! You’re making me want to CRY! I don’t want to DIE!” And then it devolved into discussion about Grandma being in heaven, which is safer territory for him, I suppose: eternal life as something Other People will have the pleasure of experiencing.

I don’t even want to think about trying to explain the ashes to him tomorrow night. Man, do I wish Eric was here to help.

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Okay, first I ran just under thirteen miles with running club, the first five of which I did with a very fast runner who (lucky for me, not for him) was recovering from surgeries, so I could keep up. (Until he challenged me to a sprint up a hill. ) Then coffee, with lots of laughs and chatter.

Came home, got dressed, and went out on my Free Day! First I went to the bookstore, where I got, among a couple other books and a magazine, Tara Weaver’s book, The Butcher and the Vegetarian. It is phenomenal! I’m enjoying it so much! On the one hand, I’m not a vegetarian personally, but I do have leanings toward – oh, what’s the term they’re bandying about these days? Flexitarianism? So I’m enjoying both the detailed descriptions of the meat dishes she was learning to prepare as well as being able to sympathize with her conflicted feelings. The chapters on industrial farming and the treatment of food animals are particularly powerful.

Then I went to lunch and had Thai Chicken pizza. Well, I hadn’t started the book yet.

After that, I ran some errands and then went to coffee, where I plowed through a bunch of my book over several hours. By the time I looked up, it was dinner time! I went for sushi, because it’s been way too long. Had myself a nice little pile of sashimi, then walked around a little downtown before I realized that it was way to cold to look into windows of closed businesses. (It’s really pathetic down there these days.) Decided I needed one more indulgence before heading back home, so I went in search of dessert, which I found in a very crowded Olive Garden. Hey, I didn’t mind; I had my book! Got myself a piece of tiramisu and a glass of Pinot Noir, which I savored for a long while (by the time I got my table, the crowd had been dispersed, so I didn’t feel guilty), and then headed home and helped put the kids to bed.

Eric had been working all day, preparing for our Valentine’s Day meal! We’ve decided to do Valentine’s Day here, eating a late dinner after the boys are in bed. I put the menu decisions firmly into Eric’s creative hands, and I don’t expect to be disappointed that I did! He gave me a small taste of the coffee creme anglaise he made as part of the dessert, and…oh…

Happy Valentine’s Day, everybody!

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Low on me. I feel snappish, impatient, unkind, tense. I resent the effort it takes to do almost everything. I’m tired. In trying to remedy this, I’m using entirely wrong methods – junk food, caffeine, quick fixes that leave me feeling worse, and that make even the things that do help me (running, yoga) less effective and more difficult.

Last night, Eric had to work late, so I had to take the kids to church by myself. I growled at them on the way there, and then I sat through choir practice with a sour feeling and, I’m sure, a sour look on my face. Heart-shaped Valentine’s Day cookies had been brought in, so I had a sugar hit that I didn’t need, and then I was sharp with the kids all the way home again. Eric was home by then, and he must have had a premonition, because, God bless him, he was folding laundry when I walked in the door. He assessed the situation, helped wrangle the kids into bed, and then told me firmly that I have Saturday “off”: I’ll go for my run, come home and clean up, and then hit the door and not return until at least dinner. He told me to go to a bookstore, if I wanted, get a book, and then read most of it over coffee (a relaxing mug, not the copious amounts with which I’ve been dosing myself and hardly even tasting). “Relax” was his order.

I don’t deserve this man.

I confessed to him that on an ordinary free day, I’d probably see about asking a friend to meet me, but the only thing I really want right now is an extended period in which I don’t have to open my mouth to talk to anybody. I need peace. I need to be with just me, to refill myself. Then, perhaps, I’ll be able to get back to normal.

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