A taste of the mid-life feels

I know that 60 or 70 years ago, my age (the big 3-6) would be solidly entering mid-life time.  I'm not at all sure where that distinction starts anymore, though I feel pretty sure that my mentality isn't there yet.  For Patricia's sake, I have a whole gaggle of high school and college friends who are still pushing out sweet, roly-poly babies, which is certainly the antithesis of middle-aged in my mind.

But within the last handful of months, I've been faced with some seemingly incontrovertible evidence that the old bod is aging. 

1. I now take a daily vitamin-y / supplement-y pill for the pigmentation in my eyes.  I'm not a hundo percent sure what the deal is with my sub-par pigmentation other than I'm strongly encouraged to boost my numbers and these pills are supposed to help: $200/year for old-lady-eye-pills.
2. I had a normal dental cleaning this week, and my hygienist was updating my chart when she was done and we were waiting on the dentist to come in for his poke around the mouth region.  In basically talking to herself out loud, the hygienist made a comment about a couple of spots where my gums are receding: What. In. The. World.
3. I pulled out a yoga video that I've had for years and use every once in a while when I want to do something physical but also want to stay home.  The Older joined me, and while I can for certain promise you that my form was way better than hers, I can also promise you that I cramped my hamstrings so hard on a cool-down stretch that I can still feel it two days later:  What is going on with my legs?
4. In the spring, I went through a whole day where my arm was inexplicably sore:  I hurt myself while sleeping.
5. My hip pops when I run:  I sound like a percussive instrument every step I take.
6. I forgot my glasses on a recent 3-night trip, which didn't stop me from reading or doing the work I needed to do on my computer, but it did change the way I felt about my eyeballs:  I fully trust my eye doctor that she knows what my eyes need (refer to #1).
7. The only thing that helps my painfully dry hands as soon as the average temperature falls below 70 degrees is medicated lotion: old lady cream.

All of this just basically makes me want to stay at home, read a good book, and drink loads of warm things like tea.  I might want to eat bread, too.  It makes as good of sense as anything just to hunker down and embrace my middle aged-ness. 

Also, my girls have been entirely invested in baseball all season with me, even now when my / our team is no longer playing in the World Series.  I love them so much.

An introvert day

It's been a stretch of time whereupon I've been meaning to write on here again for literally weeks, since about the middle of September when this day happened.  But life and work are what they are.  (And also -- get this -- I have nothing that I have to grade tonight.)

Also, my boys lost last night so my season of soaring joy and crushing disappointment is over.  For that, I am overly sad, I admit.  But t turns out that I have a fellow baseball-crazed fan who works across the hall from me and we have much to say.  I need people like this person.

About a month ago, the days felt a bit bleak.  A bit weary.  A bit dull.  And I did something that I had never ever in the history of me done before: I took an introvert day.  

I fully intended to work at home.  And I did.

I fully intended to read and run.  And I did.

I fully intended to just BE.  And I did.

It was...nice.  For all that this word is bland and I would never encourage anyone to really use it, that's exactly what this day was.  NICE.  

There was beautiful sun.  There was a sunggly beasty beside me all day.  There was plenty to keep me busy but for which I ultimately felt productive rather than over worked.  I felt satisfied at the end of it.  And not just good-I-got-things-done satisfied, but fundamentally satisfied and quiet.  

I really needed that quiet.  The boy is on the downward slope of a busy coaching season on top of his day job and all-other-time-fatherhood job.  My students have been at times a bit cloying.  I always like them individually, but there are some collective personalities that are just a bit blergh for me this semester.  And truth be told, I really loved my last group of kiddos, who have now all flown the nest.  I miss them, though trying they were as well.  This year's class is really more "normal" for me, and after a year of "love," then "normal" is just a bit off.

So a day came when I could carve out an introvert day and recharge my internal batteries a bit.  In the past, I've always guarded my personal days because of inevitable times I need to use them for saving up days to use when on maternity leave, taking care of a sick child, or attending court for some volunteering that I do.  But now...no more maternity leave time needed, the boy and I try to split any necessary days off for a sick one (which last year = 1 day each I think), and I'm on hiatus from the court time.  Suffice it to say that I used a day on me and it was in September and yes, there's a whole bunch of the year still to come.  

I fully trust in mental health days and support my colleagues who use them.  It's hard(er) I think when it comes to your own choice to engage in some rest.  For me, these days that I am allowed to use each year are not by definition "mental health days," and my type-A personality is a go-by-the-book and ask-permission-first type of person.  But I allowed myself some time for deep breaths and, most importantly, silence, which I have learned is a need rather than a want.  

And right now, the washing machine is running, the refrigerator is humming, and it is otherwise SILENT.  In fact, it's quiet enough that I hear a book calling my name from the other side of the house.  

May we all engage in recuperative silence on purpose and with deep, calming breaths.  

Daughters...BLESS

Sometimes, we have to take care of each other.  Sometimes, it’s hard knowing what to do.

My job forces me to practice empathy each and every day.  I’m glad it does – keeps me human.  As frustrating as it can be when you just don’t believe someone’s sob story, I still need to care for and about the individual.  That person still has a story.  I almost never feel taken advantage of and appreciate having avenues to understand individuals for who they are and what they bring.

I inherently get it that people need compassion and need a community.  I always want to be part of that conversation, no matter what.  And…yet.

I have this thing about being “that parent.”  I don’t want to be “that parent.”  It takes me 15 minutes to write a few sentences to a teacher to give a heads up about my kid feeling her feels because it feels like an imposition to the teacher who I KNOW has ever so much to keep track of. 

My child deserves it.  Absolutely.  My child’s teacher needs to hear about those few times when the feelings are big and when I know that a quick check-in would do loads of good for her ability to trust her adult and to focus. 

Yet…hmm.  It’s a weird feeling for me to be on the other side of the conversation.  I doubt I’ll ever be quite right in that head space, but I’ll still speak up when I would appreciate having the communication shared with me were I in that other teacher’s place. 

People.  Parents who are teachers are generally either the worst or entirely silent.  I don’t want to be either, so this Type A extroverted introvert will just have to keep at it. 

Bless.

Meanwhile, there's been loads of fun baseball in my day-to-day life and some fun books.  I'm f-u-l-l-y onboard the Louise Penny Three Pines mysteries train.  Inspector Gamache is my book crush right now.  AND THEY ARE ALWAYS EATING DELICIOUS FRENCH FOOD.  It makes me want to visit Montreal post haste and eat and read books in a cafe while eating French food in Montreal.  (Read them in order, good interwebby people.)   

I ended last week with an afternoon coffee shop date with the Elder, a card game, and a French soda.  I know there's more of this coming, but I need her to talk with me and if that means we get the whipped cream and pass a drink back and forth, then it shall be so.  Gamache would approve.

Also, there is a small frog clinging to the window right now.  They are adorable and show up in squished places occasionally.  Our previous house had slugs; I choose this.

I know...another camping story

I am happy to report that when your children are exhausted while camping, they sleep through raging neighbors and raging thunderstorms.

Ask me how I know.  (Actually, I'll just tell you.)

Also ask me how well I slept.  (Not well.)

Another week, another camping trip.  The foam pad + self-inflating camping mat are working like a charm even for this side sleeper; I may have sleeping woes, but these aren't part of 'em.  On the other hand, I loathe sleeping bags.  They're restrictive and almost always too hot for camping in the summer.  

We joined some extended family for a few days in Wisconsin and ran into both the hottest/muggiest/grossest weather + loudest/intensest/grossest storms of the summer all in a matter of a couple of days.  

But the bugs weren't terrible. 

The food wasn't terrible, either.  This family knows how to eat.

But the heat was relentless, which really puts the kibosh on family-bonding-hiking time.  I mean, we still went hiking, but the experience was something of a challenge, especially for The Elder, who has a happy temperature zone of 71-74 degrees with low humidity, mostly sunny, no bugs, and almost no humidity.  Given those conditions, she's a smiley child who is a joy and a delight; she will explore new places and marvel at nature.  Outside of those conditions, she has easily notched the 20 or so worst days of her life.  (She'll tell us so because each time, "This is the worst day ever."  We continue to find new ways to ruin her life experience, it seems.) . Her broodiness is prone to infecting others of her age set, so there's no doubt that this kid is a leader.  In other words, we had a few grumpy kids among our hiking group.  

A joy.  And a delight.

At least nature was surrounding us with craggy views and gorgeous lakes.

The kid did have a bit of a point, though: We ended up walking/hiking/plodding almost 3.5 miles with some significant changes in elevation and general rock clambering.  It was also about 2.5 miles longer than I anticipated, so imagine The Elder's delight when my promise at the beginning that "It will be short and easy...no one wants to go on a long, difficult hike in this heat" turned out to be 1000% false.  She was basically expressing all of the frustration that I, too, was feeling toward the 60-year olds who chose the trail.  Who knew that these people felt like tapping into their mountain goat younger selves when the heat index was hovering around 100 degrees and it was s.o. h.u.m.i.d?  

I'll repeat:  At least nature was surrounding us with craggy views and gorgeous lakes for these are the times that try men's souls.

Ah, one tiny detail that I cannot forget:  I had around 2 1/2 hours of sleep from the night before.  The boy had around 3 hours.  BECAUSE OUR NEIGHBORS WERE LUDICROUS AND THE STORMS NEVER STOPPED THE NIGHT BEFORE.  

I mean.  It's hard to start your day with a fortifying gulp and thoughts of doom & gloom.  

The 2 camp sites across from ours had EIGHT tents of people and the children were still crazy hellions at 1 AM when the park ranger finally drove by and said "Hey, friends, this has probably gone on long enough.  FOR THE LOVE."  Even The Boy couldn't sleep, which is telling of their ludicrosity.  We did enjoy a generous 15 minutes of silence then before the first round of storms came.

SO LOUD.  Rain is quite thunderous on a tent.  Searing lightening + bone crunching thunder = no sleep gonna happen.  And these were crazy storms with at least 3 sustained rounds rolling through right on top of each other: one round starts to taper off, the next round rolls in just as fiercely.  I did drift off for about 30 minutes around 2:45 AM before waking back up for a bit and then finally getting to some deeper REM sleep after 3:45 AM.  The Younger, who slept through all of everything, did wake up at 4:30 AM and decide she needed to snuggle (of course she did).  Fortunately, we got to doze for a bit after that.   

My sleep schedule is just to let you know that it was a slog.  And while we have 1 more camping trip planned for the year, I'm ready for a break.  It's just too extra right now.  If you find us vacationing in some fancy schmancy resort in Aruba next year, this could be why.  

Camping whip lash -- a bit of yin to this year's yang.

A 2-week countdown

Interweb people:

I am 2-weeks-from-tomorrow back to my full-time gig and I still have a pile of 12 books waiting to be read.  Because I added 3 more to it today.  That might be possible for some and that "some" is not me.  I've been chugging along at a brisk-ish pace, though, and it has been a good stretch of reading that I'm all in for. 

I do believe that I'll miss that the most of all come 60-work weeks on top of keeping 2 humans alive.  And I'll miss my top-knot-bun thing I've been living with all summer.  Deep layers of sadness and sorrow happened to my hair when my normal hair dresser was at a conference (in somewhere Norway/Sweden/Denmark-y, none the less) and I told the sub, "I usually tell Hannah to just do whatever as long as I can still pull it up in a ponytail."  DEEP layers of sorrow and sadness.  And my hair is fine, slippery stuff, which means that you can tell me all you want that "You can pull this into a ponytail, no problem," but those deeeeeep layers defy your foolish words. 

I've been managing my sorrow, but just barely, as you can tell. 

Also, my kids were about pushing me over a gentle cliff with their anxious we're-waiting-to-leave-the-house-ness, and then they both sat down with books.  My word, that is what dreams are made of (which is also while I'm here for a minute -- when in Rome...).

I had other things to say but am currently beyond irritated at my computer/printer combination.

Also, I am going to eat an ice cream bar today, I believe.

I must go read.

Camping in Our 30s

This is the summer of the camping trip.  We have a whopping FOUR trips planned, which is a couple more than normal.  We're usually down for 2 definite camping trips and sometimes slip a 3rd into the mix somewhere, but scheduling purposes have allowed and encouraged four trips to happen.  

And folks, we are tent campers.  Also, the boy and I are solidly in our 30s and THIS IS NO JOKE anymore.  

Case in point:  As I lay on my bedding situation Sunday night at approximately 1:36 AM (not approximate at all, mind you...I was still trying to fall asleep and had just looked at the time after trudging to the bathrooms twice which is not common to my current life situation & nothing wakes you up more than coming face-to-face with a campground-fat raccoon), I wondered A) how is it that we went from blithely sleeping on grounds/floors/hard surfaces to these-hips-don't-lie in a matter of a mere decade, and B) how do people do it on the regular on legit hiking trips?  Props and claps and all the nods to them.  

I don't know if you've noticed, but this spring has been 178% saturated.  Nary a day has passed in the last 24 weeks (give or take a couple) that hasn't included either threatening or downpouring skies.  I know we're just wallowing in our inconvenience here, but this family is over it.  We have been inside more and crabbier.  We.  Need.  Sun.  

And like any fully technologized person of 2019, we obsessively followed the radar for seemingly by the minute updates on whether or not it would dump buckets on us SLASH throw more severe storms at us.  It turns out that the correct answer here is both "neither" and "yes."  There was rain, it turns out, but it was always conveniently located and the dense foliage basically kept us happily comfortable.  There were severe storms but only as figments of our radar's imagination as they kept magically breaking up.  So, around the witching hour (the one where our children turn into ravenous, impatient little people who must be attended to right now or else they will become banshees), we faced a decision:  There was a (literal) room at the inn and we had the chance to grab it as insurance from those promised and threatening severe storms but we had to make that decision imediamente.  

We paid the $130 insurance policy.

There were also no subsequent storms.

It was a beautiful night for camping.

Oh, the joy that nestled in my heart.

The boy and I were on a camping trip with siblings 11 years ago that was the opposite of this experience.  During ye olden era of 2008, none of us had smart anything or tuned into anything resembling THE WEATHER FORECAST.  Here's what our rationale for the trip likely entailed:  It is summer.  Summer is hot.  Today is sunny.  Today is a sunny, hot, summer day.

Did you know that sunny, hot summer days can also (freakishly) turn into scary, turbulent, stormy summer nights?  True enough.

That trip resulted in leaking tents, scary lightening, high winds, a mad scramble for a hotel room that could house 6 people sometime in the midnight-2 AM range, a wallet left out on a picnic table, and a brand new turned ruined canopy.

It seemed like the prudent idea to grab the room at the inn and not challenge the camping gods again.  And I did get to sleep in a bed instead that night.  But still.

IF we had the space and IF we had a few extra grand (can we talk about a new shed and a new roof and new flooring-that-costs-more-than-the-roof-because-the-previous-owners-installed-it-wrong), we would probably be looking for something like this: 

Because nothing says "riding out the storms at the campground" like a vintage 1970 Shasta camper.  

(It's actually pretty sweet inside.)

It has to be an upgrade over sleeping on dirt and tree roots.

One more trip around her sun

Birthday season happens in some furious bursts around here.  Fresh on the heels of reckoning with the Elder's age change, we have another one today with the Younger.  She is every bit a force clothed in the guise of a cuddle bug.  This one is my special little something that is alternately incomprehensible and perfectly predictable.  Sometimes, that's how our days go as well - as if a veritable pendulum swings us one way and then another.  She loves her people fiercely, and I have no idea what her future will look like.  She's a chameleon who doesn't give us any indication where she will establish her groove into her life's journey.  I find that delicious and tantalizing that there will be options a plenty: It's a joy to watch her casually explore her possibilities.  

She is always our last one to ... and that gives me the feels on a day like today.  She's the last one that I will carry across a parking lot.  She's the last one who will let me hold her hand.  She's the last one who I will drop off before school.  She's the last one who will let me read to her.  I'm not one who cares two pennies for many a socially expected sentimental milestone (my children want to skip the rigmarole of a graduation ceremony...good for them!  skip Senior year entirely and graduate early...YES and PLEASE!), but these are my milestones that I care deeply about, ones that are largely found in the solitude of just me and my girl.  My favorite milestones are measured in the distance between our hands, the space between our cheeks, and the span of our arms.  

This is enough.