Why does everyone around me have to breath?

Every once in a while, I'll have an inordinately hard time falling asleep, usually on Sunday nights for whatever reason. This really irritates me when I know that I have to get up at 5:15 the next morning. I mean, this really irritates me, which only leads me to fume and toss and thrash and continue to just be awake. In the last month, I've had three such nights, which is rare. During the school year, I know that I'll be sufficiently wiped out mentally to be able to fall asleep pretty easily every night. It's a sleep-to-wakefulness ratio that seems to work.

So this is beyond irritating to me at this point. I'm at the point where I go to bed almost expecting to stay awake because even on the nights that I do fall asleep, it seems to take me a little while longer. Last night, around 11:52, while I'm settling into our surprisingly-comfy-to-sleep-on couch, I realized that this is a unique time of day for me, should I be awake. It is around this witching hour that all of this inevitably scrolls through my mind.

*Various shades of annoyance and downright anger at Ben. I'm an irrationally light sleeper in general, which has caused anyone who lives with me grief for years. But really, how can I be expected to sleep when he's laying there breathing beside me??? It's completely impossible! The loudest sound EVER! And he refuses to entertain the idea of either his & her bedrooms or a king-sized bed. I'm especially irate about this at 11:52 p.m.

*The dishwasher always seems to be running on nights when I can't sleep. Which means that I can't just move to the couch because it is a mere 10 feet from the offending dishwasher, which, understandably, is a million times louder than Ben's breathing. Hence, I am forced to stay in bed. My irate-ness continues.

*Normally, the dryer is good white noise for me to help drown out Ben's unfair breathing. But on nights that I can't sleep, it's another instigator of my irritatedness. Our utility room is across a hallway space from our bedroom, but I've already been trapped in my bed because the couch is too close to the dishwasher.

*Silence. This is the WORST!!! Mostly, because it allows me to hear BEN'S BREATHING!!!!!

So the couch has been my bed of choice lately, despite the clock that incessantly ticks. For some reason, if the dishwasher is done and if the dryer isn't running, then this is a good place to be.

But then again, I always have the baby monitor turned on because you never know when my child will turn rooster. And, then, you know what...I can hear Abby's b-r-e-a-t-h-i-n-g.

Sometimes, the hardest part of my day is trying to go to sleep.

It's nights like this

Supper was not a fun event tonight. And while I won't over exaggerate and say that it happens all of the time, it's not *infrequent* either. Part of me doesn't want to write this because my pride dictates that I only present a happy-at-all-costs facade, especially since I can decide what is put on this blog and edit out anything that isn't complimentary. But you know what, my parenting isn't that pretty, so I dare say that there would be little to write about.

Ben's 100% married to track right now, and there's still about 1/3 of the season left. They started on Feb. 14th, and it's been one never-ending season. Right now as I wallow in my own self pity, I want to blame this on Ben and say "Because you aren't here a lot, I have to do more than my fair share (yeah, I know...whatever that is!), and I need a break." I want to be able to blame someone other than myself for the veritable disaster at dinner tonight which left me in tears and Abby laughing. And while I know that she wasn't vindictively laughing at me, IT SURE FELT LIKE IT!!!

So it's nights like these that re-affirm how much parenting is fail fail fail fail. Are the good parents the ones who cover their failings the best or who hide them most skillfully? You know, giving an almost 2-year dinner who can adequately feed herself a little bit of food is fairly simplistic. Easy. So how did we end up in a standoff where she alternated between playing peekaboo (I turned my chair and ignored her), pretending to be asleep (really hard not to laugh; I turned my chair to ignore her) and poking (at) me saying "Mommy! Mommy! Mommy!" (I still turned my chair and ignored her).

I know that part of my sobbing is the determination that my daughter WILL learn to eat well and enjoy healthy food. So a mealtime like this feels like a slap.

I refuse to use dessert as bait. (I actually got her favorite lovey out of the dryer, which she had been neglected of all day, and used that instead. It worked insofar as she kinda took one bite.) I hate doing the "3 more bites and you can..." tactic because I want her to learn to listen to her own hunger cues. But then again, if she's telling me that she's not hungry, why am I trying to force her to eat even just a couple of bites of food? How do I learn the difference between "I know what's best for you" and "I must respect your own innate self"?

I crave "parenting talk" and seek it out a lot specifically for help, tips and validation of what I'm stumbling through. But it can be tough to be in a conversation with another parent and admit that I'm really struggling with whatever issue. So I'm going to put this out there seeking maybe not so much advice (though welcome) but commiseration. It's good to know that I'm not the only one who struggles with knowing how to parent. More often than not, it seems that I am. I think that "we" all have on the I-must-not-admit-my-failures filter. Well, I'm admitting one of mine, of which there are many. Maybe I'll slug though another one on a different day.

The Art of Racing in the Rain

I know, this is late for the book that I read in April. And actually, that's something of a misnomer--"read."

April was a month of re-discovering free time for me. But what I'm still finding to be true is that I've had such a dearth of it for so long and I have so many things that I need to work on or want to do that my free time at night is about 1 1/2-2 hours and it's full full full full full of stuff. Suddenly, it's 9:30 at night and I kick myself again thinking, "Drat, I wanted to read tonight."

It was about 1/2 way through April and I hadn't really begun any new reading project when my kids started talking about this book, The Art of Racing in the Rain by Garth Stein. Not only were they talking, but they were raving about this book, even kids who I know are non-readers. That sounded like high enough praise, so I tracked down a copy and dug in.

Actually, there's wasn't much to dig into, unfortunately. It's not as bad of a book as I'm going to make it seem, but here's my honest take on it.

It has flaws:
*The writing is often crass and at times monotonous. Sometimes, there are passages of poignant writing, but...
*The narrator is a dog. And this isn't Watership Down.
*There's a ton of detail about open car and open wheel racing (are those the same? I'm not even sure.) I like sports, but...
*This means that the whole philosophy of the book is based on fairly cliched sports truisms. Which makes the crass writing sometimes smarmy.
*The technical writing is around an 8th grade writing level, but...
*The content is definitely adult at times, which means that the content doesn't really match the intended audience. Bedroom scenes (yeah, plural), really?!?

Ultimately, I didn't have any desire to finish it even though it's a quick read and I was 2/3 of the way through. I found myself irritated with every character. There wasn't a single one that redeemed the book in my eyes. I mean, every character had flaws that were loathsome if not disgusting, the only exceptions being the dog (super crass) and the little girl (a flat character who wasn't even likable).

I'm not a person who has huge issues with the reading that is taught in schools. If anything, I'm the very opposite of that person, but still, I have issues with this book. I can see how kids would like it, but what are we sacrificing by using it? Morals? Propriety?

It could have been a great book...

Friendship

This is the 12^th entry in my This I Believe series.

*****

I’ve lived in Kokomo for 6 years this summer, and I can count on 2 fingers the amount of friends that I/we actively socialize with on a regular basis. And those 2 people are married. And holdover friends from college. And we haven’t socialized with them since the Super Bowl back at the beginning of February. And it really feels pathetic.

(Here come the “buts.”) But, I/we have never been social butterflies. But, we each have a collective group of friends that we work with. BUT, we have the lame yet true “excuse” of being so ridiculously busy for much of this semester that we don’t even see each other that much let alone friends.

I believe that it’s really, really hard for most people to make new friends a) when they graduate from college or high school (whatever their culminating education might be) and b) when they move to a new town/city where they don’t know anyone, specifically in their own age bracket. Not only do I believe that it’s really hard, but I believe that it’s an issue that isn’t addressed enough and leads to definite feelings of confusion, loss, depression, self-doubt, or some combination of any of these.

I admit that I’ve gone through some gradation of feeling all of these in the past 6 years, despite joining my best friend in moving to this new city. It’s taken me this long to come to terms with friendship as being a different beast than it used to be. Admittedly, friendship has never been easy for me; I feel awkward and overtly intimidated by people that I don’t know or don’t know well. Consequently, I also know that I come across as snotty or mean too often. I mean, I know it, and that alone leads to feelings of “confusion, loss, depression, [and] self doubt.” I’m also just starting to recognize this and thus be more conscious of it.

Thinking back about high school, I didn’t realize how torturous it was at times for me to relate to and communicate with my peers. It was the norm, and I didn’t dwell on it at the time. So here’s my apology to anyone who knew me before college. I know of one circumstance where I was completely misconstrued, and it led to a lot of unintentional pain for both me and my friend. I fully admit that I still dwell on that situation today—10 years later. I’m sorry I was such a snot and so mean. I didn’t try to be. I really didn’t.

I believe that friendship is just hard, and I completely admire those people for whom the ability to engender and maintain friendships is a natural gift. Social media is a whole ‘nother monkey that has absolutely twisted our cultural understanding of “friendship,” and I believe that it enables people to believe that they are “friends” in interesting and counterintuitive ways. But I also believe that the friends that you fly across the country to see, those are the ones that you cherish. Your friend base doesn’t have to be centered in the geographic area that you live, and I’m learning to understand that I’m okay with that. But, it sure does make it a little more convenient.

It's good to be a commoner

What a breathtaking, awe-inspiring, impossibly intimate Royal Wedding. Wow.

One of my naysayer students made a comment to the effect of "why should people [we] care about it?" This strikes me as positively amusing, ironic and baffling. We are Americans who are notorious for our hero-worship of anyone beautiful and/or rich, yet we scoff at it if the individual isn't directly related to America? Seriously, wouldn't the collective everyone simply fawn all over Will & Catherine if they had some tangential tie-in to the States? Why must we be nationalistic snobs? We glued ourselves to our TVs, iPhones and laptops this morning simply for the same reason that we afford any celebrity more than their 15 minutes of fame. We, Americans, have a big issue with idolizing individuals for ambiguous reasons. However, for once, why not?!? In my very unimportant and unscientific opinion, at least this is one couple that we should celebrate and adore. You can't make me believe that those TWO kisses (gasp!) on the balcony of Buckingham Palace weren't heartfelt and adorable. Watch Charles & Diana in the corresponding situation and then compare...egads.

But watching that made me realize that sometimes it's good to be a commoner. Would I have handled my own wedding in that manner of pomp and ceremony? AND, think of all of the details in which Princess Catherine did not have a voice. Undoubtedly, the majority of the wedding was detailed and coordinated by someone who is paid well to say "You do this, and you stand here because this is the way it will be." To some extent, it would have been more relaxing for my own wedding if I did have that someone to tell me what to do, to only have to decide what my dress would be and what my hair would look like. But on the other hand, I remember specific specific details about my own wedding that Princess Catherine can't. However, I also understand that you can easily argue that she will have "specific specific" details to remember about her own wedding day that are grander and more extraordinary than my wedding could ever replicate.

Yet my wedding didn't require $55 million just for security (which, by the way, kudos to the British for their panache in blending security into the landscape; American police can never compete). And my wedding was still joyous, just as today's celebration was.

Funny aside: Ben and I were told that we would not kiss after being pronounced husband and wife, kind of like today's newlyweds couldn't either. Except that I/we forgot, and we did. Good thing we're not royal; we would have enraged the Queen, among others.

The wedding made my day after an emotional week. I'm definitely one of those people who enjoy attending weddings rather than dreading them. Every bride is beautiful. Every wedding is so full of emotion--trust, faith and love. I thoroughly enjoy sharing such intimate moments because a wedding inevitably reminds me of how much I love my own hubby and the importance of the vows that we wrote for each other.

But once again, sometimes it's just good to be a commoner. I don't enjoy kissing in front of other people. So having at least a billion people watching me smootch...I'll let someone else revel in the balcony scene.

What do you do once you finish your formal education?

GRADE. I've been a bit behind.

SIGH. What is there left to achieve next?

REGROUP. Remember what a Friday night of pure relaxation feels like.

WORK. There are about 50 projects that haven't been worked on for four years.

SIGH. Again. In private. I'm getting a lot of lemons right now and haven't gotten up the gumption to find some sugar to mix in yet. I'm fairly wallowing right now.

LAUGH. Abby is at a fantastic age of funniness. Re-learn to play with the little one without the constant niggling reminder of work that isn't being done.

GO TO TRACK MEETS. Fantastic diversion for my daughter, and it gives her a chance to see her daddy on nights that they wouldn't otherwise meet up.

COOK. Key lime cheesecake. Pumpkin cream cheese muffins. Linguine with edemame pesto. All in my fridge right now.

LOOK FOR JOBS & HOUSES. If only...

READ. I'm out of sorts on this right now.

WATCH. Copious amounts of baseball. Without reservation. By the way...I'm in first place in the standings in my fantasy team. It's not yet May, but I can already smell the $300 winning prize (again).

PLANT. Peat pots. You should check out my nifty makeshift garden in my classroom at school.

THINK. About Abby's 2nd birthday...less than one month away (oh my!).

WRITE. On the blog. You lucky people.

That was an oops...

I need to preface this short post with 2 things to clarify my emotional state of mind.

1. I've been losing lots of things lately, and I'm not one who loses things. Everything has its place just for this reason.

2. I finally bought a new pair of jeans after searching sporadically for months and going through 2 pairs in the meantime.

So, the story. I was changing clothes after school a couple of days ago, and I couldn't find my new jeans. I knew that I was wearing them the night before, so I couldn't possibly have left them anywhere (we were out of town the previous day). Abby even got in on the search-and-find rescue mission. I looked through all of Ben's jeans twice since we'd just done some laundry. So I called Ben, who had a track meet after school. Maybe he knew? Voicemail--call me.

Ben called back: "This is not cool! I figured out that I'm wearing your jeans because the pockets are so small!!" Found my jeans! And for the record, he didn't continue wearing my jeans, and I accidentally put his on once thinking that they were mine.

You wouldn't think it by looking at us, but we basically wear the same jean size. Not that we purposefully share clothing... :-)