Hot chai and other pleasures

I visited my parents for the day while Zach was in Harrisburg for his weekend class. My parents and I had lunch, we talked, I walked the dog in the rain, and I did 3 loads of laundry. Yes, I am 29, and I still take laundry home to my parents. I still can't get used to laundromats and the other weirdos who frequent them. I also had my hair cut and my eyebrows waxed at the salon my mom goes to. It was my birthday gift from my parents. The stylist, Melanie, asked if I wanted my eyebrows waxed after she washed my hair, and I said "sure". The hot wax felt good going on. I told her to just rip the wax off without telling me when, and she did, and it hurt, but I have a high threshold for pain, so I didn't even flinch. She then proceeded to pluck any stray hairs off, and I thought I would open my watering eyes to find two, thin lines left where my eyebrows used to be. I don't have bushy eyebrows to begin with, but I'm a stranger to the world of cosmetics and beauty. She said to pluck out any stray hairs she may have missed when I do my makeup. I nodded my head up and down. The only makeup I own is a tube of lipstick and some dried up mascara left over from my days as a teenager when I thought I would be a model. Alas, I am not tall enough, and so I went to school instead. At any rate, my eyebrows look very nice and trim.

On a Side Note:
My parents are funny now that it is just the two of them (and the dog and 2 cats) in the house. My mom likes to walk around the house pretending to talk to the animals like Tony Soprano, and my dad threatened to get rid of the new satellite dish if she didn't clean up her language.

My mom and I went out for tea and cocoa this afternoon before I left to pick up Zach and return home. We had a pleasant time, because it felt normal. Things haven't felt normal with my family for over 12 years, when Alyssa, my youngest sister, began her descent into a mysterious mental illness (borderline personality disorder?). We thought that would be the worst thing to happen, but then Ashley got sick with a mysterious intestinal disorder that never got better, despite having her colon removed, and died. I was missing Ashley today when my mom and I went out together. I remembered having tea with Ashley at a small coffee shop in Bryn Mawr when she was in school. There was nothing spectacular about that evening. Nothing stood out other than she told me to get it "to go", even though we were drinking it there, because the paper cup was bigger than the mug, but the price was the same. It was just a regular, old evening. I try to relish those evenings, but some days it's hard. My anxiety level has been high the past few days, and some of that is due to the bottled-up grief, anger and sadness I have for my sisters. Some of it is due to trying to figure out future school plans. I'm not sure what the rest of it is about. I am having trouble sleeping, I'm nauseous, and weary. I'm feeling depressed. I am, however, taking care of myself. This is big. Last time I felt like this, I was suicidal and resorted to self mutilation (cutting my arms with razor blades). I ended up in a hospital for a week and a treatment center for several more weeks. This time I am talking to people, I'm taking naps and sitting in the sun. I'm drinking hot chai, getting massages and having my hair cut and my eyebrows waxed. This time around I know that these feelings of anxiety and depression won't last forever.

Playing with pictures

Baylee, my niece (9 yrs.)


Zach, my husband, and Ashley, my niece (6 yrs.)


Noel (15 yrs.) 

I'm almost 29, and I'm supposed to feel like this, right?

I have been on an emotional rollercoaster the past few days. I got accepted into the three schools I applied to for an MS in Speech Therapy, which I was thrilled about, but I am not going to receive any funding. I have filed a FAFSA application, so I can get loans, but, as many of you who read my blog know, it's hard to go back to school after earning an income (albeit meager) for a while. I got into Penn State, University of Vermont, and West Chester. West Chester would be a pregraduate degree program that starts in May. I'm not really keen on moving there for a pregraduate program, but I'm not discounting it yet, either. Penn State is a bit more expensive, but I'm already here and familiar with the school and town. Zach and I have been talking about moving for over a year now, but he says he doesn't mind sticking around for a few more years while I complete me program. It would be awesome to move to Burlington, VT, but the tuition is sky high, and neither one of us would have any source of income. I know we're young, and that this is the time to take risks, so part of me wants to just up and move to VT, because, when else will we be able to do that? I am also scared that we'll move and won't have as many opportunities available to us. Burlington is slightly more isolated than State College, not to mention colder. I have about two weeks to figure out what to do. I've been in contact with the graduate advisor for my programs at UVM and PSU, and I'm looking at different options, such as defering my acceptance to UVM until the fall of 2007, after I become a resident of Vermont and different sources of funding for Penn State. I think of Nancy and Michael moving to LA this summer, and know that they will face all kind of uncertainties. It makes me want to get up and move, too. In the meantime, life goes on. Zach and I are thinking seriously about kids (like in the next year or so), and a house and a dog. Maybe not in that order, but you get the picture.

Getting Up-to-Date

Me and Zoe. I've been playing around with my "new" digital camera and my husband's new laptop. It's taking me a while to figure it all out. I'm pretty clueless when it comes to computers and cameras, even when dealing with the simple stuff. Between figuring this stuff out and getting an IPod for my birthday, I'm moving into the 21st Century. 

Red-stained hands

So much has been happening the past few weeks, but I haven't been in a blogging mood. I haven't been in any kind of mood to sit still, but today was such a fun day, and since Zach's not home yet to share it with, I'll write about it.
It started this morning at work. I was in the gym with the 6 kids who come to the morning program before school starts, and the secretary announced that buses would be running late. Naturally the kids got excited, because that meant school would be starting late. Well, much to their dismay, the buses arrived only minutes later, and kids started flocking into the gym. Just as I was about to shout "clean up!", the secretary popped her head in and screamed in an unnecesarily loud, shrill voice "STOP IT, Taylor!". It shocked her, because all she was doing was spinning a jump rope around on the floor for other kids to jump over. Only no one was jumping over it anymore. I told Taylor not to worry, she just didn't know what you were doing, but I did and it was okay. This is not the first time this secretary has screamed at a kid before or after school. I was still stunned. I thought about saying something to her, but decided it wasn't worth it. She obviously has anger issues, and I don't need to waste any of my time on her. As I drove to the office I really felt that I rediscovered part of the reason for getting up each morning and going to my job; that is to show kids how to be reasonable, fair, and well-mannered. There are so many people yelling at them and telling them what they can't do in school every day, and maybe at home, too, and I can be one person to let them just be.
This afternoon one of the boys threw a tennis ball and hit an EXIT sign. The cover and the red backing to the sign flew off the wall and broke into several pieces when it hit the floor. The boy thought he was in BIG trouble, as the other kids started chiding in. I picked up the sign, and told them to get me a chair and some tape. All of a sudden we were working as a team. I was taping as the he fit the pieces back together. As I stood up on the chair to replace the sign, the very same secretary walked in to talk to a kid, and all the kids fled from me. She didn't say a word to me, but I felt suddenly like the kids must feel.
After that we made oobleck, which was a big mess and a lot of fun. One of the parents was laughing at me as a puff of cornstarch flew into my face when I crushed the box to it throw away. Usually doing projects like this one are just a big headache, but today was fun. I think more days could be like today.

Being sick AND married

So my cold is still hanging on. I am becoming one with it. I don't remember what it's like to not have this cold, so I live my life as if we are at ease with each other's presence. Zach, on the other hand, is having the harder time of it. He resorted to sleeping on the sofa bed in a sleeping bag twice this past week. He usually makes his way out of the bedroom in a huff around midnight. Apparently I snore and cough and move around a lot in my sleep. I'm not too offended. I was nowhere to be found when he was throwing up two weeks ago. Nowhere in the vows did it say anything about being physcially present during sickness. You can honor, love, and support someone from any, safe distance. This is about self-preservation. Not only that, but if Zach does catch my cold, then I'll have to hear about it for the following week or two. To not have to deal with that is totally worth having that cold, empty spot in the bed next to me. It took me about 2 years to get used to sharing my bed. Now I stay on my side even when Zach's not there.

My bronchial airways are inflamed, and I'm grateful for it!

Last Friday Zach came down with a stomach flu. For those of you who don't already know, I have a huge fear of throwing up. I can count on one hand the amount of times in my life I have thrown up, and I remember all the details of when, where, and how I felt. I went from the ages of 9-21 without throwing up once. That's 12 years (reference Seinfeld here. I would provide a link if I were more computer savvy or less lazy). When Zach threw up the first time last Friday, he thought it might have been too much beer on an empty stomach, but after the second, third and fourth time, I grew suspicious. I went out to sleep on the sofa with the pillow over my head. Poor Zach wasn't getting any sympathy from me. I even considered sleeping in the car. The next day I left the house for a few hours and returned with Lysol, gloves, and gatorade. I stayed about 10 feet away from Zach and talked for a while. I then scrubbed the apartment. For the next 3 days, I was hypersensitive to every noise my stomach made. I was anxious and didn't eat much. I ate crackers and drank gingerale for two days (I exaggerate a bit) , even after Zach was eating chicken marsala and chocolate cake again. I didn't get the stomach flu (knocking on wood), but I did end up with bronchitis, probably the after effect of not eating enough and lowering my resistance. I am content with my bronchitis. And Zach is not the least bit afraid of catching it. That's love.

Skunk or Gas Leak?

Early Wednesday morning Zach and I woke up to the phone ringing. It was only 4:45, too early for Zach's father to be calling. Our landlords, who live downstairs from us, came on the answering machine asking us to pick up. Zach answered, said "Okay", and hung up. "We need to get dressed. There might be a gas leak and we need to be ready to get out of the house". Something did smell a little funny. We got dressed in record time and ambled our way down the stairs. At the bottom was our landlord's grown son, who spends the night from time to time, with a scowl on his face like a teenager's. He mumbled something that sounded like a hello. We all stupidly stood in the kitchen wondering if we should go outside or not. The emergency guy at the gas company didn't say we had to go outside. As the smell worsened, we went out. "It smells like skunk", said our landlady. Zach and I agreed. Was it a skunk? Half an hour later, the emergency guy showed up. Apparently he had to get dressed first. At any rate, it was determined that we did indeed have ourselves a skunk. We found the hole he had dug into the storage shed attached to the garage. Thankfully it wasn't a gas leak. Even though it was just a skunk, we were all a little too nonchalant about the situation. I had even gone back upstairs to grab my bag, and I flipped the lightswitch on and off several times. Friends of mine did experience a gas leak once. The smell was overwhelming, enough to give you a headache. No one knew it was a gas leak until Liz passed out early one morning before her final exam. On her way to the exam, she started to feel better. When she returned home, she felt worse again. Her sister Annie attributed all her morning headaches to quitting smoking. A window had been cracked most of December with a bottle of detergent. When the detergent ran out, the window was shut, and that's when Liz passed out. They were lucky. We were lucky.

Spending Time

I've been reading some great books by author Elizabeth Berg lately (thanks to a suggestion from Nancy). I've also been crocheting some sad looking scarves with the time I normally would have spent cleaning. My apartment is still clean, but I just let it get dirty now first. Zach and I have been lamenting the day we can finally own our own home. On warm, sunny days like yesterday, we would like to spend our afternoons outside in our yard with the dogs.

That's all I really wanted to say.

Things have been going exceptionally well this past week. It's a welcome change from the way I had been feeling.

Hurting

Zach and I are readjusting to each other after spending 6 days apart while he remained with his family on Cape Cod for a few more days after X-mas. I came home to work and, be there no uncertainty, to have a few days to myself. A few days to myself became more like solitary confinement. I am not proud to say that I have spent a few nights in a padded room with nothing but a mattress on the floor, but this was worse. It was worse because I still went to work every day to face 20 screaming kids and because I still had to function like a functioning adult in the world. What made this time to myself so destructive was that I felt isolated and anxious. Soon it will be the one-year anniversary of Ashley's death, and that makes me fearful, sad, and angry. All those emotions at once are just too much, so I make myself numb. Zach doesn't like my negativity, but neither do I, and that's part of the problem. I try to push it away, so I end up brooding on my negativity. Then Zach asks me why I don't talk about it, and then I want to either hit him really hard or curl up in my bed with my stuffed bear. Zach is notorious for contradicting himself. He wants me to talk about what I'm thinking and feeling, but not to him. He wants me to be open and honest with him, but only if it's positive. It's enough to drive me crazy.

Resolutions

I normally don't make them, because for me it would be something like "be lazier", and somehow that doesn't sound like a good thing to strive toward. There is, however, something I would like to resolve to do better this year (and the years to follow). That is spending quality time with Zach. Oftentimes when we are together, my mind is elsewhere. I would just like to be more present when we do get a chance to spend time together.

Bad Business

I had some spare time this afternoon over my lunch break, so I decided to walk to the local library and perhaps the Cheese Shop to buy some chocolate (yes, that's what the specialty shop is actually called). I stopped short of the library when the sign of an herbalist shop caught my eye. It's hidden down below a set of concrete steps, and over the duration of the past year it's been occupied by a polish baker, a sushi maker and a different herbalist.
It's a bad location because it's out of the way. I walked down the steps and into the sparse little shop. There were bagged, loose-leaf teas surrounding one wall, a few hemp/cotton hats in the corner, and some oils and tree-less stationary at the other end. I picked up a bag of tea, but there was no price listed. That's always a bad sign. I picked up a cute hat lined with purple flowers, and, again, no price was listed. The woman behind the counter asked if I was looking for anything in particular. I said "no, I'm just looking", and she scurried off to organize something. I felt my heart beat in my chest and my hands tense up. I was trapped. I knew I was probably her first and maybe last customer of the day, and that's a heavy responsibility. I looked around trying to plan a quick, graceful escape. As I was walking around pretending to be interested, I saw a few items that I thought could make nice stocking stuffers for Zach or his sister. So I began asking the woman the prices of certain items. I immediately forgot each number she rattled off, because I need to actually see the numbers on the items. I walked around for another minute or so and then picked up a plain, white container of green clay facial scrub. There was no seal around it, so I unscrewed the lid to smell it. As the lid popped off, a plume of green dust flew down the front of my jacket and onto my shoes and the floor. It was too much to kick around with my foot and hide, but the woman hadn't noticed. I thought about running out of the shop at that moment, but I decided against that and took the high road. I said "I just spilled some of this powdered mask on the floor. I'm really sorry". She looked up, walked over and said in an agitated and stern voice "Please don't open any of the products". I felt like a little kid, but all I could think was "no kidding, _itch". I asked her the price and offered to buy it if she wanted me to. She said that someone else did the same thing a few days ago and did buy the product. (Hello, have you heard of sealing your products?) I said I would buy it. She ran around the shop looking for a broom to clean up the mess and then offered to top off what I had spilled from the container before selling it to me. As she came back to the counter, she asked me if that was it. I picked up a chocolate bar and said I'd take that as well. She looked me in the eye and said "you really don't want this mask, do you?" I said I would give it to a friend. She said I shouldn't do that because there was clay all over the label. She told me I didn't have to buy it. At that point I should have felt relieved, but a wave of indignation rose up over me, and all I could think was "what, I'm not good enough to buy your over-priced herbal crap?"
I bought the chocolate bar and left knowing I'll never set foot in that shop again.

The dog likes spicy chili

My parents just left after our mini pre-christmas christmas. Since they're not celebrating this year, Zach and I invited them to our apartment to eat homemade chili, cranberry walnut bread and cheesecake. We ate, went for a walk and then opened some unexpected gifts they had bought us. It was really a very pleasant day. I highly suggest celebrating on a day other than THE day. None of the stress was there, as were none of the expectations. My parents and I have been getting along very well, and I don't think I tell them often enough how much I love them and how exceptional I think they are. To answer your question mom and dad, "No" I'm not just saying this because I recently sent you the link to this blog.
On the 24th I'll head up to Cape Cod to spend Christmas with Zach's family. I have been skeptical toward Christmas this year and uncertain about how the grief will affect me. Christmas Eve was a big deal in our family, more so than Christmas day. On the night of Christmas Eve I plan on going to Smuggler's Beach, lighting a candle and spreading a few of Ashley's ashes on the beach. It's something I want to do in her memory. I also bought several books I know Ashley liked when she was younger, and I'm giving them to my nieces and the kids I babysit.
It's been really hard the past few weeks with the approach of the holidays and the one-year anniversary of Ashley's death. There really aren't any words to describe it. Sometimes my chest gets tight and I realize that I'm holding my breath. Sometimes my jaw is rigid and tense. Sometimes it's a dream I have; she's standing there before me, all of her features strong and clear, searching my face with her piercing blue eyes. The knowledge that she's gone enters my dream, and her image fades away. I try to hold onto the image, but it always slips away. It frightens me more than anything. The fact that there are things in life beyond anyone's control scares the shit out of me.

Each Day

I catch myself in a quick moment of peaceful mindfulness early in the morning on my way to work. I usually wake up in a frenzy, a little too late and a little too tired, and run out the door forgoing a shower or a decent breakfast. My ride to school is only 7 miles, and it takes me about 14 minutes to get there. As I round a bend a little over halfway there, a mountain ridge appears. It's not big, but it's serene and beautiful. The sun rises behind it, so the clouds are a soft pink and orange while the sky is slate gray. Snow covers the mountain, and some lights from the houses twinkle down its sides. It reminds me of the moment I entered the Fjord of Oslo by boat early one December morning 5 years ago. It is that small, fleeting moment that helps make the rest of the day okay.

My first paid "sick" day

I stayed home from work yesterday afternoon and napped, watched Roman Holiday and made turkey soup. The holiday season is hard. I didn't think I'd feel this way until closer to the end of the month and next month, but I've heard grief is unpredictable. Holidays are hard enough as it is. Why do we put all this undue stress on ourselves?
I really enjoyed my day off. Everybody should take at least one personal day in the month of December, if not more.
I'll be in Lancaster this weekend taking the GREs. Wish me luck!

Have your secretary contact my secretary

Things have been going well. Doing anything computer related is a low priority right now, hence my not updating my blog recently. I will post again when I gather my patience and we can sit down together to write. BTW, I know the word "secretary" is not politically correct, so I apologize now if I have offended anyone.

Wherein I get full of myself and talk about myself some more

Call me crazy, but my new "assignment" from my therapist is to NOT make my bed at least one morning this week, to NOT make lunches for me and Zach one day this week, to at least consider not running one of the days I run if I don't feel like it, and to try to stop the worrisome thoughts I have of what I'm eating-is it too much, not enough, balanced enough? Sounds crazy, right, like it's the complete opposite of healthy?
I've begun to accept the fact that I seem to be highly energetic and have trouble sitting still. In fact part of me gets a rush from getting so much done every day. The problem, though, is that at some point I start to feel tired and overwhelmed. I'm trying so hard to keep everything contained in a neat, little package wrapped in a pretty red bow, and it's bursting at the seams. I imagined it exploding, but then everything was strewn across the floor of a white room with no escape. I'm working on building myself mental shelves. That way I can keep everything on a shelf, nice and neat, but not bursting at the seams or scattered all over the place.
I've always been a worrier. I worry about the silliest things. For example, what if I forget to replenish the supply of cups at work? In reality, the kids would just drink from the water fountain that day, but the reality of the situation eludes me. I might just have to intentionally forget the cups one day to prove to myself that nothing catastrophic will happen. The irony in all of my worrying is that one of the ultimate terrible things that could happen to me has, that being the death of my sister. What could compare other than another death? But I've been worrying about things for as long as I can remember, starting in preschool. I've heard it said that awareness is the first step toward change. That may be true, but at this point all awareness has done is make it harder for me to live my life. At least before, without the awareness, I could live me life in a way that felt good, even if it wasn't healthy. Now I know better. Knowing better sucks, and that first occurred to me when I was three and Ashley was a baby, and I realized that she couldn't get in trouble, because she was a baby and didn't know any better. I'm not sure where I'm going with this, so I'll end on that note.

Like the disappointment after X-mas

I have the apartment to myself tonight because Zach is at one of his monthly weekend courses in Harrisburg. I was so excited about having the place to myself and imagining about a dozen different things that I could do, that I've made myself too exhausted to do anything. I might still squeeze in that trip to TJ Maxx. I could always use another pair of cheap shoes.

My first memory of Ashley (in utero)

I was reading the website of my friend Jenni where she was recounting one of her first memories. It made me think of one of my first memories, and I wanted to share it. It was shortly before my third birthday, and I was at the doctor's office with my mom. I remember standing by her side surrounded by legs, both of people and tables. The room was dim. It seemed like a half dozen people were standing around the table on which my mom was lying. The doctor bent down toward me and put the cold, metal stethoscope on my ears. I was scared. He asked me if I could hear the baby's heartbeat. I shook my head up and down furiously, just wanting him to take the thing off my ears. I couldn't hear a damn thing. Later, as we were leaving, he shut the door on my hand, but I don't remember that part.

Dear Ashley,

When I finally sat down long enough today to let myself realize what it is that I've been feeling, I realized that it's been 9 months to the day since you died. I've been running away from my feelings all week, and I've felt frantic and stressed out, but I'm afraid if I stop that I'll never start back up again. I wrote you a long letter today and cried for over an hour. It's amazing to me to think that with so many people in the world, how is it that I could miss just one person so much? I do though. I miss you more than you will ever know. I have gotten closer to mom and my friends, but I will never stop missing you. Some days I'm amazed to think that with all the losses that occur each day in the world, how anyone can find life enjoyable or worth living. I know it is, though, because I saw through all of your pain and suffering how you lived each day. Through your pain, you still found strength to talk about things that were important to you, like your friends, our family, school, events happening in the world, the quality of care (or lack of) of the hospital staff, and you still managed to ask others how they were doing and to smile. I'm sure you really learned how to accept love and kindness from others. I know you did, because you were so generous in returning it. I know you are no longer suffering, but I bet if you'd have had a choice, you would have chosen to stay here among the living. I think you knew it was your time to go, but I'm not so sure you really wanted to go. I hope you felt comforted at your death by my presence. I'm so glad I was able to be with you when you died. It was one of the most meaningful experiences of my life. I just wish you could be here with me now.
Love,
Angelique

Any sense does it make?

I started a weekly yoga class last Monday. I'm hopeful that it's going to help me relax and learn to sloooow down a bit. I've been so exhausted lately that I've been walking into things like an awkward teenager going through a growth spurt. I have a collection of bruises to show for it. I also say things that don't really make sense and then can't remember saying them. Thankfully Zach is there to inform me of and question the nonsensical things I say. More to come later.

Goodbye Summer

It's been one of those weeks where I feel like I just can't get started. It started on Sunday when I was dog/cat sitting for my parents, and I ended up leaving their house 3 hours later than I had originally planned. Monday was Monday, but Tuesday started off with such a gloomy feel to it, that I felt paralyzed. I couldn't get anything done at work, so I went to Walmart and bought a football for the kids to play with afterschool. I felt like sitting down and crying in the middle of Walmart, because it is so enormous, impersonal, smelly and fluorescent. Now it's happened again today. I went for a run after working this morning, and here I sit, 3 hours later in my apt. NOT working. I did do a lot of housework, but that was obviously one of my old distraction mechanisms I resort to from time to time. I really didn't need to clean. I'm feeling overwhelmed and very anxious. I get these surges of adrenaline for seemingly no reason that leave me feeling weak. Granted today is a beautiful, sunny day, I sense the changes that the fall and winter will bring about. I'm really anxious about this upcoming winter and all the memories of Ashley's death that it will bring. I realize that the anticipation of it all is much worse than the thing itself will actually be, but how do you come to terms with that?

Teddy Bear Teddy Bear Turn Around!

I made it through the first full week of the after school program where I now work, and I am thoroughly exhausted. There are several factors involved, such as:
a. working full time for the first time in a year
b. playing kickball, baseball and jumping rope almost every afternoon with the kids in the hot sun
c. waking up early, too early. I don't need to get up until 6:00, but I've been waking at 5:30
(and even 4:15 one day)
d. worrying about planning activities and discipline techniques
e. my already ridiculously heightened sensation of "I can do it ALL" increases

So today I carved out some time to just sit in my car and listen to music for half an hour, and I actually did it. This is a big achievement for me. I don't usually just sit around doing "nothing". It really is a skill to allow yourself to sit and just be and to face all the problems that have been plaguing you. My usual coping mechanism involves running away, and I mean literally running. I've cut back on running drastically, and, to my own amazement, nothing bad has happened.
It was while I was sitting around that I realized how tired I actually am. I also realized that the intersection of Burrowes and Fairmount is really hazardous.

Requirement: no dizziness, nausea or lightheadedness

Thursday night I attempted to donate blood at a local Red Cross drive. For those of you who know me, you can stop snickering now. If you know me well, then you know that I get queasy at the mere mention of blood. I don't need to know that there is actually blood flowing through the veins and arteries inside my body. I can't stand the thought of somebody puncturing through my skin and veins with a needle to let out what is supposed to stay within.
About 10 years ago when I was a freshman in college, I had my finger pricked for a cholesterol test at a health fair. I didn't feel anything out of the ordinary. I remember sitting down on a couch, and then I remember opening my eyes and staring up at the ceiling. Apparently I fainted on the couch without anybody noticing. About 2 years before that I was at the movies with my mom and Ashley. We we watching a matinee showing of "Interview with a Vampire". It was after school, I was a little bit tired and a little bit hungry, and when Tom Cruise bit into Brad Pitt's neck (or vice versa-I can't remember those details), there was a sound effect that resembled biting into a crisp apple. Apparently there was some moaning involved and Ashley telling me to shush, but all I remember is "waking up" and wondering why my arms were hanging to the sides of the chair and why I was slouched so far down. I got up and got a soda and then watched the rest of the movie.
There haven't been any episodes like that in years. I mean, I've come close to fainting for reasons that I can't really explain, but I haven't actually fainted again in ten years. Lately when I've had blood drawn at the doctor's office, I've been doing better. I don't feel faint. I thought about donating blood because Ashley had around 6 blood transfusions over a one-year period. I thought donating blood would be a nice way for me to give back.
Last Monday I made appointments, yes, it is suggested you make an appointment first, for me and Zach to donate on Thursday. I didn't think much about it all week, but was feeling a bit doubtful about the whole ordeal when I had to stop reading the red cross webpage explaining the donation procedure because I was feeling faint. I just didn't think about it for the rest of the week. By the time Thursday night rolled around, I had been drinking extra water and had eaten a substantial amount. Once I got up to the donation site, I mentioned to Zach that I wasn't sure I could do this. He brushed my doubts aside and paid no attention to them, and I tried to do the same. Well, I never made it past the finger prick. I ended up on the floor after the woman pricked my finger to test my iron levels, which I passed with flying colors. I wasn't allowed to donate blood. I had to be wheeled in a chair past the bed where Zach was lying, already having his blood drawn, to a bed in the corner where I had to stay for a while, until they wheeled in the next victim, this time a guy, to occupy the bed. I was secretly relieved to see someone else in the same sorry state. I received a temporary deferral letter, which stated:
"We were not able to accept your donation today for the following reason:
Other-Donor reaction in health history. Requirement: no dizziness, nausea or lightheadedness"

Next time I'll just hand out the cookies.

A Slightly Uneasy Feeling

This morning as Zach an I were sitting in our apartment family room reading the paper, we heard the pattering of a [squirrel's/rat's] little feet coming from somewhere behind us. I could have said it was the cat if we had a cat, but since we don't, it couldn't have been the cat. We reasoned to ourselves that it must have been a squirrel on the roof, because a rat doesn't make pattering sounds, does it? At this point, I'm relying on the "if I can't see it, it must not exist" rationale.

The only news in the paper is that of Hurricane Katrina's aftermath. It's actually the first that I've sat down and read about it. I've managed to avoid most media coverage of the disaster for the past week. It's not because I'm a cold, callous, uncaring person, but it's just that everything is so sensationalized, and watching the coverage makes me feel helpless. The other factor is that right before she got sick, my sister Ashley spent a summer in Baton Rouge doing an internship with the Dept. of Transportation, and the strong connection between Ashley and Louisiana makes it difficult for me to watch and listen to the news about the hurricane. I can't even walk by the tobasco sauce in the grocery store without thinking about Ashley and of how she toured that factory. I started listening lately, because I know how interested and concerned she would have been in all of this. She was planning on studying urban development and transportation in graduate school. I've been trying to think of ways that she would have helped with the disaster. It's not really feasible to donate money, so I've thought about contacting all of Ashley's friends and acquaintances in Louisiana to see if they're okay. I think that's what she would have done.

Ups and Downs

Tomorrow marks the one year anniversary of my blog. Today I started my new job as a group supervisor for an afterschool program. There are good things happening, and it's all so emotional. I feel like I'm coping, though. I always keep in mind that the opposite of depression is not happiness, but resilience.

"On Grief and Grieving"

I've been reading this book co-authored by David Kessler and Elisabeth Kubler-Ross, finished right before she died last year. There was one passage in particular that talked about how many people believe that we never die alone, and that all those we once knew will be there to greet us in death. At first the thought made me upset and angry, because who did Ashley know who had already died? But then I thought of my dad's father who died a few months before Ashley was born, and I could picture Ashley together with our grandfather. She would fill him in one what everyone has been up to for the past 26 years, and that image made me cry. I like to think that Ashley and my grandfather are together.
Another passage in the book talked about how we the living are constrained by time. It may be another 60 years before I see Ashley again, if I believe that everyone will be reunited in death, but the dead, who live in another realm, don't have time restrictions, so what may be 60 years for me may only feel like a matter of seconds to the deceased. Obviously nobody knows for sure what happens, and right now this is what feels good for me to believe.

Snippets of my Day (or Could I possibly get any lazier?)

Sleepy
confident
spritely
sunny
grasshoppers
green bean splattered pants
Dayquil
Sleepy
Dido and the Dixie Chicks
sweet potato french fries

The rain is humbling

It's a rainy day, and I'm back in State College by myself. Zach remained up on Cape Cod for a few more days visiting his family. I didn't want to come back. The day I left was perfectly sunny with just a few clouds in the sky, a perfect beach day. Mainly while I was there I sat on the beach and read the newest Harry Potter book, which was excellent. It's all the more difficult being back now because I've had a frustrating past few days and, on top of it all, I have a horrible cold. I'm trying to just stay in and give myself time to get better, but that's one of the most difficult things for me to do.
While I've been sitting inside listening to this awesome CD called Love Rocks*, I've been thinking about Ashley. I keep picturing her lying in the hospital bed the day she died, completely still. I remember shutting her eyelids the rest of the way. I sat by her bed and held her hands and talked to her for 2 hours before Zach arrived. She was still warm to the touch, but I could see her ears were turning slightly blue around the edges. I wanted to believe that she could hear what I was saying. I had to believe it. I still don't know what happens to a person's soul at death. Sometimes I think it becomes fragmented and is dispersed in the universe. It's hard to believe that anyone's soul could remain whole and be transferred to another being at birth. I would like to believe that the soul does survive in some way, though. I was thinking today how much I would like to talk to my mom about this image that I carry of Ashley and my thoughts about her spirit. I'm just afraid my mom is not ready to hear it, and I'm afraid that by making myself so vulnerable to her I'll only end up getting hurt. This is why I'm blogging it today. It's good to know that my thoughts are still being heard.

*Zach and I bought the CD in Provincetown, Cape Cod, a very lively, alternative town on the tip of Cape Cod surrounded by water and sand dunes. It came from a little shop that only sells items in support of the Human Rights Campaign.

Girl Crushes-Read about it in today's NY Times-I've had many of them

On Tuesday Zach and I bought a car. It's our first big purchase as a married couple, and now there's no turning back! Actually, Zach bought the car while I waited at home for all the paperwork needed to register the car. Because he bought the car in Boston (where his family is from) and we are Pennsylvania residents, he couldn't drive it off the lot until it was registered. We had anticipated this, so the plan was that he would go up and buy the car while I got a nice week in our apt. alone waiting for the paperwork.
It's actually been a busy week. It took us a while to figure out how we were actually going to pay for the car. It's not the money that was a problem, but rather that my bank is still in Lancaster, over 2 hours away, and we needed a cashiers check, because the dealership doesn't accept out-of-state checks and we wanted to put down more than the $1500.00 they allow on credit card purchases. We had saved all our wedding money, and that's what we used for a down payment. Honeymoons seem overrated to me anyway. My bank sent us the cashiers check we needed overnight and Zach left last Saturday. He negotiated some on Sunday, called the dealer again on Monday, and bought the car on Tuesday. We went with the Ford Focus. I prefer Japanese cars, but we got a fully-loaded car for an excellent deal. When we both have steadier incomes we'll go for the car we really want. We had to get a new car, though, not only because our old one wasn't worth pumping any more money into, but also because Zach is what Click and Clack refer to as an auto-hypochondriac. He hears EVERY LITTLE noise, and it drives him (and me) crazy.
But anyway, the paperwork arrived this morning. It was sitting neatly tucked away on top of our mailbox, even though I was supposed to have signed for it. I don't know how long it was sitting there, nor do I know why the fedex guy didn't knock on my door which I had left wide open. I was getting anxious waiting for it, because I needed to be out the door for work by 10:15, and I wanted to go to AAA to take care of it beforehand. When I saw it, it was nearly 10:00. I arranged to go to work a little bit late and raced out to AAA. When I got there my heart was pounding and I was shaking. I hadn't had a chance to actually look through the papers Zach sent me, so I didn't know what was there. There were three women at the counter, and I was hoping the friendly-looking, young brunette would call me over and NOT the older, gray-haired woman who looked mean. But the fates weren't with me this morning. I spilled the paperwork out onto the counter in front of the scary, old one and stammered out some words about needing to register a new car that my husband purchased out of state. She began to ask if I had some MVI something-or-other form, and I said it should all be there. I handed her the power of attorney form, since that was needed before I could sign anything for Zach. She took one look at it and said "I don't think I'm going to be able to use this". Just like that. She didn't even look at me. I asked why, and she said because the expiration date hadn't been filled in, even though the effective date had been written in clearly and it said right below "Expires 90 days from effective date". I stared at her, my heart still pounding and my hands shaking and said "Well you don't have to have an attitude". I couldn't believe I had said that. Sure, I could think of worse things to say, but usually I don't say things like that at all. The words just poured out of my mouth as I felt the anger building inside. After I said that, she surprisingly softened up and became overly nice. Maybe she sensed my anxiety or maybe she remembered some words from her customer service training 100 years ago, but whatever it was she changed her behavior, and I got all the paperwork done. I don't think I stopped shaking until I was halfway home, though. It wasn't the sales tax I had to pay that was bothering me, but dealing with bureaucratic paperwork that got me.
I went straight to my babysitting job. I usually don't drive, and I decided to pull into their driveway since there's a two-hour limit for on-street parking. It was narrow, so I squeezed in front of the garage next to the house. I inched forward a little bit, and then a little bit more, a little bit more, and a bit more until CRACK. I had hit the frame of the garage. I backed up quickly just as the little girl's mother came out of the house. She looked at the frame and then said "I was going to tell you that you could park out back in the alley". I started stammering again and apologized, but I could see that the frame had been hit several times before on both sides, above and below where I hit. She told me not to worry, because they were replacing it next week anyway. It's a good thing it didn't happen next week. I felt so stupid for having done that. Other than the occasional curb, I haven't ever hit anything. She was fine with it, but I wondered if I would ever stop shaking.
I'll be in Massachusetts for the next 6 days, and probably won't get a chance to post during that time. I'm looking forward to the time away and to the drive up. Driving is one of my favorite things to do, especially if it's a long trip by myself.
Have a good weekend everybody!

Musing

At how I say crown and how difficult it is for me to actually say the word crayon. I had to put the word Crayola in front of it to let one of the mothers I babysit for know what I was talking about. Anyway, Zach and I bought a giant 64 pack of Crayola crayons at Target last week for $1.88-and that includes a built-in-sharpener in the back.

Can you say Gaylord Focker?!

Last night we had dinner with a family of three girls I babysit for. The week before Zach had come over to visit them with me, and apparently there was a meltdown after we left. I explained that Zach had left feeling overwhelmed, too. For those of you who don't know Zach very well, he is very animated and full of boundless energy. He is great with kids, but they tend to get overly excited around him.
Last night the plan was to order chinese food and eat right away so that there wouldn't be much time for things to get wild and crazy. That turned out to be just foolish thinking. There was a fairy named Sky Dancer, some wisteria, the roof, and a water-filled hula hoop involved.
Sky Dancer, a new birthday gift for one of the girls, spins around quickly atop her cloud perch and then flies through the air when a string is rapidly pulled. The first time Zach tried out this new toy, he launched her up into the wisteria where she hung for several moments before he knocked her down. With the second attempt she was on the roof. All day long she hadn't flown more than 2 feet, and within 15 seconds Zach managed to launch her 30 feet into the air. There was some screaming involved, but M came to the rescue and retrieved Sky Dancer while the rest of us were doubled over laughing. The toy had to be put away by the end of the night.
Later as Zach was hula hooping, the hoop split open at the seam and a stream of water flew out at me and our hostess. Luckily she has a good sense of humor. Who knows where the water came from, but luckily the hoop was easily repaired, but apparently more difficult to use without the water. "This is the story of my life", Zach said. "Trouble just seems to find me".
This morning he woke up with a stiff back. There will be no more tangos with Sky Dancer for Zach.

Things that I've recently (re-)discovered that make me happy

1. Strawberry yogurt
2. Guacamole (be sure to mix the garlic and salt together before adding the avocado. It makes such a difference in taste)
3. Swimming in the outdoor pool with Zach
4. Wearing Ashley's old blue-flowered bikini with boy shorts to the pool
5. Sleeping
6. Driving
7. Napping
8. Getting dirty
9. Drinking coffee in bed with Zach in the morning while listening to the news (if I can lie still long enough)
10. multiplication (and sometimes long division) in my head-it's a challenge and it helps me fall asleep sometimes
11. Trees
12. Thunderstorms
13. The blogging* community that Nancy started
14. Tea

*As Nancy pointed out, blogspot's spell check doesn't recognize variations of the word "blog". It suggested I change blogging to flogging. Thanks for starting our flogging community, Nancy!

One more day that I'm alive and well

It has been a stressful week in babysitting. Twice in the past 5 days two different kids choked and one consequently vomited twice. The first was the 15 month old I've babysat only a handful of times. She has a habit of not swallowing all of her food and just letting it loll about in her mouth an hour after lunch has ended. Her mother knows it's a problem, but unless she's putting her to bed doesn't worry about it. I was sitting on the family room floor with her when she started her "crying because I'm there and NOT mommy" which is a fun cycle that continues endlessly the entire 3-4 hours I am there. This time, however, she started with a gasp followed by awful "I can't breathe" sounds. Since she's tiny, only about 16 pounds because she was born about 3 months too early, I whisked her up, slung her over my arm and gently (of course) whacked her on the back. She continued her usual screaming after that. I only told her mother that she started choking a little bit and that I had to hit her on the back, which is why she is crying more than usual. I figured there was no point in worrying her mother any more than necessary. All's well that ends well.
Yesterday I was watching the two boys aged 27 months and 9 months. The 9 month old had been happily playing on the floor by himself for nearly an hour when I looked over and saw something white in his mouth, most likely one of the dinosaur stickers his brother had been sticking on and peeling off everything. Just as I started to walk over to look closer, he gagged and puked. Twice. He started screaming when I pulled his shirt off and tried to wipe the snot from his nose. He is also getting over a bad cold, so it's possible that he choked on his own phlegm, which is what I told his parents. He seemed fine after a sink bath and some pedialyte.
Here's the thing. Vomiting of any kind freaks me out. I know, nobody enjoys it, but I think there are probably people who don't mind it as much as I do. I've only thrown up a handful of times in my life, and before the last two times it had been 12 years since I'd been sick like that. I start to imagine being horribly sick which makes me feel so out of control. Maybe that's the issue for me-the lack of control over vomiting. With a cold or a headache you can still go about your day, but not when there's puking involved.
Last night, as I was trying to fall alseep and hoping I wouldn't catch the baby's choking-vomiting bug, the only thing worse that I could envision happening to me that night was death. Luckily I evaded both.

San Francisco

My mom and I returned from San Francisco last Friday. It was the first time either one of us had been to the west coast. The trip was spectacular. We spent three days in the city walking up the steep hills to see Lombard Street, the “crookedest street in the world”, Fisherman’s Wharf, Chinatown, Japantown and Haight Ashbury. One day we rented a car and I drove us over the Golden Gate Bridge up to John Muir National Monument to see the Redwoods. From there we drove along coastal Rt. 1 high above the Pacific Ocean and up to Sonoma Valley where we stopped at several wineries on our way back. It was a cool, sometimes chilly 60 degrees the whole week. There were so many things to see. Mostly we sat in Union Square and just watched people. The city seemed almost too good to live in, until we picked up a couple of real estate magazines. At any rate, I would love to go back and see more of California. Maybe for that honeymoon Zach and I never took…

Forming a Dent

I couldn’t sleep Sunday night. I went out into the family room and sat in the reclining chair that we all got my dad for father’s day several years ago when Ashley was still well. It’s the chair I sat in the week she and I spent together. She had herself and all of her stuff nestled into the corner of the big, white sofa where she said she felt a huge dent forming. There were two big pillows propped up behind her and several blankets on and around her. There was a small table in front of her with random pill bottles, gum wrappers, and empty cups piled on top. There was usually a plate of half-eaten chicken or french toast which she would end up feeding to Zoë from her fork. Zoë would gingerly take the morsel of food off the fork without scraping her teeth against it. Ashley was always teaching Zoe new tricks. The cats were never far away, either. Tyler would never miss an opportunity to jump up on a pile of blankets, especially if you didn’t want him there. Under the table was a paper bag with trash spilling out onto the floor. She was never a very neat person. The big oxygen machine was right behind the sofa making its steady whirring noise all day and night. I would miss it when it was gone. Her backpack with the TPN (total paraenteral nutrition), the “food” that was taken intravenously through the artery in her neck, was at her feet. That week Zach and I prepared those bags for her. The time Zach did she didn’t even hook it up to her pump to use. It just sat in the refrigerator only to be thrown away the next day. It was a tedious process to prepare those feedings. The bag, several of which were delivered weekly, had to be removed from the fridge hours before use. I had to use two different syringes to inject vitamin K and other B vitamins into the bag through a little plastic cover near the bottom. This had to be done hours before use so that they had enough time to be infused. Right before use the bag needed to be hooked up to the pump and primed for use. The fluid had about 6 feet of tubing to go through before it would enter Ashley’s body, and there couldn’t be any air bubbles in the tubing. I would stand on a chair and hold the tube above my head as the pump slowly pushed the fluid through, often times spilling over onto the floor before I could flick the air bubbles out and stop the pump. I tried hard not to let any of it spill onto the floor, because it was Ashley’s main source of nutrition. She was supposed to keep the pump on through the night for a total of 12-13 hours. She never did though. She would turn it off every time she got up to use the bathroom and then “forget” to turn it back on. It would make her feel sick, she said. After she died as I was cleaning out her room I found a dozen half-used TPN bags dating from August, September and October, and she died in January. This past Sunday after I sat in the chair for a while trying to remember what it was like 6 months ago with Ashley sitting across from me asking me to please stop rocking because it made her feel nauseous, I went into her room. Her urn sits on her dresser. A few months ago I tried to open it to see what her ashes look like, but I couldn’t figure out how to get the lid off. I figured it out last Sunday. Her ashes were inside in a clear, plastic bag twisted shut with a number attached to it. Here she was, my sister, a number. The ashes were nothing like what I expected. I thought they’d be fine and black, like soot, but instead they were gray and white and gravel-like. The whole back must have weighed about 8 pounds. This was my sister. After crying for a while I felt anger. I’m angry that she didn’t take care of herself the way she should have. I’m angry that she left me here to deal with this. Sometimes I wonder why her and not me, just as I wonder why Alyssa and not me.

I'll be sure to wear some flowers in my hair

I've been incredibly busy this past week, mostly babysitting. I've been spending 10 hour days at the home of Kristi and Martin helping to watch Alison, Maya and Serena. I'm thoroughly exhausted, and wonder how I'll ever cope with my own future kids. I've been busy, but some of that busy-ness is a strategically planned distraction from my own abysmal emotions. I'm afraid that if I have time to sit down by myself that I'll start thinking about Ashley and my anger toward her. I don't want to be angry at her, and I'm not even sure if I know how to be angry at her for more than 5 seconds. I've spent most of my life working hard at suppressing any anger I might feel, so now actually accessing that anger feels like twice as much work as it was suppressing it.
Yesterday Zach received a CD he ordered called "I heard it on NPR-at home in the world". It's an awesome collection of world music. There's one song in particular called "Via Con Me" by Paolo Conte, and it's like a swingy-er, hipper Dean Martin. There's also the song "Homeless" by Paul Simon and Ladysmith Black Mambazo, and it made me cry, because it's from the album "Graceland" that my whole family used to listen to in the car wherever we needed to go for like 6 months. Ashley really liked that album.
I won't be posting much in the next two weeks. I'll be in San Francisco from July 4-8 and in Baltimore the weekend of the 9th.
Have a safe and happy 4th!

"A Busy Busy Backson"

As Pooh would say.

I spent Saturday afternoon helping some friends move into a house in town about five miles away from their old house. Their new house is something right out of Swiss Family Robinson. It's a 1960s style rancher, BUT it is an amazing house. I never liked ranchers, but this one is a nice, dark wood with a red tin roof. The ceilings are high, and there are windows everywhere. There are also several little lofts, one of which you get to through the kitchen by climbing up a small, wooden ladder through an opening about 18 inches wide. In the basement there is a wine cellar, replete with greek columns where the beams stand and grape vines painted as a border around the room. The floor in the foyer, kitchen and dining room is made of slate. There are tiered flower beds out back, and there is a trellis full of wisteria at the entrance. I am so jealous right now. I really want my own house.
Later that night Zach and I went out with Liz and Jay to a new bar in town called Pickles. It used to be an expensive men's clothing store. Now it's a ritsy bar that looks like a dance studio. All the front windows open up wide so there's no stench of cigarette smoke, and a 12 oz beer only costs $2.00.
This morning I went to help out friends of mine who just adopted a baby. They already have two little girls, Alison and Maya, and now Serena makes three. I really enjoy being at their house, as opposed to some other homes with small children. When I was there on Thursday Maya, who's nearly 3, came in from outside and informed me that her toenails had melted. I guess I underestimated how hot it really was, but then I realized that she had painted them before going outside and all the nailpolish came off.
A week from tomorrow I'll fly to San Francisco with my mom. I'm nervous to be on vacation for 4 whole days with just my mom, but I'm also super excited about seeing San Francisco. I'm also looking forward to the mild temperatures; I've heard the temp. stays between 40 and 80 degrees all year long. I am amazed at how well I've adjusted to the stifling heat and humidity, though. I always remembered summers being like this when I was little. You'd walk outside at 7:00 in the morning and the heat would hit you like a wall. It caught your breath and made it difficult to breathe. Maybe I didn't mind it so much because I'm kind of a glutton for punishment. I guess that's why I still don't mind it, and because I like to push myself to extreme limits. Now I'm going to take an ice, cold bath.

Solstice

Welcome first day of summer! The longest day of the year! I went biking and swimming at the university's outdoor pool today. I also played in the sandbox with Jack, who is 3. Jack's family has a cute, little kitten named Cosmo who kept getting stuck in toy boxes. What better way is there to bring in the summer? Then I had a chicken curry salad on a wrap with avocado, pineapple, and mango chutney. It was delicious. That sums up all the good stuff that happened today, and I think I'll leave it at that.

Weepy Violets and Dry Eyes

There is one, lone purple bud on my African Violet plant that I discovered this morning. It hasn't bloomed in years, and I'm not really sure what prompted it to do so now. I recently moved it from the kitchen to the living room where it gets the same amount of sun, maybe even a bit less. I also recently overwatered it. For three days Zach complained of wiping water off the coffee table after his books or newspapers inevitably got saturated in it. I did feed it a few times last month. Who knows. It was a pleasant surprise, though, as I discovered it after hanging up from an hour-long phone "conversation" with Jennifer from my health insurance company. I was calling about two claims, one from last August and one from March 2004. We got absolutely nothing resolved. Basically I have to resubmit the claims, because they, conveniently, have no record of either of them. I felt like crying. It's funny that I felt like crying over unprocessed claims and not the recently (yet not uncommon) strained relationship with my mom. Maybe the tears were disguised for my mom. I've got nothing else tonight. My eyes and my fingers are dry.

Sticky and Sweaty

I've been overwhelmed by life's little nuisances lately, like paying bills, making dinner, remembering to water my plants, etc...I wish I could forget about something for once. I'm plagued by a super reliant, overly- efficient mind. At any rate, that's hardly an excuse for not posting more often. It's always on my mind, but it gets pushed back to the "Not-As-Important" corner of my brain where it just sits making me feel guilty.
Things have been "good enough" lately (what is with me and quotation marks tonight?! It's just something else to annoy myself with). Things are not great but not bad either. I've been babysitting a lot and expanding the limits of my patience. Sometimes I watch the kids trying to master a new skill and think about how much it's going to help them later in life, but then I wonder how much any of those skills has really helped me. Maybe I didn't learn anything the right way. Then again, maybe I'm just too hard on myself.
It's been really hot the past two days. It hardly ever hits 90 degrees in State College, but it has two days in a row now. I sound like I'm complaining, but really I don't mind it so much. Growing up my mom always kept the air conditioning at arctic levels. My sisters and I would come in from swimming and turn blue underneath piles of afghans. Now Zach and I don't have AC, but I find that the body adjusts. Of course, I'm not talking about living in the super humidity of the south, but it gets fairly hot and humid in Pennsylvania. So you can imagine me sitting at the desk typing while sweat accumulates underneath my bra and behind my knees making my legs stick to the chair, and how much I really need a shower right now after playing with a two-year old all afternoon. That's me. No appearances to be upheld right now.

Stupid, sunny day

The computer is sooooo slow this morning. I keep getting monstrous emails from my cousin-in-law including pictures of her baby cutting first tooth, wearing first bathing suit, eating first foods, out and about in stroller and drooling, pooping and any other "cute" things babies do. Don't get me wrong. I love kids, but I don't need weekly updates from parents of a kid who live 400 miles away who (it should be "whom", but it sounds so pretentious) I've only met twice before in my life. Have they never heard of a blog?! Then people can look if they want to without their inboxes getting jammed up.
I am irritable today.
I tried to do yoga this morning (on a video) and got annoyed at the stupid, pretzel people. Usually I am one of those super-flexible ones who can do all the contortions, but not today. Today I was just annoyed, and I don't think that's the point of yoga. Last night I got mad at Zach when he made a simple observation while we were playing basketball. I was "cheating" by standing too close to the hoop. All of a sudden every shot I had made was discounted and I felt worthless. He hit a sore spot, but he didn't know it. How does my mind jump to those conclusions? Yes, it is my time of month. It's not meant to be an excuse, but it may explain some of my behavior. Watch out jar of Nutella in the cabinet and Zach.

The World According to Children

It's a rainy day, the oppressive kind of rainy day where it seems like the sun won't ever shine again. I am usually good about not letting the rain stop me or get in my way, but it's always had an adverse affect on my mood from as far back as I can remember. When I was about five I thought that it never rained in the summer (there must have been a drought the year before). When I confidently assured my dad that it wouldn't rain that summer he politely told me otherwise, and I had to go about restructuring my entire world view. That may have been the same year that my grandmother told me I still had twelve years of school ahead of me at the end of my kindergarten year, when I had thought that the two weeks until summer vacation would be it for the rest of my life. I was so mad at her that I wouldn't speak to her for the rest of the day. Now look at me. I'm still in school.
I leave you with this anecdote. I babysat last night for a two-year old, one I've been watching for the past few months along with his 7 month old brother. The two-year old now says my name, and it's "Anna-week". Previous two-year old pronunciations of my name include:

Anjeek (this was by my cousin who is now 26, and my grandfather still calls me this on occasion) Jalaleek (my niece Ashley)
Reese and G (Maya)

Getaway

I got in late last night from a rejuvenating weekend getaway at Nancy's in Cincinnati. It was just what I needed. I love car rides, but only when I'm driving alone, because then I can listen to my music at full volume. In fact, I could have easily kept driving for another 7 hours. I listened to the Dar Williams CD Nancy burned for me for about 5 hours straight, specifically songs number 3 and 6. After about 3 hours I could feel my eyes welling up with tears, the ones I've been holding back for weeks now. Dar Williams and Nancy finally penetrated the thick skin that had been surrounding my soul. Thanks for a great weekend and for making me laugh! It's so important, seeing as how one day we're all going to dissipate* anyway.

* Since Nancy and I are both having trouble with the idea of god and religion lately, we decided that people don't really die, but rather dissipate. Their energy is just dispersed throughout the universe.

More about Ashley

I’ve been feeling anger toward my sisters lately. Neither one is around anymore. Ashley is gone and Alyssa hasn’t been in my life for ten years now. Why did they do this to me? Why did they abandon me? I know it sounds childish, but the child-like part of me asks myself these questions every now and then.

I try to remember back to when Ashley was well, and I have to reach way back in order to get there. My mind is jogged by letters I read and pictures I see. I remember her high standards and expectations from life, which, on one hand is very admirable and on the other is very frustrating to those she was close to. She was very determined and knew what she wanted and sometimes even what other people should want. Ashley spoke her mind, sometimes with words and other times with a sigh or gesture. She would impishly raise one eyebrow up to her hairline, and that was often accompanied by a barely-audible snicker. She could be very critical, just like my uncle. She took her time doing work, never rushing anything. She was very generous, and she loved dogs. Ashley and I got closer about three years ago, a little while after she had returned to school and after I had returned from Germany. She would call and email me, and most times I wouldn’t respond, or at least not initially. It took me a while to see the sisterly bond between us that had been there from the start, because it was often camouflaged by jealousy, animosity, or ambivalence. Once we started talking more, most of that faded into the background. It never completely disappeared, but it faded. I realized that we had a lot in common and how nice it was to talk to someone who understood me so well. We shared the same parents and a childhood; nobody else, except Alyssa, knows our past so intimately. It was reassuring knowing that somebody in the world was so much like me.

Ashley’s graduation ceremony from Bryn Mawr College was held last Sunday. My mom and I walked across the stage to accept her diploma. When it was announced that her degree was awarded posthumously, the crowd gasped a little, but then applauded until after my mom and I returned to our seats. It was spectacular, heartfelt, and highly charged. I couldn’t have imagined it going any better. I kept picturing what it would have been like had Ashley actually been there. She would have been irritated with my family, annoyed that none of us knew why some of the capes were fur-lined and others weren’t, what language was printed on the cover of the yearbook (I think it’s Greek), and other silly questions. But she also would have been really happy and excited about her future endeavors. She was going to go on to graduate school. Maybe she would have studied urban development or law. I miss having Ashley around. Even if we weren’t in close contact, I regret no longer having that as an option. It’s hard for me to be angry with her, despite what I stated in the beginning. It’s especially hard because she was so sick for so long. When I think back, though, I get angry at her for “letting” herself get so sick.

There will be a plaque and a book collection dedicated in Ashley’s honor at the Bryn Mawr library. Please let me know if you can think of any books that should be dedicated in her honor. They do not need to have anything to do with her studies (Economics/Urban Development and German).

More of my story

I want to thank Nancy for posting a link to my blog. I really appreciate everyone's comments and even just knowing that other people are reading my blog even if they don't comment. It gives me courage and the incentive to keep on writing. Here's some more.

April 24, 2005

Another week gone by in my life without Ashley, and somehow I’m managing fairly well. I feel guilty about that. I am resilient, and I view that as being negative somehow. It makes me feel like I am cold and heartless. I think about her often, though. Friday night I saw a Mahler concert with Zach and Sarah Melissa. Ashley played the violin for over ten years, and so I kept imagining seeing her up on stage in the orchestra. Then I started thinking about her upcoming college graduation and how difficult it is going to be walking up on stage to accept her diploma for her without her there. It’s really going to reinforce the fact that she’s not here anymore; that she’s not ANYwhere. I suppose someone could argue that she’s all around us all the time, but I just don’t see it that way, at least not right now I don’t. Her death hasn’t made me turn toward God or any kind of organized religion. Right now thinking about her death is too cold and stark a reality. I don’t see any way of glossing it over or trying to explain it, nor do I want to. Whenever I try to make sense of it, I end up back where I started from, and that is with no good explanation. What good is our ability to reason if we can’t come up with acceptable explanations? The problem there is that I rely on reason in life. Ashley is dead, but those words are meaningless. “Ashley is gone” resonates more deeply with me, but it makes it sound like a temporary situation. Maybe it is for all I know. The worst expression I heard in regard to her death was “Patient expired” spoken by a receptionist at UPenn Hospital where she had been seeing a specialist for a while. Milk expires, not people. Expire means something has gone bad that has been around for too long. People don’t expire. A lump rose in my throat, and I wondered if the woman on the other end of the line had ever experienced the loss of a loved one. She was so cool and detached, and while it pissed me off at the time, I can also appreciate her demeanor, because I can easily detach myself from just about any situation or feeling. I think that that is what has helped me get through some of the difficult times in life.

Thirteen Weeks

April 15, 2005

Today marks 13 weeks since your (Ashley’s) death. Every Friday I think about it, but it becomes less clear with each passing week. Most times I don’t even want to think about it. I have trouble remembering the details of that day, of your moaning, of your breathing become less and less regular, of calling an ambulance, knowing that you never wanted to be in a hospital again, of administering CPR and then watching the paramedics take over while a flat line registered across the screen. I had to carry your dog Zoë down the wooden steps and then, with her head pressed up underneath my chin in my arms and her back rigid against my chest, because you know how much she hates to be picked up and carried, I let the police officers in and directed them where to go. The police were called in as soon as I alerted the dispatcher that you had stopped breathing. Apparently that’s the protocol. Zoë didn’t want me to put her out. She wanted to be near you and all of the action. Your dog was loyal to you to the end. She sat outside on her leash with her back facing the house and her head facing into the wind, visibly upset and annoyed that she was relegated to the yard. I rushed around the house grabbing things I thought I might need. I grabbed mom and dad’s contact information for where they were staying in London. I grabbed my backpack and my water bottle. I went back upstairs and called Zach at the library to tell him that you had stopped breathing and that I had called an ambulance and would be at Lancaster General with you. I told him Zoë was outback, Tyler was outside, and Noelle was in the basement, because I assumed he would get back to the house before me. I hung up and forgot where I put down the phone. I turned off the TV. The Ellen Show was still on. Lastly I turned off your oxygen machine, because you didn’t need it anymore. I stopped and watched you lie there on the floor so still as the paramedics intubated you and injected things into your pick line. You were perfectly still. I turned away, not wanting to see them handling your body like that. My vision became hazy as my eyes filled with the tears I wouldn’t let fall. I wanted to scream out “NO!”, but I couldn’t, and I thought that you wouldn’t like it if I had. I realized later that the heartbeat I felt and thought had been yours was really my own; it was my own heart racing and pulsating through the fingers that held your wrist. I rode to the hospital with a police officer who asked me to write down our names and our relationship to each other. He also wanted to know what had happened. He asked about the scars on your stomach and if you had a terminal illness. He wanted to know if you had taken an overdose as an act of mercy. I told him no, that whatever it was you had was in no way terminal, and that that wasn’t the case at all.

The ride to the hospital was long. I was silent and so was he. There was country music playing, which was periodically interrupted by his radio alerting us of robberies and other unlawful things taking place. The tears filled my eyes again, but I didn’t want to think about why. I wanted to remain strong. I didn’t ask any questions, because I didn’t want to hear anything that I wasn’t prepared for. Thirteen weeks ago at this time you were still alive. It’s 12:30 in the afternoon now. That day, January 14th, in three more hours you would take some of your last breaths. They pronounced you dead at 4:47 p.m. at the hospital. They say you stopped breathing and that they couldn’t re-start your heart in the ambulance. I know it was before you left the house that afternoon. You never wanted to be in a hospital again and you never were. The last words you said to me were “Thank you”, after I took off your socks, which you had asked me to do. I don’t know if you knew what was happening or not. It happened so quickly. I’m not sure I really knew, but even if I did, I didn’t admit it to myself. This kind of thing doesn’t just happen to anyone, so why would it happen to us? I have so many mixed-up feelings about it.

Last night I was reading through some of an old notebook I found in your room, and I was simultaneously touched and angered by what I read. There were several letters in it written about four years ago to some friends and to me. They were written in German. In the two letters to your friends you talked about how much you missed having me around for the summer. I had been on the Cape with Zach all summer and had only spent a few days at home. You talked with pride about me going to graduate school at Penn State and me teaching there and then you talked about how much you couldn’t stand Zach and his ill manners. I remember those times. They were really stressful for me, because I was trying to balance school, my family and being in a long-distance relationship with Zach that no one, except Alyssa, seemed to approve of. I remember not really wanting to talk to you much then, because I could sense your disapproval. I know mom and dad had similar feelings. Reading those letters brought back those stressful, hurtful times. I felt like I had to choose between Zach and my family. Somehow over the next few years things quieted down. I’ll never know how much you thought about me and Zach and if or when your thoughts ever really changed. I guess it doesn’t really matter, but, believe it or not, your opinion mattered to me. There will always be answers to questions that I will never know. I can only try to fill-in-the-blanks myself. I’m sure Zach really did irritate you, as a matter of fact, I know he did, but I also wonder if part of your dislike for Zach was feeling like I was being taken away from you. I resent your disapproval toward my relationship with Zach, even though I think you genuinely warmed up to him over the past two years, but I would much rather have you here, knowing that you disapproved of my marriage than not have you here at all. I could learn to accept that and all the other things in my life you didn’t agree with, but accepting your never-ending absence from my life is so painful that it’s beyond comprehension, beyond words, and beyond feeling. The physical pain your death left me with is pretty much gone, but now there’s some invisible, abstract scar left behind that I can’t see or pinpoint. It makes my head spin, and nothing makes sense. I know I’ll die one day, too, but somehow I also fear that I will never die. I wish we could all die together and I wish that I could be in control of when and how I die. It’s the uncertainty, the elusiveness of death that scares me.

Chapter 1

Okay, so it's been way too long since I've posted anything. I get out of the habit of writing and then it's hard to get back into it. The thing is I find that I usually feel better when I write regularly. Go figure. Why do I avoid doing the things that are good for me? Sure I do plenty of things that are healthy, but often times they are forced and it becomes something that I think I should do rather than what I want to do or what might feel good. It's been so long since I've written anything that I feel like I'm rambling and I can't stay focused. I think I need to break this down into chapters or something.

st ends

Be Fri

So I think everyone has heard about my "therapist-week-from-hell" week. Zach and I are no longer seeing our couple's counselor and I hope to never have to deal with that grief counselor again. Like Nancy in regard to her classes and profs., I don't know how much I am "allowed" to say here. All I know is that my confidence in how I've been living my life was shaken to the core. I felt like I'd been trampled upon and left, battered and alone in a dark forest, to the wolves. Where did all the compassion go? So how do I regain my strength and patch my battered soul? I've decided that the answer to that is through my friends. Janet keeps telling me what wonderful friends I have and to use them, call them,talk to them, and cash in on my friendships, so to speak. She tells me that she has to tell some of her clients NOT to call their friends, because they attract people who are not good for them. Good friends say something about who you are. I can't thank my friends enough. Nancy, Jenni, Annie and Liz, I can't thank all of you enough.

Better

I'm feeling SO much better tonight. I talked to Nancy yesterday and Jenni and Annie today. All those I reached out to extended their love back toward me. **I should make note of this for future reference.** It's not that I ever doubted it, but rather that I didn't feel what I had to say was worth talking about. I suppose I doubted myself more than anything. Last night was rough going. I didn't get to sleep until after 1:00 a.m., and I was thinking all those terrible thoughts that only come at that time of night, when the world feels like it's ending and there's no point to going to sleep becuase that just means waking up again the next morning. By this morning I was feeling better, though.
I'll post more later. Have a good Thursday everyone!

How do I trust myself?

Do you often get the feeling that there is some better way to be living your life? That somehow we're just deceiving others with false pretense? Lately that's how I've been feeling. I have been "cheating" at life. I'm not really living, but pretending to do so. I have little tricks, habits, obsessions and addictions that dictate my life. It's not real. I often don't know who's in charge-me or my obsessions. Can the two actually be separated?
I'm not happy with my coping mechanisms. I resort to old habits, like weighing myself too much, trying to control what I eat, creating lists of things to do in my mind, cleaning when nothing is dirty, and cutting myself. Where the hell did that last one come from? I am an intelligent person and I feel like I should know better, but I get to a point where I just don't care. It's a form of self punishment. If I keep it a secret, then I start to go crazy. If I tell people, I feel crazy and stupid. I hate that I don't tell Zach these things, and then I feel like if I can't talk to him about it then I shouldn't talk to anyone about it. Ultimately it's me that I'm hurting and deceiving, but somehow that doesn't resonate with me. I don't feel like I'm important enough to acknowledge the hurt. Then nothing feels important anymore. There are so many people in this world. How can they all be significant?
I just don't know how to deal with this-the feelings of insignificance and the stresses of life. I think I'm dealing with it just fine, and then I feel hopeless. I am staring destruction in the face, what looks like a shattered image of myself, and I don't know what's real.

The importance of accuracy in diagnosing penile disfunction

It's almost 1:00 p.m., Zach has left for work and I still haven't changed out of my pajamas. I've gotten a lot done though. I cooked all morning-cookies and a big pot of chili; this in addition to the mac 'n cheese and the mushroom noodle casserole I made this weekend from the Moosewood Cookbook. I don't know what's prompted me to do all this cooking. It could be because I actually have the time to cook. For a while I didn't feel like preparing anything more complicated than a bowl of cereal and a peanut butter sandwich. I'm starting to enjoy this time to myself. I haven't thought once about the course I had been teaching since I resigned. I've been reading lots, watching movies and listening to music and, from time to time, picking fights with Zach. Right before he left this afternoon he said he thought he might have a bladder infection. I said that it would be really painful while urinating and that there might be blood. He disagreed with me. He said either way it's still an irritation. I said that that's not the same as an infection. I know I was being a twit, but I am the type of person who insists on using medical terms properly. Some things just can't be thrown around lightly. Maybe it has to do with my sister's sickness and the need for an accurate diagnosis. At any rate, I don't think he has an infection, but, then again, Zach's threshold for pain might be different from mine, greater than mine.
But somehow I don't think so.

March 5, 2005

Today would have been Ashley's 25th birthday. I keep trying to think of something commemorative, exciting or crazy to do, but I don't like any ideas I come up with. Instead I'll probably just remember it is her birthday and go have a drink with Zach, Liz and Jay tonight. According to Buddhist belief, the spirit wanders the earth for 49 days after death. Sometime between last night and this morning would have marked 49 days since Ashley's death.

The Land of Perfect

Today feels like a day of action. I went from paralysis yesterday to action today. I just need to be sure not to put it in overdrive. I'm realizing that when I have those awful days of being lonely, inarticulate, needy and down on myself that it usually means there's a change coming about. If I can catch myself in those moments, then I can do something positive about it. I just hate even having those moments. Why the hell can't I be PERFECT? Nancy, if I don't discover the cure for AIDS today, then I'm throwing in the towel and going to live in those Walgreen ads on TV (you know the ones I'm talking about? Where the sky looks so pretty and people are singing Ahhh Ahhh Ahh Ah in the background?). It's now or never.

A Pleasant Monday

I stayed in most of today and read a great children's book called Kira-Kira by Cynthia Kadohata. I highly recommend it. It takes place in the 1950s, and is about a Japanese-American family trying to make a living in Georgia. It's also about Kate's older sister Lynn's illness and eventual death. Those are the only kinds of books I am reading right now. The end made me cry.
I also made banana bread, went food shopping and bought myself a pair of cute, black nylon, Mary-Jane-like shoes at TJ Maxx for $7.00. How could it get any better?

Note to Nancy: I will help you with all the wedding nonsense just as you helped me. I had to keep reminding myself that the wedding was more for my family than anyone else, and then I felt less guilty about all the money my parents put into it. And I did have fun.

Hitting a Nerve

So it's Saturday again. The weeks have been sliding by in a blur. The past few days have been good, though. On Thursday I realized that I don't need to "feel" sad all of the time. I can be angry, happy, depressed, joyous, tired, withdrawn, hyper, or fearful. Instead of forcing myself to feel sad, and wondering why I can't seem to cry, I can let myself be, and then cry when it comes naturally. This is a BIG relief.
Yesterday marked one month of the date of Ashley's death. It seems like it's been twice that long already. I feel like I'm swimming, or just trying to stay afloat, in the midst of chaos, and I'm waiting for that moment of clarity when it hits me again that Ashley is gone. I know that one day soon I am going to inadvertently pick up the phone to call her, and then will remember that I can't. The whole concept of death is beyond comprehension.
Last night Zach and I were discussing whether or not her spirit was around. Whenever I think of that possibility, it makes me nervous. If the spirit lingers, then is it aware of what is going on in the living world, and, if so, would it have any regrets or would it be lonely? I don't like to think about those possibilities. Whenever I think of Ashley's spirit, I can only think of an evil one. For me it's simpler to just believe that she's just gone, and that there's nothing more. Maybe that will change one day, but for now it keeps the harsh, cold reality of her death in my mind, and I don't want to forget it.

**Nancy, I started the Anne Lamott novel. I showed Janet, and she said she loves Anne Lamott and that she thought she had read all of her books (she hasn't read this one). My friend Liz is also a big Anne Lamott fan. There must be something in her writings that hits a nerve with all of us. Thanks again for the books.

Thinking that I should feel a certain way and that I'm a FREAK if I don't.

I don't have to teach anymore. They found a replacement for me. I'm happy about it, yet also saddened. I have to keep reminding myself that I did the responsible thing by resigning, even though it feels the exact opposite.
I'm feeling kind of numb to everything right now. I keep thinking that I should feel sad or angry or any certain way, and if I don't, then I'm a freak. I'm so afraid that I won't feel the sadness around Ashley's death anymore and that life will go on as normal. What kind of person am I if the death of my own sister doesn't make me sad? I know I'm overreacting, and that I'm such a perfectionist.
The books are great, Nancy. I'm almost finished with "Landscape without Gravity".
Thanks.

Grief hurts

Nancy, I'm writing this for you. Thank you so much for listening to me Saturday and for giving me great advice. I've written my letter of resignation and will be done teaching by Feb. 9th, or sooner if they find a replacement. I've been feeling sick about the whole thing and the fact that I even have to make such a decision. I knew I didn't want to continue teaching, but I felt horribly guilty about quitting. That guilt, or shame or whatever it is, is outweighed by my sorrow and the feelings of relief at not having to teach anymore when I really think about it. I miss Ashley. There's a knot in my throat and a tightness in my chest that just won't go away. I think there's also a hole in my heart, because it hurts when I think that there are supposed to be three of us, not two.

The evil voice that intrudes on my happiness

Okay, the part where I FREAK OUT has taken effect.

"Nope. I'm not going to write my dissertation" I said. "I'm not going to finish my PhD. You know, the thing with the classes, the teaching, and the exams and all that have contributed to my state of misery* over the past 5 years? Yeah, that's the thing I'm not going to finish".

And then there's this voice in my head, this evil voice that asks "Who says you're not going to continue putting yourself through this hell? Who gave you permission to decide to stop? What other rules are you going to break now? How will you support yourself without this as a career? Do you think you'll be able to do anything? And if there's something else you want to do with your life, don't get too excited because if you really want it hard enough it probably won't work out. The pressure of succeeding will be too great".

Seeing it written down really makes clear how harsh and unfair that voice is. I still think I can do this. I know I can change my career path and explore something that interests me, like speech pathology. But I'm still scared. I feel very strange, like I'm in some kind of state of limbo. It's kind of like "Chutes and Ladders", which I played with Alison yesterday. You're almost to the top, almost at the end, and then you land on that BIG chute that takes you all the way back to the beginning, but not the very beginning. You're neither at the beginning nor at the end. Is it human nature to want to create beginnings and ends for everything? I don't really know what the end is, but for some reason that's where I want to be. And that's where Alison wanted to be, too. She didn't handle losing to me (twice) well at all.

*The word "misery" may be a slight exaggeration, but only a very slight one.

Marriage

My first blog of the new year. yeah. There's really nothing new going on, though. It's the same stuff happenin'. Zach and I got back from Massachusetts Monday afternoon at 2:30 and went straight to our therapy session. I insisted that we go, and, even though we had been driving for 8 hours through the rain with very little sleep and no lunch, he came along. And it was a good session, because while we are there we are forced to listen to each other. Instead of having last year's Turmoil push us farther apart, we are taking small steps toward each other. Just when I think there's nothing we can do to improve our marriage, and that we'd be better off separated, things start looking up again. We can talk openly with each other, we are patient with each other, and it feels like as long as I have Zach near me like this, we can accomplish anything. Zach, if you're reading this, thank you for your love and support.

Anxious, Hungry, or Loony?

Been up since 4:30 this morning, probably because I'm anxious about the holiday. I watched the first half hour of Bridget Jones's Diary and then had some french toast-mmm. It's 6:30 now. Maybe I'll go for a walk.

Thoughts

My mind keeps spinning with the thought of the upcoming holiday and break in my routine. I have so much trouble adjusting to an environment other than my own for more than a four-day period. Somehow it really feels like the end of something, and I mean more than just the semester. I will miss commuting to Selinsgrove early in the morning and again in the evening with Zach. I will miss my familiar routine.
In January I start a new one; teaching at a new school, babysitting for a new family in addition to the one I already babysit for, beginning work on my dissertation, rearranging different appointments, and finding time for myself. It's also been nearly one year since my bout with major depression. It's still hard for me to even say it.

That didn't happen to me. I could have handled it better. Who am I to label myself with that, because doing so would admit to my self-worth and importance as a person, and I certainly didn't feel worthy of anything last year at this time.

I'm learning to feel worthy and to have respect for myself. I'm learning to take up space in the world, both literally and figuratively speaking.

Bathroom Privacy Comes with a Cost

Last week I babysat Maya, my usual Thursday morning routine. The reason I'm mentioning this now is because Maya is just over 2 years old, and has recently been potty trained. Needless to say, we spend lots of time in the bathroom.
During our first round on the toilet, she informed me that she needed privacy, so I slid the door shut all but a crack and asked if that was good. "No" she said, "it's not good. All the way". Three and a half minutes later I heard the toilet flush three consecutive times in a row, one after the other, one, two, three.
I opened the door to find Maya standing there, mind you, naked from the waist down peering into the toilet. She looked up at me with her big, blue eyes, pleading for my forgiveness, desperately trying to get rid of the evidence. When I looked down, I saw a clump of tissues floating in the rising water. The box on top of the toilet was empty. I can't get mad at her, because I remember doing stuff like that when I was her age, and, besides, it could have been far worse than tissues. So instead I decided to reason with her, and I explicitly explained to her how tissues cost money, and that it's not good to just throw them away like that, because they're not cheap. That's logical, right? By my reasoning, if she's old enough to request privacy in the bathroom, then she's old enough to understand the value of a dollar.
She blinked up at me and then turned to play in the running water in the sink.

Reminder to self: Only allow a two-year old privacy in the bathroom if she can understand the cost of diminishing returns, monetary value, cash deficit, and price ceilings.

Tagesablauf

German-(loosely translated as) The unfolding of the day

I realized today that it's been almost two weeks since I last posted anything. So to summarize what those last two weeks have been like, Thanksgiving was pretty good, I'm tired of turkey, the semester can't end soon enough, I don't always know what day it is, and sometimes I get my classes mixed up and make mistakes in creating their exams, specifically on the vocab section where I give my German 2 students words from my German 3 class, and still don't realize that I made that mistake until a student points it out to me halfway through the exam, there are too many crappy holiday songs on the radio interfering with my music, I've seen The Grinch 5 times on TBS already, and I hope to see it 5 more times!, I've eaten pounds of sweet, juicy clementines, and all of a sudden I really want a kitten. I guess I'll wait until I have my own house for that or at least a lease which allows for pets. I am happiest when I'm driving home from school with Zach, and we talk, listen to the news, but mostly we listen to music, discuss what we'll have for dinner, and watch the reflection of the light on the clouds in the sky, as it goes from light to dark, from light blue to yellow and orange and then to dark blue, with the clouds silhouetted against it. And then there are the mountains and the fir trees all around us. It's all so beautiful, peaceful, serene, awesome, humbling, and somehow sad, and it makes me want to drive forever.