The day we moved into our new house, I opened the door to the downstairs bathroom and a cricket jumped from the toilet straight at me. I screamed and slammed the door, vowing never to use that bathroom again. I was 11 at the time, and when I left home at 18 I had only used that bathroom a few times, on the direst of occasions. My fear of crickets was so ingrained that as an adult, I chose to put my baby in the car and drive to a store to buy bug spray rather than stay in my house with the cricket that had taken up residence on the sofa.
Crickets are nasty things. They're black and shiny and have way too many legs for their bodies. When I picture a cricket in my mind, my stomach starts churning and my shoulders get tight - even a hypothetical cricket triggers my fight-or-flight response. If you want to see a grown woman act like a crazy person, watch what happens when my kids bring one of those jumping cockroaches into the house. I'm climbing over the furniture, screeching like a woman possessed. It is not an exaggeration to say I loathe crickets.
I am not afraid of crickets merely because of their bugginess. I'm not a fan of bugs in general, but the reason that crickets have beaten spiders, earwigs, and beetles to the top of my "Bugs I Hate" list is because they jump. Even a poisonous spider is less scary to me because I can spot it on the wall and watch it make its way over to where I'm waiting with a shoe behind my back. A cricket, on the other hand, is completely unpredictable. One minute it's biding its time on the sidewalk, the next minute it's making a beeline for my head.
Examining my fear of crickets reveals something about my nature - I like control, and I am most afraid when I lack control. I can't control where the cricket goes when it jumps and it scares me. I am terrified of roller coasters for the same reason - I have no control over the speed, direction, or safety of the ride. Sure, there's a set, predictable track, but I'm not the one driving. Things that are unpredictable, unexpected, or surprising are generally negative in my mind. I’d much rather have things that are planned, anticipated, and understood.
Probably my biggest fear is death; not my death but the death of those I love. It is the ultimate unknown. I know that everyone dies, but the timing is uncertain. It’s like being told to wait at home for the cable guy, who has promised to be there sometime between 2 p.m. and 30 years from now. Death, when it comes, can be sudden; it springs at you with the middle of the night phone call or the knock on the door. I thought I could get a handle on death if I pre-planned my responses. If this person died, first I would buy plane tickets, then I would make these phone calls, then I would make those arrangements. But when it came time to think about the really scary deaths, the only response I could think of was first, lay down on the couch, second, never get up again. Not much of a plan there, but I think it’s a fair illustration that death, and my reactions to it, cannot be controlled.
Perhaps this is why Eastern religions appeal to me - if I just meditated more, or found a serene center of calm, then I could handle whatever was thrown my way. I cannot picture a yellow-robed monk freaking out when a cricket jumped in his path. Or squishing it, for that matter. My own Western religion would tell me to have faith, relying on God’s strength rather than my own to deal with crises. Rational, scientific thought would say to avoid crickets and roller coasters, although they’d kind of leave me hanging on the death thing. The only real answer is a combination of all three: don’t panic, believe in a higher power, and avoid scary things whenever possible. So if Lagoon opens a new thrill ride called “The Cricket: Roller Coaster of Death,” well, you know where you won’t find me. Ugh. My stomach hurts even thinking about it.
P.S. In case you were wondering, I DO have a list of "Bugs I Like" although there's only one on the list: fireflies. I also have a "Bugs I Don't Mind" list, which includes regular flies, ants, ladybugs, and worms if they aren't touching me. Pretty much every other bug is on the "Bugs I Hate" list.
Wednesday, January 20, 2010
That's Hot
So I was in the car today picking up the boys from kindergarten and Zack asked me a question.
Zack: Mom, do you think I'm hot?
Me: (cough) Um, what do you think hot means?
Zack: It means I'm cute.
Me: Well, yes, I do think you're cute.
Zack: (pause) I told Laura that today.
Me: What did you tell Laura?
Zack: I told Laura that she's hot.
Me: (Trying not to laugh) And what did Laura say?
Zack: (dejected) Nothing.
Laura's the girl that Zack and another of his friends is in love with. A third friend is in love with Rebecca. I'm waiting for the kindergarten class to go through sexual harassment training. It looks like they might need it.
Zack: Mom, do you think I'm hot?
Me: (cough) Um, what do you think hot means?
Zack: It means I'm cute.
Me: Well, yes, I do think you're cute.
Zack: (pause) I told Laura that today.
Me: What did you tell Laura?
Zack: I told Laura that she's hot.
Me: (Trying not to laugh) And what did Laura say?
Zack: (dejected) Nothing.
Laura's the girl that Zack and another of his friends is in love with. A third friend is in love with Rebecca. I'm waiting for the kindergarten class to go through sexual harassment training. It looks like they might need it.
Friday, January 8, 2010
Perfectly Normal
There's no hiding the fact that this week was awful. It was wretched. This week was a brand-new toothbrush dropped in a toilet that hadn't been flushed. It was a total waste.
The worst part is, there was no good reason for this week to be so bad. Nothing went particularly haywire. I was about medium-level busy, nothing too stressful. I cried at the drop of a hat, though. I dragged sloth-like through every day. I would think I was fine, then find myself completely flipping out from some minor thing. Before you ask, no, this had nothing to do with my time of the month, and be glad you weren't in the same room with me when you asked that question. No, there was, I repeat, NO GOOD REASON.
Yes, folks, welcome to the latest episode of Emily The Depressed Mother, the continuing saga of a previously normal person and her horrifyingly good life. Watch as she yells at her son for being three minutes late! Hear her lecture the neighbor kid for chewing with his mouth open! See her mood zoom back and forth so fast, it's like she's Venus AND Serena. The ratings for this show are abysmal, but it's in no danger of being canceled - this is the only show this station airs. Talk about your bad reality tv - give me The Bachelorette any day over this junk.
I'm fortunate enough to have a few regular viewers. Ryan, of course, can't avoid me and my issues for more than a few hours at a time. (Maybe that's why he wanted to build an office in the backyard. Hmmm, it all seems so obvious now.) I also have two friends who I share all of the ups and downs with. I am so grateful to have these three in my life - the people I don't have to pretend to be normal in front of, because they know me well enough to see through it.
Today I thought I was fine, until some plans fell through and I absolutely lost it. I lost it with a ferocity that surprised even me - a reaction completely out of proportion to the situation at hand. At that point, I had several options: 1) I could pout and mope and sulk, 2) I could try to go about my day, in a semi-normal fashion or, 3) I could go hang out with my 2 friends and let them cheer me up. All logic points to option 3 being the correct answer; after all, even if I sat at my friend's house and sobbed quietly in the corner it would still be better than doing the same things at home.
I decided on option 1 followed by option 2. Why would I purposely neglect the one thing guaranteed to make me feel at least marginally better? Well, for one thing, I'm depressed - depressed people aren't known for their logic and rationality. Second, don't underestimate the attractiveness of a good mope. There is something so comforting about crawling into bed and lying there, ignoring the world and your children and your responsibilities, focusing on feeling sorry for your poor, pitiful self. Woe is you! It's like eating an entire bag of cinnamon bears - it's ragingly unhealthy, bound to make your feel even worse than before, but when you think that's the one thing that will make you feel good, you do it anyhow. Fortunately, moping won't give you a stomachache.
After my mope (and it was a classic mope - if there were moping competitions I would have swept the floor with this mope) I took Darcey out to lunch. Yes, I could have driven to my friend's house and eaten better food for free while Darcey played with her friends, but instead I took her to Coney's where she is currently dripping vanilla custard onto my ipod while she watches Spongebob and I write this entry longhand. As much as my husband and friends love me, I realized that the one thing I wanted today was to be treated like I was totally normal. Even if I acted completely normal, the people who watched or listened to me crying a mere hour ago would be tainted by that experience. I wanted to be viewed as a regular person, albeit an unshowered person with puffy eyes and no eye makeup, neglecting her two year old while scribbling on a notebook like a stay-at-home mom version of Ernest Hemingway. (Not that I'm comparing my writing to Hemingway's, mind you, just the potentially erratic behavior.) So if you could consider that normal, that's what I was. I was incognito, but instead of hiding my identity behind a red wig and stilettos a la Sydney Bristow, I wore my "Don't mind me, I'm just a regular Joe" disguise. Nope, no issues here, I'm just one of the folks. It's refreshing, being someone I'm not and having people believe it, even if it's just the kid scooping ice cream and all I've done to earn my title of "normal" is not cry when I placed my order.
I'm feeling a lot better now. I don't know if it's the change of scenery or the ice cream or the faux-normality or the doctor's suggestion that I double my dosage. Maybe a magical combination of all of the above. I think I'm going to bring my fake normal identity home with me. Yes, it'd be way cooler if my alter ego was really a spy working for a black ops branch of the government and I could kick people's butts and have rock-hard abs and no one would dare have sympathy for me, because of the butt-kicking. But I'd settle for normal. I'm down the street from a Barnes & Noble; I think I better test out my "normal" skills by going there and buying something without crying. Maybe a few things. You can send the bill to my alter ego.
The worst part is, there was no good reason for this week to be so bad. Nothing went particularly haywire. I was about medium-level busy, nothing too stressful. I cried at the drop of a hat, though. I dragged sloth-like through every day. I would think I was fine, then find myself completely flipping out from some minor thing. Before you ask, no, this had nothing to do with my time of the month, and be glad you weren't in the same room with me when you asked that question. No, there was, I repeat, NO GOOD REASON.
Yes, folks, welcome to the latest episode of Emily The Depressed Mother, the continuing saga of a previously normal person and her horrifyingly good life. Watch as she yells at her son for being three minutes late! Hear her lecture the neighbor kid for chewing with his mouth open! See her mood zoom back and forth so fast, it's like she's Venus AND Serena. The ratings for this show are abysmal, but it's in no danger of being canceled - this is the only show this station airs. Talk about your bad reality tv - give me The Bachelorette any day over this junk.
I'm fortunate enough to have a few regular viewers. Ryan, of course, can't avoid me and my issues for more than a few hours at a time. (Maybe that's why he wanted to build an office in the backyard. Hmmm, it all seems so obvious now.) I also have two friends who I share all of the ups and downs with. I am so grateful to have these three in my life - the people I don't have to pretend to be normal in front of, because they know me well enough to see through it.
Today I thought I was fine, until some plans fell through and I absolutely lost it. I lost it with a ferocity that surprised even me - a reaction completely out of proportion to the situation at hand. At that point, I had several options: 1) I could pout and mope and sulk, 2) I could try to go about my day, in a semi-normal fashion or, 3) I could go hang out with my 2 friends and let them cheer me up. All logic points to option 3 being the correct answer; after all, even if I sat at my friend's house and sobbed quietly in the corner it would still be better than doing the same things at home.
I decided on option 1 followed by option 2. Why would I purposely neglect the one thing guaranteed to make me feel at least marginally better? Well, for one thing, I'm depressed - depressed people aren't known for their logic and rationality. Second, don't underestimate the attractiveness of a good mope. There is something so comforting about crawling into bed and lying there, ignoring the world and your children and your responsibilities, focusing on feeling sorry for your poor, pitiful self. Woe is you! It's like eating an entire bag of cinnamon bears - it's ragingly unhealthy, bound to make your feel even worse than before, but when you think that's the one thing that will make you feel good, you do it anyhow. Fortunately, moping won't give you a stomachache.
After my mope (and it was a classic mope - if there were moping competitions I would have swept the floor with this mope) I took Darcey out to lunch. Yes, I could have driven to my friend's house and eaten better food for free while Darcey played with her friends, but instead I took her to Coney's where she is currently dripping vanilla custard onto my ipod while she watches Spongebob and I write this entry longhand. As much as my husband and friends love me, I realized that the one thing I wanted today was to be treated like I was totally normal. Even if I acted completely normal, the people who watched or listened to me crying a mere hour ago would be tainted by that experience. I wanted to be viewed as a regular person, albeit an unshowered person with puffy eyes and no eye makeup, neglecting her two year old while scribbling on a notebook like a stay-at-home mom version of Ernest Hemingway. (Not that I'm comparing my writing to Hemingway's, mind you, just the potentially erratic behavior.) So if you could consider that normal, that's what I was. I was incognito, but instead of hiding my identity behind a red wig and stilettos a la Sydney Bristow, I wore my "Don't mind me, I'm just a regular Joe" disguise. Nope, no issues here, I'm just one of the folks. It's refreshing, being someone I'm not and having people believe it, even if it's just the kid scooping ice cream and all I've done to earn my title of "normal" is not cry when I placed my order.
I'm feeling a lot better now. I don't know if it's the change of scenery or the ice cream or the faux-normality or the doctor's suggestion that I double my dosage. Maybe a magical combination of all of the above. I think I'm going to bring my fake normal identity home with me. Yes, it'd be way cooler if my alter ego was really a spy working for a black ops branch of the government and I could kick people's butts and have rock-hard abs and no one would dare have sympathy for me, because of the butt-kicking. But I'd settle for normal. I'm down the street from a Barnes & Noble; I think I better test out my "normal" skills by going there and buying something without crying. Maybe a few things. You can send the bill to my alter ego.
Saturday, January 2, 2010
Quick Link To Happiness
Going along with my last blog entry, here's an author's blog that might interest some people. The book is called The Happiness Project and it's actually the next on my list of books to read. (Currently I'm reading "The Geography of Bliss" by Eric Weiner about finding happiness in other countries.) In The Happiness Project, the author spends a year exploring things that are purported to make people happy. At this website, she invites people to join her in your very own happiness project. If your goal is to be happier this year, this website might help.
http://www.happiness-project.com/
(Special thanks to my sis-in-law Kim for leading me to this website.)
http://www.happiness-project.com/
(Special thanks to my sis-in-law Kim for leading me to this website.)
Friday, January 1, 2010
Resolutions For 2009
I am not resolutionary. I love making goals as much as the next person, but I am reluctant to hitch my wagon to the New Year's Resolution star. Resolutions are known for their quick abandonment and feel faddish to me. Setting myself up to fail, even if I'm in good company with the rest of the United States, still hurts. Besides, I'm sure I'll achieve plenty of things this next year that won't get the attention they deserve. So instead, I like to take a more optimistic view of resolutions and announce the list of resolutions I should have made last year.
Resolutions For 2009
1. Get my Associates Degree, after five long years.
2. Write a novel. Immediately put the novel in a dark, secret place where it will never see the light of day, but feel confident that I can do it again, and probably better the next time. Still feel proud, even if no one will ever read it.
3. Redecorate my bedroom. Make it cozy and comfortable and pretty - like a hotel room, but with my own pillows. Feel a burning desire to redecorate the rest of the house to match.
4. Go on a vacation all by myself. Realize that airplane rides are SO MUCH EASIER with no children. See old friends and my hometown and spend quality time with my grandparents. Come home a little more balanced, like "Emily" regained space previously lost to "Mom." Vow to do this again, frequently. Also go on a road trip to California with my parents and a vacation to Walt Disney World. Vow never to go to Florida in the summer ever, ever again.
5. Enjoy watching Darcey enter her Princess phase (about 4 weeks after she went, obliviously, to Walt Disney World). Watch Ryan come home from the grocery store or Walmart or wherever with random princess books and toys that he "had to buy her" because it would make her so happy. Little did he know that every time he bought our princess something, he was making me happy, too.
6. Enjoy watching Zack get a little more mature, entering kindergarten, playing with his gang of best friends. Appreciate his good night kisses, cuddling on the couch, and sweet affection.
7. Enjoy watching Noah and Brad becoming good friends. Marvel at how fast they are growing up, Brad is 12 already and Noah about to turn 9. Appreciate having a built-in babysitter in Brad and a responsible and fairly level-headed boy in Noah. Realize that as much as I might complain about any of my kids, they all are actually the best kids I could ask for.
8. Enjoy watching Ryan relive his childhood fantasies by buying a Stormtrooper costume. Appreciate his unconditional support when things have been tough for me, and realize that as independent as I am, I need him. He makes me a better person and I wouldn't have as full a life without him. Try to follow his supportive example while he recovers from an emergency appendectomy, with mixed results. Vow to try harder in the future.
9. Learn just how much I need good friends. It's a lesson I thought I had learned before, but friends take on a different meaning when life gets hard, which it did for me this year.
Despite the year's challenges, I still think that 2009 was a good year. Last year I hoped that I would be less cynical and more optimistic, which I think I achieved. I also expected to continue my daily gym habit and accompanying weight loss, which I did not achieve, and in fact, went the opposite direction. I'm hoping to get back to that, although I'm not going to consider it a "resolution" per se, more of a renewal of old habits. I even attempted to go to Weight Watchers on the 28th, trying to jump the resolutionary gun, but wouldn't you know they were closed for the holidays all week! How do they expect me to pass myself off as one of the regulars and not a January newbie if they're closed this week? Humphf.
This year has made my ideal 2010 look quite simple. The only thing I really want is to be happy and for my family to be happy. Not giddy, over-the-top excitement all the time, just a peace and contentment that despite everything that might be going wrong, everything is somehow going to be okay. Serenity, a calm in the midst of chaos. I don't expect life to get measurably less complicated - I can't control all that stuff that happens and makes life hard. Instead I want to focus on my internal world, and try to find ways to keep that as stable as possible. Also, I want to recognize good moments when they happen, instead of only noticing the bad moments. And I want to improve my spiritual side, my relationship with God. I think all of these things combine to make for a happy life, and that's what I want.
So that's all I want, and I don't think that's asking too much. Although if I also happened to start exercising every day and eating right and losing 20 pounds, I wouldn't complain. I just won't call it a resolution.
Resolutions For 2009
1. Get my Associates Degree, after five long years.
2. Write a novel. Immediately put the novel in a dark, secret place where it will never see the light of day, but feel confident that I can do it again, and probably better the next time. Still feel proud, even if no one will ever read it.
3. Redecorate my bedroom. Make it cozy and comfortable and pretty - like a hotel room, but with my own pillows. Feel a burning desire to redecorate the rest of the house to match.
4. Go on a vacation all by myself. Realize that airplane rides are SO MUCH EASIER with no children. See old friends and my hometown and spend quality time with my grandparents. Come home a little more balanced, like "Emily" regained space previously lost to "Mom." Vow to do this again, frequently. Also go on a road trip to California with my parents and a vacation to Walt Disney World. Vow never to go to Florida in the summer ever, ever again.
5. Enjoy watching Darcey enter her Princess phase (about 4 weeks after she went, obliviously, to Walt Disney World). Watch Ryan come home from the grocery store or Walmart or wherever with random princess books and toys that he "had to buy her" because it would make her so happy. Little did he know that every time he bought our princess something, he was making me happy, too.
6. Enjoy watching Zack get a little more mature, entering kindergarten, playing with his gang of best friends. Appreciate his good night kisses, cuddling on the couch, and sweet affection.
7. Enjoy watching Noah and Brad becoming good friends. Marvel at how fast they are growing up, Brad is 12 already and Noah about to turn 9. Appreciate having a built-in babysitter in Brad and a responsible and fairly level-headed boy in Noah. Realize that as much as I might complain about any of my kids, they all are actually the best kids I could ask for.
8. Enjoy watching Ryan relive his childhood fantasies by buying a Stormtrooper costume. Appreciate his unconditional support when things have been tough for me, and realize that as independent as I am, I need him. He makes me a better person and I wouldn't have as full a life without him. Try to follow his supportive example while he recovers from an emergency appendectomy, with mixed results. Vow to try harder in the future.
9. Learn just how much I need good friends. It's a lesson I thought I had learned before, but friends take on a different meaning when life gets hard, which it did for me this year.
Despite the year's challenges, I still think that 2009 was a good year. Last year I hoped that I would be less cynical and more optimistic, which I think I achieved. I also expected to continue my daily gym habit and accompanying weight loss, which I did not achieve, and in fact, went the opposite direction. I'm hoping to get back to that, although I'm not going to consider it a "resolution" per se, more of a renewal of old habits. I even attempted to go to Weight Watchers on the 28th, trying to jump the resolutionary gun, but wouldn't you know they were closed for the holidays all week! How do they expect me to pass myself off as one of the regulars and not a January newbie if they're closed this week? Humphf.
This year has made my ideal 2010 look quite simple. The only thing I really want is to be happy and for my family to be happy. Not giddy, over-the-top excitement all the time, just a peace and contentment that despite everything that might be going wrong, everything is somehow going to be okay. Serenity, a calm in the midst of chaos. I don't expect life to get measurably less complicated - I can't control all that stuff that happens and makes life hard. Instead I want to focus on my internal world, and try to find ways to keep that as stable as possible. Also, I want to recognize good moments when they happen, instead of only noticing the bad moments. And I want to improve my spiritual side, my relationship with God. I think all of these things combine to make for a happy life, and that's what I want.
So that's all I want, and I don't think that's asking too much. Although if I also happened to start exercising every day and eating right and losing 20 pounds, I wouldn't complain. I just won't call it a resolution.
Thursday, December 24, 2009
The Best Christmas Present Ever
Ryan and I gave Ryan's grandfather the best Christmas present ever. If I was a touchy-feely person in touch with my emotional and spiritual side, the present would have been a photo of the family with angels photoshopped into the sky, looking down on the grandfather's progeny. Or maybe it would have been a video of all the various family members, near and far, telling his grandpa how much he has meant to the family.
But I'm not that kind of person, as much as I would like to be. No, the best Christmas present ever was, in fact, a Snuggie.
Ryan's grandpa is 91. He has decided to eat nothing but ice cream, since that's the only thing he thinks he can digest. (Don't ask him about digestion issues. He has no problem sharing extremely graphic details, which I have yet to be able to block from my mind.) Because of the ice cream diet, and because he's a frail old man, he's cold all the time. Ryan saw this Snuggie emblazoned with the BYU Cougars logo all over it (in the most tasteful manner the Snuggie people could come up with, I'm sure) and he knew that this would be a winner. It was going to be such a winner, however, that chances were good that other family members would also get him a Snuggie. We couldn't let that happen, so we came for Christmas Eve, thereby beating the rush of Snuggie-bearing relatives. Christmas is all about winning, right?
When Grandpa opened the wrapping paper (which had to be peeled off ever-so-carefully, so it could be saved for later) he knew exactly what it was he was looking at. He's homebound, so he watches a lot of tv. He had me open the box right away and Ryan helped him put it on. Grandpa couldn't stop exclaiming about how great it was - he could stay warm and still use the remote! Still eat his ice cream! He was thrilled, thrilled I tell you. I've never seen anyone get this excited about a present before - and it was sustained excitement, not the flash-in-the-pan excitement I can sometimes generate from my kids. He couldn't stop touching it, telling us how soft it was and warm, too. And with his favorite sports team! How could anything possibly be better than a BYU Snuggie?!
This felt like a moment of gift-giving triumph. Gifts are so hit and miss, especially for someone like Ryan's grandpa, who really doesn't need much in the way of material things. If you've been with me for a while, you're familiar with my blog entry about Joy Units - Ryan's grandpa was so happy that this Snuggie might be the King of all Joy Units. I guarantee that he'll use it every single, solitary day. He told us that he can't wait to tell his son Glen about the Snuggie. And since Grandpa is at that stage in life where everything he says, he repeats about eighteen times (which is why you REALLY don't want him talking about his digestive issues) he'll be sure to tell everyone he talks to just how much he loves the Snuggie. I know it's incredibly selfish to make this about me, but doesn't it feel good to find the exact right gift for someone? I'll tell you - it does. I didn't even pick it out - Ryan gets the credit for that. But making this old man, who has (by his own admission) very little to live for, extremely happy for some small new comfort in his life - it makes me happy.
This Joy Unit win might just carry me for the rest of Christmas. The kids asked for, and are getting, very reasonable items this year. The boys are all getting scooters - fancy ones for the older two. Zack's getting more Legos than any 5 year old could possibly need. Darcey's getting a princess castle dollhouse with an assortment of princesses to go with it. The big surprise is that we are also getting the family a Wii. They aren't expecting it, so I'm hoping to score some major Joy Units from it. It could completely backfire, though - what if they didn't ask for a Wii this year because they really don't want one? They're just fine playing Wii at their friends' houses, and would rather we spent the money on books and maybe some modest gifts for a poor family.
Oh, who am I kidding? The kids are going to love it. If nothing else, I will love it - I bought Super Mario Brothers so I could relive my childhood. I'm hoping that this will be something fun we can do together as a family. Ryan's convinced that it is going to increase the amount of fighting, but I say we already have 100% fighting - how can we increase it? Is there a way to fight more than all the time? I figure they'll just shift their fighting from the computer or the tv and transfer it to the Wii. My prediction is that this will be a fighting-neutral proposal. Less fighting in one area, more fighting in another - it's the way the world stays in balance, the yin and yang of the sibling battleground. It's why I sing "With peace on Earth, goodwill to men" with such fervor every year - I'd like to change it to "With peace in our house, goodwill to brothers" but that doesn't fit quite right.
Anyhow, it remains to be seen the ultimate outcome of buying the Wii. Ryan thinks it might be the most expensive I-told-you-so of all time, and I'm hoping that the Wii will be more positive than negative. If it turns into a huge debacle, that's okay too - it'll give me more to talk about, now that the swingset is gone. But I don't think it will.
Here's wishing you and your family a Merry Christmas, with peace in your home and goodwill to siblings. And lots and lots of Snuggies.
But I'm not that kind of person, as much as I would like to be. No, the best Christmas present ever was, in fact, a Snuggie.
Ryan's grandpa is 91. He has decided to eat nothing but ice cream, since that's the only thing he thinks he can digest. (Don't ask him about digestion issues. He has no problem sharing extremely graphic details, which I have yet to be able to block from my mind.) Because of the ice cream diet, and because he's a frail old man, he's cold all the time. Ryan saw this Snuggie emblazoned with the BYU Cougars logo all over it (in the most tasteful manner the Snuggie people could come up with, I'm sure) and he knew that this would be a winner. It was going to be such a winner, however, that chances were good that other family members would also get him a Snuggie. We couldn't let that happen, so we came for Christmas Eve, thereby beating the rush of Snuggie-bearing relatives. Christmas is all about winning, right?
When Grandpa opened the wrapping paper (which had to be peeled off ever-so-carefully, so it could be saved for later) he knew exactly what it was he was looking at. He's homebound, so he watches a lot of tv. He had me open the box right away and Ryan helped him put it on. Grandpa couldn't stop exclaiming about how great it was - he could stay warm and still use the remote! Still eat his ice cream! He was thrilled, thrilled I tell you. I've never seen anyone get this excited about a present before - and it was sustained excitement, not the flash-in-the-pan excitement I can sometimes generate from my kids. He couldn't stop touching it, telling us how soft it was and warm, too. And with his favorite sports team! How could anything possibly be better than a BYU Snuggie?!
This felt like a moment of gift-giving triumph. Gifts are so hit and miss, especially for someone like Ryan's grandpa, who really doesn't need much in the way of material things. If you've been with me for a while, you're familiar with my blog entry about Joy Units - Ryan's grandpa was so happy that this Snuggie might be the King of all Joy Units. I guarantee that he'll use it every single, solitary day. He told us that he can't wait to tell his son Glen about the Snuggie. And since Grandpa is at that stage in life where everything he says, he repeats about eighteen times (which is why you REALLY don't want him talking about his digestive issues) he'll be sure to tell everyone he talks to just how much he loves the Snuggie. I know it's incredibly selfish to make this about me, but doesn't it feel good to find the exact right gift for someone? I'll tell you - it does. I didn't even pick it out - Ryan gets the credit for that. But making this old man, who has (by his own admission) very little to live for, extremely happy for some small new comfort in his life - it makes me happy.
This Joy Unit win might just carry me for the rest of Christmas. The kids asked for, and are getting, very reasonable items this year. The boys are all getting scooters - fancy ones for the older two. Zack's getting more Legos than any 5 year old could possibly need. Darcey's getting a princess castle dollhouse with an assortment of princesses to go with it. The big surprise is that we are also getting the family a Wii. They aren't expecting it, so I'm hoping to score some major Joy Units from it. It could completely backfire, though - what if they didn't ask for a Wii this year because they really don't want one? They're just fine playing Wii at their friends' houses, and would rather we spent the money on books and maybe some modest gifts for a poor family.
Oh, who am I kidding? The kids are going to love it. If nothing else, I will love it - I bought Super Mario Brothers so I could relive my childhood. I'm hoping that this will be something fun we can do together as a family. Ryan's convinced that it is going to increase the amount of fighting, but I say we already have 100% fighting - how can we increase it? Is there a way to fight more than all the time? I figure they'll just shift their fighting from the computer or the tv and transfer it to the Wii. My prediction is that this will be a fighting-neutral proposal. Less fighting in one area, more fighting in another - it's the way the world stays in balance, the yin and yang of the sibling battleground. It's why I sing "With peace on Earth, goodwill to men" with such fervor every year - I'd like to change it to "With peace in our house, goodwill to brothers" but that doesn't fit quite right.
Anyhow, it remains to be seen the ultimate outcome of buying the Wii. Ryan thinks it might be the most expensive I-told-you-so of all time, and I'm hoping that the Wii will be more positive than negative. If it turns into a huge debacle, that's okay too - it'll give me more to talk about, now that the swingset is gone. But I don't think it will.
Here's wishing you and your family a Merry Christmas, with peace in your home and goodwill to siblings. And lots and lots of Snuggies.
Monday, December 21, 2009
In Sickness And In Health
I was beaten at the "which spouse is sicker game" this weekend. Anyone who is married knows this game - whoever is the sickest gets to do less of the work, take the easier parenting duties, and generally garner whatever sympathy the less sick person is willing to offer. The less sick person goes along with this, knowing that at some point, the tables will turn - it is one of the few times the Golden Rule reigns supreme. One of the first strategic moves, then, is claiming to be sick first. Just like calling shotgun, you've got to declare your illness first. The sticky part is when both spouses claim to be sick, that's where the negotiations begin.
I've made this handy chart to show, in order from least to greatest, the heirarchy of sickness.
Really minor injury (bad bruise, stubbed toe, removable splinter)
Single symptom (cough, sore throat, runny nose)
Multiple symptoms, minor cold
Multiple symptoms, major cold
Diarrhea
Minor injury (slammed finger in door, dropped can of soup on foot, rubbed eye with hand that just chopped jalapeno peppers)
Fever + cold symptoms
Fever + chills + cold symptoms
Regular Flu
Swine Flu, Bird Flu, or any other Flu named after an animal
Vomiting
Bleeding in copious amounts
Pregnancy, first and third trimesters especially
Major injury (broken bones, concussion)
Organ malfunction
Death
If either spouse has more than one of the items on the list (say, Minor cold symptoms plus minor injury) then the sum of the two illnesses will be taken into consideration. If a spouse has three items (say, Pregnancy plus vomiting plus stubbed toe) then the other spouse had better just give in right then. Especially if pregnancy is one of the illnesses, and you had something to do with it. Trust me, it's for your own good.
As simple as my handy chart makes it seem, in actuality there are many gray areas to determining spousal sickness preference. Who called sickness first, for example. How each person slept the night before. How obvious the symptoms are, along with how easily the symptoms are faked. How "tough" the person generally is, and how frequently they cry wolf over sickness. What fun things is the person willing to sacrifice in order to be considered sick?
One thing that should not be taken into account is whinyness. The louder person is not necessarily the sicker person. That makes things extremely difficult to sort out, since each person's tolerance level for the same illness could make a complainer appear sicker. If you are married to a vocal sick person, but you are more of a suck-it-up type, it's time to start being more vocal yourself. Unfortunately, you have to speak the other person's language, and a loud sick person is going to interpret your stoic silence as "I'm just fine, and I'd love to bathe the kids tonight while you play xbox with your buddies!" Even if you have children actively vomiting while you writhe on the floor in pain, DO NOT assume your spouse understands the level of your illness. And if you are the spouse reading this that says "Gee, I'm so lucky! My spouse can handle life just fine while he/she's sick. He/she's a trouper!" then chances are you are married to someone who has yet to learn the art of sickness expression.
Not that I have any personal experience with that. We don't even own an xbox.
Back to the topic of sickness heirarchy. Let's use a personal example to demonstrate. On Saturday, I woke up with a sore throat plus I didn't sleep well the night before. Ryan had some gas pains in his stomach. Both the sore throat and the gas pains would be considered a single symptom illness, but my bad sleep trumps his good sleep, putting me in the position of Most Sick. However, he clearly believed himself to be sicker than me, and did things like laid in bed, took naps, generally acted like a sick person. I, on the other hand, felt miffed that my clearly worse sickness was not being acknowledged. I mean seriously, gas pains? Gas is definitely a less impressive symptom, even in the single-symptom range. And it's grosser, too. I had a perfectly respectable illness, and there I was, grocery shopping and running errands and taking care of the kids.
By Sunday morning, the balance shifted in Ryan's favor. I still slept badly, but this time it was as much from the sore throat as it was from Ryan's flopping around in bed. At 6:15 a.m. I asked him if he wanted to go to urgent care, but he said no, he'd be okay. I got the kids up and out the door for church by myself. I wanted his help, but he couldn't help me. I tried to keep my resentment bottled up (the way all painful emotions should be, ha ha) and reminded myself that just two weeks ago, he did the whole Sunday routine alone while I gallivanted around Maryland. I could be the trouper. I came home from church to find him still in bed. At about 3 p.m., right about the time I wanted him to watch the kids so I could take a nap, he headed to urgent care. They sent him to Orem Community Hospital for a CAT scan, at which point it turned out NOT to be gas pains after all, but instead an inflamed appendix. He was sent to Utah Valley Regional Medical Center, where he underwent surgery at about 8 p.m.
I farmed out the kids to some extremely generous neighbors and sat with Ryan in the various holding areas before his surgery. I held his hand and rubbed his arm and generally tried to be positive and supportive. This was, of course, to assuage my guilt. How on EARTH was I supposed to know that his single minor symptom illness was in actuality a Major Organ Malfunction?? Really, how was I supposed to know? My husband says "gas pain" - the medical community says "death's door." Talk about mixed messages! And here I was being all snooty, in my mind at least, about how much work I was doing by myself while Ryan got to lie around all day. Of course, he was lying around while one of his internal organs was blowing up like a Jiffy-Pop bag, but I repeat, how was I supposed to know??
Clearly my guilty conscience is seeking justification here. While it might appear that I am a selfish, uncaring spouse, rest assured that when the severity of his situation came to light, I did the right thing. Actually, once he decided to go to urgent care I knew he must have been in worse pain than he let on. And you know what? Until he was wheeled off for surgery, we had a great time together at the hospital. The kids were gone, he and I watched some Survivor, we talked and hung out and basically considered it a really expensive date. If you've watched the comedian Brian Regan's skit about visiting the emergency room, then you'll appreciate this information: Ryan was a 7 but they gave him morphine anyway, and the haunted choir in the half-room next to us was so loud we couldn't stop laughing. If none of that made sense, watch this video.
Ultimately, Ryan's surgery went well, he spent the night at the hospital and came home this afternoon. So far he's not in much pain, although he can't bend down or use his stomach muscles for much. And as for my sore throat? It magically got a whole lot better when the option of being the sicker spouse was taken away. Maybe I'm the one that needs to read between the lines when it comes to gauging how sick my spouse is. Or take another lesson in the Golden Rule.
I've made this handy chart to show, in order from least to greatest, the heirarchy of sickness.
Really minor injury (bad bruise, stubbed toe, removable splinter)
Single symptom (cough, sore throat, runny nose)
Multiple symptoms, minor cold
Multiple symptoms, major cold
Diarrhea
Minor injury (slammed finger in door, dropped can of soup on foot, rubbed eye with hand that just chopped jalapeno peppers)
Fever + cold symptoms
Fever + chills + cold symptoms
Regular Flu
Swine Flu, Bird Flu, or any other Flu named after an animal
Vomiting
Bleeding in copious amounts
Pregnancy, first and third trimesters especially
Major injury (broken bones, concussion)
Organ malfunction
Death
If either spouse has more than one of the items on the list (say, Minor cold symptoms plus minor injury) then the sum of the two illnesses will be taken into consideration. If a spouse has three items (say, Pregnancy plus vomiting plus stubbed toe) then the other spouse had better just give in right then. Especially if pregnancy is one of the illnesses, and you had something to do with it. Trust me, it's for your own good.
As simple as my handy chart makes it seem, in actuality there are many gray areas to determining spousal sickness preference. Who called sickness first, for example. How each person slept the night before. How obvious the symptoms are, along with how easily the symptoms are faked. How "tough" the person generally is, and how frequently they cry wolf over sickness. What fun things is the person willing to sacrifice in order to be considered sick?
One thing that should not be taken into account is whinyness. The louder person is not necessarily the sicker person. That makes things extremely difficult to sort out, since each person's tolerance level for the same illness could make a complainer appear sicker. If you are married to a vocal sick person, but you are more of a suck-it-up type, it's time to start being more vocal yourself. Unfortunately, you have to speak the other person's language, and a loud sick person is going to interpret your stoic silence as "I'm just fine, and I'd love to bathe the kids tonight while you play xbox with your buddies!" Even if you have children actively vomiting while you writhe on the floor in pain, DO NOT assume your spouse understands the level of your illness. And if you are the spouse reading this that says "Gee, I'm so lucky! My spouse can handle life just fine while he/she's sick. He/she's a trouper!" then chances are you are married to someone who has yet to learn the art of sickness expression.
Not that I have any personal experience with that. We don't even own an xbox.
Back to the topic of sickness heirarchy. Let's use a personal example to demonstrate. On Saturday, I woke up with a sore throat plus I didn't sleep well the night before. Ryan had some gas pains in his stomach. Both the sore throat and the gas pains would be considered a single symptom illness, but my bad sleep trumps his good sleep, putting me in the position of Most Sick. However, he clearly believed himself to be sicker than me, and did things like laid in bed, took naps, generally acted like a sick person. I, on the other hand, felt miffed that my clearly worse sickness was not being acknowledged. I mean seriously, gas pains? Gas is definitely a less impressive symptom, even in the single-symptom range. And it's grosser, too. I had a perfectly respectable illness, and there I was, grocery shopping and running errands and taking care of the kids.
By Sunday morning, the balance shifted in Ryan's favor. I still slept badly, but this time it was as much from the sore throat as it was from Ryan's flopping around in bed. At 6:15 a.m. I asked him if he wanted to go to urgent care, but he said no, he'd be okay. I got the kids up and out the door for church by myself. I wanted his help, but he couldn't help me. I tried to keep my resentment bottled up (the way all painful emotions should be, ha ha) and reminded myself that just two weeks ago, he did the whole Sunday routine alone while I gallivanted around Maryland. I could be the trouper. I came home from church to find him still in bed. At about 3 p.m., right about the time I wanted him to watch the kids so I could take a nap, he headed to urgent care. They sent him to Orem Community Hospital for a CAT scan, at which point it turned out NOT to be gas pains after all, but instead an inflamed appendix. He was sent to Utah Valley Regional Medical Center, where he underwent surgery at about 8 p.m.
I farmed out the kids to some extremely generous neighbors and sat with Ryan in the various holding areas before his surgery. I held his hand and rubbed his arm and generally tried to be positive and supportive. This was, of course, to assuage my guilt. How on EARTH was I supposed to know that his single minor symptom illness was in actuality a Major Organ Malfunction?? Really, how was I supposed to know? My husband says "gas pain" - the medical community says "death's door." Talk about mixed messages! And here I was being all snooty, in my mind at least, about how much work I was doing by myself while Ryan got to lie around all day. Of course, he was lying around while one of his internal organs was blowing up like a Jiffy-Pop bag, but I repeat, how was I supposed to know??
Clearly my guilty conscience is seeking justification here. While it might appear that I am a selfish, uncaring spouse, rest assured that when the severity of his situation came to light, I did the right thing. Actually, once he decided to go to urgent care I knew he must have been in worse pain than he let on. And you know what? Until he was wheeled off for surgery, we had a great time together at the hospital. The kids were gone, he and I watched some Survivor, we talked and hung out and basically considered it a really expensive date. If you've watched the comedian Brian Regan's skit about visiting the emergency room, then you'll appreciate this information: Ryan was a 7 but they gave him morphine anyway, and the haunted choir in the half-room next to us was so loud we couldn't stop laughing. If none of that made sense, watch this video.
Ultimately, Ryan's surgery went well, he spent the night at the hospital and came home this afternoon. So far he's not in much pain, although he can't bend down or use his stomach muscles for much. And as for my sore throat? It magically got a whole lot better when the option of being the sicker spouse was taken away. Maybe I'm the one that needs to read between the lines when it comes to gauging how sick my spouse is. Or take another lesson in the Golden Rule.
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