Losing Words

I have 4 blog posts queued up, waiting to be finished.  One tells about Rip Claw, and how we finally finished the lengthy process of gifted testing and enrolled him in the program at a new school.

Genius!
Well, Gifted, anyway. 

He'll start later this month, and we have high hopes that he'll enjoy 2nd grade in a way that he was not able to enjoy kindergarten or first grade.  In another post, I excitedly started to share my Summer Reading list (#1- Nica of Los Angeles by Sue Perry [Bonus! If you want to solve the vague mystery of my real first name, check out the dedication page. That's me!] #2-#5 Connie Willis' time travel series starting with Doomsday Book and ending with All Clear. #6- One Summer by Bill Bryson which I know I mentioned before, but still haven't been able to talk to anyone about, so I'm pushing it on you again.  Read it!) by rambling on about a dream I had where the ocean turned into buildings.  Two posts are mostly about my running, but also about racing, Facebook, training, life, job searching, migraines, blogging and cheesecake.

Homemade cheesecakes with from-scratch caramel sauce and fresh, real whipped cream might deserve their own post.

The one thing they all have in common is that they all end right around here.



Not this time!  See?  You keep scrolling, there are more words.

The problem, of late, is something like writer's block.  Oh, and I kind-of hate running.  Also, I forget things like I'm a highly paid executive at Forget Me, Inc.  I've been sleeping poorly and making bad choices, like this shirt set that I recently purchased for myself (yes, with real, U.S. dollars).

Hot pink lace bandeau with strappy, gauzy, grape colored tank.

The day after ordering the shirt set online, I remembered that I'm 38-nearly 40!, laughed aloud, and decided that I would be sending it back.  7 FULL DAYS LATER I remembered that I'm only 35, but that doesn't justify my owning anything in these colors, made of these fabrics, or cut in these styles, and still planned to send the items back.  Today, the items were delivered.  Tomorrow, they will be returned, with my apologies.

I do have a reason, or at least a theory, to explain all this nonsense.  Drugs.  Specifically, Topamax, the prophylactic medication prescribed by my new neurologist, Dr. T, early last month to reduce the number of headaches and migraines I get from somewhere in between godawful and shocking to a more normal number.  Both Dr. T and my good pharmacist friend, Dr. B, informed me that, much like with any medication, this one comes with some potential side effects.  (Dr. T actually said that the main side effect would be that all my fingernails would be painted the same color, but that's because I visited him on the 3rd of July after painting some of my nails red, some blue, and leaving one unpainted for the Independence Day festivities to come.  I think it bothered him a whole awful lot.  Funny thing is, I don't think I had painted my nails at all for about 6 years prior to that day.)  Tingling in the hands, feet, and maybe around the mouth, is a common one.  Also, feeling a mental fogginess or spacing out.  "You may have trouble saying the words you want to say; feel a sense of disconnection."  The 10-page paper that came with the prescription also mentioned depression, suicidal thoughts ("call your healthcare provider right away, but do not stop taking this medication suddenly, as that can cause an increase in suicidal tendencies"), and the usual "rare but serious..."

After almost a week on the medication, I started feeling tingling in my hands and feet.  No big deal.  Dr. T had said the tingling would go away after the medicine built up in my body and I got used to it, which was one of the reasons he gave me a titration schedule (yeah, I know words like that 'cause I have a pharmacist for a friend) to let it build up slowly.  About two weeks after, I noticed the tingling all the time, especially while exercising, and my running started to suffer.  My pace kept climbing, which really isn't that big of a deal during these hot, humid Florida summers, but I started describing every run with words like "blah" or "blech" or "barf."  And really meaning it, because I was really dreading every one of them, even though they were marathon training runs and I had an incentive set up for myself for finishing a month's worth of them.

Greek food.  I love it desperately.  Charming hates it almost as much.  What could make for a better personal treat for a month of marathon training?

After just over 4 weeks on the medication, I had my first experience with the word loss side effect.  I expected it to feel like the word was on the tip of my tongue.  No.  I lost the word 'lowered.'  When I say I lost it, I mean it was as if it had never before existed in my life.  Drs. T & B both mentioned a disconnection, and I'm sure that's because other people on this medication have experienced exactly what I felt.  It was as if one small part of my brain was whispering "lowered" and the rest of my brain and body were just laughing and taunting, like, "Ha!  You think that's a word?  No.  Don't use that.  Nope.  Won't work.  Can't do it.  Don't even try.  Not a word.  Never heard it.  You're thinking of ______." And then I think I actually saw a big sad face in my head, because I couldn't think of a word.  Eventually, within what felt like 20 minutes but was probably 20 seconds, I came up with the word 'lowered' and it was the right word, but it was as if my brain had been disconnected from the rest of me.  I couldn't make myself use the word 'lowered.'  Later that same day, I said to still-football-obsessed Rip Claw, "Did you know the Giants and Bulls are playing the Pro Bowl game this week?"  I knew I meant the Bills, not the Bulls, and I knew I meant the Hall of Fame game, not the Pro Bowl, but I couldn't say the right words.

A few days later, I started putting together all the pieces.  It's hard, when your brain doesn't work, to figure things out, but eventually, I did it.  Unfinished blog posts.  Hating running.  Hating Facebook more than ever.  Un-returned phone calls.  Looking forward to sitting on the couch.  Throwing the iPod in a bowl of rice for a week rather than figuring it out that I accidentally set it on repeat.  Letting Rip Claw watch Spongebob for a sickening amount of time.  Letting Cupcake memorize the "Go Potty Go" DVD from the library, yet letting her Never Potty Never.  Realizing that many of my text message responses are "I don't care" or "whatever."  Not studying any fantasy football or doing any mock drafts even though the real drafts are coming up in just a couple of weeks. 

I knew my college degree in Psychology would come in handy someday.  I've got the anhedonia!  Okay, so that's not usually a term used with an exclamation point.  It means I've lost interest in things that I used to care about.  It's another side effect.  Now, listen.  Before you start to worry, I'll have you know, I was screened by a nurse just the other day.  I was told to answer, over the past 2 weeks, how many days I had felt a bunch of things like hopeless, failure, fatigue, etc., 0, 3, 5, 7, or 14.  I kept wanting to answer 1 or 4 or 8 or 6 or 57.  Is that weird?  But, she wasn't worried.  I'm not clinically depressed.  And strange nurses don't want to confirm whether or not you're just anhedonic, or if that's actually a word.  I have had ZERO-as in NOT ONE suicidal thought.  I've lost my words.  Literally, that one time, when lowered was gone, and for the past month, when I couldn't make them come out and make sense on the ol' blog.

Now, you may be wondering why running, having been an almost constant source of joy, drenching my brain with powerful endorphins, is not helping me through this tough mental battle.  Well, it seems like I'm just in a perfect storm of awful, lately.  All my runs in July and August, except for half of two, were solo.  Sickeningly hot.  Maddeningly slow.  That's not fun, but it's still running.  However, I managed to do something to some part of my body somewhere along the way, and now I have plenty of time to reminisce and appreciate all of those terrible runs while I sit on the couch in excruciating pain.

X-rays were negative, there's nothing wrong with my joints.  Doppler ultrasound showed nothing wrong with my circulation and no clots (I wore good underpants again, don't worry) in this leg, blood work showed no sign of infection or rheumatism or whatever else they were checking for.  The therapeutic masseuse concentrated her efforts on the Obturateur externe, Adductor and Quad muscles (Did you know there were four of them?  I responded like she said everyone does to that information "Oh, duh.").  She also worked on evening out my noticeably uneven hips.  Result seems to be that now I'm limping straighter than before.

Time for the good news!  I haven't had a headache in over a week!  I'm still taking the Topamax for that reason, and because I don't think it's the fault of the medicine that I can't move my leg.  Pretty soon, I'll know if it can prevent my hormone-triggered, debilitating migraines.  I would gladly lose many more words to be rid of those for good.

I feel like I should leave you with a helpful piece of unsolicited advice, since that's kinda why I'm here.  So, I'll recommend that you do side planks instead of forward planks.  If you're like me, you hate them with a vehemence because they're really hard to do.  That's because those muscles are weak.  You know what?You'll never regret getting stronger.


Please share a bit of good news!

Greek food- love it or hate it?

A Good Run

*It isn't all about running, Sha.  Promise*

This was one.  There have been others, too.  I remember quite clearly how it felt each time I ran and didn't ever want to stop.  It's easier to remember the good runs when I'm sitting on the couch typing on the laptop than when I'm out in the sweltering heat and suffocating humidity, panting and huffing and cursing at myself in my head for moving like a slug.  At those times, and there have been a lot of them lately, it's hard to remember ever having run before, and hard to imagine why anyone would purposely subject herself to such hardship.

Let me try to explain these feelings for those of you who aren't already silently shouting, "Amen, sister!" Running is hard.  Just because you're wearing athletic clothes and you know you're burning calories doesn't mean you feel thin.  The knowledge that getting your heart to pump faster is a good thing doesn't make it feel good when it seems your chest is going to explode from exertion.  Sweating is totally natural and necessary.  It's also a really grody feeling to have your clothes sticking to you and to have to wipe the salt crust off of your phone's screen after using it because of the sweat that dried on your face.  But then, there are times after a run when you feel like this:

Or like this:

Which is basically, like this:

Much like (I've read) a drug addict continues searching for that feeling they remember from the first time they got high, part of the reason that I (we) continue to run is in search of the overwhelming euphoria of a good run.  The happy news is that good runs are attained more often and in a much healthier, less law-breaking way than heroin highs.

I haven't run many miles, lately, and the miles I have run have not been the most pleasant.  Although I got good news when I talked to a real doctor for a second opinion about my circulation issues, I have been dealing with ever-worsening pain in my left ankle that I think is a tendon thing.  I've had a lot of rest days, hoping to ease the pain and be ready to start marathon training July 6th.  All that rest has made me crabby and flabby and generally unpleasant.  I've remembered, though, one of the cool things about running.  Even the bad runs are at least a little bit good.  Cardiovascular exercise = Good.  Outside in fresh air = Good.  Time alone with thoughts = Good.  So, the running, even with the nagging injuries and reduction in miles and maddening slowness, we'll call it good.  But that isn't the only reason I titled this post the way I did.

I've been at this stay-at-home-mom/homemaker/unemployed worker gig for a little over 2 years now, give or take a few substitute teaching job assignments.  It has definitely been a good run.  I've been able to volunteer at races, at Rip Claw's school, and at our church.  I helped raise a lot of money and put on fun, educational events as a PTA board member.  I'm a regular yoga class attendee.  I have time to write blog posts and follow people on Twitter and keep up with friends on Facebook.  I read books.  I cook healthy(ish), delicious meals.  Sometimes, I even clean.  Best of all, I get to spend almost all their waking hours with my kids.  I feel that I can't overstate how blessed and thankful I am for Charming; for his hard work and commitment to taking care of our family financially.

That's a shadow, not a hole in the top of his head.

Now, the time has come for this good run to end, though.  If I don't get a paying job, then we can't realistically think about moving from our teeny house into a normal-sized one.  If I don't get a well-paying job, then we can't realistically think about moving into my our dream house.

It may seem strange, but a part of me wants to go back to the working world for reasons completely separate from financial gain.  Am I a terrible SAHM for feeling somewhat unfulfilled by my job as a mother?  I treasure my time with the children.  I learn from them, I teach them, I laugh with them, and I know that ultimately, they're going to grow into successful, happy adults largely because of (in spite of?) me.  However, I feel like I have a lot to offer aside from being a parent.  I also feel like the value of what I have to offer the world at large is depreciating the longer I stay at home.  Sometimes, it's hard to see the difference between enjoying a good run and enjoying the comfort of a familiar rut.  I realized that I'm in the latter position when I noticed a trend in the jobs I was hoping to get.  The one thing they all had in common was me, at home.  Hard work pays off.  Smart work pays off.  Laziness does not pay off.  Great ideas, without action, do not pay off.  Yes, there are people who get paid to write blog posts about running and mothering and such.  There are people who get paid to read and review books.  There are even people who get paid to come up with ideas far less excellent than ideas I've had.  I've come to terms with the fact that I am not one of those people.  It would basically be the same thing if I said my dream job was to play the lottery.  So, yeah.  My dream job is to change the world, be intellectually challenged and stimulated, earn enough money to move to a house with more than one bathroom, and still spend almost every waking moment with my children.  But until there's an opening in that field, I'll probably return to where I had my last good run--tending bar.


Wanna hire me?

Your last good run? 

Never Have I Ever...

...played the drinking game with the same title as this post.  For real, Mom and Dad.  I never did!  I just saw it on tv.  Feel free to check out the rules in the link and play as you read this post, though.  Then you can comment with how many times you (would have) had to drink  Sometimes, I am taken aback by how ridiculously happy and blessed I am, and I start to feel a bit guilty about my cheery, adorable-photo-filled, mushy gushy, sunshine and rainbows, I-love-my-husband-and-running posts.  I feel like I should make it clear that I am also often taken aback by how imperfect I am; how many stupid things I do, how many bad decisions I make.  Please enjoy (It's okay to take pleasure in reading about the shortfalls of others- we all do it.  Right?  No?  Well, then there's one.) my Confessions of Ineptitude.

Never Have I Ever...
...opened the box containing the iron or unwrapped the ironing board, both purchased over 3 years ago, because I didn't own either one.  Yes, that means what you think it means.  6 y.o. has never seen a clothes iron used in our home.

...washed our house's windows or screens.  I have dusted the blinds and vacuumed the windowsills, but I wouldn't even know where to begin actual window washing.  I seem to remember using the garden hose to spray water at the windows when I was growing up, but that may not have actually been helpful to my parents.
...mowed a lawn.  I see our old lady neighbor, out using her push mower, and feel a little twinge of...something.  Embarrassment, probably, but it feels a little like regret mixed with fear (of getting to retirement age and having to sacrifice buying coffee so I can pay the lawn guys) and relief.  Again, I wouldn't even know where to begin.
...put money in the buckets held by people standing in the road, or in the hands of people holding signs.  I actually consider myself to be a pretty generous and charitable person, and I do donate food, clothing, and money to different organizations.  The people on the side of the road scare me, though, and I always pretend I don't see them.  When I think it through, it's very silly.  As if throwing a dollar into the bucket of the reflective vest wearer will somehow give him the inclination to drag me out of my car and murder me?  As if lowering my window and handing spare change to the person holding the "homeless and hungry anything help godbless" sign is going to instigate an attack or kidnapping?  Probably not.
...been so ashamed of my feet.  I have a spa gift card, waiting to be used on a pedicure, and I can't bring myself to set an appointment.  I'm sure they're not the most disgusting feet in the universe, but they're easily the most disgusting I've ever owned.

My actual feet, before they betrayed me and turned to the dark side.

...been asked for hair styling, makeup, decorating, fashion, or dancing tips.  I'm quite certain I never will be asked, either.
...been the Fantasy Football league champion.  I did make the playoffs last season!  I was even ranked first for several weeks.  Ended up in 4th place, my highest (just out of the money) finish yet.

Almost Always, I...
...procrastinate.  I put off easy tasks.  I put off difficult tasks.  I put off necessary things, I put off phone calls and emails and really silly things like filling up water bottles.  Why does "later" always seem more appealing than "now"?  Procrastinating is almost always the wrong choice, and I wish I could give advice on how to stop it, but the only tip I can think of is the obvious one- just do it now.

Ha!

...park my car crookedly.  Yep.  I'm one of those.  Mine is the car you shake your head at as you walk through the lot, and mutter, "Wheredja learn to park?" or something.  Even more ridiculous than the fact that I am so bad at parking after almost 20 years of practice (GAAAH!  I'M SO OLD!) is the joy and pride I feel when I occasionally find my car in the center of the space.  It's not such a huge accomplishment.  Really, I should be celebrating and sending pictures to my family when I have not procrastinated doing a simple chore like folding laundry or emptying the dishwasher.
...am late.  I'm terrible at estimating the time it takes to do anything, even if I've done it 100 times.  I'm also easily distracted.  Not sure if you know it, but that combo does not equal promptness.  Remember what I said up there about doing stupid things?  Here's one that I do way too often: I set my alarm to wake me up with what I think is 20 extra minutes to get ready.  Stay in bed an extra 5 minutes.  End up with 5 extra minutes before I need to leave the house, and rather than just getting in my crooked car and leaving early, I start a task that I've been procrastinating.  I tell myself it will only take 3 minutes.  Inevitably, it takes at least 10.  I check the clock, feel genuine shock, and rush out the door.
...skip flossing.  I was going to put this in the "never have I ever" category, but I'm positive I've flossed my teeth at some point in my life.  I remember my gums bleeding.  I think the last time I flossed was pre-Y2K.  I stopped, figuring that if the world was going to end anyway, there was really no point in having super healthy teeth.

10 years, no floss.  Na na na boo boo, folks with a genetic predisposition toward tooth decay.

I have a hard time remembering...
...what the red and blue, elephant and donkey represent.  I mean, I know they symbolize Republicans and Democrats, but I can never remember which color is which and which animal is which.
...how to tell the difference between a bass and a regular guitar.  Yes, this is coming from the same gal who has attended a really awesome number of rock concerts.
...to concentrate on my form when I'm running.  One day, I went to the gym at 5 a.m. and ran on the treadmill directly in front of the window so that I could see my reflection perfectly.  I had forgotten my iPod.  There were only 1 or 2 other people anywhere close.  I still got distracted from watching myself and fixing my obvious errors.
...to respond to party invitations.  I feel like such a heel about it, too.  Not a pretty, just pedicured heel, either.  Like, one of my heels.
...to use coupons before they expire.  Nothing makes me growl and stomp like throwing away money.
...due dates.  For more than a decade, I didn't set foot in the library because I had forgotten to return some books that were in the trunk of my car when I sold it.  I was granted a library card again a few years ago, and now I think of my late fines as donating to a charity that I like.  If I don't think of it that way, I get all growly and stompy again.

I could go on, of course.  I thought about asking Husband for additional evidence of my ineptitude, but then I figured I would get upset, no matter what he said.  Here's something you should remember- asking people to tell you your faults, in detail, will usually not make you feel so sunshine-y and smiley.  Better to just concentrate on the triumphs and joys in your life, and put off fixing your faults until tomorrow.

How many times would you have had to drink in agreement with my statements?

Any tips on window washing?  I might try it soon.

Spontaneity Rules

Rule #1: Anything goes, as long as it wasn't planned in advance.

"Whattid ya say, Mom?  I can't hear you!  Guess I'll just stay in the water a while longer."

Weird lip thing due to trying to show his gum in the picture.

Recently, 6 y.o. decided he's going to be a Marine Biologist when he grows up, and has been watching a lot of shows about sea animals and rescues.  He's also been behaving really well at school lately, unlike in previous months, so Husband and I have been coming up with various ways of rewarding him for "green" days.

This week, we decided to take him to the marine science center, and it just so happened that they were planning to release some rehabilitated sea turtles back to the ocean on Saturday, April 27th.  Turns out, I wasn't the only one who had decided to go to the science center for turtle day.  Fortunately for the turtles, unfortunately for us, the marine center had advertised very well.  There were cars and people lined up for more than a mile around the center.  Unfortunately for the turtles (maybe-not exactly sure) the release was canceled.  I decided to park on the beach and walk with the kids to the center.

After approximately 1/4 mile of sand walking with the stroller and the boy, the walkway from the beach to the mainland (and the science center) finally came into view, and with it, dozens of stairs.  Stroller.  Stairs.

"Hey, 6 y.o.!  You wanna just stay on the beach, instead?"
              "YESSSSS!  We can watch for dolphins that strand!"

We walked back to the car, where we all 3 removed our shoes, 6 y.o. removed his shirt, and I applied some sunscreen to the two of them.  I instructed 6 y.o. to only get his feet wet, since I hadn't brought him a change of clothes.  Somehow, he "fell" as soon as the first wave touched his ankles.  I gotta say, it's hard for a Mama to be annoyed by disobedience like that when she's having so much fun, herself.  Baby had been to the beach one other time, last year, and she had screamed all the while.  This time, she was ecstatic.  She tried to touch the sand with every part of her body, and cackled with laughter as I held her while the waves washed over her tiny feet.

We spent 45 minutes or so, got ourselves covered in sand and dripping with saltwater, and then had to drive all the way home without even so much as a towel to sit on.  It was totally worth it.

Speaking of spontaneity, I've been working on a different blog post all week.  Suddenly, I decided to share this story first.  See how impulsive I am?  I can do all kinds of things without lists and plans.  You should, too!

Every had a spontaneous decision backfire?

Wanna vacuum out my car?

Blogiquette

I still consider myself a newbie when it comes to blogging.  Is there a certain number of posts I'm required to write before calling myself a blogger?  Is blogging like running?  I hear people say that you can call yourself a runner if you run, but I must admit that it took awhile for me to feel like a runner once I started.  Maybe I'm a blogger, maybe I'm a runner who has written a few blog posts, maybe I'm a 40-yr-old nerd, living in his parents' basement, stealing pictures from the facebook feeds of strangers, and pretending to be a thirty-something mom of two who loves her family, exercising, reading, good zombie shows, and loud rock music.  I guess, in the grand scheme of things, it doesn't much matter.

This would certainly be the result if someone googled "cutest baby girl"

Because of my relative newness around the blogosphere, I sometimes feel like I'm not qualified to read or comment on certain people's blogs, and certainly not to follow them.  Leaving a comment almost feels like asking a celebrity for an autograph.  But then, I also feel like a weirdo when I read them all stalker-like.  The kids are in bed, Husband is playing Madden, and I'm furtively typing in http://www.chrissiewellington.org/blog/ or http://mfranks.blogspot.com/ and quickly exiting if Husband shifts his weight and I think he's going to see what I'm doing.  It isn't just elite runners that I stalk, either.  It's some of the really good bloggers that totally amaze me (and everyone else) with their wit and talent.  And, sometimes I come across a blog like this one, or this one (with a breast, watch out!) and find myself nodding in agreement to like, everything written.  One of my favorite blogs to stalk, though, is shut up + run.  And, to be honest, the Moji giveaway is the only reason I'm admitting my even-weirder-now-that-I-see-them-in-writing blog reading habits.  Probably, I was supposed to mention the product and the giveaway in some normal, breezy fashion; like, "go check out my girl" or something.  I apologize if I've broken a blawg (Get it? A law for blogs?  Geez, I'm a dummy today.  I blame the cough medicine.), and I really do think you should check out her site and her giveaway.  Both are cool (unlike me).

While we're linking to great sites, I gotta mention (as usual) my sister's and my aunt's.  And since I'm already here, typing, I'll go ahead and complain for a moment.  I set a goal at the beginning of this year to run an average of 20 miles/week.  13 weeks into the year, and I was only averaging 10.  My IT band has been the thing keeping me inside, mostly, but it has finally started to feel (mostly) better.  This week, I had run 12 miles, and was going to have time to run the other 8 between today and tomorrow.  Being around lots of sick people finally took its toll on me, though, and I've been taken down by a cough from Satan himself, and head congestion to keep the cough company.  Whine, whine, whine, whine, whine.  And no, I can't have any cheese to go with it because dairy upsets my nursing Baby's tummy.  Poor, poor me.

My advice?  Read blogs.  And, don't be ashamed to like them.  Probably, the writers want you to.  I know I do!

Feel free to lodge a complaint in the comment section.  We can whine together.