Happy New Year!

Hey, in case you didn't notice, 2024 is over! 

Also, that's irrelevant because the calendar is subjective and we're in the same winter we just started a couple of weeks ago, so calm down.

I was getting over food poisoning on New Year's Eve, so although James took Mal to the store to pick out a bunch of yummy hors d'eouvres kind of things like we normally have, I just ate a bowl of pumpkin pasta and called it a night.

The next morning, I was feeling better and did enjoy a variety of bites for breakfast. We also set off some "fireworks" on New Year's Day because Mal wanted to.

 

That was cool. 

I feel like I've let Mal down a bit this season. Christmas felt kind of off, and because we didn't want to spend too much money... we didn't. I got sick on a short/cheap trip to Waco to use up our PogoPass, and when we got home, Mal told me that I'd been acting "differently," which he said meant more easily irritated. I feel like I was just sleepy and dizzy a lot, but it's definitely been a weird kind of month or so.

I've started a couple of blog posts that I haven't finished because... well, do we really need a whole post about how my hair is curly now when it didn't used to be? No. Just trust me. Here's the abbreviated version, with me and my natural hair back in August versus 5 years ago or so. 

I'm sorry, am I aging BACKWARD??

I have actively resisted New Years Resolutions for most of my life (that whole "calendar" thing, and the fact that any day is a good day to try to start (or stop) something new (or old). So it's totally random, but I've decided to work on disciplining my tongue. I didn't grow up cussing, and I didn't cuss for a long time. I remember the day I did the first time, and it was glorious. I was working at Sam's Club in Las Vegas, and that was a crazy job environment. 

Anyhoo, have never sworn much until the past couple of years when I've just gotten into the habit. And I don't want that to be my default because it's no different than saying "totally" about everything, to the point that it becomes meaningless and sounds like you don't have a vocabulary. Wish me luck, ***... no, I'm not going to say it.

James is still job-hunting. Or is about to get serious again now that the holidays are over. We're still doing fine. The longer he goes, the longer he has to work before we can afford retirement, but we're trying to take some advantage of his off time now to do things together. Mal definitely enjoys having his dad around, and will comment on his not being there when we do little jaunts like we did last weekend. 

Every night before bedtime, James goes into Mal's room for their nightly catch-up. It's a cool tradition they've instituted since Mal turned 9. I hope they keep doing it for a long time.

D is still working retail, and is making plans to move out of Texas.

We'd like to, as well, eventually... but there are a couple of things keeping us here for the moment. Namely, my parents. And the fact that Mal is heading into adolescence with a great core of friends from school and his homeschool group. This middle school age is a time when it's very difficult to connect with other kids (reference point: D when we moved to Austin at about this same age), and he'd miss everyone if we took off.

Here's our December album, if you're interested.

Mal's ready to film "Mal Wars 4," so I have to go be a cameraperson.

The Second Most Consistent Male Presence in My Life

There is a slightly older gentleman who came into my life when I was 12 years old, and who has had, outside of my father, the most meaningful impacts on my life. I will never forget when I first realized that we were going to be something special...

When my sister and I were in elementary school, we had to go over to someone's house after school for the 45 minutes to an hour before my mom got home from the school where she taught. In 6th grade, that house belonged to our caddy-corner neighbor, Eugene Kersh.

It was toward the end of the school year, in early 1984, that we were eating popcorn and throwing it to Eugene's doberman (who would snatch it out of the air) when Eugene put on the 45 (RMP record, for you youngsters) for "Weird Al" Yankovic's "Eat It." Of course, I had heard that song on the radio. It was pretty funny, and a dead-on spoof of Michael Jackson's iconic "Beat It." When that was finished, he turned the record over to the B side and... "We all used to call him 'Jimmy the Geek.' He was a dumb-looking, scrawny little four-eyed freak. He never used to hang around with the guys; he'd just sit in the corner attracting the flies..." The catchy little tune went on to talk about Jimmy's many social foibles but how he had one redeeming quality: He could dance. By the end of the song, he's living the dream with his own TV show and tons of attention. Something about this original song with its tight lyrics and silly mental picture caught me. I wanted to hear more of it.

It took a while for me to save up some money to get a tape player (or maybe I got one for Christmas), but by the next year, I had my very on boom box. And the first tape I remember buying to play on it was "Weird Al in 3-D," which had both of those songs on it, as well as a send-up of the Rocky theme "Eye of the Tiger," some other parodies that got radio play (mostly on Dr. Demento's Sunday night show), a couple more great originals, and the first of his smash-up polkas I ever heard: Polkas on 45. 

I distinctly remember thinking that the combinations of pop songs (not all au courant, but recent enough that I knew of most of them) was extremely entertaining. I played the song for my mom, who suggested that I play the song for my aunt Norma, who might find it more amusing than she did.

After that, I bought every new Weird Al-bum that came out. I would often pop a tape into my Walkman and go to bed listening to the songs. "Slime Creatures from Outer Space" was one of my favorites. Thinking about listening to it in the cool dark of a winter night gives me extreme nostalgia in a way that little else does (maybe watching "Scarecrow and Mrs. King").

You've probably noticed this about me, but in case I need to state the obvious: I don't think about the world the same way a lot of people do. I find myself often wondering, "Sorry, am *I* the crazy one here?" And we probably all know the answer to that question. But something about bopping along to "Everything You Know is Wrong" helped me feel more centered, and more like I wasn't the only one who was, to be super corny and on-the-nose about it, weird.

Tonight, I was lucky enough to score a free pass to go see "Weird," a movie that is allegedly about the life of Alfred Yankovic (although it isn't; not the real version, anyway) that I suspect was borne out of this joke trailer from Funny or Die almost 10 years ago.

I haven't been able to make it to his past couple of concerts... the doors open so late, and there's usually an opener.. and, yeah, since I have a little who doesn't sleep a lot, I'm a giant wimp about it.

The first Weird Al show I attended was in Las Vegas at the Hard Rock Hotel and Casino in 1996. I remember waiting in line at the box office to get tickets the day they went on sale (this was before internet ticket sales!) and assuming that everyone else in line was doing the same thing. Then the guy in front of me asked, "Who are you going to see?" I told him and he looked surprised. "Are you kidding?" he asked. "No! He's awesome. I'm so excited!" The guy just shook his head and turned around. Whatever.

I saw another show in Las Vegas at the now-demolished Aladdin Hotel and Casino in 1998 or 1999. Then when I lived in North Texas, I saw him in Austin at the FunFunFun Fest in 2010. A year or so later, a couple of friends and I went to see him in Dallas at the Nokia Theater. Then in October 2013, James, D, and I went to Tulsa for the 25th anniversary of UHF. They had a day tour of filming sites, and then a concert in the evening. That was a lot of fun.

Pretty soon, we'll be at 40 years of fandom, and so far, this is one dude who hasn't let me down. So I'm looking forward to rubbing elbows with fellow freaks this evening. 

The last year, and the new normal

I realized, looking through posts the other day, that I've basically been depressed for a long time. My posts about ennui and whether or not I should have had kids... all of it has been pretty maudlin and hopeless, because that's how I felt.

There is a long story here that I'm going to skip over, but after a year of having near-breakdowns every month from a very sweet puppy who just did not fit in with our household (cats, kids, sensory stuff, love of quiet and peace, etc.), having people I interact with in public remark, "That's too much dog for me!" and "The only people I know who are as dedicated to their dogs as you are don't have human children," etc. I snapped when the dog tried to catch one of our cats outside (inside they're different; outside is a wild card). After seeing how devastated James was, I agreed to keep trying... but then after D returned from a couple of weeks away, the dog decided he needed to be awake all night to keep D company, and I had a stressful night after a stressful day, and the only way I could keep from going crazy was the idea that the dog had an awesome household that wanted him.

The ferocity with which my husband and his family rallied... around the dog has stunned me. I feel like I'm living on a different planet. I feel like I've been talked about behind my back, and that they had this plan for when I failed, which they knew I would, but that no one ever talked seriously to ME about it, so I did what I needed to do to stay out of a mental hospital and continue to take care of all of the domestic duties around our home. 

James is driving to his brother's house with the dog, where the dog will stay indefinitely. James feels good enough about this. I am skeptical, but James was literally ready to file for divorce. We hurt a very kind, loving family, who got caught up in the blast zone and that's almost as hard for me to stomach as the idea that somehow, my husband values a pet more than he values me and the wholistic health of our family. Of course, this is my take on it and I know that he has a different one.

We are committed to staying married because we love each other and want to keep our family intact. But internally, I feel as rocked as I did when my ex-husband texted a lady he didn't know, who was dating a friend of mine, and told her (while she was on a cruise vacation with her family) that I was having an affair with her boyfriend (which I was not). The fallout on that was terrible, but I was already half way out the door because of other problems we had. James and I are starting out on much stronger footing. But I'm still just not sure what the heck is going on, and why it was taken for granted that I shoulder so much constant stress but when I moved to right it, suddenly it's like I'm mentally frail or evil and deceptive or something.

Sometimes I wonder how people maneuver in the world, knowing the wake of destruction they leave behind them. Maybe other people don't do that, but I know so many people who have and who do. I guess we can only move forward and try not to mess up and hurt people in the future.

This morning, I was wishing that James and I could have "Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind"ed Luke, so he'd be happy where he was, and we'd never be the wiser. But, no. We remember, and somehow we still have to try to live "normal" lives. It feels impossible.

Unlearning Bigotry

This morning, I was listening to an interview on NPR. It was their morning news program, and they were talking with a (possibly retired) brigadier general about the invasion of Ukraine by Russian forces. To the first question, the general began responding and had a prominent speech impediment. It wasn't a stutter per se, but it was a pretty overt frequent verbal pause "uh, um, um, uhhh..." to get from one part of a sentence to where he was going. For a fraction of a moment, I tensed up; then I reminded myself to listen to what he was actually saying, and for the rest of the interview, I heard HIM and his message and was able to completely filter out the tic.

My initial catch was an ablist left-over from growing up both with an educator (grammar is important) and a broadcaster (professional presentation is important, even better if it can be flawless; and nothing is a cardinal sin like dead air). 20 years ago, I might have entertained the thought, "Why would they pick this guy to put on the radio answering questions?" because of how I had to adjust my ear to truly listen to him. The answer is, of course, that he's brilliant at what he does and is an extremely accomplished military leader. That is THE important factor in the equation.

In truth, I adore that everyone on the radio isn't expected to sound like Dan Rather or Walter Cronkite anymore (my dad does, though). That expectation is elitist, sexist, racist, nationalist, and a whole host of other "ist"s. That humans can report news or interview notable people competently while still retaining their own natural speech is refreshing.

But when you have grown up with a certain expectation, it takes some self-reflection and discipline to unlearn and stop mentally trying to enforce those arbitrary rules.

Real Talk About Parenting

Maybe I should never have had kids.

I have thought this over the years, but recently especially because as of last month, both of my children have expressed to me that they doubt that I love them. I know, kids can be dramatic. I know. But I also know that the world is chaotic, and the one thing that a child should have as an absolute is that their parents love them.

I was a wreck when both of my kids were newborns. I chalk this up to being a control freak. Neither of them was the "sleep right through the night" happy-go-lucky infant that some people seem to have. D was hard, but then I had Mal and realized that D was actually easy. Both of my kids' dads got low-key (and maybe high-key) frustrated (or angry) with me about my emotional deficiencies when our kids were fresh.

Ken's breaking point was when he walked into the living room when D was a few weeks old and saw me just sobbing as the baby's body jolted with hiccups. His helpful advice: "You have to pull yourself together."

With James, it was that one day, when Malcolm was very tiny, James was at work (for reference: Mal was born on a Thursday afternoon, and James's bosses contacted him Friday and said, "No rush, but just so we can know what to expect: When do you plan to come back to work?" He went back on Monday.) and Mal just would not stop crying, as per usual. I was sleep-deprived and near the end of my rope. There was nothing to do, and nothing makes me feel crazier when there's nothing to do. I was scared of myself. Not scared that I'd just run away or even hurt the baby or anything. Just overwhelmed by the weight of the responsibility that it felt I was expected to bear on my own. 

I called James in tears and said, "He won't stop crying, and I don't know what to do. I need you to come home." By the time James got there, maybe 25 minutes later, Mal and I were on the porch and he'd calmed down. James sat with us a while, then went back to work.

Later, he admitted that this was the one time in our whole relationship that he'd been frustrated with me. He thought that the baby was hurt or that something was out-of-the-ordinary wrong, when it was just the normal stuff, but waves upon waves of it. Apparently, there was a meeting at work that had to be rescheduled because of my neediness. I was honestly shocked there weren't other times he'd been mad. I'd been a selfish jerk quite often and wouldn't have resented that. This baffled me. I needed... something.

Everyone needs something.

And something no-one tells you when you try to blend a family, especially if only one of you has kids, is that it feels like you're the single one who has to make sure that everyone's needs are met. It's your responsibility to make sure that no one feels inconvenienced or hurt by the decisions you made, because if they do, then it means that it's your fault and that you brought this on them.

So if you're a perfectionist like me, you try to manage. You try to manage resources and environment and activities. You try to anticipate needs and meet them in advance so no one feels left out or overlooked.

Then when you make a decision for your own life or even for the family unit as a whole, if one person doesn't agree with it, it feels even more fraught than if you'd started off all on the same page for the kids' whole lives. 

When I was married to Ken, I exercised my empathy until it was flawless. It was codependent and unhealthy, but I tried to operate in ways I knew wouldn't stir the pot. I assumed that when I got out of that relationship, things would get easier.

I was right, in terms of having an unconditionally loving partner. But what I didn't realize is that I took my empathy with me, and when D started having issues with the trajectory our lives were taking (unfortunate side effect of being a kid is that you get dragged wherever your parents' choices take you), I would start to pour all of that energy into maintaining normalcy as much as possible for my kid.

Once, when D was in therapy when I was expecting Mal, I met with D's therapist to discuss some things, and the therapist told me, "You're addressing this practically, but you're not addressing D's feelings about it." And recently, D has told me the same thing: I meet their physical needs, but not the emotional ones.

But, damn it, I don't know what else to do. I have two kids who have various sensory/sensitivity things that James and I both deal with, but I'm the day-to-day person who tries to manage things like sounds, fears, hygiene, food preferences, appointments, pet interactions... and maybe I'm just the kind of person who doesn't have a lot of emotional energy left over after all of that.

So maybe I shouldn't have had kids.

It doesn't seem to be something I can handle.

My kids deserve better than that, and I'm tired.

So... where do we go from here?

Hormones are stupid (mine, anyway)

There is a lot going on right now.

The surveyor who is helping us repeat our lots for the house we're building found some discrepancy in the property line between us and our next door neighbor. The neighbor believe that the boundary is our fence when he bought his house, but he's wanting to figure out how much land he might be standing to "give away" if he signs off on our agreement that the fence IS the boundary. We have no idea how much it is going to cost or how long it is going to take to fix this.

D went off on me today, which hasn't happened in a while but is also not an irregular occurrence. Many hurtful things were said (which I have no doubt were sincere on their part; I mostly stayed quiet).

We've had a number of sort of surprise expenses lately, just as we were already having to pull money out of savings to meet our mostly-normal expenses. I'm shocked at how it can still be challenging to squirrel any money away when your household income is above the national median income. And we do not have a lavish lifestyle. We are comfortable; we're fortunate. But it is really close every payday, and has been for almost a year.

If you ask me how I feel, though, the truth is that I feel upbeat and pretty positive. That's kind of my default.

Four weeks ago, though? After I put everything on the cabinet into the sink so I could use it to stage the clean dishes from the dishwasher and James said, "I was using that fork and spoon," I burst into hysterical tears. For the second time in two days. And the first time was an equally stupid trigger."

I think I'm in pre-menopause. As we speak, my current cycle is 39 days (which I only know thanks to Apple Health), and I've had a 60-day cycle in the past year. I'm kind of scared, though, because when that 60-day one ended, the next cycle hit with a vengeance of pain, sensitivity, nausea, and chills. 

And the hormones.

There are maybe 3 days per cycle where I'm emotionally out of control. I spent one weekend listening to the Encanto soundtrack and weeping uncontrollably. I get overwhelmed by my responsibilities, and I resent the people around me for not making my life easier. Then I'm back to "normal" again.

I really hate how unpredictable it is. I feel badly for my family, even though I try to warn James, at least, when I can feel the cloud coming on.

I'm hesitant to take "drugs" for it, because most mood-altering meds have to build up in your system... and I'm only off-balance a few days per month, if that. 

So, I get it. You need hormones to metabolize food and have babies and sleep and stuff. But I'm wondering if they're worth it right now.

Not that I'm complaining about being in a sort of serene place right now. Just good grief. The lack of control. Yeesh.

This lady is closing in on 50, baby!

"I think I'm going to start taking pictures of my clean folded laundry"

"It might seem crazy, wearing stripes and plaid. I Instagram every meal I've had." - Al Yankovic, "Tacky"

A friend of mine moved recently, and we've been keeping up via email and the occasional text. She'd offered me a one-off job, and when I responded that I really didn't have the time or energy to do it, I was kind of in a funk. Those have been happening on and off for the past year or more, and I'm thinking it might have to do with peri-menopause and hormones. Anyway, I sent her a link to our December pictures because we really did have some good times that month (we have good times every month, actually, of course).

When she responded, she said that she really enjoyed the pictures. "I especially loved seeing your food photos. They are proof that you are accomplishing things every day! I should do the same. Maybe I’ll also take photos of piles of folded laundry!"

My friend is literally the most encouraging person I know. After I'm around her, I always feel so lifted up and affirmed. So her sentiment was sweet, but I also don't think she (or maybe anyone else) understands why I take pictures of food. Maybe it IS because I'm "Tacky," although I don't IG my meals (probably only because Luke is the account-holder-of-record).

But long before social media was a thing, I've taken pictures of food. It started with when I'd eat at really nice restaurants, which wasn't often. Food is plated with care, and it's like a work of art. It's also ephemeral. So I like to capture the beauty of it before it's gone.

James spent hours working on his first bookshelf. He took pictures of each step to record the progress, he learned a lot, and the finished shelf is beautiful. We still have it. We will have it for years. Every time I make a meal, I spend time on it. I learn things when I cook. I produce something that is for my benefit, and often for the benefit of the entire family (except that ingrate, Mal, who only eats my desserts and never my actual meals). 

For me, I don't really take pictures of the food to remind myself that I accomplished a meal, though I suppose it will be a good reminder if I ever need one. It's because I delight in the aesthetics of a pretty, delicious plate (or bowl; or tumbler). I enjoy a tasty, fulfilling meal. Taking a picture of it means that once it's gone, I can still see the picture and remember that great serving of food.

I also take pictures of doughnuts, cakes, ice cream, pretty drinks, cool and weird candy I've never seen before. I mean, I take pictures of everything, actually. My family, nature, public art, weird stuff... This is primarily how I remember things. Every day, Google reminds me of thing that happened on this day last year, the year before, the year before that... And it's fun to see "Oh, yeah, we've been doing the vegetarian eMeals for almost a whole decade!" and "I'd forgotten that I made that cake for Valentine's last year!" and "Thank god Mal isn't a baby anymore!" 

I don't have as much visceral pleasure eating food as I used to, back when I was restricting. Back then, I would practically moan through a good meal or dessert. Now, I still appreciate it, but when you eat what you want, it all kind of stabilizes. Kind of like when you're generally happy, your highs aren't quite as high as they used to be, because you don't have super lows to bounce back from.

Anyway, here are some pictures of meals we've had in the past few weeks. Call me wacky, but I don't think I'd feel as happy about pictures of my balled-up socks.

Obviously, I didn't make these. Aren't they cute, though? Super tasty.

A veggie pancake I saw on TikTok.

Arepas I prepared after we watched "Encanto" a time or two.

Happy weekend and happy eating!

Ennui

In the past year or so, I've had several short bouts with what I think is depression. It comes and goes. (Memo to me: check out Delta-8 gummies.)

Mal has been SUPER into swinging lately. That comes and goes, too... like in his life. It does seem like this time of the year, when it's mostly nice a lot of the day, he wants to spend a lot of time on the swing set. Problem is, he does not know how to swing himself. So there is much asking and begging and cajoling of grown-ups for assistance. Since James works most days, that typically falls to me. One day last week, he was asking me to keep pushing him (even though I already had twice, including the time we were finishing up because I needed to go inside and start on dinner), and I said something that made him cry. It almost made me cry, too, actually. 

I said, "Mal, I love you, and I love to help you do what you want to do. But sometimes I have other things I HAVE to get done. I also have things that I myself want to do, and you know when I get to do them? Never. I don't have any time to do what I want." Now, this was a little exaggeration, and a little mean, though unintentionally. Fact is, I had him because I WANTED a kid, and I wanted to take care of him. Same with the dog. Same with being the designated "homemaker." But in terms of just deciding to do a thing that makes me happy, and then doing that... my life doesn't really allow for much more of that than maybe eating a really good cookie, or watching a television show while I do something else, too.

In thinking about that, I realized that I don't even know what I like to do, or what I'd want to do with free time. Again, I can spend time on my phone throughout the day while I'm sitting with the dog so he'll calm down a bit. I can find pockets of time that randomly show up to do some volunteer work on the computer. But a pottery class? No way. In-person book club? Nope. Even a night out at the movies with a friend? It's just not feasible given how our lives are structured.

Besides, I don't know that, if I had free time, I'd want to do any of those things.

Several people have asked me lately, "What do you like to do in your spare time?" or "What are your hobbies?" And I genuinely don't know. I used to like to write. Now, ehh. I used to like to eat in restaurants. We really haven't done much of that since Mal was born, because he's not a huge "sit in one place for an hour" kind of person. Also, now that I'm out of diet culture, food is not the end-all/be-all it used to be.

All of this might be because it's possible I've entered into perimenopause. 

For the first time since I had Mal, last month, my period was late. Like 2-3 weeks late. I was hoping that I'd just never have another one, but, alas, that is not what happened. When it arrived, it made up for the time it lost, for sure. So maybe also it was heavy on the hormones.

I'm feeling much more balanced this week.

Oh, and we have some cool news coming soon. Maybe even today? Just seemed like it should go in a separate post from this downer. :) So stay tuned!

Jetsetting

I've never been to Europe, but I'd love to visit. It looks beautiful, and old, and so compact compared to Texas. I've never been to Peru, but the idea of Macchu Picchu has intoxicated me since I was a teenager and had a poster in the living room of my first apartment (is it "mine" if my parents paid for it?).

I've been to Disney World multiple times, and flying is definitely the way to go. Actually, the first time we flew (which was the third time we visited), it almost felt "wrong" because the journey getting there the first two times was so much a part of the experience. But spending more days in the park and fewer on the road, after that first time flying, I was hooked.

I spent all week in Hawaii in a state of rapture: the flowers! The ocean! The food! The people! It was a week like none other before or since.

And cruising has taken me to places I didn't even know I wanted to go, but will never ever forget. The village of Chacchoben is one of those little corners of beauty that I didn't realize existed. The island of Roatan is another.

Covid scrapped our plan to fly to California, which we promised Mal would be the last time we'd get on a plane for a while. He's pretty anxious about air travel. I was bummed about not getting to visit Disneyland for the first time, and sad that I wouldn't get to see the Pacific Ocean any time soon... but since then, we've taken some pretty cool "consolation" trips.

Last October, we drove around Hill Country and saw some very cool sites, ate some really good food, and had laid-back family time. It was great.

In November, we went to Port Aransas, which is no CA or HI, but has its own charms. My parents and my sister's family spent Thanksgiving there.

In July, we visited Dallas for a few days (a drive we have well worn over the past decade), and in August, we went to Houston extremely briefly.

In the end, I think James and I have basically agreed that air travel is just a thing of the past for us. In addition to Mal's fears, and even more importantly, we will stop flying for the same reason we got solar panels: The cost to earth is too great.

Sadly, I looked up comparative carbon emissions and saw that cruising is significantly more polluting than flying, per passenger mile. Sigh.

But once I get over the disappointment of thinking I'll never experience a Belgian Christmas, I remember other things: There are wonders everywhere. Staying close to home not only saves wear-and-tear on the planet, it also saves money. Additionally, places like Hueco Tanks park in West Texas only allows about 70 visitors per day, due to the effect of an influx of people has on the surroundings. I'm starting to realize that when we go to "exotic" places like Roatan, and the island has to change to keep up with the expectations of well-heeled tourists, it's the same effect. And it's ironic because now Roatan depends almost entirely on tourism. Here's a very well-done article on all of that.

So, we drive. And probably not too far. At least until we get an electric car and can figure out the charging situation.

What I'd like to see go away is the classist, "Oh, you simply MUST travel. It broadens the mind in ways you just can't find doing anything else." I call BS because I know a lot of people who have traveled extensively and are as small-minded and pompous as anyone else might be. I remember one night, chatting with an older couple at dinner on a -- gasp -- cruise after the magical day at Chacchoben from Costa Maya. While I reeled over the intense beauty and wonder I'd experienced, the woman said to me, "You can understand why they all want to come to America" as she shuddered a little. It was like we'd been on different planets.

Traveling doesn't mean you're worldly. It only means you have the time and means to travel. And good for you. I love traveling! But it's not morally superior to being a person who never leaves their hometown. Can we strike that down, please?

Basically, we want to be better stewards of our planet. That might involve a lot of us deciding to leave most of it well enough alone, and stick to our neighboring destinations. We're ready for that. It's probably beyond time.

Closing in on puppy homecoming

 Little Luke and his littermates are 6 weeks old! They've been merged with a litter that is one week younger, so there are 15 puppies running around like crazy together.

And also sleeping a lot.

As I've read dog-training books, listened to dog-training podcasts, and watched dog-training videos online over the past 4 months or so, it has made me judge my past self very harshly, as I've dealt disastrously with previous dogs. I like dogs, but each one I've gotten, I've been grossly unprepared. Even with Kaley, when I researched greyhounds extensively, I didn't eve really consider proper training; instead, we just got lucky that she was a "good" dog, who had been taught general human-pleasing manners in her brief stint as a racing greyhound.

The first dog "I" ever owned was a baby sheltie pup. I was living with a man who selected the dog, but the first time I saw her, I was hooked. She was a sweetie. However, I just thought you do the same thing I'd done with cats: get them, they live with you, everyone is happy. We made the huge mistake of letting the dog roam freely in the house, even though both of us worked from 5 AM until 10 AM or 1 PM. Usually, the guy got home before I did, but he said that cleaning up the poop would have made him sick. In fact, even seeing it grossed him out, so he helpfully put paper towels over the piles for me to clean when I got home. (Yes, I realize this was a red flag regarding the suitability of said roommate, but that would be a whole other blog post.) We should have crated that dog.

Furthermore, because I had no knowledge of typical puppy behavior, I just did not understand what was wrong with that dog, who wouldn't leave me alone when I tried to work out. I'd get on the floor to do sit-ups or push-ups, and she would jump onto my head, nip at my hair and hands, etc. If you're saying, "Duh" right now, yeah, so is present-day me. I had no idea how to stop her, because my constant, "Okay, stop" and moving her didn't work. I know now that interacting with her was reinforcing her behavior. And, again, this would have been an appropriate time to crate a dog. After having played/trained with her.

When I moved out, I left the dog because I was moving back with my parents, and knew it was pushing it for them to take my cat.

The next dog I got was Kaley, and she was a dreamboat. I can see now that she had some separation anxiety with me, specifically. She didn't do anything destructive, but she'd FREAK OUT when I got home. We always thought it was funny, and I actually encouraged her to run around and jump up and down because it was so stinking cute. I didn't realize I was accidentally playing into her fear by reinforcing that she was right to party when I got home because it was such a relief. Sigh.

In Las Vegas, we adopted a Husky to be a companion for Kaley when it looked like I was going to be gone a lot for a new job I was considering. I'd take that dog running with me (running was part of the job, or else I never would have done it), and he loved it. He had a lot of energy, but a good run a day would make him manageable. Still, beyond that, I don't think I ever really thought about the different needs a Husky has than a greyhound. He was also boisterous in a way Kaley wasn't, and my ex-husband, who loved Kaley even more than I did, probably, and was very protective of her, felt the Husky was "mean" to her. I saw it as his trying to engage Kale in a way she wasn't used to, and felt like they'd eventually have found a middle ground in which to play. But we ended up rehoming the Husky because of it.

In Sherman, we stupidly tried to adopt a deaf terrier. It was so SO playful, and had really no training before at all. I certainly didn't know how to train a dog, period, much less one who couldn't respond to sound cues. Looking back, I should have established early on a foot stomp to mean "look at me." I could have worked on that several times a day for a week and the dog probably would have understood it. Most dogs respond just as well to hand signals as vocal commands, so it would have been simple enough to move forward with signs, once the dog knew to check in with me in any situation. And, again, we didn't utilize a crate. I don't know why that never occurred to me.

The dog was so small and so full of energy that by the second day we had it, D (who was maybe 3 at the time) was scratched up from the dog giving chase down the hall and jumping up to try to get D to play. We tried telling D to be "boring" when the dog wanted to play, but it's hard to keep a 3-year-old from running away when they want out of a situation. After a week and many bruises and scrapes on D, and D having to keep the bedroom door closed so the dog wouldn't chew all of the Polly Pockets, we returned the pup to where we had adopted her. I'm hugely embarrassed about this one, because it was a small organization run out of someone's home, and I was so out of my mind with stress that I returned the dog on Easter Day.

It was all my fault. I was unprepared and did not think to try to get assistance from a trainer. I felt like it was obvious that the dog wouldn't fit in with our family. Baby gates never occurred to me. Using treats to train wasn't something that was on my radar at all. I just kept treating these dogs like cats. And it was irresponsible.

The last dog we tried to adopt was Shelby, the super-sweet Catahoula leopard dog. She was about 3 years old, and super easy-going. She was huge but not interested in bugging the cats. Aish ended up being the most comfortable with her. We only had 2 problems with her: 1) she barked like crazy every time anyone walked past our house (and since our house is a main arterial to the lake, that happens 10 times a day, minimum); and 2) she made snoring noises every minute of every day. The second issue is what conflicted with D's misophonia, and is likely not something we could have fixed. But the barking. Oh my gosh, I was so bad at it. I just let her outside every time she started going nuts. I'd try to say, "Shelby. Thank you!" and hope she'd get the message that I had heard her alarm and that was enough. But I never showed her what I wanted to do instead. I never incentivized her stopping the barking after that initial alert. I guess that until recently, maybe I thought training was something that pros did, except for things like "sit" and "stay," and even then, you just had to hope for the best and if you had a good/smart dog, they might do it if you were lucky.

As for Shelby, a neighborhood family with three little girls took Shelby, and they LOVE her. I'm so happy about that.

But I was incredibly irresponsible for so many years. I hope to do much better by Luke. I'm not going to lie that the thought that he might whine/bark when we leave him in the crate alone if we have to go somewhere stresses me out a little. As long as D is here, we have to manage noise so carefully to keep D from hating the source of the noise (I think D likes Mal better now than as a baby, because even though he's boisterous today, it's not constant crying). But I'm very hopeful that I have a lot more of a knowledge base to pull from, and support from being on the same page with James on all of this.

A Random Encounter a Decade Later

You didn't even recognize me. I mean, it's been exactly ten years, but we were kind of involved.

You once sat across a table from me and asked me, "What if God is just about to do a miracle, and you give up now?" You invested a lot of your time and effort in keeping me from leaving an unhealthy marriage because it was what god wanted me to do, and it was your job to hold me to this personal holiness. The church that you lead called men with whom they saw me talking and asked if I were involved in a sexual relationship with them. You pulled me off of my ministry of writing and film production "not as a punishment, but so you can focus on your marriage." As if that wasn't all I had done for the better part of the previous decade.

And then you just went on with your life and I slipped from your memory altogether. How nice for you.

Believe me, I know that you had good intentions. I worked with you for more than six years, and I saw your heart for people, and for unity. I know how much you worked, and how you put your whole heart into everything. I admired how you reached across denominations and cultures and wanted to gather everyone together. You even stood up for me the first time you met with my ex-husband and me. After I'd told my side of the story, you asked, "What is wrong with you, man? Don't you have any balls?"

But then you expected me to stay the course, as this was the first you'd heard of it, completely disregarding the fact that both I and a whole other church had been trying to fix things for years. I had changed so much, and given up so much of my truest self, trying to placate a person who demanded more than it was possible for me to give. It was never enough. I was always too much or too loud or too involved with my larger family or too fat or too out of control.

"I just wish you guys had come to [the church] earlier. Now we're at this precipice, and we could have helped."

I'm not sure what else I could have done. Literally everyone else knew. My ministry team, especially your staff member with whom I worked the closest, knew about the strain in my marriage. My writing partner once commiserated with me saying, "When they know you won't leave, it's like permission for them to treat you like shit." She's a better person than I am, I suppose, because... I left. I did not deserve to be treated like shit.

Exactly one year before, I had written an Easter segment for "The Bridge" about a marriage that was falling apart. My ex-husband, who was on the camera team that week, told his ministry team that the script was taken directly from our marriage.

I hadn't meant for it to be a cry for help, but maybe it was? Or maybe it was wish fulfillment? At the end of the service, it became clear that the husband had drastically changed tack and the couple ended up having a long, loving marriage. One of the choir members cried as he prayed before service, saying, "Let people hear this and be encouraged; there are a lot of people whose marriages are on life support, and they need to know that there's hope."

I mean, four months or so after that, there was a HUGE incident that several people witnessed, and it bothered one of them enough to reach out to church leadership. You met with us then, and... what? Like just assumed that because we went quiet again that this incident wasn't important? 

There was one other time, toward the end, that I saw a spark of compassion from you. After many meeting with elders, you were in one and perked up when I mentioned a mental disorder. I know what you've been through with your daughter. I know you understand that there are things you can't love someone enough to fix. You said, "You've never mentioned that before." And then you were never in later meetings. I assumed it was because you were at risk of being "too empathetic," which was a charge lain on one more friend who asked to sit in an elder's meeting with me as an advocate, and who broke down crying as a bunch of men came down on me and made me sign an agreement not to share any of what I was going through on social media.

Sir, there were people from your church who followed me on social media and read my blog just to make sure that I didn't speak a word of anything. When other church members called you because they knew me and saw what was happening, I was accused of being "divisive." 

I was in an emotionally abusive relationship, and you all cared more about saving my marriage than saving me. I was pushed out of the church home I'd had for six years, after working so closely with everyone who was making that decision.

Maybe you guys thought that I was being a jerk. I probably was. Another former preacher, Kevin Odor, used to say, "Hurt people hurt people." I'm sorry about my part in those things. Maybe, as one friend expressed concern, you were trying to make an example of me, to let everyone else know that marriage was so important, you couldn't tolerate its dissolution. I know you genuinely believe that you were trying to keep me on the straight and narrow.

Writing about these times brings everything back to the fore for me. And you clearly could not place me, even when I pulled my mask down, and said I'd been in Sherman when you were there.

You said, "Oh, things have changed since then..." then you told me about the church you'd pastored after the one I attended, and how now you're here, in my back yard, on staff with your son's congregation. I introduced you to my husband, and my child. I said, "He looks a lot like D at this age." Of course, you didn't know D as "D." And you probably wouldn't remember them, either.

"My wife's around here somewhere," you told me. I said I'd keep an eye out for her. And I did. When I saw her, I made sure my mask was up, and I averted my eyes. I could be polite and chatty with you, but not her. She said two of the worst things anyone said to me during my divorce, and I don't believe that the second one is forgivable, frankly.

The first thing: "Well, he's not hitting you, and he's not cheating, so you're kind of stuck." No, I was not. The law doesn't care why I wanted out; I was free to go. And if there is a god who expects women to tolerate every single thing that is not hitting or cheating, then that is not a god I am interested in following. I didn't have the guts to say it then, but I do now. I do not believe that. I absolutely do not.

The second, worst thing she said, though, after telling some anecdotes, was, "And, you know, most people are pretty miserable, anyway, so..."

What kind of "Christian" advice is this? Your marriage sucks? Well, guess what? NO ONE IS HAPPY so just give up dreaming! I mean, is Jesus supposed to make up for this? "Sure, your life sucks but one day, you'll die and be in heaven as long as you stay in these parameters!"

I'm not talking to her.

Anyway, my mood tanked for much of the event, because it was quite a surprise to see someone I thought was way back in the rear-view mirror. But, I have to tell you, as hard a time as I had, and as much as I struggled with the loss of my church family and friends, I probably should have thanked you.

"Oh, do you go to church here?" you asked about the congregation that hosted the event. I told you no, that I go to church in Leander.

What I didn't tell you was that I would never go to that church, and that was before I knew your son pastored it or that you worked there.

The reason is largely because of what I learned in my experience with your old church. My old church.

As I mentioned, I have no doubt that you and most of the men involved in pushing back on my divorce meant well. As you saw it, God demanded that divorce not happen, and therefore divorce is sin, and it was your responsibility to prevent my sinning if it were within your power.

The same thing happened, though less dramatically, with the church I attended here, when I was engaged to James, an "unbeliever," and the leadership stepped in to discourage me from marrying him. When I said I was going to go on with it, the preacher told me, "If you can't submit yourself to leadership in this way, then I don't really know what we have for you." I told him that wasn't the first time I'd been asked to leave a church, and that it's very demoralizing. We're still on okay terms. But what the hell, man?

Writing this, I think one might, perhaps rightfully, be tempted to say, "They were all right, and you're just a rebellious freak." I mean, maybe I am.

But I happen to believe that rebellious freaks also deserve to feel loved and accepted by their creator (if there is one, and in the context of the church, there is).

I have absolute confidence that the "church discipline" I received was done in genuine love.

And IT SUCKED. It felt awful. It felt invalidating, and humiliating, and made me feel like a problem child. Even knowing I was loved.

If this hadn't happened to me, I might not have thought about that in the context of the LGBTQ+ community. I'm embarrassed to admit that, but it's true. I've gone to church with gay people who were welcomed to the congregation but not allowed to serve in positions of leadership. I've also gone to churches where a gay member would have to keep the gay part on the down-low.

Because of my personal experience, I know that being loved and also seen as a problem doesn't feel like love. It's very "othering." It's condescending. It denies a part of who you are as being unseemly or sinful.

I never want anyone who steps into a church to feel that rejection, and because of that, I'll never attend a church that isn't open and affirming. I might not have come to this decision if it weren't for the way you cornered me and tried to shove me into a mould that I could not inhabit anymore.

So, really, thanks. Thanks for making me a more compassionate person.

If I happen to see you at the store or local events in the future, I'll keep my distance. And I won't let it ruin my day. 

I'd love it if you and your wife could know that you were wrong, though. Sure, there are days in my life that are stressful or monotonous. However, I'm happy. It's attainable, and I hope you guys aren't settling for "pretty miserable." But if you are, it's not my problem. And I'm not yours.

The Exhaustion of an Empath

NOTE: I wrote most of this back in December and couldn't figure out what the point was, or how to end it.  When we get there, I'll explain why I'm trying it up now.

Some of the things I remember starkly about my childhood are... they're not what I would consider objectively memorable moments.

For instance, one time I remember my grandparents were visiting us when we lived in Fort Smith (which means I was younger than 12, and probably much younger). My dad was making bread, and my grandpa, who was headed through the kitchen to go outside, asked, "What's that you're making? Chocolate chip cookies?" Dad explained that he was making bread, and that was it.

But in my brain, my grandpa wanted chocolate chip cookies, and this was a grave disappointment. Obviously, I know now that homemade bread is a great deal more exciting than cookies, but as a kid... I was projecting. I felt his disappointment, and I felt terrible, and I genuinely wanted to make chocolate chip cookies so he'd be happy.

As I've matured, my tendency toward empathy has sharpened and I've gotten better at it, but I probably still misfire often enough. And more than just empathy, I've begun to realize that I often internalize what I think other people's feelings are, and they become a responsibility to me. I know that some people intentionally push off their negative feelings on someone else (the whole "shite rolls downhill" thing), but much of my life has been my empathetically picking up on someone's negative feelings, and then taking it upon myself to mitigate them.

My first husband was definitely mad at me for eating a piece of Christmas candy once after saying that I wasn't hungry, and my brain turned that into that he was mad at me for eating period, and that he thought I was too fat, and... it turned out I was right. I hounded him about it until he admitted it, then when I was devastated, he accused, "I wouldn't have SAID anything if you hadn't BUGGED me so much!" As though it were hidden. As though it were my fault for being in tune with his energy and just wanting confirmation of my suspicions.

I know now that other people's feelings are not my responsibility. Obviously, I owe it to my fellow man to live in a way that isn't harmful toward them, and when I mess up, it's my responsibility to fix it. But feeling responsible to MAKE someone's bad feelings go away is not healthy.

For instance, I homeschool. I support everyone's right to choose how their kids are schooled (with the kids' input), and know that needs are different, so validate everyone's choices. Some people who think "I could never homeschool!" might then feel bad that they feel that way and I don't. That's one of those things that I have no control over, and I have no responsibility to fix. It has taken me years to recognize my propensity to want to do this, and longer to stop.

When I was younger, I lied a lot. I assumed until recently that it was to stay out of trouble, but realize now that I think it was mostly to keep people from feeling disappointed in me, and in turn to keep me from having to bear those feelings of disappointment into perpetuity. That might sound like semantics, but it wasn't the punishment that I feared; it was the cycle of feelings. (Case in point: I lied to cops about a vehicle accident because I was less concerned about the repercussions of that than of the disappointment I knew my dad would have that I'd been in yet another likely at-fault collision.)

What's still tiring, though, is that I can feel when the energy in a room changes, and sometimes I'm the only one. It can be an asset... The other day, a few of us were at the HEB Center with our kids riding bikes and playing, and while I was speaking with one mom, I noticed another mom quietly talking to her little boy, who was whining. 

"Does he want to play hide-and-seek with them?" I asked.

"Yes, he's just shy."

I told Mal, "He's playing now, so be sure to look for him, as well." 

The other mom said, "I'm glad you picked up on that!"

I pick up on everything. EVERYTHING. And even when it's productive, like keeping a little kid from feeling left out, just being in touch with everyone's feelings all of the time can be draining.

Last night, I was playing with Mal when Rudy started trying to dig the cat chaser toy out of the closet. I got it out, and Carol became interested... until James started getting up from the dining room table and clearing his dinner dishes. Carol was standing right beside me, but she wouldn't pay attention to the toy; she was focused on James. The cats get very impatient about their breakfast and dinner soft food feeding times, but we'd already done that. Then I noticed that Aish, too, was laser focused on James.

"Are they almost out of dry food?" I called. "They're acting weird."

They were totally out of dry food, which James refilled, and all of the cats went in to get a snack.

When I was little, I could not watch the scene in "Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory" where Charlie pretends to have found a golden ticket, but really didn't. The disappointment of his grandfather was too much for me. When the movie was on, I'd go to the bathroom or run to my room when that scene approached. I didn't have the emotional bandwidth to process it.

We recently watched the film (James and I; Mal was disinterested), and that scene isn't nearly as fraught as I remembered it being. So maybe I am maturing and learning not to internalize so much. I still can't watch real-live situations where someone is pranked or humiliated or put in an uncomfortable situation. Knowing it's real, knowing that it's not just a set-up and they get the golden ticket in the end and everything turns out okay, I do not like the discomfort and awkwardness that becomes mine in witnessing it.

Since we've been home so much, I've thought about this a lot. And I've had to learn some discipline. Actually, quite recently, I sent a letter to my former neighbors in Sherman. They built their house about two years after we'd moved there, and my dog was used to roaming a bit if I accidentally left the back gate open. I knew that the man did not like my dog, and maybe dogs in general, so I'd call her home again if she'd gotten out and I could hear him shooing her. But now I realize: WHY didn't I just make darn sure the gate was closed? What if she pooped in their yard? What was I thinking? So I sent them a note apologizing for not being a more thoughtful neighbor. I had to. I felt bad, and I needed to acknowledge my mistake.

But I am tempted to reach out in this way for situations that are totally inappropriate. There is someone with whom I was friends in Sherman who genuinely deserves an apology for certain things I did, even though I know I cannot make contact because this person is also not a safe person and dredging up old events would not lead to anything productive. Again, there are some people who have hurt me and at times, I desperately want to say, "What was going on here? I genuinely don't get how this turned out." It doesn't matter; I'm happy, they're happy, and we're not in each other's lives anymore. I just think that carrying feelings into perpetuity, even though they diminish over time, is part of how my emotional life works.

There's an interesting article here about being empathetic without "absorbing" emotions. One of the things it mentioned is not being able to watch violence in movies. When I was in college, a high school friend and I had gone to the movie theater to watch "Silence of the Lambs." I had to walk out and pace the lobby during some of it, repeating to myself, "This is just a movie. It's not real. This isn't really happening." I was so disturbed by the serial killer. I couldn't stay in the room. Then later, I was watching "Casino" with a friend and had to stop it during the scene where Joe Pesci's character is getting brutalized with pool sticks and whatever. It went on SO LONG. I remember sobbing, "We get it! He's getting beat up. Next scene!" Then another time when watching a movie and there's a scene that is played for laughs where this guy is being come onto by a very beautiful older woman, and when he realizes that her husband is watching them, he asks her to stop. She doesn't, and, again, it's supposed to be this really funny scene where he's yelling at her to stop, and finally runs away. She and her husband get a lot of mileage out of it, but I just started bawling. The person I was watching with then assumed that I had been sexually assaulted, which I haven't. But I could not wrap my mind around how someone begging for someone else to stop whatever it is that they're doing is anything other than horrific.

There have also been times that I've written about in this blog when I've just blown up. And they make so much more sense in this context. One of them happened when we were on vacation at the Wizarding World of Harry Potter. My mom really wanted a picture of everyone who was there in front of Hogwarts Castle, but it seemed like every time we were in the area, a few of us had gone off on solo adventures. My first mistake was that I took my mom's unfulfilled desire and absorbed the stress of every time it didn't happen, until I couldn't handle the emotions and just yelled at her when she gave me a look of distrust after she'd said she wanted to get a picture down a street in the park that I told her wasn't open yet. I freaking lost it. That was another bad choice, and it caused us to all break up for a few hours because my yelling at her upset my niece, which upset my sister, who then yelled at me about yelling at mom... etc. And the whole thing could have been avoided if I'd understood then that I didn't have to take on someone else's emotion. No one asked me to. It's just natural for me, if I don't pay attention.

I've gotten better at this, though enforcing boundaries for myself comes off as rude, I'm afraid. At Mal's 2nd birthday party, D was very visibly stressed at first (the second half of the party was much better). This was before any anxiety diagnoses, or any real therapy, and this was just how D coped. It wasn't my favorite, but it's what was working for D at the time. My mom hadn't seen D in panic mode, though, was was upset by it. I was trying to focus on Mal's party. When Mom came up to me with tears in her eyes, as though she wanted some kind of explanation or reassurance or something, I just put my hand up and said, "Nope. That's not what we're doing right now." And I desperately don't want to be rude or dismissive of someone else's feelings... it's just that I knew I had a lot going on with party stuff, and didn't have time to process someone else's stuff. It's protective to me and to the people around me, so I don't end up overwhelmed and having a meltdown. 

However, the other day my sister said something that made sense in light of the fact that I was in the middle of thinking about this and writing the blog: I don't know much sign language at all, and can't converse at the depth I'd like to with my brother-in-law and nephew. But I can typically understand what they're saying, even if I can only respond with "Sorry" or "Same" or something like that. She mentioned taking me somewhere when she was in college, and voicing when her Deaf friends would talk in front of me.. They told her, "You don't have to interpret. She understands what I'm saying." And I usually do. I think it's probably a combination of knowing some basic signs, and then the fact that the signer is usually putting so many cues out there that it feels intuitive to me, what they're communicating. It's probably a lot like lip-reading, but backward. (If I ever need to interact with a Deaf or Hard-of-Hearing person in any official capacity, though, I will definitely hire an interpreter, because "mostly understanding" isn't full and clear communication.)

OKAY, BACK TO APRIL 1! And, no, this isn't an April Fool's joke. It just happens not to be December anymore.

Rudy needs dental surgery. He has pretty advanced periodontal disease. Apparently most cats over the age of 3 have at least some, and his is bad. He's almost 12. He might have to have some teeth extracted (one fell out, which is how this came to our attention), as well as a good cleaning of whatever remains, and some x-rays.

D expressed frustration that I don't take Rudy to the vet regularly so this might have been caught before. Honestly, I didn't realize cats needed to get their teeth cleaned. This probably sounds extremely ignorant, and that's literally what it is. However, I've realized that the reason I only take the cats to the doctor when they're sick is less that I'm a medical minimalist (which I am) and more that we all know THE CATS HATE IT. And, guess what? I internalize their anxiety, too, so I'm kind of a wreck. I've been on high-stress mode since Rudy's tooth fell out Sunday. I actually wasn't super worried because Rudy is just so go-with-the-flow and good-natured, but he freaked out in the car. The fact that they set the appointment for the surgery more than six weeks away did not bode well for my coping mechanisms, so I was fortunate to find a different practice that will be able to get him in next week. The exchange is that he has to go in for an office visit first, so they're not planning a surgery blind.

Anyway, this is what happened with Mal's teeth, too. We went in when we HAD to. Maybe we could have avoided it, but I don't think Mal ever would have let a dentist clean his teeth. Ever. I took D to the dentist every six months, because D loved it and it was easy.

I felt no anxiety taking D to get the Covid vaccine, because D wanted it and isn't bothered by needles. Last month when I took Mal to get his immunizations, it was a whole thing, and I had to hold his arms down while he freaked out. I get that that's just being a parent sometimes, but it takes a lot out of me.

(Mal's doctor told me in the past that if I'd bring him in for well checkups more often, he'd get more comfortable with going to the doctor. If getting his hair trimmed, flying in an airplane, or trying new foods are any indication, that is patently not true... he tends to get MORE panicked the more often he does or is exposed to something he doesn't want.)

This would make me feel pretty weak and silly and maybe not responsible enough to take care of children or animals except for one thing: As I've mentioned, my empathetic tendencies are inborn. But for thirteen years, I lived with someone who tapped into that and used it as a way to control me. My life was about not upsetting him, so I could maintain my balance. In that regard, it makes sense that I'd want to avoid feelings of discomfort on behalf of others in order to protect myself. 

Now that I see this about myself, I am going to work on it. I told James that as soon as Rudy's stuff is done next week and we get him healed up, I'll schedule annual check-ups for the other cats. They've both been to the doctor with issues in the past couple of years, and so if they had teeth or any other areas of concern, we would have been told. It's baby steps, but it's a start, right? 

Unambitious

Every once in a while, I jump onto LinkedIn to see if a person I no longer have access to through other social media has an account there so that I can check in with them. Today, I happened to notice that an old friend of mine had founded a new business, called Beyond Motherhood. Amy's a very neat person, and it's super cool that she's helping women figure out what they want to do with their lives. But a lot of things I have realized about myself recently have helped me know that this site isn't for me. 

For one, there's this quote: "Motherhood is holy work, but the hands-on, active phase only lasts 20-25 years for most women. If you still have half your life left when the kids leave home, doesn’t that make you think you have a purpose beyond motherhood?" When Mal is 25, I will be 67. I will not have half of my life left, unless medicine progresses ridiculously rapidly over the next couple of decades. (I know this is one reason she said "most" and not "all." Then there's the moms of special needs kids. And the ones who become grandmas raising grandkids. Etc.)

Beyond that, though... I have this pattern of basically not caring about jobs. I mean, I'm an over-achiever and if I have a job, I'll do what I need to do, and I will try to do it very well. I will probably even do more than is strictly necessary. But I've never had ambitions, or fantasies about a dream career.

Well, I wanted to be an astronaut until I realized that you had to have uncorrected 20/20 vision (at the time; this has changed) and it broke my heart. Then I wanted to be an actor until I was in college and saw what some people had to do to get jobs. Then I realized, "Oh, I don't want it *that* bad." And I'm not talking about anything super shady, just the networking and knowing who to know and interrupting someone's dinner plans to insist on an audition.

My first job, at age 16, was at a Kentucky Fried Chicken, or KFC for you young 'uns. I was very bad at being able to tell the chicken breasts from the chicken thighs, and I got so stressed working the drive-through. I could not focus on a conversation with the person in front of me while also taking an order over the headphones. And I could NOT upsell. "Would you like a hot buttered corn-on-the-cob with that?" If they wanted it, I'm sure they would have ordered it. Fortunately, I got strep and my doctor told my mom it was probably from the filthy environment there, so I got to quit after six weeks.

Next, I worked at a grocery store. I did bagging at first, then went to (I kid you not) checker's school. I learned the codes for 200 different produce items, how to count up change in case something went wrong with the register's calculations, and also that I had to call someone to help me when someone bought alcohol, because I was too young to sell it. I worked with a good friend, and that was fun. 

Then I got what I felt was an upgrade and worked at TCBY for the remainder of my high school years. I adored that job. People who are going out for frozen yogurt are rarely in a bad mood. And we got to eat as much yogurt as we wanted, for free.

When I was in college, I worked at a baby and pregnancy clothing boutique, then a day care, and finally at Sonic. I LOVED working at Sonic. I was a carhop, so I got to be outside. I learned that if you're really nice and they're having a good day, sometimes people will tip you a generous amount. Man, what a wake-up call that was, and I apologize to every carhop I had as a teen because I genuinely had no idea.

After I graduated college (with a BA in theater, so that was a lucrative choice), people seemed shocked that I didn't immediately quit Sonic. I got tired of being asked, "When are you going to get a 'real' job?" so I applied for a starter position with the local newspaper, which was owned by the media group for which my dad worked as their HR director. In my interview, my boss told me, "I'm going to be honest with you: you're getting this job because of your maiden name."

So I was working in an office... but because of the Sonic tips, I was making LESS money. I felt like I'd been duped by the idea that somehow office work was more mature or honorable than running food.

The next job I had was because we moved, and I quit the newspaper. I signed up as a substitute teacher in the then-small town of Siloam Springs. It was irregular and stressful, and after one day subbing at a junior high, I called the office and told them I'd do elementary or high school but NEVER jr. high ever again.

Then we moved to Las Vegas, and I got a job working at Sam's Club. I was at the registers first, then worked freezer/cooler for couple of years. When the company decided that I was too much trouble and wanted me out (I had a problematic coworker and kept reporting him for creating a hostile work environment with his incessant sex talk), they moved me to electronics with no training, and let me flounder answering questions about computers about which I had no specialized experience. Then they wrote me up when I wasn't "the same employee" I'd been when I was helping customers locate the frozen chicken I'd just stocked an hour beforehand.

The job I got after this was the one I had the longest: I started in a temp-to-hire position as a receptionist for Terra West Property Management. I got fully hired, served as the receptionist for a few years, took a blip of time off to work as an "expediter" for one of our tech vendors (I had to call the lead tech up every morning and make sure he was awake and out of bed to be on time for his appointments). Then I returned to Terra West as a property manager. I got my real estate license, and enjoyed the work enough... but I didn't take it nearly seriously enough for one of our biggest clients. He insisted at one point that the company fire me, which they did not. But they did bury me far away from him in a completely different department. I worked as the main internal tech person at the company for almost a year, before I had D and quit work entirely.

Kind of.

The idea was that I would stay home and D's dad would find a job to make up for our shortfall, as I was the primary bread-winner at the time. That didn't really pan out, so we got a job together working as house parents for Girls and Boys Town of Nevada. Staring a job like that with a 2-month-old was stupid. We lasted half a year.

I was mostly home for 9 years. When we moved to Texas, I signed up to do some mystery shopping. Over time, I signed with more companies and typically had at least 6 jobs a week. I loved it because D could come with me, and I could accept jobs as I willed. I often didn't do the jobs that didn't seem worth it, and I relished the jobs that included things like spending a night at Great Wolf Lodge; or having dinner at Rainforest Cafe, then doing their internal Build-a-Bear. We got to go to Ripley's Believe It or Not! and Mme. Toussaud's Wax Museum. I did a battery of mystery shops at Six Flags once. I'd pack a bunch of fast food jobs in a big old circle around north Texas, and D and I would get food and listen to the Harry Potter audiobooks.

And then something kind of unbelievable happened. I'd been writing skits and things for church for years, and from that ended up with the opportunity to write for commercials and even a television trailer for a reality show called "The Shot" that was to feature former athletes who'd almost made it, and were competing for a second chance. 

But something interesting happened during that time: 1) I didn't really enjoy the writing when I was getting paid. It wasn't as fun as, say, writing this blog. 2) When the paid gigs came, that was cool... but when they didn't I wasn't upset. I'd written some for "Travel Weekly" when I lived in Las Vegas. That was very lucrative. It was infrequent, and I just never thought, "This writing thing is great. I could totally freelance for a living."

When I got divorced, I needed to work. I didn't want D to have to go to school amidst all of the other upheaval, so first I just had friends hire me to do cleaning and organizing. That was going pretty well, and then I got the call from the insurance agency offering me a job as... a receptionist (again!), and with an empty adjoining office for my kiddo. It was perfect.

After I'd been there a while, my boss started encouraging me to get my insurance license. I couldn't legally sign people up for policies unless I had my license, even though I was doing most of the practical work up to actually starting the policy for auto insurance at the time. Eventually, I dragged my feet enough that he gave me a deadline. I studied, and I passed the test on my first try. Minimum score to pass: 70. My score: 70.

They were kind enough to retain me when I moved to Austin, which, as you might imagine, put a dent in my "reception" abilities. I did customer service, virtual filing, and some newsletter and website stuff remotely. My boss again encouraged me to try to sell here in Austin, and he'd move me to commission, and I had the potential to make a lot more money. But I was satisfied with my reliable pay and familiar work.

Once again, I just didn't have higher aspirations. I was content.

I quit that job shortly before I had Mal, and have been full-time mumming ever since.

Then over the past few months, a friend of mine who is a copyeditor has been dropping hints about throwing some work my way. Finally, she told me that she had a book she thought I could help a guy with. I thought about it and talked it over with James, and realized that I had some editing baggage left over from another situation. But when I talked about this with my friend, she took it upon herself to decide that she'd pressured me too much (she hadn't) and that she wasn't going to mention it again.

I was *so* relieved. I wanted to want to do it. I thought the extra money might be nice. I wasn't confident I could commit any more than about 2 hours per day to it, and even then I wasn't sure where I was going to find those 2 hours. 

But I am just pretty satisfied with the pace of my life, and my responsibilities, and don't have any kind of drive to add anything new.

I have another friend who was very frustrated about having been put on light duty with a fire department where she worked after she'd had a baby. She could have stayed home on leave, but she wanted to get back into the action. She told me, "I am not the kind of person who can be satisfied with having gotten a load of dishes done during the day. I need something more." She ended up moving to another fire department so she could do actual fire stuff instead of just dispatch. And I'm glad she's getting the workouts and professional socializing that are so important to her.

I don't have that. I don't have the drive, or the need, or whatever it is that makes people antsy about being home.

When (if) my kids are up and out, I'm not particularly worried about what I'll do. I won't feel "aimless." I can think of MONTHS worth of stuff I could do if my time were strictly my own. I don't feel overwhelmed by the possibilities, or the unknown, and I am not worried that I need to be "more" than I am. I'd say that maybe I'm just lazy, except I'm not. I work hard every day. I guess I'm just not entrepreneurial or ambitious. I don't care what job I have, much, as long as it's not soul-sucking. If we need money, I'll go out and do something where I can work for a day, and come home and do whatever I want. If not, I can volunteer, and to out and take pictures, and maybe live in an RV again. 

I don't think that all people are called to be parents. I am glad that some people have work that they absolutely love so much that it's a big part of who they are. I definitely want my services and food and healthcare and everything else delivered by people who can't imagine what they'd do without their jobs. I appreciate that in the folks who have it. I'm just not one of them.

Speaking of taking photographs, I wanted to share this one because I love it so much. These are a trio of young ladies at a homeschool hangout. I love how "Texan" it looks. And I love how it shows that you can do mostly nothing and have a great time doing it. 

Hopeless Case

We've lived in our house for four years now, and although our immediate surroundings are gorgeous, last week I decided that it's time to cross the scary, busy highway that divides my part of town in half, and go explore the other side of the neighborhood.

Mal went with me the first couple of times. We took streets I've only rarely even driven down, and saw a lot of neat houses, including one I've seen for sale on Redfin that has a play castle in the side yard. Mal even found this stash of "diorite" in the road (he's been playing a lot of Minecraft).

Also, yes, my son is six and he's still walking around in public wearing only underpants. I'd blame the pandemic, but that would be disingenuous. He just doesn't like to wear clothes. Anyway, on this walk, Mal walked a good 65-70% of it, which was super helpful on the inclines. Inclines are plentiful and much more pronounced on that side of the highway, as Hill Country does its thing as you get further from the lake.

After a couple of days of this, I found a pretty neat 3.4ish-mile trek that I knew I wanted to try without Malcolm the first time, since a small part of the path doesn't show up as passable on most maps. Here is the route. As you can see, it basically goes around the outside of the other side of town, at the top of a hill. I figured there would be pretty views!

(I didn't start/stop where it shows; I mapped it like this because of the blip there that isn't traversable according to maps.)

Well, I was right. It was gorgeous. Here are some of the views I had during the walk.

About an hour in, I looked at where I was on my phone's map. I hadn't plotted out my route because my phone is losing battery life, plus the route was fairly straightforward. I had thought that the whole circuit might take about an hour and 15 minutes, but could tell that I had a good hour left. I blamed it on the strong wind gusts that were blowing straight into my face as I hiked up, up, up, up. 

Also, I'd not checked the elevation and had believed that once I got to the top of the hill, I'd be up high until I started coming back down toward town. But there were plenty of dips like this one.

Down, down, down, then back up, up, up.

I passed all kinds of discouraging signs like this.

But I know that people who live around the Hollywood sign put up the same warning signs, even though the roads and trails absolutely are for public use.

So. Finally, I hit the place I was guessing was where the map indicated I couldn't get through. There were a bunch of logs piled up to keep cars from ploughing through.

The logs are at the bottom of the picture, and the road just goes away. Also, it's a steep decline down 70 feet. There was no way I was turning around, though. Here's what it looks like from the bottom.

I kept on, even though there were possible portents. 

Soon, I learned that it's impossible to distinguish an unpaved road from a wash when you're looking at Google Maps.

Finally, after two hours and some change, I got back home.

Unexpected hiking conditions notwithstanding, I was a bit humiliated that the walk took me that long.

Until I looked at the map again.

Up there is what I meant to do. This is what I actually did.

It was just under six miles. You can see the bright white road that would cut the route in half. I guess I just missed the turn. I'm going to try that shorter walk soon!

Anyway, when I was looking at the route to see the elevation changes, it varies, but overall there's a 400-foot+ gain from my house to the top of the hill. And I realized that the website I was using to look at elevations, Map My Walk, has a place to track walks. 

Earlier this year, I'd seen a neat Sesame Street virtual run for which you can sign up, and you get swag each time you reach a certain goal. Plus you get a t-shirt. But then I saw that it was $125, and decided it wasn't worth it.

But I had the idea that I could still track my progress just to see how many miles I might walk this year.

Fourth day, and I've realized that I can't. I get too obsessed with it. I'd already decided not to walk today, to give my blisters a chance to heal up a little bit. However, I decided that since the weather was nice and we are headed into some uncertain wintery times in February, I might as well enjoy it while it lasted. I just did a quick half hour.

Later, it was still so nice, I begged Mal to get out with me in his wagon. He declined. But what I recognized is that I didn't want to get out so much because I love it and I love taking Mal around, but because I wanted to log more distance. I don't want to get to that place again. So I'm just going to blithely walk and not pay attention to the miles. Because I DO love my neighborhood, and I do even love weird adventures where I end up in the middle of a nature preserve and don't see any sign of life for more than an hour. 

I can't ruin that with legalism. I'm just not doing that anymore.