Spring brings joyous change.
Walks, open windows, tennis,
Gardens and sunshine.
Sadly, my darn allergies
make me only want my bed.
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In honor of April being National Poetry Month, I will write one poem per day.
Day 1: Tercet
Day 2: Haiku
Day 3: Acrostic
Day 4: -----
Day 5: Cinquain
Day 6: Tanka
Completing projects is something I have always struggled with throughout life. I am FANTASTIC at coming up with ideas and starting new projects. However, judging by the half organized book shelves, unattached hand rails on the stairs and box of paint supplies outside my son's bedroom door, I do a really bad job of following through to completion. Therefore, going into March with a goal to complete a daily Slice of Life was a very lofty goal.
Here are some of my ups and downs during the month of March:
In order to avoid taking time off work for doctor's appointments, I try to schedule as many as possible over my breaks. Currently, I am on Spring Break, so instead of sleeping in I woke up early for a morning appointment. I have never been to this specific office, and it's about 25 miles away. I wanted to make sure I left early enough in case I took a wrong turn or traffic was bad.
Let me back up and share that I bought a new Volkswagen Atlas last summer. However, I haven't really had a chance to drive my new ride. Even in a pre-Covid world, I hardly ever drive. I live directly across the street from where I teach, so my commute involves walking. Prior to the Atlas, I drove a van for six years and when I traded it in, it only had 42,000 miles on it (thanks to drives from Ohio to Florida). We even joked that I should just buy a golf cart instead of an SUV.
While on my drive to my appointment this morning, it occurred to me how much I love driving the Atlas. I've never loved driving a car before. I've enjoyed the convenience (side note: why is convenience so hard for me to remember how to spell?) of previous vehicles, but nothing has ever stood out about the feel of driving one. This morning I could feel the wheels on the pavement as I zipped down the freeway. I really noticed the true feel of driving the Atlas when on exit ramps. It handles turns with such ease. I used to laugh when I would hear people say that about their car, but I completely understand how that statement now feels.
I arrived at my appointment with plenty of time to spare. I put on my mask and happily headed up the elevator to meet my new spine doctor.
"I'm sorry ma'am. Your appointment was rescheduled for next Tuesday at 9am. Didn't someone call you to let you know?" the receptionist hesitantly asked.
"Ummm...nope," I semi-kindly replied while being thankful the innocent receptionist couldn't see all of my facial expressions behind my mask.
While I left very disappointed that I wasn't able to get neck injections this morning, I was happy that at least I enjoy driving my car.
Slice open my thumb; wash, clean and bandage.
Anxiety, depression - why ignore?
Invisible pain causes more damage.
My brain deserves ease; I aim to do more.
Some wake up happy; I must work for joy.
Daily meditation. Purposeful love.
Medication. Therapy. Need it all.
Today, I praise all the steps I employ.
Done handling mental health with kid gloves.
Bravely able to finally stand tall.
Friday
"Are you okay if I make grilled chicken for dinner?"
"Sure," I hesitantly tell my husband.
A few hours later, we decided that we were too tired for a home cooked meal. UberEats to the rescue. I think. I honestly don't remember what we had for dinner. I just know we didn't have grilled chicken.
Saturday
"Do you just want to grab a late lunch and do late night dinner?
"But what about the grilled chicken?" I ask.
"Let's have it for dinner tomorrow."
"Sure," I excitedly tell my husband.
We settled on a mid-afternoon lunch of Chick-Fil-A and a late night pizza.
Today
"We're doing grilled chicken for dinner tonight, right?"
"Sure," my husband confirms.
We were both starving and ready for a much needed home cooked meal. My mouth was watering as the scent of the chicken wafted through the air. After about five bites each, my husband looked at me and says, "this chicken isn't very good is it?"
"Nope."
"Want me to go to Dairy Queen and get hot fudge sundaes?" he asks.
"Sure," I say suddenly not disappointed by the passed over chicken.
Today.
I put on jeans,
I took them off.
I put on different jeans,
I took those off.
Leggings again.
First time in a year,
I entered a store.
One.
Day.
At.
A.
Time.
What took so long?
Covid;
Depression;
Anxiety.
All of the above.
I think I'm back.
Like most humans and pets in the mid-west part of the United States, I am exhausted today. The howling winds kept me up all night. I had every intention of organizing my desk before I signed off for Spring Break. However, I'm too tired to find new homes for the chaos that has become my desk.
In looking around my desk, to see if there is anything I could easily rehome, I realized my desk would make me really lucky if I were ever on a game show. I remember watching a game show as a kid, and at the end the host would give away money to people with random objects in their purses. My desk is one giant cluster of random.
1. Liquid band-aid: Because I just never know when the 10 year old will slice his thumb open on a can of Spaghetti-O's while I'm trying to teach in a Google Meet.
2. Thought bubble head band: Because I can't read your thought bubble.
3. Pickle Christmas tree ornament: Because who doesn't have a random ornament from 3 months ago still laying around?
4. Tiny horses: Thanks SNL.
5. Stuffed nerve: A gentle reminder to my family not to get on my last nerve. *Bonus points for the rechargeable handwarmer because Four Seasons rooms aren't typically used as a home office.*
One week let until Spring Break and I am feeling on edge. I can't quite put my finger on what is causing this feeling. Is it:
When my husband, Josh, grows up, he dreams of being a comedian. He even has a title for his first stand up show - "Asking for a Friend". However, he's promised me he would wait until I retire or switch occupations until he goes on tour because so many of his jokes relate to me and/or me being a teacher. He doesn't want to say something that would land me on the front page of the local newspaper. While I appreciate him waiting to go on tour 😉, our home has become a pressure cooker of comedy. The longer he waits to share all of his humor with the public, the funnier he becomes within our home.
Here's just a sneak peak into the daily comedy show that happens in our home.
Josh was able to get his first Fauci Ouchy this past Thursday, thankfully. On Friday, my, at times, very serious dad text him to see how he was feeling after his first shot. Josh told him he was feeling fine, but wasn't sure if he should be concerned with this reaction with his arm. 😂
10 y/o: Look what my teacher gave me!
11 y/o: I'll buy them off of you for $3.
10 y/o: I'll give you two for $6.
11y/o: That's not a fair deal.
10 y/o: Ok, $5 for one of them.
11 y/o: I have an idea. We will both turn around and close our eyes. I will put money in my hand, and you can put how many candy you want to give me in your hand.
10 y/o: But what if you turn around and have no money in your hand?
11 y/o: No, we both must have something in our hand when we turn around.
10 y/o: No, I'll just keep everything. Bye!
11 y/o: But my birthday is on Monday! Please!
10 y/o: No thanks. Bye.
"Your curly hair is so pretty. How do you style it?" asks a random stranger.
"I just try not to anger the beast," I chuckle in response.
Taming my curls is a process that I am still trying to master. I have tried the Curly Girl method. I own every Deva Curl product ever created. I can scrunch and plop with the best of them. Despite many failed curly hair attempts, I actually think I am very close to mastering the process of frizz-free hydrated curls. So far, the magic answer for me involves a hair mask, lots of product in soaking wet hair, fishnets, a silk hair bonnet and sleep. Simple enough.
We have been strictly quarantining for the last year, which means no hair cuts. During that time, my 10 year son has discovered a love for growing his hair long. During that time, I have discovered that he has inherited my luscious curls. With that being shared, I have to admit that I have NO IDEA how to help him style his curly hair. He's a big fan of the wild poof. I've decided that as long as he is confident walking around looking like a mini Hugh Jackman from Wolverine, I'm not going to stress him out with style tips.
"I'm going to have Josh show you how to shave this weekend," I told my 13 year old son.
"Mom," he muttered.
"You have hair growing above your lip," I explained in a nonchalant tone.
"Mom."
"You are thirteen. Puberty is normal. Anything else you want to talk to me about related to puberty?" I excitedly asked.
"No."
"Oh, would you rather talk to Josh about puberty?"
"No."
"Puberty is exciting! I'll gladly talk to you about it!"
"I have class. Bye."
Puberty was such a taboo topic in my home growing up. I was raised by a fiercely Catholic, farmgirl mom. I knew how to preg-check cows. I knew all about artificial insemination of cattle. I knew how to castrate a bull. However, human puberty was not something that was ever discussed.
Puberty is not a taboo topic in our house. My husband and I openly talk about all things puberty in front of our kids. They might not always appreciate our conversations while eating dinner, but we want them to know that puberty is normal.
Now, I just need to figure out how to survive parenting with the normal hormones that come with puberty.
"Can we get another dog?"
"Nope," my husband replied. "We already have two, and we have no need for another dog."
"There's always a need for one more dog," I chuckled.
A few weeks after this conversation, my husband headed off to spend a week in Outer Banks without me. Okay, so he went for a work trip. However, I was still stuck in Ohio while he was basking in the glory that is the beach.
"All I need is a yes or no answer. Would you be mad if I adopted a dog while your were gone?" I asked over text message.
"I'm driving right now. Let's talk about this later. I love you!" was his quick response.
I waited a few days for "later" to happen, but later never came. So I decided that no news was good news, and started to browse local animal shelter websites. I fell in love with every dog I saw. However, I needed to find the perfect mix for our family. We currently had a 3 year old German Shepard/Akita mix (90lbs) and a 4 year old Chihuahua/Terrier mix (15lbs) . If I was going to "surprise" my husband with a new dog, I would have to find one with a fun personality and no larger than 40lbs.
After hours upon hours of browsing online, I finally stumbled upon Lincoln. He was sweet 8 week old Border Collie mix who was looking for his forever home. I was just going to go look at him. I wasn't going to adopt him. We don't need another dog. I mean, what's the worst that could happen?
Well, it turns out the worst that could happen is that I would adopt our third dog without telling my husband. He was just too sweet to resist. After researching border collies, I knew he would be the perfect addition to our already chaotic household.
It has been two years since I secretly adopted Parker (formerly known as Lincoln) and I couldn't imagine our life without him. So what if the mix part of his breed is Great Dane? So what if he is just shy of 70lbs when he was only supposed to be 40lbs?
Seriously, who could resist this sweet face?
Five years ago today my husband said goodbye to his dad. It was a chilly, yet sunny, spring day when we got the call that his dad had not opened his beautiful blue eyes all day. After having Hospice care at his home during the previous two weeks, we knew this call was coming. We headed out to the farm, so that the Hospice nurse could go home and get some rest while we spent the day taking care of him. Josh, my husband, and I fell asleep on the couch shortly after we gave his dad meds to ease his pain. However, Josh was too restless to nap, so he woke up to folder laundry and watch an old TV show. While folding laundry, he heard birds singing outside and in that instant he knew his dad was gone. Josh went to check on his dad and his instinct was correct. His dad peacefully passed away as the birds were chirping about new life outside.
Most people that I know grieve through anger or tears. This would not describe my husband, at all. Josh uses humor to help him cope and grieve through pretty much every situation in life. We had prepared our kids that when his dad passes away he would be cremated. I thought we did a good job explaining what cremation meant to our then 5, 6 and 8 year old kids. I didn't. As soon as I had a free moment, I sent a quick text message to the kids letting them know that Grandpa Tom (who they never had a chance to meet) had passed away a few hours prior. Autumn was only 6 years old at the time, but sent a response that we will always remember.
"Oh, I'm sorry. Is Josh sad? Did they cook him yet?"
This is only one of MANY jokes our family has made to help Josh grieve the death of his father. After "cooking" his dad, his ashes now live on our bookshelf. The eventual goal is to have his ashes spread at Niagara Falls. However, until we are able to organize a trip between Josh and his brother's families to Niagara Falls, Grandpa Tom lives and travels with our family. He even made a trip to Cocoa Beach, FL. and Disney World about a year after his passing. For some people, this humorous relationship with death feels uncomfortable. However, in Josh's case humor is exact what he needed to properly grieve.
