Anxiety.

Also known as "the stomach clench."  Of which I am feeling full-force tonight.

I am a working mom. I don't hate working, but the choices that I have to make because of working are hard.  I have always worked. I went back to my job 5 weeks and 2 days after I had Thomas. It was one of the worst days of my life.  Then with Ben I worked until 2 days before I was induced with him and returned a moment/6 weeks 4 days later. Not working has never been an option.  And even thought I am part-time, which means I spend 2 days with my kids each week (an extra 950+ days that I wouldn't have had had I been full-time, which equates to 2 1/2 extra years with Thomas) I still have had to deal with day care for those days when I am at work.

We have run the gamut, day-care wise.  We had family watching Thomas and Ben up until a few months before Thomas went to kindergarten.  This situation ended badly, with family scars that are still very real and very angry.  Sad but true.  We then spent two and half years of daycare bliss with a lovely family in our old ward.  This only ended because the family moved.  

For the past one and a half years we have had a great babysitter.  My kids were very happy there and I think it benefited and blessed each family in turn.  She was the answer to some very, very fervent prayers that happened when I discovered one Sunday morning that the person who had been watching our kids for a few months would no longer be able to watch them (a surprise to her as well.  Life happens, right?)  But recently this babysitter also had things happen in her life that made it necessary for us to search out daycare.  For 3 weeks I have one of my best friends watching the kids, but of course, the house that she has had on the market for 7 months just went under contract (you know, a week after we started to go there. Sigh.  This is hard for me on multiple levels, day care being one of the least.)

So here I am again, searching for a babysitter.  Here I am, whining about it on my blog.  Because I know I have options, good, good options, but all the same, options that make big changes in each of the lives involved.  I am searching my options as we speak, and considering means that haven't been possible in the past.  But change is change and always causes me anxiety and creates a big old knot in my stomach.

I don't know if I can psychologically deal with having my children go into another stranger's home.  I don't know if I can deal with asking people who have established lives to watch my kids.  I know I can't quit my job. I don't really even want to; I'm good at what I do and I have a job that people would kill for.  (Well, maybe not kill for, but....it's good.  They are very, very good to me.)  And I know that things are going to work out.  Like I say, I have some good options.

But I'm terrible at waiting.  I'm terrible and awkward at asking people to watch my kids.  I feel guilt on so many levels I can't even begin to explain.  So I'll go to sleep tonight with the current knot in my stomach and pray that there is a plan in all of this somewhere.  I know I have decisions to make.  I know it will all work out and we will make it through this last little bit before I have 2 kids in school full time.

However, the suspense just might do me in.  I'm tired of fighting.  I'm tired of sending my kids away from home.  I'm tired and anxious.

That is all.  Thanks for letting me whine.

Some more stuff about my cats....

I seem to be recycling all my old posts. But this one just touches on two recent ones.

Mainly, whenever I go into one of my feng-shui-less bathrooms, I see this.

"What is that?" I hear you say. It is a cat arm.  Paw. Whatever.  Cats seem to follow me wherever I go and then, if I dare close the door on them, they stick their clawless paws under the door in an attempt to...I don't know. Grab me?  Beg me to let them in?  Open the door?  Whatever it is, it isn't going to work.

But, I would have been remiss if I hadn't shared this phenomenon with you.

And, at Rebecca's request, my third cat is named Sianna. She is old and fat and spends her life lying around my house. I don't think she has forgiven me for moving.  At our old house, she had a sunny couch back to sleep on.  There is no such sunny place for her in the new house.   And she hates all the stairs here. Sad.

Sianna has a thing for my husband.  Her favorite thing in the world is to wake him up by biting his nose in the middle of the night.  What she wants is for him to pet her.  She's a treat!

Anyway, as you were.

Stuff about my cats you never wanted to know

• I have 3 cats.
• 2 of them like each other.  They gang up on the other one.
• My youngest cat is crazy. Seriously.  When we first got her, she would find our clean socks and put them in the cat water. This resulted in creating clever little funnels that dripped water all over the floor. Nothing like coming home to a big puddle of cat water.
• She also likes to put hair tie and fake flowers/leaves that I use to decorate with in the water. It is maddening.
• Once the supply of socks dried up, she moved onto paper. She walks around, meowing crazily, while carrying paper in her mouth. She proceeds to tear the paper into little bits and leave them at the foot of my bed like an offering.  I can't leave a spare piece of paper anywhere.
• Did I mention that my kids drawings have large pieces missing from her tearing little bits out whenever she can reach?  It adds a really attractive effect when hanging from the fridge or tack board.
• Last night she ate Thomas' homework. I had to tape it together, and there are still little bits missing. Lovely.
• Bucket, our middle cat, thinks she is a rottweiler. She runs up to the door whenever anyone knocks and greets them. She lures them to pet her then hisses and tries to bite them. It's fun.

So, do you have neurotic pets as well? I can't believe that my kid could, if he wanted to, tell his teacher his pet ate his homework and have it not be a lie.  Who knew?

I saw him.

Today I went to lunch with a friend.  (Maybe I will blog about that too...but later.)  As she drove me back to my work, I saw my dad standing on the corner.

Wait, my dad is in a rest home more than 50 miles from the spot where I saw him.

But it was him.  Had I not been in a moving car, I would have ran up to him.  He was standing in front of a church on a corner across the street from a 7-11 (the very Sev I bought my first ever legal pack of cigarettes on the day I turned 19. But again, that's another story.)  He was facing the stairs of the church, which meant all I could see was his back.  He was wearing a dark green corduroy-ish shirt, tucked into jeans.  He walked toward the steps, favoring his back toward one side.  His slow, meandering was completely familiar.  I exclaimed "That is my dad!"  I believed it.

It was like time slowed down.  I rubber necked it, waiting to see that the face below the close cropped salt-and-pepper-but-mostly-pepper hair.  But the face I saw was my dad's. He had a mustache.  The expression and body language were my dad.  I would swear on my life that he was standing there, on that on that busy urban church corner.

Was he really there?  Had I been in control of the car and had stopped and ran up to him yelling "dad! Dad!" would the man have been flesh and blood?  Did he really exist there?  I don't know how my dad could have an identical twin out there. But as I don't often have visions of people I love in real life, I guess he does.

But I so, so, so wish it had been him.  I wished I could have run up to him and put my arms around him and heard him calling me Beck and being himself again.  I'm almost glad I wasn't driving because I don't think I would have been able to stop myself from accosting this man who was 99% my father.  But the one who talked and walked and stood on street corners killing time while waiting for his ladies.  Like his twin was doing today.

Damn it, I miss him.  And even though I can visit my dad and touch him and see his face and his tightly clenched hands, it is a true statement that the stranger on the corner was somehow more real than the man in the rest home.

I'm not the only one, right? Right?

I've always liked the Seinfeld episode with George returning the book to the store and them refusing him returning it because they could determine that it had been read in the bathroom.

Man, I hope I still have friends and book-exchange buddies after writing this post.

I am guilty. I am George. I have always, my whole life, read in the bathroom.  It's just...sensible.  You have nothing to do. You are stuck for a few minutes alone.  Why not take a book?  I can remember locking myself in for hours when I was young.  And more recently, for years in my old house, it was a nightly ritual.  Shane would only ask that I leave a washrag out for him so he didn't have to subject himself to my sanctuary. 

But, since I moved, my, ahem, reading time is suffering.  The reason? I don't have a good bathroom to read in.  They are too small.  Or I'm missing something feng-shui-y. Or something. I haven't figured out exactly what is wrong with them, but they just aren't...comfortable.  I have yet to read even a chapter since I've moved.  It sucks. 

I miss my reading room.  I used to think that having a separate "room" for just the commode was a great idea.  But the reality is far from satisfying.  I wish I could go back and re-design at least one good bathroom in my house. Because I honestly miss whiling the time the way I used to.

So, are you a bathroom reader?  Are you all disgusted by me now?  Are you always going to think of George Costanza when you think of me?

Possibly the strangest week of my life...

1. We came home from vacation.  I found that an army of ants had taken over my cat's food in our absence. I successfully rid my house of ants in 2 nights.  (I really do clean my house, sigh.)
2. I crashed our car.  Had to file an insurance claim for the first time.  Luckily it wasn't my fault. 
3. I bawled through a staff meeting attended by 30+ of my coworkers. I'm not a crier. They had announced some structure changes that really didn't affect me but affected others in my department. As a result, my boss's boss thought I was sad that I was staying in his division and was outwardly showing it during his meeting. I am not a crier. I can't remember the last time I cried for real, other than getting a little teary during church every now and then.  I ended up in the women's lounge, sobbing in front of the breast pump (which made me cry even harder, because I spent countless hours in front of it once upon a time) (and yes, my work totally has a breast pump.  Lots of us have plugged in at one time or another. It's hospital grade and sanitary and all that.)  But yeah. Feeling a little teary lately.
4. Found out one of my nieces' friends had been killed by one of her classmates. So sad for everyone. Sorry, Madison, for your loss.
5. Spent Friday night and Saturday morning in a car dealership, getting another car.  Even when they are really good, car salesmen are still....salesmen.  They want you to buy something so they can make money. And you never leave without thinking you got screwed, somewhere, somehow. 
6. Ran my first ever 10k with my sister and some friends from my old ward. It was so fun.  It kind of made up for my lack of running enjoyment I've recently felt.

So, was it a good week for you?

My get up and go...

has got up and went.

I don't know what has happened to me.  I just feel so...blah.  We just got back from our much looked-forward-to vacation.  A vacation that duplicated and in many ways exceded our vacation from last year.  During last year's trip, I could hardly sleep at night because I was so excited to wake up and run in the morning.  All night I would check the clock, watching the hours tick by until I could head outside into the rising sun along the deserted beach.  I even kept the sand that came off my shoes (man, what  loser I was!)

Last week, that drive and excitement was missing. Don't get me wrong, I still was having a great time on vacation.  I just wasn't so eager to escape to my morning runs. I couldn't find that same excitement, that same drive to get out there.  I still went, but I felt the same sluggish reluctance in my body that has plagued me at home for the last couple of months.  I swear it's that stupid blood donation that did it to me.  Which makes no sense at all.  Or maybe it's the fact that my lungs don't want to expand the way they used to.  I hate not feeling like I can breath.  I pisses me off when I wheeze walking up the stairs to my room (seriously?  12 stairs make me wheeze?)  It always makes me think of that terrible line in The Hand that Rocks the Cradle when Rebecca De Mornay tells Annabella Sciorra "When push comes to shove... you can't even breathe!" 

I know, I know. I'm being whiny (thus the label above declaring it's a post where I whine.)  But I want my mojo back.  I want to feel that joy that running used to bring me.  I want back what I lost...somewhere.  I don't know why it has left me.  I still get excited to talk about running, but it feels like I'm a fraud once I'm out there, slogging through the streets.  I even had the thought today as I left work of just stopping, hanging up my shoes and moving on to something else.  I don't think that's ever happened.

Is it just a cycle I'm going through?  Is it all in my head?  Was I never so fleet of foot as I remember being?   Maybe it's always been hard.  But I want the reluctance to go away, both of body and spirit.  I want back what I had 3 months ago.  But I don't remember how or where or why it left me.

On cars and vacations and swollen wrists

We rented a car to go on our vacation.  We did last year too.  It's a simple enough compromise that gets me, in the end, some time on the beach.  We usually pay for a mid size car, something that gets good gas mileage and saves us from putting thousands of extra miles on our cars.  As long as it gets me to California, I say whatever.

Well, this year we went to pick up our Chevy Cobalt and left in a 2011 Jeep Grand Cherokee Laredo with 23 miles on it.  It was sweet. And we didn't have to pay any more than for the Cobalt.  I resented (a little) the extra gas it took, but driving a car with 23 miles and power everything took away some of my annoyance. I mean, the car told you how many miles until you needed to fill up again. Who knew cars could do that?

Not everything was leather and miles per gallon, though. I did NOT want to have anything happen to this car. I know that they would do a thorough inspection of the car when we returned it and I didn't want to be charged for anything so I prayed extra extra hard that rocks wouldn't chip the windshield or spills stain the upholstery.  It was kind of like driving around in a bubble.  Nothing, not one little thing happened to the car. Everything was just as it was when we picked it up (except it now had 1800 miles, not 23!).

I was glad to drop it off on Saturday in such perfect form.  But, yesterday the bubble that surrounded us popped.

We were driving to my mom's house when a car turned in front of me. I couldn't do anything to avoid hitting him. It was horrible...I still can hear the sound of the impact.  The smell was awful afterwards...both airbags deployed and they smell like burning, so I got my kids out within 2 nanoseconds (or so it felt.)  Our poor little car had to be towed away.  We never made it to my mom's.

The good news is that we all were fine.  My wrist must have gotten hit by the airbag because it swelled up and is nice and bruised now.  My shoulder is killing me and Shane had a tiny scratch on his forehead from...something, but we walked away. 

One of my first thoughts was "I'm glad it wasn't in the rental car."  It would have been that much worse if it had been someone else's car.  But I'm still sad about my little orange car.  It is likely to be totalled...which sucks since we only bought it 2.5 years ago.

But I'm glad that if our bubble had to pop, it only hurt our car. I can replace it.  All day yesterday I kept having horrible visions of what could have happened. Had one of my kids or my husband been carted away to a hospital, I don't know what I would have done with myself. When I think of the traffic maneuvers that brought me to that intersection at that moment, I can't think what I would have done different.  I would have done exactly that 99 times out of 100. It just happened that one time, someone was there who didn't know I was coming.

It all happens so fast.  I'm so glad I'm still here to rent another car next year to take to a warm and sunny beach.  We can make more memories of going on whale cruises

 And hanging out with my husband

 and playing in the sand at the ocean

and eating yummy Mexican food while watching the sun go down

  

and my kids making memories with my niece's kids...

  

another time.  Thank heaven for bubbles, and for the person who controls how and when they pop.

Vacation Post

Since I don't like to post when I'm actually on vacation, I kept a blog post for each stage of our vacation. I know that most people don't blog about every day of their vacation; that I do seems (in my mind) so....over the top. But, the annual vacation is a new event in our life.  We went multiple years without a single overnight stay in a hotel. It was okay, but I like vacationing so much more than not vacationing. And if going on the same vacation each year (meaning staying 100 yards from the beach and having to run each morning by myself), I'll suffer through it.

Las Vegas

Las Vegas was our Vacation growing up.  The Vacation.  So it feels a little like returning to my old high school or at least an old, long-past-it's-prime friendship when I come back to Vegas.  My first Grateful Dead show was here. I drove here in my car with a boy I knew from the Denny's in Provo with a trunk full of clothes that my mom wanted me to return to Dillard's at the Fashion Show Mall (it didn't happen. I drove home with the clothes. She wasn't too happy. Sorry, Mom!)

So I get here and I feel like I can't soak it in enough. I want to troll the Strip, drink in all the new and old hotels that glisten along its edges.  I feel a little like my dad, I think, who could not get enough of Vegas. Ever.  We would always arrive at home after 10pm on Sunday night (usually having to go to school the next morning) because he couldn't allow himself to miss out on one more slot machine or Keno game.  As we drove up the Strip one way and down the other tonight, I felt his pain. I wanted to keep going, despite the fact that my kids were tired and wanted to go back to our hotel.  I wanted to drink in another moment of lights and sparkle and fade. 

Last year we walked from New York New York to Caesar's Palace. This year we drove from Circus Circus to The Venetian.  I love the Venetian.  Did you know that you can't smoke everywhere in Las Vegas anymore?  You can in the gaming parts, but not so much in the shopping/dining/entertainment part. It was awesome walking through, not smelling like smoke.  Although, I have to admit: I am immediately transported back to my grandparent's apartment  when I smell a Las Vegas casino.  No where else in the world does cigarette smoke smell so good to me. 

My kids were marginally impressed with the river running through The Venetian.  I licked the windows of the stores (figuratively, of course.)  I admired the stores selling masks and porcelain dolls.  I looked at the haute couture stores and wondered who would pay hundreds of dollars for a dress that resembled my ballet leotard and skirt. But it's amazing in a Keeping up with the Kardashian's kind of way to know that people really shop there.  Even though it was currently empty of anyone other than the bored looking sales girl.  I smiled at the Faberge store which was rebroadcasting the 20/20 episode when Michael Jackson walked through the store, extemporizing on life and money and whatnot.  I tried to hold on to each moment.

It was enough to drive the Strip.  I could give up the moment. My kids don't care about the contents of one casino versus another.

But we had a good day. And I'm okay to leave tomorrow, my longings for lights and crowds sated for another year.  I hope my dad felt the same way as he left this city.  I kind of like to think I'm drinking it in a little for him.

Post-edit: I never got around to blogging again. I guess I had too much fun on vacation to write any more thoughts in the moment.  But why waste a good post, right?