August 2008

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Be.

“This includes all of us too; we are all allowed to be as is. Even the word “allowed” is, in a way, unnecessary; in fact, there is no other way for things to be. Everything, everybody, is just as is. If you really understand this, more than half of the practice is accomplished. But just to realize that all things are as they are is not sufficient. If you really understand it, you’ll be quite content and happy, but the more clearly you see things as they are, the more you will feel that you’ve got to do something for other people with your understanding.”
– Taizan Maezumi, The Hazy Moon of Enlightenment.

(from QotD)

Bad News, Bears.

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Ohgodohgodohgodohgodohgod. Kill me now. It’s been about 15 minutes…

Every week we buy 2 bottles of pop for the kids. Sometimes we barely go through them (because I insist on milk with lunch/dinner) and sometimes we go through them fairly quickly. Right now, for example, we have one bottle unopened and another that’s 3/4 full and grocery day is Sunday.

Every week we also buy 2 bottles of Dr. Pepper for me, the mom. Sometime I go through them very quickly and sometimes.. no, wait, I mostly go through them very quickly. I would actually prefer three bottles so I could feel confident that I’d survive.

Today I am fully out of Dr. Pepper. I am out of caffeine. I am.. weepingly OUT of caffeine. (We don’t let the kids drink caffeinated pop, so I can’t even swipe some of their drinks..)

Coffee (jokingly, I assume, because he values his testicles) asked why the kids could make 2 x 2L bottles of pop last longer than I could.

I pondered it. I mean, there are THREE of them and only ONE of me, right?

But the answer is pretty obvious: THEY don’t have to deal with THEM in the same way that *I* deal with them.

Thus, Mommy drinks [Dr. Pepper] because you cry.

Solved.

The doctor says my wrist is “severe tendonitis” and made me buy a wrist support that very closely resembles a sweatband (but bigger and shiny).

I’m supposed to wear this for most of the day (though I can take it off for small periods to allow my wrist to stretch a bit). I need to continue wearing the splint at night when I sleep.

This new sweatband-support garment makes me look like an idiot.

I look like a dork.

The worst part? The doctor did not prescribe chocolate, napping or sex. Those would have seemed like the best cure, no?

I am not sure my doctor knows what he’s doing.

Nap.

Today, my only goal is to get the kids to sit down and watch a movie so I can take a nap.

Is that wrong?

Primate.

I’ve had this sore wrist, now, for.. what? A month or two?

And I’m done. I’m just plain DONE.

I can’t carry anything heavy in my right hand because a sudden twinge of pain can pop up at any point in time and make me either drop something or be in agony.

I can’t sew. I can’t colour. I can hardly open the lock on the front of our house. I can’t grate things (read: zucchini) for long periods of time. I can’t use the whipper-snipper. I can’t sleep without a wrist-guard-splint-thingie on. I can’t brush my teeth or put on deodorant or do anything that requires me to ‘twist’ my wrist at all.

In short, I am feeling kind of useless.

And Coffee tells me not to overuse my wrist and to try to relax it and let him do things for me. But he’s not home for 10 hours of each day, and there are things I want to do and things I need to do.

So yes, finally, I made an appointment with the doctor. And I’m going on Friday.

I am telling you all of this because I want you to know that if the doctor doesn’t fix it immediately, and painlessly, I am going to buy myself a helper monkey. I’m going to name him Zeke. And then I will be the most productive person on the face of this earth.

I am not, normally, the person you want to turn to when in crisis.

That person was my friend Deb, the one who died a few years ago. She was the strong one who could give you every single possible solution to your problem, help you handpick the best one, and then hold you tight while you did it.

And then she’d refuse to take any credit while complimenting you on your strength and intelligence in solving the problem.

Seriously.

I tend to lean toward moderately useful. Moderately “there” in the moment. Moderately understanding and moderately patient and, ultimately, I don’t think I’ve ever been very good at helping someone out.

Right now I have a friend who’s in the midst of a serious crisis. The kind of thing that makes me wary to step up at the very same moment that I’m picking up the phone or opening up an Pidgin window. Wary because I am not Deb, nor anything remotely resembling her, and because I fear that my power to make things worse far exceeds my ability to make things better.

But my friend needs me. I’ve been doing my best to be useful and to listen and to think of ideas that might help. I’ve been bouncing ideas off of other friends to get some perspective. I’ve listened to those who have also tried to help my friend to see what works and doesn’t.

I am by no means alone in my attempts to help my friend. This is, perhaps, the only reason that I can put myself out on that “trying to help” limb. Recognizing that I am not doing this by myself and that where I am not-so-skilled, some of our other friends have super powers.

Good friends – a good network of friends – might just be the most valuable thing in the world.

One of the most interesting things about having kids is the extent to which you despise them. They really are a smack in the face of everything you want to do with your life. But if they’ve taught me anything with the air of some profundity, my kids have taught me that intense spite is merely the shadow of intense tenderness.

(Read the rest here.)

Meme.

Bold the ones you’ve done and add one at the end…

1. Bought everyone in the pub a drink
2. Swam with wild dolphins.
3. Climbed a mountain.
4. Taken a Ferrari for a test drive.
5. Been inside the Great Pyramid.
6. Held a tarantula.
7. Taken a candlelit bath with someone.
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