I’ve got CRS

At what point do you start to wonder about dementia? Is it too early to worry about it when you’re in your thirties? I mean, seriously?! Where the f#%! did I leave my keys? Where are my favorite boots? What time did I schedule that appointment? Which child has their conference tonight? Where’s my phone?!?! Oh yeah, it’s in my hand. Ugh…

I work in neurology, so sometimes I feel like I know too much. But sometimes it’s just enough to make me think I’m a hypochondriac. I mean, when you’re in your twenties and thirties, you shouldn’t forget things as often as I do, right??

I have my calendar on my phone now, because I couldn’t remember where I had my pocket-sized calendar. I don’t remember when my kids met all their milestones anymore, but I can tell you they were ahead of all of them. BUT, I can tell you what my first AND second drivers license numbers were, a few phone numbers from when I was a kid, my social security number, and some random other facts that have somehow managed not to escape my brain. And I can remember which room in the hospital many of my patients were in, way back to the year 2000 when I was a nursing assistant.

And do I really worry about dementia? No. I know it’s really just stress. I’ve been so stressed for so long that I can’t even hold onto memories. Sometimes I think it’s my brain’s way of protecting me from things that were painful and I don’t REALLY want to remember them anyway. But unfortunately not all the memories that slipped away were painful. I wish I could have them all back, but I guess some things in the movie Inside Out were spot on – after a while the old memories get shoved to the dump never to be retrieved again.

So I suffer from stress-induced CRS disease. Can’t. Remember. Shit. …….ugh. My kids remind me of things, thankfully, and some of the memories come back when they say things or do things that they used to do. And I’m grateful when those memories pop back into my mind, instead of heading off to the dump. But I still can’t rattle off my favorite recipe for tater tot hot dish. I’ll still pull it up on my tablet and scroll through it as I cook. It’s on the menu for tomorrow night. I better go find the link…

God helps those who help themselves…

Whether you believe in God or not, most people believe there is something bigger than us. Since I was raised in the church, I’ll refer to this higher power as God, but feel free to substitute the word of your choice (in your head) as you read this.

I had a lovely conversation with a patient and his priest today. The priest offered to step out but the patient and family invited him to stay. We talked about his symptoms and diagnosis and treatment. And as I was about to leave, he says to me, “Now I’ll ask you the same question we {pointing to the priest} were just discussing…Why?” Meaning, why did he get injured and end up in the hospital. That’s always an interesting question to try to answer.

I am a firm believer that things happen for a reason. Often we don’t know the reason, or it may show itself much later. So we discussed this, and we were all in agreement that we may never know. Then I threw out another option. “Maybe this happened to force you to slow down because you’re always going and going and don’t know how to ask for help”… well there’s a concept. His priest pointed at his nose as if to say “you nailed it”. You see, this man is in his 80s and still acting as if he’s in his 20s. That’s not to say that he CAN’T do everything anymore, but maybe he SHOULDN’T. Remember the old saying “It takes a village”? Well, back in the day, no one person was expected to do everything. The village came together to get things done. These days we’re all trying to do everything ourselves, and we get down on ourselves if we can’t do it all. But we weren’t MEANT to!

Yes, there’s a phrase, “God helps those who help themselves”, but that doesn’t mean we have to do it ALL ourselves. Maybe we just need to find the help we need, or accept the help that is offered. For years I tried to do it all. I thought I HAD to. I felt there was no other option at times. And I pushed myself to the limit. And I burned out. These days I’m trying to be more accepting when help is offered. I’m trying to NOT do it all myself. Because I’m trying to honor myself. What if we all did that a little more. What if we could rely on each other like we’re meant to. Maybe health issues wouldn’t have to come along to force us to slow down. Now, there will always be job security for me, because that’s not really what causes illness…but what if?

Is it Thanksgiving or Christmas?

Christmas has been so commercialized that we try to teach our children to be thankful and remember the reason for the season – do you buy that?

As a mom, I struggle with this. I want to teach my children to be grateful for what they have and to not throw a fit when they don’t have the same number of presents as each other, or others are getting presents and they aren’t…but at the same time I don’t want them to feel like they aren’t appreciated or loved or that they weren’t good enough to deserve gifts.

At my core, Christmas is by far my favorite holiday. And while, yes, I do enjoy getting presents, that’s not why I love this holiday. I love it for all the lights, the beautiful music, the time with family, all the yummy treats we make, and the beautiful snow. Yes, I live in Minnesota, where we dream of white Christmases, and we usually aren’t disappointed. I’m disappointed this year – ugh – but that could be a whole post by itself. I love singing the music and listening to the music and just having it play in my home while I’m wrapping or cleaning up. I used to sing in the church choir, and I LOVED the Christmas services best of all the music we did in the year.

So it shouldn’t be hard for me to teach them the real reason for the season, right? Even though it’s pretty much been proven that December 24 wasn’t really Jesus’ birthday based on the alignment of the stars and the weather in Bethlehem at that time of year, and really the holiday has been taken over by commercialism. It’s all about the gifts – who’s getting what…how much money can you spend…you better take out a loan to cover Christmas. Yowzers. Bank accounts are feeling some serious strain this time of year.

But my children have expectations based on social norms. And just like it’s taking me a bit of therapy to undo the emotional injuries I’ve sustained in my life, it’s going to take time to unlearn societal norms for my children. Baby steps. In the meantime, we’ll put on our matching family jammies and go through the hoops of Santa this year, because my children still believe. But, Santa doesn’t get to claim the more expensive presents – I’m taking credit for those! I’m thankful I had the ability to at least get a few of the things on their lists!

To post or Not to post…that is the question

Do you remember the days of 35mm film, or did I just age myself?

I was in a conversation the other day where we were talking about the pros and cons of digital vs 35mm photography. Which do you prefer?

Back in the days of 35mm, you couldn’t see what you just took a picture of. It may not be perfect. (Bite your nails and pray that at least ONE picture turned out!) You had 24, maybe even 36 chances to get a picture of what you wanted, then you had to take the roll of film out of the camera, take it to the drug store, and wait about a week to see what turned out. You could ask for duplicate prints if you wanted to share. And there were times I got duplicates of fuzzy pictures with not a single photo I could use, and nothing to show for my day with the camera. I also had a time where we learned we were about 25 feet from a giant bull moose in the mountains when we opened the door of our tent as the sun was starting to come up. My flash went off and all that turned out in the picture (weeks later) was the reflection of the flash off the moose’s eyes…two little yellow dots with a black background. Ugh!

You also had to be careful not to let the film get too hot or cold, or get exposed to light, and you better take care of those negatives in case you wanted to reprint something or get something enlarged! And those precious photos you took went directly into a hard cover album so you could share them and keep them forever, regardless if they were “perfect”.

Fast forward to today – we all have digital cameras, or even better, our phones! We snap as many pictures as we want and then proceed to stare at the camera or phone for a while (even in the presence of our friends or family) to choose the perfect images. And if everyone wasn’t smiling in the picture? Well, delete that one and start over. Candid shots? A thing of the past. Why actually GET candid shots when you can MAKE it look candid? And how about those precious hundreds of photos on your phone? Are you going to print them and put them in a photo album? Oh HELL no, just post the few perfect ones on social media and move along. But keep the 1000s of photos right there on your phone, because you can just get a memory card to keep them or, better yet, buy more storage on your device so they can continue to sit there forever.

And how “real” are those photos you post? You make sure the lighting is just right, everyone’s smiles are perfect, the hair is just right, suck the gut in, stick the boobs out…there you go, post THAT one! Success! Now you look just like the cover of that magazine you passed by earlier in the day. Because heaven forbid you post the picture that has a shirt on the floor behind you, or a hair out of place, or you catch someone mid-laugh with that real twinkle in their eye. And heaven forbid you post a picture without makeup, or a bra, and that sweaty workout selfie? Fix your ponytail first so it’s straight. Pull your top straight so your rolls don’t show…

What’s the point to all of this? We’re all striving for some form of “perfect” that doesn’t exist. My perfect and your perfect likely aren’t the same. You and I probably don’t drink the same adult beverage. Maybe you don’t even drink an adult beverage – gasp! For years I posted only “perfect” images. My ex and I would pose for several selfies (because who asks a STRANGER to take a picture for you anymore?) while on “date night”, while we kept checking our watches to see if it was too early to pick the kids up from their “parents night out” activity, because we apparently couldn’t figure out what to do as a couple for the whole 4 hours of their activity. Perfect happy couple? Of course! Don’t these smiles show that everything is perfect? The best real smiles we had were back in 35mm days when we stared at each other dreamily. Sure we had more recent real smiles, but it wasn’t all rainbows and butterflies either.

And my workout photos? I had my remote on my write and I could take video after video or photo after photo, then would spend the next 10 minutes (my “cool down”) sorting through to find the ones where my belly rolls didn’t show, my granny arms weren’t evident, I didn’t have a goofy look on my face…and I would post the best. Now I post the goofy ones. Because those are real. And sometimes when my kids are working out with me, they do the most adorable things, and there’s no way I could delete those videos or pictures just because I don’t look perfect. Those are the ones I have to share, because they’re precious. Real life is precious. We should post more of that.

The blame game

Why does there always have to be someone to blame?

My 9-year-old commented the other night that he “wonders what daddy’s take is on the divorce”. He knows my version, but he was told there’s more to the story.

I could have taken a nasty “it’s all his fault” approach. Instead I had told the kids it was nobody’s fault, which is really the truth. But I guess at the same time, we were both at fault. I said we both took each other for granted and grew apart and that we didn’t work out anymore. At which my middle child once responded “but you DO both work out”…yes we exercise but we didn’t work TOGETHER anymore. We didn’t grow together. We became two separate people living in the same home. On social media we looked perfect, because we had an image to uphold. I didn’t post a picture unless it was perfect. I didn’t post workout pictures where you could see my rolls. I didn’t post a picture with bad hair. I didn’t post a picture that didn’t make us look happy. But, that’s a topic for another post…

Why does there need to be more to the story? Why does it have to be someone’s fault? Why can’t we admit that neither of us held up our ends of the marriage? We’re all adults here, except the kids. Let’s let the kids be kids.

Hello there!

Let me introduce myself…I am a mother of 3 crazy boys, work full time, would rather spend more time in nature…oh yeah, and I’ve been divorced twice. How’s that for a blind introduction?

I’ve had a crazy past couple of years, which it turns out actually has been longer than a couple years. While doing a lot of reading for personal development, I realized I wasn’t where I wanted to be in life. I tried to get my partner in crime to grow with me, but instead we grew apart – badly. And I ended up in therapy. How am I the one to end up in therapy? Who knows, but I’m glad I did. I learned that my troubles started long before husband #2 came into the picture…even long before husband #1!

Adulting is hard. Parenting is hard. Spousing (is that even a word??) is even harder. I’m about to embark on a journey that I’m hoping will help at least one other person out there on the word wide interweb. I’m sure I’m not the only one who has struggled with perfectionism, wondered if she was a good enough mom/wife/sister/daughter…wondered if she made the right choices…wondered how in the world she got where she is… Am I??

If you are even a little bit intrigued as to what kind of stories I might share, please bookmark my page, share as you see fit with other stressed out mamas out there, sit back with a glass of wine, or beer, or tea or coffee or water…and read on…