Transitions…

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It’s embarrassing how long since my last post, but in an effort to be kinder to myself, I will instead choose to focus on the topic at hand; transitions.

The original impetus of starting this blog is graduating this year – this June(!) and we are rolling into final term fast.

We have sat for grad photos, we have a suit, we are booked on the grad boat cruise.  Convocation is a little over a month away, and it is all coming alarmingly fast. 

I have noticed a subtle shift: a gentle pulling away, with less details, less time together, and imcreasingly more time out of the house.  I am still blessed with keeping his counsel, however he is doing everything he is supposed to: relying less and less on me, and more and more on his own voice.  I am bursting with pride, watching the incredible human he is becoming, and so thrilled that he is absolutely flourishing.  I am so lucky.

These days are miles and miles away when you are up at 3 a.m., nodding off trying to nurse in a dark room: the two of you sharing the bond of midnight feedings that can never be broken.  I can’t imagine how tiny you used to be-my little peanut, swaddled into a tight little burrito.  I have to rely on photos and a few treasured baby clothes to remind me of how little you were when you started your journey.

And now, you are a hulking 6′: a body builder of no small stature, so far away from my little peanut.  You embody the physical and mental strength to greet this next phase of your life with confidence, and I couldn’t be prouder.

I look forward to this transition with pride, and a whole lot of love!

Transitions…

It’s been a while, dear Reader…

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It’s been a while since I have posted – overwhelmed, overworked, under-cared for, and I haven’t had the creative chops to attempt a post. It’s kind of like an exercise regimen – once you get out of sync it is really hard to get back into the flow. But I am trying. I know how good it is for me, and how fulfilling, so here goes…

A couple of people deserve credit for gently nudging me back in this direction – my sister sent me to a local psychic, and I had my first reading ever. It was a pretty wild meeting. Sister and I were both expecting a Tyler Henry experience, and while it delivered (sort of) it did not come close to the clarity he achieves in ten minutes with clients. It did, however remind me of my love of creativity and the arts, not painting with colours but with words – hence, back we are. More on the Medium later…

The second person deserving of credit is a powerhouse of a woman I see weekly due to my car accident last year, (oh yeah, THAT also contributed to me being thrown out of sync – more on THAT later) Morgan at Forge Physio. She is small in stature but mighty in strength, and we like to chat while she puts me through my paces. We connected on the ‘gram today, and she discovered my blog – apparently my narrative voice is 2000’s Lindsay Lohan. I am still unpacking what that means, but I am flattered, nonetheless. Thanks to Morgan, she pushed me back to revisiting my posts, and reconfirmed what the psychic suggested as well: don’t forget your passions and what brings you pleasure, even in the darkest and hardest of days – these are the things that pull us out of the darkness.

So here I am, dusting the rust off and attempting to write again. It’s not January, there are no resolutions, other than the constantly evolving attempt to be kind to myself and to practice self-care guilt-free, and in the moment. I hope to write more often and more in-depth. At the very least, there is a very good upcoming story about my first visit to a Medium!

Thanks, Sister.

Thanks, Morgan.

It’s been a while, dear Reader…

Back to School we Go!

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It’s a nerve-wracking time of year for everyone, (not to mention we are still in a pandemic)…add in back to school, a new school, new classes, new teachers, new dress code, and it ends up being a lot. The house has been a powder keg of emotions, raw nerves that flip flop from calm to not calm in a blink. I have practiced my yogic breathing with both boys, smelling fields of flowers and blowing out more birthday candles than I can count.

Personally, I don’t know what to do with my anxiety around sending the kids back to school. Honestly, after the last year and a half of having them home much, if not all of the time, and homeschooling for periods while we continue running our business, I need them to go back to school. Badly. I am not a teacher, and I seriously, seriously tip my hat to all those educators out there – especially the middle school ones who successfully impart knowledge in seas of hormones.

However, we are still in a pandemic, and while we are a fully vaxxed family, I look South to the petri-dish experiment in the States and the rising rates of infection among school-aged kids. This is not good, and it is sure as hell not over. I am fully, fully bracing for the day the school has to suspend a class, a grade, a team for two weeks as they enter self-isolation due to exposure. I realize our isolation plans must remain, and we must be ready to go back into lockdown at a moment’s notice.

The good news (?) is that we are now all well-versed and fairly good at it. We are blessed with the space we need to isolate virtually any family member(s) at any given time, and we continue a stocked pantry.

The bad news is that this whole process has somehow become blasé. The degree of numbness which I greet the prospect of lockdown is terrifying. We, none of us, should be normalizing any of this, but as a matter of survival, everyone has built in a level of acceptance and malaise over it. That is the worst part – to see a collective wall being hit, and limits being reached, still, still with no end in sight. I feel like this is the stall-out, the seventh-inning stretch, the moment where we need to all collectively dig deeper, gather more strength , and find that last vestige of energy to take us through to the goal, the finish line, the end.

All while heading back to school…….

Back to School we Go!

The Fast-Slow Passage of Time in a Pandemic, and a little self-discovery.

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It’s been a while, dear reader, please forgive my “radio” silence. As with the rest of the world, it’s been a trip these last months: months filled with fear, dread, anxiety, disease, death, hope, vaccines, diminishing numbers, fourth waves, more anxiety and a light at the end of the tunnel.

Maybe.

Where to begin.

I have learned so much these past months: I found out that there really are assholes out there that continue to deny the pandemic and refuse the science of vaccines. I found out first-hand that COVID is real, and thanks to my anxiety coupled with my OCD and germaphobia, I make a fantastic COVID home-nurse. I discovered the irony of caring for a COVID-positive patient allowed them back into society, but kept me locked up at home for an additional two weeks, waiting for the other shoe to drop and yet another negative COVID swab.

I discovered very different comfort levels of PPE and hygiene even within my own household. That was weird. I always figured that we would all be on the same page, especially under the same roof. But no, it seems that we are aligned in two camps, that are actually pretty far apart.

I learned that COVID fatigue is super-real, and (especially with these rising fourth-wave numbers and ultra-infections variants ripping through communities again) I feel like everyone has kind of just given up. I guess that’s why not everyone takes up long-distance running: not everyone has the balls to put in the distance. (*Hats off, shout out and a bow down to ALL the first responders who continue to show up day after day, regardless – they don’t have the luxury of begging COVID-fatigue, they just go to work and get on with it.

Personally, I have observed my anxiety arcing in a wide swath that has served as introspective and enlightening for me. I realized when initially wiping down my groceries for Lysol wipes, driving all over town chasing PPE, and compulsively washing my hands until they started bleeding, that I could put a formal name to this behaviour. And by naming it, I could really start to look at it, examine it, turn it over and sit with it. I am sure you would laugh at the notion that I am only just starting my journey of self-realization and discovery of just how bad my anxiety is, (thank you, COVID?) but like it or not, this pandemic has served as a great magnifying glass for more than just the holes and inconsistencies in our social construct.

The upside of this, coupled with all sorts of wonderful publicly offered coping tools during the pandemic, is that I have started to unofficially seek help. Serious help. Self-reflective help. Research. Participating in anxiety studies with UBC, and discovering the amazing My Anxiety Plan Canada (they have one for KIDS too!) are tools I am gathering in my toolkit. I want to do the work. I need to do the work.

You may laugh at my total, utter lack of self-reflection up until this point, but I am only just realizing now, (at forty-something) this year, that I have experienced panic attacks for years, complete with sweats, chills, heart palpitations, blurred vision and breathing difficulties. They aren’t fun. My paralyzing “deer in headlights” moments throughout my life have irreparably altered my course of decision making, self-advocacy and direction. I have always been more comfortable behind the scenes, tongue-tied, people-pleasing, rule-following and backpedaling when faced with bullies and gaslighters: obsequious to a ridiculous and obviously unhealthy degree. But I am working on it. I am working on me. This isn’t to say that I never stand up, say something, or take a stand – just most of the time, when I need a little more time to process and take stock.

I have only just begun to do the work: I look forward to more insights, better tools, and a clearer view of who I am, and what my voice sounds like when I am fully shutting down my anxiety. Stay tuned…

Thank you, COVID?

The Fast-Slow Passage of Time in a Pandemic, and a little self-discovery.

Cue the Petri-dish

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The kids are back in school this week, and it has already done wonders for their mental health. They are not mooning about the place with long faces and crushed social dreams. They are stimulated, engaged, interested and once again full of life.

They are disengaging from the gaming consoles, and their constant screen companions these last six months. They are seeing real faces, attached to real people, and it is doing them undeniable good.

I have heard, I have heeded the Provincial health officer’s warnings and decrees and I have followed them. But I don’t quite understand this next step.

As aforementioned, I understand that the kids need to go back to maintain positive mental health, and so we don’t create a mass group of children who have unrecoverable gaps in their learning. I understand that school, for a large part of the work force, functions as a day-care, and British Columbians need to get back to work. I inherently understand this economy needs to get back to (semi) normal in order to move forward and not collapse in on itself.

But walk with me…

We are to have a bubble of no more than six. This keeps us safe. And my children (middle school) are to have a bubble (or cohort) of no more than 60. But what if my older son’s class doesn’t wear masks in the classroom? Doesn’t that make his bubble the size of his classroom, plus all his peers’ personal bubbles of six? And what if each of my children goes to a different school, thus cementing the fact that each child is bringing home possible exposure from two completely separate cohorts?

My younger son’s class does and doesn’t wear masks; some around one ear, some under the chin. So is he now is bubbling with his cohort of 60 plus all of their bubbles of six?

And while math is not my strong suit, doesn’t that mean that our bubble just expanded to 2 x 60 for each child’s cohort plus 2(6 x 60) for each student’s personal bubble, exposing me to a potential new total of 840 possible new people I just got exposed to when my children came home?

Is my math off?

And while the Government insists we must reopen carefully and we must move forward with measured, controlled unavoidable exposure and cases, is it just me, or does it feel like we have all just been thrust into a giant social-experiment-petri-dish with a “wait and see in two weeks” kind of shrug?

I guess we’ll see in two weeks.

Cue the Petri-dish

Totally. Overwhelmed.

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It’s back-to-school time, or should be what would normally be back-to-school time, in a normal world, in a normal Fall, during a normal September, which it (let’s face it) is anything BUT. Both my kids have physically grown, grown, GROWN during COVID-19, and consequently NOTHING fits. Not the runners, dress shoes, shirts, pants or cleats. (that is to say IF some form of organized sports in-school gets the green light.) Nothing. Fits. $$$…….

Super-excited to drive to Metrotown, where (thanks, everyone wearing one) 90% of those wandering around are wearing masks, save a few 10% – and this is me being SUPER-judge-y – I would hazard a guess that 50% of the mask-less are just ignorant, Wreck-Beach-attending assholes. (Save your commentary – I know there are a number of individuals who, for completely legit medical reasons cannot wear a mask)

Metrotown is thankfully very organized – spaced out line-ups for the popular stores, security working the lines, and mercifully, (MERCIFULLY!) wicked good sales on shoes and shirts and service. My 13-year old officially has a year for every shoe size, and as a result, if they do have it in his size, it is likely a perfect fit and/or heavily discounted. (YAY!)

***MOMENT OF MATERNAL PRIDE/CONFUSION: I sat in Footlocker listening to the 13-year old and the 20-something year old discuss shoe models, and I was completely and immediately set adrift into “Boomer-era” ignorance. Sigh……..*** 180? 240? 270?

Back to shopping…..for the most part, we achieved success. We were able to tick boxes, fulfill needs, and not completely break the bank. I am lucky. I know we are all lucky. Lucky isn’t the word. We work very hard for what we have, and as essential workers during COVID, we have NOT stopped at any point. We have worked for what we have and we are able to fulfill the needs of our kids. I KNOW there are many, many families out there with no new school clothes, ill-fitting clothes, no school supplies and food insecurity. And that’s before COVID.

On a personal note, and frankly, the raison d’etre of my blog – I, I am overwhelmed. I came home stressed, tense, angry and frustrated, and that was not from the credit card bills. I found the whole experience, exercise, moment, exhausting. Mentally draining, upsetting, sad, mourning what should have been, what could have been, what wasn’t.

What isn’t. What isn’t going to be normal for a fuck of a long time. Sure, I will still drive the kids to school, and oversee lunches, and meal-plan, and delegate, and help with homework, but it still. isn’t. normal.

My kids are exhibiting the cracks of the stress, strain and anxiety of going back to school. I am exhibiting the cracks of the stress, strain and anxiety of going back to school.

Side note – I asked my eldest to water the garden before said shopping trip, and he left the hose on, subsequently flooding the back yard and breaking the hose fitting. I countered with this assignment:

Water:  The consequences of waste

Water covers 70% of our planet, and it is easy to think that it will always be plentiful. However, freshwater—the stuff we drink, bathe in, irrigate our farm fields with—is incredibly rare. Only 3% of the world’s water is fresh water, and two-thirds of that is tucked away in frozen glaciers or otherwise unavailable for our use.

As a result, some 1.1 billion people worldwide lack access to water, and a total of 2.7 billion find water scarce for at least one month of the year. Inadequate sanitation is also a problem for 2.4 billion people—they are exposed to diseases, such as cholera and typhoid fever, and other water-borne illnesses. Two million people, mostly children, die each year from diarrheal diseases alone.  –https://www.worldwildlife.org/threats/water-scarcity

Your consequence for wasting water and subsequently breaking the water hose attachment is to write a 1000 word essay on water, the precious nature of it, the scarcity of it, the global water shortage, and the consequences of unsafe water sources for people.  

Your essay is to be well written, well thought-out and you must utilize the HAMBURGER model of Topic Sentence/Paragraph, Body 1 (vivids) Body 2 (vivids)  Body 3 (vivids and a well-composed concluding paragraph.  Copying and pasting google searches will NOT be accepted.  This must be RESEARCHED and IN YOUR OWN WORDS.   Remember:  QUOTE YOUR SOURCES!

Your phone will be returned to you once you successfully turn in your assignment.

I could cry with frustration right now, and it’s not because I just realized I killed a box of wine in 3.2 days. Okay, if we are honest, I bought it Monday. Currently writing this Wednesday night. I could kill for some normal, and honestly don’t understand how many more mines I have to go deep. O.M.G.

(On another side note, I feel my consequence was clever. )

On yet another side note, I am tired of counting the lines under my eyes as I look in the rear-view mirror.

As a final note, dear reader, I thank you for listening to me and for being here for me.

Totally. Overwhelmed.

“Surreal” just doesn’t cut it any more.

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I have been trying to write this post for over a month. I started this draft on July 22nd, and strangely, not much has changed.

I keep thinking that I have hit the limit of extraordinary, crazy, surreal, welcome-to-bizzarro-land, New World Order.

And then I am reminded that no; things can and do go deeper down the rabbit hole.

We continue this strange, COVID-19 journey, trying to stay safe and healthy while navigating the work day, and even more distressing; navigating back to school.

We are careful. So careful. Our hands crack and bleed, we wear our masks, and stay away from all but essential activity. We have seen three restaurants in the past six months. Our kids have seen so few of their friends, staying apart and safe.

And now we go back to school. My kids need it. Oh boy, do they need it. My teenager feels this is all designed to crush his social life. He gets the gravitas of the situation, but he is still a teenager. My younger son hasn’t seen more than a dozen people since March. How much of this will inflict permanent change on their development? How will it impact their future relationships? I worry about the long-term affects of these wartime restrictions.

I worry, and I worry, and I worry. And then the worry gets normalized and the past, pre-COVID days get fuzzy. I can already feel how it’s changed my personal comfort levels. Already OCD, I get jumpy when strangers get too close to me, unless they too are wearing a mask. I am now firmly compulsive about washing my hands. I no longer seek out the company of other people, save a small handful.

And then I watch the news and shake my head at the party-goers, the Wreck-beach goers, the drum circlers. I get COVID-fatigue, I have it too, but why on earth wouldn’t we all take this few months, (a small drop in the big picture, really) to really, really try to make a difference?

All I can do is continue on, keeping my circle safe, and hope that the New World Order lets up a little bit in the not-too-distant future.

In the meantime, be calm, be kind and be safe.

“Surreal” just doesn’t cut it any more.

The Lockdown Continues

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I am unclear how to measure time right now.  When did we start physically distancing?  Was there a start date or did it slowly creep in?  First it was no masks, now it is masks:  keeping up with the news cycle is a herculean task in of itself.   I find myself breathless and numb every time I check the Canada.ca website for updates.  I am naturally anxious, and this pandemic isn’t helping.

Some days are good, some days are bad.  Some days are extremely dark.  I worry about my partner, who remains in the field (as we have been deemed an essential service) exposing himself to multiple job sites and people daily.  He practices physical distancing, he takes all necessary precautions, and washes his hands regularly.  However, he is a smoker over 40 who is not particularly healthy.   He brings germs home.  He exposes himself and our household every time he leaves the house.

But I must let these thoughts go.  I choose to focus on my children:  we colour Easter eggs, rainbows and hearts for the front window.  I organize a “Good Friday Frolic” – a visual Easter egg hunt for the children of the neighbourhood on Friday.   We will compete to see how many eggs we can ‘collect’ in our virtual baskets.

As a community, we have come together, apart.  I wave to my neighbours each night at the seven o’clock noise making party for the First Responders and Front Line Workers.  I check in with my elderly neighbours.  I marvel at their openness and honesty when we meet in the lane and (from a good 2 meters + apart) they admit they are afraid, and uncertain.  Our WhatsApp chat group has grown to include much of my entire block.  We are all learning Zoom.

I focus on each day at a time, and doing what I can to support my children, my husband and myself.  I try not to consider the awful consequences of one or both of us getting sick.  I withdraw emotionally and shut down frequently.  This is not a tidal wave of emotions, but instead a relentless lapping of little moments, highs and lows.  Each day is an exhausting sprint through quicksand:  the rules are ever-changing, shifting and moving.  It shifts from day to day to minute to minute to hour to hour.

Just.  Keep.  Breathing.

The Lockdown Continues

The Zombie Apocalypse is here…without the zombies.

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Keep Calm and Carry on.

Easier said than done at any given minute of the day right now, given the global state of affairs.  This is serious.  Really, really serious.  Deadly.  And let me predicate this by saying:

  1.   HUGE thanks and undying love to all the first-responders out there who are actively putting themselves in harm’s way on the daily, in the name of the greater good.
  2. Thank you, thank you, thank you to whatever fates/divine intervention decided to give the Province of BC Dr. Bonny Henry.  She is a rock, an ocean of calm, and a steadying force in these times.
  3. For the LOVE of EVERYTHING, please self-isolate and stay home for the next two weeks.  Please.

 

I check in with myself during the day, and I have finally identified the strange, disembodied flutter in the pit of my stomach:   terror.  I am quietly terrified.  I am OCD and tend toward anxious over-thought at the best of times, however these are extraordinary times.    We are small business owners with a small crew we feel very responsible for.  We have two school-aged children, who (reading between the lines) will not see a formal classroom again until September.   We have a mortgage and bills that continue.

Notwithstanding, we are on the lucky end of things:  we have full (not hoarding-full, but full) cupboards, we have the ability to feed the family and keep the lights on.  Our business is deemed an essential service.  We are exempt from a lot of the freefall that is occurring in the restaurant, travel and entertainment sector.

I think of my Grandmother a lot.  She turns 97 next week and served in the RAF as a Wren.  She experienced the shortages, empty shelves and rationing that we are seeing now.  I spoke with her today.  She said “You’ll get through it.”

She is right.  Our generation has no experience with limits, but we can and will adapt.  We will adapt our lifestyle to this temporary lock down.  We will adapt our socialization to tech check-ins via WhatsApp or FaceTime.  We will cook our meals according to what is available, and celebrate, truly celebrate when we are once again able to be together in close quarters with our friends and neighbours, casually, if not blithely living.  We will look different, we will feel different, and we will remember, but yes, we will get through it.

In the meantime,

Keep calm and wash your hands.

The Zombie Apocalypse is here…without the zombies.

The cruel irony of healing

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There is a cruel irony we are experiencing as A continues to heal, grow and thrive on a strict gluten-free diet. Pre-diagnosis, and even the days and months that followed diagnosis, his reaction to getting ‘glutened’ was so swift and furious, it left him physically shattered and left me an emotional wreck from my failure to protect my child.

In a way, his swift physical rejection of gluten was a good teacher: it solidified gluten ingestion as a bad thing, which helped psychologically when he was tempted with things like pizza with his buddies, or sharing in a celebratory birthday cake. And boy, was it swift.

Later, as his gut healed and he lost the inflammation, we saw his physical reactions diminish. A would still physically react to getting “glutened” with gastro distress, mood swings and malais, but sometimes it took longer.

Sometimes it took so long to react, we found it nearly impossible to track back exactly what was the source of the gluten. Ironically, this was bad, because while a diminished reaction in the short term did mean he was not quite so acute quite so quickly, it did not diminish the long term internal damage he was exposing himself to.

Ironic, right?

And so now we move forward with a gentler, more subtle reminder to maintain his dietary vigilance, to stay gluten-free. I am trying to not go down the rabbit hole of over-thinking cross-contamination and being less symptomatic, and what it means to him. I am trying to not overthink what subtle “glutenings” will mean for his increased risk of cancers and other auto-immune diseases.

Instead, I will focus on the irony of what a healthy gut brings.

The cruel irony of healing