Mothering: Turning Fears Upside-Down

Image from RUN MOTO RUN. 

I'm trying hard over here to practice acceptance and to stand tall, or at least calmly stand by, in the face of fear and worry. To stay grounded. 

There's so much I want to put down, blank page and kind reader, about the cold, hard fears in our family....but that would be a violation of privacy on the public page, no matter how much it would be a release for my heart, mind, body and soul. I know you would help carry it.

For now, I will lighten my load by giving alternate names to the fears. For instance, let's say I had a motorcycle fear, because one of my two daughters was riding one. Then I could change that name here to something positive that the fear could maybe morph into one day, with the grace of God and a basket of luck. No matter how long it may take......days, decades, a lifetime (mother's or daughter's).

The motorcycle fear could become road map. Maybe the girl would grow to explore beautiful paths and places, arriving on her beast*.

If tattoos worried me (they don't, they are the least of my fears, though one daughter is prone to infections and pain from amateur applications), maybe the word switch would be: tattoo to body love. God knows they both like ink.

Right off, I listed 40 fears and dreads I have as a mother at this moment in time. To be fair, they almost all apply to just one girl. Many are just that, fears, and have not materialized. Many have. (Notice they are not in the context of wife, sister or friend, though maybe that's an oversight.) Here are my code phrases, turning my fears upside-down at 7:08 p.m. in my home office. You won't see the cold, hard fears, just the soft, turnaround wishes.

1. Floppy red roses, and the sweet scent of baby powder.
2. Compassion.
3. Self-esteem.
4. Readiness and wisdom.
5. Resilience.
6. Faith.
7. Success.
8. Skills.
9. Ice water or tea.
10. Rose-colored glasses.
11. Friend circles.
12. Kindness.
13. Pause.
14. Self-soothing.
15. Peacemaking.
16. Her own uniform.
17. Calling home.
18. Yoga teacher.
19. Walks by the sea.
20. Self-care.
21. Inner compass.
22. No place like home.
23. Ownership.
24. Freedom.
25. Long-term beauty.
26. Hands off.
27. Little white plastic fudge knife. 
28. Dates.
29. Truths.
30. Romance.
31. Integrity.
32. Openness.
33. Understanding.
34. Tolerance.
35. Inclusivity.
36. Softball (not speeding hardball) conversations.
37. Respect, inward and outward.
38. Independence.
39. Confidence.
40. Trust.

Going to Restore & Release: Restorative Yoga classes on Monday and Wednesday nights this week gave me great perspective. I love the gift of calm, quiet strength and self-care. So grateful for teachers Annette and Krystal. And the rain pouring on the studio roof last night. Perfect, just perfect. Rhythmic and real. But we were safe, warm and nurtured inside those walls, with our props for support (bolsters, blocks, blankets, straps and, of course, mats). Even luscious peppermint oil from Krystal at the end. Heady and helpful.

Revision: I thought of more fears/dreads and code word switches this morning, Friday. The last is a bit superficial, but still. 

• Bank account.
• Generosity.
• God-given eyelashes, and a clear eye on the world.

Saturday: I think this list of 43 says more about me than the young woman. How heavy my worries. Neurotic. Enough, enough.

*Bike: An acceptable term for almost any motorcycle , which is also often called a ride, sled, beast, the old lady, sweetheart, my precious, That Broken Down Old Piece of … and so on. Usage: “Sweet ride. How long have you owned it?” Big twin: Any large displacement Harley-Davidson. Fromhttps://www.themanual.com/auto/motorcycle-slang-lingo-terms-terminology-dictionary/ Oct 16, 2023

Bees Sting, Owls Watch

Moey has three younger brothers, and this photo is by Ryan Cassidy, the son of her baby bro, Jimmy, born when we were in fourth grade. I hadn't seen Ryan in a while but last night, he showed us some photos on Moey and Ted's deck. He is gifted. It takes a close, patient and quiet eye to capture nature like this. LMK if you need a wildlife image. I will send you Ryan's contact info. Photo copyright Ryan Cassidy.

Summer stung like a bumblebee this year in many ways. But the details are too personal to publish. 

Still, pollinators are good, so maybe this sting can turn out to help our family somehow grow and reseed. IDK. Take the stinger out, follow a winding path to eventual flowers or dripping golden honey?

It takes great effort to step back and accept. Risky behaviors, unsafe choices. I hope and pray, but that only goes so far for me. It doesn't give me endless serenity and trust. I can't change the past--not my own flawed behaviors and certainly not the teenager's early god-given road.

So what can I do? I can apply salve (I took a bath with a luscious Dolly Moo bamboo & blue tansy bath bomb today, smells so good and clean and the color is so pretty). Even combed on a little black mascara, swiped on Prada lipstick, dipped into Bobbi Brown beachy nude cream eye shadow. I can take a peaceful nap. I can continue to love even when I do not want to, or think I possibly can. I can follow a code of tolerance and love. 

I can judge and criticize less.

Yesterday was Moey's bday. Dan and I went over to the deck for thin crust pizza, vegs and dip, chilled shrimp and to sing happy birthday. Her parents are 87 and 86 (ck); I can't believe it. When they had Moey 63 years ago, Mr. C. was 24 and Mrs. C. was 23. Ted was there (Moey's husband), their fun, smart son, Kevin, and Ryan Cassidy, their nephew. He is into wildlife photography. Look at that amazing photo above!

Well, I might watch another episode of "Emily in Paris" on my laptop now.

Good night.

I enjoyed Friday night with Figgy. I wish I had a good Spice photo 

but she won't take pictures with us too often lately. I sunk pretty Papyrus unicorn bday candles into this vegan Jeni's Lemon Bar ice cream for Figgy. I wish they had sugar-free, for me. (The website says $12 but I found it at Wegmans on sale for $6.99.)

As the Sand Passed Through the Hourglass

Note the little bulbs on the brown algae. Fig and I squeezed them to release a beauty treatment to work through our hair. After all, they sell seaweed shampoo at the store.

The surf was rough in Maine--I mean crashing and scary with Punch. Like, get back on the beach, this shark-infested water could kill you. I won't go into details. And it continued to be terrorizing last night, upon return at 11 p.m., and today.

If future me wants to remember the pain and fear (oh, yeah, that's what happened that trip), my code words are Fireside Inn, soap in can and bus ticket.

But there were still some nice moments amidst the fear and danger:

1. The wedding party at Mere Point for Leah and Greg.
2. Drive to Rockport with Figgy to my niece Anna's tiny house in the woods, built by her Dad. Fig had never been there. Anna served us coffee and fruit and Grape-Nuts with a high-protein yogurt I plan to buy. Icelandic, I think, and lemon-flavored without a lot of sugar. It was lovely to see her, and see the girls together.
3. A leisurely stop by the rocky coast to explore with my firstborn and a visit to Dot's Market in Lincolnville Beach, a pricey gourmet shop with a great edit. No, no, I did not notice any chocolate peanut butter cupcakes with fat caps of swirled icing. Nope.
4. Seeing my sisters-in-law (all four). That counts Therese, with a flower in her hair; Sheila, natural beauty and gifted cook (she filled the grill with hotdogs, burgers, chicken and street corn and managed it all); Martha, intellectual, funny, fit, blonde, insightful; and Eileen, Dan's capable, professional, stylish little sister, who moved up to Maine with my mother-in-law as a young girl.
5. Biking over the historic Belfast bridge, and then walking it another day when Fig roller-skated over the span.
6. Small talk with strangers on the bridge about dogs and fishing.
7. July Fourth cookout. Nice hotdog on grilled bun, homemade potato salad.
8. Seeing our nephews' little children--and the Dads we knew as boys.
9. Belfast Co-op.
10. Chamomile flowers. I bought a plant for Anna and one to plant here at home.
11. Baking a Blueberry Galette from a Down East-published book found in Southern Maine with Nancy. The crust was raggedy, hard and off-kilter, I piled the berries too high and the juice ran all over the cookie sheet instead of staying in the galette but it still tasted good. I tried. My life was/is raggedy, hard and off-kilter, so why shouldn't the galette be? Still, I liked gathering ingredients and baking in my sister-in-law Martha's yellow kitchen.
12. Visiting dear Leah at her house on my way home to NJ. Seeing her beautiful pocket gardens and paint colors and home office and pet bunny for the kids.
13. Seaweed hair treatment. Fig and I squeezed the clear juice from the bulbs on seaweed/kelp found in Belfast. Snap, squeeze, finger-comb through hair. We like doing things like that.
14. Cocktails (I had sun tea) at Pat and Martha's neighbors' lovely old farmhouse. Smoked Gouda, sliced baby cucumber from the garden and juicy little strawberries, the fruitful gems of summer in Maine.

I was going to say sorry for another sad sap post but it's not my fault, so can't say sorry.

That's it. The pain is real but there was some beauty. And while I see that 14 might seem like a high tally, in my mind, it did not/could not cancel out even that one first night in a Maine hotel.

Private Eye

Private Room

Private (rank in the Marines or Army)

Private Practice

Private Dectective

Private Benjamin (my earlier blog code for therapy appointment)

Private Party

Private Conversation

Private Matter

Privacy

Things have been messy and hard and I am not at liberty to divulge here. Trying to remain standing in grace rather than lying in misery and fear.

Graces

I still believe in the power of a "Hail Mary" prayer, though did not say one today. 

It begins with "Hail Mary, full of grace." Do you pray? Image from here.

Grateful after school on this overcast March Thursday that:

• I talked calmly and openly to two teenagers, almost 17 and already 18, in my living room. (And BTW, I'm changing Punchy's boyfriend's blog name from GREAT SMILE DEEP THINKER, which is too long, to YOUNG ROMEO, shorter and more fitting.)
• I conveyed my observations and concerns about something involving Punchy that is possibly red-flag dangerous, but that both would be privy to, without my lip quivering, tears brimming in the back of my eyes or my voice wavering. In the past, I was less confident, would quake and shake when I addressed important issues of my heart and mind. My eyes still sprout tears when I make a toast to someone I love, because they mean so much to me, watch a graduation march or a funeral procession or walk back from Communion at a funeral Mass and pass the family in the front row of the church. When I asked for a raise at a magazine once, I fumbled, my heart raced, I said a prayer to my dead but dear grandmother Rosie--something along the lines of I want to make you proud, look at my job, and you came on a boat from Italy with little education--and knocked over the wastebasket on my way into my editor's paneled office.
• My heart didn't jump erratically due to sugar substances consumed in a frenzy of fear and anxiety. Of powerlessness. I didn't raise my voice, accuse or curse. For today, I did not need cookies, a brownie, donut, cake, candy, frosting or other sweets, the softer, the better--or salty, greasy Fritos--to fortify and arm myself against discomfort and worry. Or to soothe myself after the confrontation, which was much more this time like a rational discussion. A chance for all three of us to be seen and heard. To not hide. Although, I must say, teens can persist in their hiding. I am grateful for the exchange.
• I did not delay or procrastinate. I was proactive.
• I heard an observation from Figgy, her calm perspective when she returned from work on the campus. (The front door of our Dutch Colonial opens right into the living room.)
• I had prepared (pre being the key part) oatmeal and turkey chili and was able to grab a healthy, filling breakfast and lunch.
• I have a nice tall glass of ice water and am about to walk around the block. Two virtual appointments with Punch support team members today, plus this living room talk, required time, effort and energy. Water and walk should help replenish.

Have a good evening.

9:41 p.m. update: I once again did not walk, around the block or anywhere else. Tomorrow, tomorrow. But Dan and I went out for sushi, which was nice, and now we are watching The State of the Union on CNN.

This Mother Wants Bubble Wrap

DBT (dialectical behavior therapy*) "wise mind" model  from THIS SOURCE.

I want some cushioned wrap, maybe pink, to protect our teen girl, so she will not break when dropped or squeezed between hard places or bouncing on a horse on a rutted path. So she won't lose her way and enter an unsafe place, never to reverse her road again.

We can't wrap them in bubble wrap, our first DBT therapist said when I worried. She told me that in several conversations.

I've had fears and scares with our older daughter, Figgy, and met them with determined efforts to fix and cure mental health issues. As if. We parents can maybe help hold the reins when kids are young (after all, we have traveled unpaved roads ourselves), but we cannot clear away the bumps and rocks on the trail. We might help burnish the saddle for safer, more comfortable rides and hope the road rises with our girls and their hopes and dreams as they trot out of our sight. I held onto my cowboy hat as Fig's path circled dangerous dramas, veering toward and away from them. She is doing quite well now, thanks to grace, luck, fate, timing, a keen brain, artistic eye, genetics, loving family, true friends, professional mentors and hard work. And gradually, she/we have learned to face down bandits on life's trail rather than retreat.

So this is not my first rodeo, as they say, on this journey with Punch, who will turn 17 this Monday. 

And yet I am still surprised when I come upon a teen behavior that scares me. Many of her peers (I can't say "friends," because most truly are not) bring on and bring out the worst inclinations, unloved girls who are doing very unsafe things involving, for example, social media photography, running away from home, disrespect for themselves and adults and yes, even behavior that brings in the police at tender young ages. 

But I know now how to apply DBT "accepts" (a noun), to use my wise mind and not gallop with abandon in my emotional one. DBT tenets do help and so do distress tolerance skills, a nurturing school environment, trained therapists for both mother and child, Dan being present and involved, extended family and friends, perspective and smart doctors. I am grateful for all of those supports this morning. And also for boyfriend GREAT SMILE DEEP THINKER, who shares a lot of wise insights with Punch. But I remind myself that he has flaws, too, like the rest of the world. Wise mind. Acceptance.

Hope you have a good day.

*Defined on the internet as "evidence-based psychotherapy designed to help people with emotional dysregulation."

EVENING NEWS, 7:06 p.m. I want the bubble wrap even more based on this afternoon's events. But I took a warm bath, made a healthy salmon/sauteed mushrooms/polenta family dinner (that the teen might not touch, but vegan Fig will eat the last two) and am going to 7:30 restorative yoga class now. Booked it last week. 

I Might Have Written

It is Tuesday, July 18. I might have written of nice summer nights or plunges in the ocean. I took two plunges in the last two weeks—a Wednesday evening one week and a Thursday afternoon the next—playing in the waves at Spring Lake beach on the Jersey Shore, feeling like a girl again. Saltwater, frothy ride, watch what's coming. Swimsuit, the scent of pretty suntan lotion. Wet hair. When you're in the ocean, good bet you are there for fun.

But one, I'm trying to save essays for spaces where I can earn money for them. I have feelers out. 

And two, many of our summer nights are not so nice but rather challenging and stressful, laced with worry and fear.

Fear does nothing for anyone--not for the worrier, nor the object of the worrying--but still, our old foe jumps eagerly to our side, her head coiffed with jagged alarm wires, not soft, springy curls.  

I/we used to think that the adrenaline jolt prompted by fear of missing an article assignment deadline (and displeasing our editor, not being successful) was just a fact, part of the creative process, that we did our best work then. But that is not true. That kind of fear can feed unhealthy habits and erratic behavior, short tempers with family, money wasted on takeout because we are working through dinner times. Instead, we can be organized and trustworthy, do our best work and hand it in on time but not in a state of exhaustion and frenzy. 

We can count on ourselves to count on ourselves.

Still, if only everyone would do what we want in life. We have to meet the goals and character perimeters we set for ourselves, and that is enough to manage. 

Acceptance.

I might have written about the coneflowers (aka echinacea, a native wildflower that draws butterflies, bees, and songbirds), now that Figgy is here and helped us fill the garden. Or about the angel hair pasta with zucchini "cream" (SmittenKitchen.com) that I made at 9:30 tonight, after my support group. (The most involved things about the recipe were mincing garlic and shredding zucchini. I couldn't use my mini food processor, so I used a box grater, and the zucchini was browned, not fresh green like in the photo. Oh well. Acceptance.)

I might have remembered refreshing showers or blueberries from a farm share. On the flip side, I may have written about a call from a Montclair Police detective received on the drive to Spring Lake (this time, not about our child). Or about dashed hopes, dashed in the moment, for now. Stay present. 

I might have written a lot more but that will take pushing Alarm Curls to the side. 

I might have written. 

I plan to write.

Good night.

This “Scream” Novice Faces the Nightmare

“Scream VI” is from legendary Paramount Pictures. Although I enjoyed the film, 

I could not bring myself to put a photo of Ghostface here.

I surprised not just Dan but myself by wanting to see “Scream VI” at the movies.

I’ve long avoided slasher films. “Rear Window” or even “Psycho,” masterful Hitchcock thrillers, are more my taste. When I lived alone in my NJ apartment by the sea, where the breeze stirred my bedroom curtains, I would not have been able to stomach a real slasher film. I had nightmares there after reading The Stranger Beside Me, a paperback about detective Ann Rule’s relationship with serial killer Ted Bundy.

But we had been homebound, the weather was dreary, and Punch was out, enjoying her social life. 

By Saturday night, I had to get off the couch. 

“I’m antsy,” I told Dan. The most exciting thing we had done all day was laundry and dishes. Even popcorn prepared by a machine and packed in a red paper bucket (vs. by Dan in the kitchen, with real butter) seemed more exciting.

But there was nothing we wanted to see at any of our three local theaters. I finally read the New York Times piece about “Scream VI,” the latest in the iconic mystery/horror/chiller/thriller franchise, and the Wikipedia article about the storyline. I got interested. It also stars Dermot Mulroney (I've loved him since “My Best Friend’s Wedding” with Julia Roberts) and of course, Courteney Cox in her recurring role as reporter Gale Weathers. That was enough for me. 

“I think I would even be willing to see the Scream movie,” I added. 

“Okay,” Dan said. “It’s playing at eight o’clock.” He has long enjoyed horror films, though we started out our dating life on a softer note, loving “Murder, She Wrote” on Sunday night TV.

Off we went to the big screen, soon with “buttered” popcorn, pretzel bites and bottled water in hand. We tilted our seats back. The only ones left were in the front row, so we could not hide behind other moviegoers if it got too scary. We were vulnerable.

I loved it. I mean, the slashing scenes are gross, some more than others, and I did cringe and look away a few times when the camera showed blood and guts. But there is a lot to love:

• Suspense. On the edge of your seat, especially by the end.
• Escape. Enter a darkened movie theater and be transported to another place. Always.
• Audience. People behind us shrieking and calling out--our collective fear, and joy from the girls behind us (teens or twenties) who loved a romantic kiss.
• Courteney. Wow, those ice-blue eyes, that tightly wound character. Also, her wardrobe and some funny lines. 
• Setting. This time the movie is not in the suburbs but in NYC in a place modeled after the NYU campus. NYC, forever cool and relatable.  
• Twists and turns. Oh, how the plot turns. Things are not as they appear. I loved that and was still mulling it over two days later. Who did that voice on the phone calls? Still not sure I understand.
• Wednesday. Jenna Ortega, the 20-year-old who plays Wednesday in the Netflix Addams Family spinoff, is delightful. Spunky, smart, beautiful, fearless. So is Melissa Barrera, who co-stars as her older sister.
• Hayden. Pretty blonde Panettiere was everything. The camera loves her lines, carefully couched and precise. Her character is clear and calculated in the midst of terror.
• Wit. The references to other horror movies.

Now I want to start at the beginning in my living room with the original “Scream,” from 1996. Courteney, Neve Campbell and Drew Barrymore star. Coming late to the table, I want to see where the story thread begins.

Do you watch slasher films? I never thought I would join the club.

“Who are you, and what have you done with my wife?” Dan said.

Exactly.

The Hands of Fear

Above: Madame X, the mysterious woman burglar on “I Love Lucy.” I stole her name for this post. The role was played by a woman named Alice. My Madame X looks much more menacing.

Too often, fear drives the car of my life, a scary thought in itself. Let’s face her as the villain she is, Madame X. Green skin, dark cloche, shapeless dress, severe black lace-ups with heels. So evil that she chases adorable little dogs and daughters and sons and parents, especially parents, probably mothers most of all. Not someone you want to trust driving your vehicle, especially with you in the passenger seat.

She haunts me. With her at the helm, life feels unsteady, unmanageable, shifting, out of gear. It’s hard to think clearly, calmly and capably, to ask my editor why my writing payment is taking so long, or to trust that things will go right with Punchy’s school placement. No, I can’t do those things, not if Madame X is at the wheel.

If I give Madame X permission to hold the wheel and the gear shift, no wonder I am prone to catastrophize and think my car--or even yours, since you’re traveling life with me--will careen off the road. 

I realize as I write here that I have skills and ability to change that, to take back the wheel. I can firmly and steadily wrest it from the cold, bony hands of Madame X. I trust myself not to careen off the road. I am a safe driver, not erratic and mean (at least if my brain is clear, not clouded with sugar, my substance of choice). All Madame X does is feed my nerves, add to the troupe of worry dancers in my head, and enjoy watching the show.

When I was a little girl in Dumont, I was afraid of the big hole in the lower trunk of an old tree in the forest behind Bedford Park. I thought a witch lived inside that dark, damp hollow and I didn’t want to take any chances and stand alone near that tree. Also under Witch heading, I was terrified of “The Wizard of Oz." I clung to Pudding, my blonde dolly in red and white smocked dress, alone in my bedroom when the movie played on T.V. downstairs.

Now, I am not phased by those hollowed out tree trunks. I love to walk through forests and feel small in big, sweeping, strong nature. 

Now, I can return to clear and steady driving on life’s road. I think I can. But moment by moment, day by day, it will require the wherewithal to remember that I hold the wheel in my hands, that I don’t hand it over to wily Madame X--not if I want to travel safely, eyes on the road.

Oh, wait a minute. I do hold the wheel, here on earth, here on crazy Route 46 West, but truthfully, I believe that some spirit or starry galaxy or mother above holds me while I drive the car and if I pause and ponder, I get guidance to make the right turns.

Dysfunctional Families--and Fantasy Tablescapes

Photo courtesy of Joshua Reddekopp via Unsplash.

“A dysfunctional family is any family with more than one person in it.” 

― Mary Karr, The Liars' Club 

Gosh, I love that quote. And whenever things get rough, and I remember to remember that quote, it brings comfort and perspective.

Because despite the 

*quiet beauty (glowing candles, a Parisian one from Sis and pure beeswax pinecones from Meggy in Vermont)

*lasting faith (Christmas Mass in the little country church, the tiny nativity scenes I’ve had since girlhood, which I squirreled up to Maine in my Christmas stocking) 

*joy (playing “Reindeer Games” and Yankee Swap with so much laughter and love)

*family (sharing meals, walks, memories)

and 

*light (Figgy doing my makeup on Christmas Day, a red lip, a shadowed eye)

the ugly head of dysfunction still rises. 

I won’t go into specifics in this public space, just....between a teenager in love and on FaceTime many hours of the day, even if the boy is very nice, many hours in the car and small Airbnb apartment, finally asking her to please maybe go in the bathroom with her phone for a while and close the door? and a beautiful young woman returns home from the Florida coast to a complicated past and present, then drives in a car with us 450 miles to our family in Maine...

It’s not just youth, laughter, vulnerability, humor, talent, brains, rap songs, love for us (spilling over, or reluctant), sarcasm and wrapped gifts these young women bring.....it’s some troubles, too. For both. So if for a moment I got lulled by Yuletide hymns at church and little girls in velvet dresses, bringing back memories of my Figgy in that same country church, it’s these realities that bring me back, in a jarring way. 

Life is beautiful, and life is hard.

On the soft side, two links to tablescape stories I enjoyed writing. Have a good day. May we all tread lightly and keep our eyes open.

1. Forest-Themed Tablescapes

2. Holiday Tablescapes.

41 Minutes by the Blue

Life can be scary. Nature is healing.

Today I drove Sis’s car, with Sirius XM radio and good A.C., to Sherwood Island State Park, exit 18 off Route 95 North. It’s a little beyond Westport, Connecticut (the town where Paul Newman and Joanne Woodward raised their family).

I had to get the car back in time so Sis could go to spin class. Traffic was bad. I had 41 minutes at the beach, 4:19 p.m. until 5. 

It was enough. Nature in my heart, my soul, my pocket. I took off my Peds and Nikes, minced my steps over a dense carpet of whole and jagged seashells, and walked into the Long Island Sound--ankle-deep. 

Many gifts if eyes open to see them:

• A sailboat, crisp white wing against June sky.
• Seaweed. 
• Shells in hand, an oyster shell for Sis.
• The promise of summer in my heart. Joy, sand, sunscreen, water, waves. Always and forever.
• Walking the path, which climaxes by the quiet "living" 911 Memorial, designed to change naturally with the seasons. It’s a beautiful pocket by a rocky coast. 
• A few Wednesday sun umbrellas and small beach tents.
• Beach roses, pink and promising white. Just like Cape Cod! (Dan even planted a hot candy-pink one in our backyard.) We can’t pick flowers in public places, so I plucked a single pink petal and held it to my nose.
• White clover in green grass. I remember that in the lawns and parks of my girlhood. Wildflowers. How pretty. Flowers that grow wild, whether we want them or not. Determined blooms. Rugged.
• Quick prayer.
• Lungs filled.

I asked the nice guy at the snack bar if they had iced coffee. Not today, but they will, come summer.

I was back in time for Sis to get to spin class. #grateful

Good night.

Not Afraid of Monsters

Lumbering Mr. Stay-Puft, the silly yet menacing “Ghostbusters” monster. Image from here.

Fear can start as a mini marshmallow, a tiny pillow of air. Then the minis mound up and I am squaring off with Mr. Stay-Puft, a moving, threatening giant. The fear can take over, larger than life.

In parenting, I do not want to get lost in this soft, sticky, hard-to-stop emotion. I would like to notice the first mini marshmallow. Acknowledge it. Face it. Put it down. 

I pray not to see a handful of minis in this teen’s life and immediately build a moving pile. A heap that soon takes form as a towering marshmallow man. May I see a plump, right-sized marshmallow as the thing of campfires and Girl Scout trips--an innocent, snow-white bite of childhood and BBQs, not a monster coming for us. For the teen, and for the family.

My I stay right-sized, the teen stay right-sized, my partner stay right-sized and my fears stay right-sized.

Wikipedia says of Stay-Puft: Although mean and destructive at first, he later befriends Slimer and the Ghostbusters in the animated series The Real Ghostbusters, and helps them out with various problems.

That’s it, that’s all. Food for thought.

Indignities/BAJ Lady

When life’s road gets rough, it seems like everything is stacked up against you. 

• Underpants on inside-out.
• CPAP breathing tube detaching from face mask once or twice per night; it wakes you, and you re-adjust.
• Eyeglass frames breaking.
• Hair freshly shampooed with salty potion harvested from California coast (and ordered online months ago) but you didn’t allow enough time to blow-dry or apply makeup before morning drive.
• Big hole in sole of right Tory Burch shoe. Too far-gone after several years of near daily wear (except in summer sandal weather) to be salvaged. But this well-worn pair is a loyal old friend, for sure, offering steady footing in all kinds of weather.
• Tiny piece of white pill stuck to bottom of bare foot. Some family member dropped it and your ample size 11 picked it up. Fortunately, you noticed before shower.
• Brunetti or Dan did not allow Sugar enough time in the green grass yesterday morning and she lowered her white fur skirt and deposited two poos near your closed glass office door during 7 a.m. Zoom support group. Mother’s Day gift, a day late?
• You hate everyone, you told your therapist on your planned call yesterday. You listed some names. “Yeah, and you can add me to your list,” he said. Exactly. At that moment.

Here’s what I wrote in a blog post on Sunday, June 12, 2011, almost 10 years ago:

You know for sure that you're on a dark road when you feel bitter, angry and jealous, when you measure yourself against perfect strangers--and worse yet, friends, the friends you love--and come up short. You even created an acronym for that years ago. BAJ, for bitter angry jealous. BAJ [pronounced BAG] lady. 

Better days ahead, starting now, I trust.

FOR SUNDAY--Obligatory Tracking

Black garb.
This is such a scary image, I am scared to paste it here.
I like pictures of pretty things.
I am still afraid of "The Wizard of Oz."
Image from HERE.

I'm still shrouded in darkness, cloaked in isolation. I have been talking to my nuclear family, to my Sis, but I cannot manage too much other communication. Could not return Mother's Day greetings by phone or text, except one. Too hopeless. Too false.

It's a bulky coat, but I want to leave it on--all the while knowing at some level that self-pity is the worst disease of all and that others have problems much heavier to bear, and wear.

I remember once, a few years back, being so depressed that for days, I did not remove the snow-white acrylic fur-trimmed hat that my grandmother bought me at the Florence Shop in Bergenfield. I even slept in it.

So, it's only been what? A week or so or recording this? And it is hella hard to keep up with while dealing with what 12-step programs call "Life on life's terms." But I'm doing my best to record Food and Money even through the depths, where visibility is bad. Or maybe it's crisp and clear, and that's why I'm in pain.

FOOD SUNDAY

• Sal's Gastronomia bagel and lox. Each kit came with bagels, sliced lox, little cups of best smoked whitefish, egg salad, cream cheese and everything bagel seasoning, plus sliced tomato and red onion. My friend recommended it. Over the course of the day, I had 1 3/4 bagels with fixings. 
• Roasted cauliflower with lemon.
• Roast marinated turkey.
• Piece bread with pesto.
• A little mascarpone.
• 4 smallish? Hungry Jack pancakes with butter and pure maple syrup.
• Sliced provolone, multi-grain saltines.
• Glass of milk.
• 1/2 small beet brownie.
• Coffee with whole milk.
• Ice water.
• Cup of iced pink lemonade.
• Glass of Prosecco.
• A little KETO coffee ice cream. Hard as rock. You must let it soften or zap in microwave for maybe 20 seconds. No sugar added.

$ MONEY SPENT OUT OF POCKET

• Sal's, again trying to support local Montclair restaurants, and here, you can also get groceries, so I got 2 balls burrata; tofu; head of cauliflower; blackberries; and raspberries x2. Two bagel boxes at $18 each. A treat. Thank you, Punch said, enjoying a bagel w lox. That was a bright spot. $71.42.
• Nordstrom credit card, hair accessories, including one by Marimekko, $32.80.

Ongoing monthly spend as of May 10: $990.48.

Avg daily spend: $99.05.

________________________________________________

Keep an eye on/compare to previous months:

April: Total monthly spend: $2,143.19.
Avg daily spend: $71.44.

March--the effect of coronavirus quarantine and not working in NYC for now

Total monthly spend as of March 31: $1,916.15.

Avg daily spend: $61.81.

February

Total monthly spend as of Feb. 29: $2,480.34.
Avg daily spend: $85.53.

January

Total monthly spend as of Jan 31: $3,063.60.

Avg daily spend: $98.83.

December 2019 [Christmas and all that entails]

Total monthly spend as of Dec. 31: $3,998.16. 

Avg daily spend: $128.97. 

November

Total spend for November (30 days): $2,979.03. 

Average daily spend: $99.30. 

October

Total spend for OCTOBER 31 days: $2,495.36.

AVERAGE DAILY SPEND: $80.49.

September

TOTAL SPEND FOR SEPTEMBER (30 DAYS): $2,214.43.

AVERAGE DAILY SPEND: $73.81.

August

TOTAL SPEND FOR AUGUST (31 DAYS/PLUS VACAY IN HERE): $2,895.06. ⬆️

AUGUST AVERAGE DAILY SPEND: $93.39.  ⬆️

I Will Stay Afloat

I will not go under because I’m worried about someone else.
About someone younger, whose ocean will continue to crest and crash.
To rise up and retreat.
As all oceans do.
I am a strong swimmer through life.
I will stay afloat.
And model strong strokes for her.

Thank you for listening.

TCOY

1. Noticed pretty blue bird at feeder Figgy put in back garden.
2. Read NY Times.
3. Did delicate wash, so Wolford and Commando tights are ready to roll.
4. Booked blowout for tomorrow.
5. Lined up my sitter so I can go to 4:30 Friday gentle yoga class. I need flexibility, physically and philosophically.
6. Walked Sug around grassy island on block. Felt good for both of us.
7. Recovered giant pine cone w PB and slivered almonds for birds and hung it back up in dwarf apple tree, using piece of satin ribbon.
8. Important reading.

$MSOOP

• Gas for car, $20 and $1 tip for attendant who filled tank. [This is New Jersey--full service.] I learned this from Moey's mom in Dumont when I was a teen--she tipped the gas station guy. Now I do it if it's boiling hot, snowing, or pouring rain, if I have a dollar bill. Today it was cold out. $21.
• Convenience fee for paying that parking ticket [from last night] online. $1.
• McDonald's drive-through on way home from gymnastics with Punchy, 8:10 p.m. She was hungry and I still had to go to CVS to get her ADHD Rx for school tomorrow and did not want to cook. It was cute; she knew Fig was having two girlfriends over and ordered a large fries for them. She gave her Oreo McFlurry to one of the [nonvegan] girls, too. $15.43.
• CVS, milk, 4 KIND bars, raisins, chocolate milk for Punch, Dawn dishwashing soap. $16.41.

TOTAL: $53.84.

Dark Forest

Again too tired to write much here. And I’m finding that the reading, writing and reflecting involved in working a 12-step program [in my case, OA] involves revisiting dark forests on scary, uncharted paths. There’s a reason we lost our way the first time around. It’s hard work and when it doesn’t feel freeing, it can be downright exhausting.
Good night.

Cape Fear

Fear cripples me. It caused me to freeze and get fired as a young writer, age 26. Words had flowed easily from my mind to those electric typewriter keys to the blue copy paper--until they didn’t.

Fear--crouching in the corner like a mean witch with a wart on her nose, a bony, old woman wearing a crocheted cardigan sweater in muddied mauve--has held me back from standing up for myself in the workplace when someone was wrongly blaming me for their mistake(s). [Well, I also clearly remember defending myself sometimes, too, and effectively.]

I fear so much w Figgy. It’s overwhelming and it’s a handicap. It’s probably not rational. I pray I can stop fretting and worrying. Fear is my default. Worrying is my Achilles heel. My Dad also worried a lot.

With Figgy, it’s not the old woman in the corner but rather a grip that takes hold of my heart and mind. I have to physically shake it off, release it.

A friend told me fear can be an addiction.

God, please help me do my work productively, take care of myself and be calm. Help me be my best partner, mother and, to Punch, legal guardian [mother, for all intents and purposes]. Help me fit in time for nature, because that fills my soul and broadens my perspective--gives me good ground to walk on. Help me STAY IN TODAY. I find it very hard w Figgy. Thank you. 
Signed, Seeking Serenity

The Young & the Restless

Punch was at her Mimi’s from yesterday morning til today at 5. Dan and I loved the rest and the chance to reconnect. We went out to dinner at the Cloverleaf Tavern in Caldwell. We took naps and read. He mowed the lawn. We caught up on four loads of laundry./We had a breather from the get-to-soccer-game drill, the stress of lasso-ing Punch from neighborhood play, finding the shin guards in our confused home, then the ponytail holder, filling the water bottle with “fridge water,” since Punch likes it over tap water. And then watching closely from the sidelines because good sportsmanship comes naturally to many but not to all, including the short person in our midst./And somewhere between Dan’s craft beer at the Cloverleaf and my coffee with Baileys, we addressed some hard stuff in a few short sentences. I am grateful for that time and space./Once back home with us, Punch had mixed emotions. She adores her young Mimi, her late father’s mother. But the ride to Mimi’s is 2.5 hours—to reach a wide-open part of South Jersey. So she tends to return emotional and tired. Tonite followed form. /Ours is a dysfunctional nuclear family. [Actor Andy Garcia said “Every family is dysfunctional.”]  I worked hard to make a nice Sunday dinner—a big pot of chili with roasted cherry tomatoes in it, with a kick of heat from chili peppers Dan grew. I kept the browned ground turkey separate, so Punch and I could add it to our bowls. I made cornbread and brown rice. I cleaned out the fridge while the chili simmered on the stove./Alas, Figgy was going to her friend’s and Dan was ovverhungry and Punch was bouncing around and being fresh and no one was filling the water glasses, though they did get the rest of the table set with paper napkins and spoons after I asked twice. In the midst of all this, I learned some troubling information and could have easily become consumed, even crippled, with worry. But I kept calm and ate my chili. One step at a time, one spoonful at a time. Good night.

Death Wish?

Warning: This topic is heavy and might be disturbing. Many people I hold close read my blog. I don't want to worry you. I want to face facts myself by writing this.

You already know I am one big paradox wrapped up in ribbons and bows. I try not overeating on sweets, but I adore baking and have an arsenal of the very best baking books. I have loved to bake since girlhood, and to give treats to family and friends. I am overweight and I exercise but still struggle with a big Santa belly.

Well, H. was away in the San Francisco area for two nights. I have sleep apnea, as confirmed maybe 8 years ago in an overnight sleep study in a hospital. It was one of the most horrendous experiences I have ever endured. Wires and electrodes all over and a mask that frightened me and a promise from the nurse that I could get her if I felt I could not breathe. But then she did not come, at least once. A medical supply company came to deliver a mask and a machine after that study and I would not accept it. The thought of being tied to having to use a machine every night, especially since I love to travel on road trips, was terrifying. My doctor encouraged me to use a machine, but I declined. He also said that losing some weight would improve my sleep apnea, so I grabbed onto that hope.

Fast forward to last night. Going to bed, reviewing the sweets I had eaten in a single Thursday, below. Praying to God, again. Holding my belly, again. Dear God, what is the answer?

• 1 smallish chocolate cupcake from Little Daisy Bake Shop when walking back from town.
• 1 mini chocolate cupcake from Little Daisy, when Punch wanted to go in on our way to jewelry holiday party at 7:45 p.m.
• 1 small cookie at the party.
• 1 thick slice of the world's best gingerbread loaf, buttery and fragrant--Punch chose it at Little Daisy, took one bite. I put it in freezer to save for her and then ate it with a glass of cold milk at 11 p.m.
• 1 of the foil-wrapped Rocher chocolates Punchy proudly bought with her own money and has been doling out carefully [to herself and her pal Rowan].

Fast forward to about 3 a.m. I woke up struggling to breathe. I could not get any air in. Thank God I woke up, sat up and struggled, finally able to get some air into my lungs. Thoughts of a classmate's older brother who died so young, in his sleep, at a hotel, I think. Something about a breathing problem or obstruction. Little Punch was sleeping soundly right across the hall; Sug was curled up in donut position on our bed. H. was not by my side. He tells me that I have bad apnea and he has to tell me to roll over, etc.

Is this God's answer? 

I am willing to give up sweet treats in moderation so that I will be healthier. I am not willing to give them up entirely. It is December, and I am planning certain days to bake and give.

I hope and pray, pray and hope. But this was very, very scary. I think my apnea is worse when I eat sweets and milk right before bed, so maybe I could at least not do that?

Thank you for listening to my tapped words.

I would love to know what you think, but even that frightens me. If I would have to endure another sleep study in order to get the equipment, I'm not sure that I can. Not unless H. or someone else spends the night there with me.

Signing off,
Frightened to Death? 

TCOY

1. Boot camp in the park.
2. Walked Sug.
3. Hot tea.

Gratitude + Fear

Feeling proud of Figgy and her hard work/talent, grateful for my writing assignment, thankful for Moey and Lorraine, two of my friends since grade school at Saint Mary's--we met for lunch in Montclair today and talked for hours.

Things seem lucky at home, like we chose an orange "Chance" card on the Monopoly board--H. got a check in the mail for a NY Times Magazine article that was purchased for syndication. Checks for republishing rights are always a surprise for us. I have gotten several for GH articles in the past. We needed this one now.

Happy about Punchy enjoying her American Girl and a little fashion dress-up game [thanks, Moey], horse camp, gymnastics and play date with her friend River. Delighted that Punch can read to us now. And I love to get her hugs.

So pleased to have Elaine, my sitter, who not only makes Punchy pepperoni eggs and plays Barbies on Tuesdays or Saturdays with her, but also goes to the playground on a cold day and does our wash and dishes.

Tickled to see the old-time lights H. strung from the roof peaks. Makes me feel warm inside.

Feeling fearful about things I can't control. But that's life, isn't it? I can and will do my best to be a good person, a positive influence and make a difference on this earth. I hope and pray always that my/our Figgy will be safe and sound. I pray she will hold close to her heart and mind the knowledge that we love her deeply.

Good night.