Tag: Mom

With a Little Help from a Stranger

I’ve started running again—or at least, I have started working toward running again. My calves and my tibialis anterior are swollen and angry. I’m almost definitely doing everything wrong.

Sunday night I asked Justin a most serious question: “the whole time you’re running, is your brain just telling you to stop? Like, how do you stop your brain from trying to convince you to stop running??”

“What?? None of that is happening. I’m just thinking 1-2-3, 1-2-3, 1-2-3. The entire time.”

“That’s it?! Oh my gosh, at about :30 in, all I’m thinking is, ‘that’s enough. You can stop now. This wasn’t a smart idea to begin with. You gave it your all. How long has it been? :45?! There’s no way I can keep doing this.’ And on and on, until I eventually give in and stop.”

Another day, another run. I already wasn’t feeling it, but I know me: if I skip one day, that’ll be the end of this…again.

It started just like any other run: 2 minutes of walking, and then away I go. As usual, nothing was really going on. There was a woman walking her dog, and a little grandma walking to the end of the street…with mail??

Suddenly, I was being flagged down. “Excuse me! Can you help me??” This little Italian grandma, in a raccoon sweater was standing in the road, with papers and an iPhone. “Can you help me make a phone call? My daughter left me directions, but I do not know how to make this work. And my real phone isn’t working, so my daughter told me I have to call this number, but it won’t let me make a phone call.”

Psh. Between my two moms, I am a professional when it comes to assisting with what some might consider easy. Making an actual phone call might be the easiest task I have ever been asked to assist with.

“She said type this number in. And then look!? I can’t make a phone call! There’s no keypad! Where do I type in the numbers.”

Easy grandma, one step at a time. I point to the phone icon, and explain she has to click this. “Oh! Ok, now this is the number. I cannot really read it.” As I was about to type the number in, I realized she had obviously made it to this step at least 3 times. The long line of numbers across the phone was proof of that. I deleted, deleted, deleted, until I got down to one phone number.

“Ok. That’s the number—now you just press this button.” I point to it, and let her complete the final step (it’s like with kids—you want them to leave feeling like they accomplished big things). We hit a brick wall.

“See?! It will not let me call! It just says this!” I honestly don’t know what she did, but she lost her button pressing privileges. I backtracked and hit the button, and you would’ve thought Bob Barker just announced that she was the next contestant on The Price is Right!

I continued on my run, having only made it one minute into the damn thing when I got flagged down. For the rest of my run, my brain switched between, “oh my god this is terrible,” and “what the hell was that little old lady going to do if I didn’t run by?? Do you think she was going to flag down a car? Do you think she was going to cross the street and start ringing doorbells until someone answered and helped her with the most impossible task of using an iPhone to make a phone call?!”

On my way back, she was no longer standing at the road, so I’m guessing she managed to contact the phone company.

Word of advice to any children/grandchildren: if you need to assist someone with using a smart phone for the first time in their entire life, do not just write directions on a piece of paper and think they’ll be able to follow along. No matter how large you write the words, and no matter how simple the task is for you, this will most likely be the most difficult task they have to complete all day. Remember: this is the generation that left their VCRs blinking 12:00, because no one could figure out how to set them. They deserve patience and understanding.

I’m adding “patiently assists seniors with iPhone issues” to the skills section of my résumé.

I Can’t See Clearly Now, My Glasses are Gone

My son is the king of leaving his glasses everywhere. He might be really good about wearing them for a week, and then I might not see them for a month–they have been MIA since the start of Coronapocalypse.

Once upon a time, I also left my glasses everywhere. I don’t know why I was so thoroughly against wearing them. Maybe because I got my first pair at 6, and was the only kid in my class with glasses. I would accidentally lose them (yes Mom, the 2 months that they were lost and gone forever….on the bottom shelf of my nightstand, I honestly did not remember putting them there. I promise); I would intentionally leave them at home. I did all I could to not wear them. Which I look back on now and think how crazy that is. But now, if I tried to walk across my bedroom without my glasses, chances are, I would die.

On the days I would “accidentally” leave my glasses at home, at some point in the day I would look up to see my Mom walking at me, waving them in the air, announcing, “Sammi!!! You forgot your glasses!!!” It probably was not nearly that dramatic. But in my mind, she might as well have been carrying a megaphone: “Attention! May I have your attention please! Would Sammi please stop leaving her glasses at home, because I’m just going to keep bringing them to her at school!”
Of course, that was basically double embarrassment–now everyone will know that, not only do I wear glasses, but…..I have a mother! Oh the shame.

I am much less in denial these days. Yes, I do have a mom. And also, I wear glasses…when I’m not wearing contacts (which is most of the time).

Xander’s issue is less embarrassment than it is his total inability to remember where he leaves his things. I have found his glasses on the kitchen counter, in my nightstand, floating around in his backpack. They have spent days in my van, and I’ve even found them tucked away in the shoe rack. And, in his defense, he comes by this completely honestly. I have also found my “lost” phone in my sock drawer, the refrigerator, and also on the shoe rack.

For the past 3 weeks, I have been under the assumption that he had once again left them at school. With Coronapocalypse closing schools for the rest of the year, I had accepted they were lost and gone forever…until the school notified us that we had to drop off school packets and library books today! There might be home for these glasses yet!

Unfortunately, today during “pick up this school biz so you can get to work teaching your kids for the rest of the school year,” the Principal sent someone in to check his desk. Hello, glasses, are you there?? No?? Ok. Alas, no glasses.

I can’t wait to locate them in an unopened box of cereal. Or in his back pocket. Neither place would surprise me. If he walked downstairs wearing them right now and told me he’s been wearing them this whole time, that wouldn’t even surprise me.

Help! I Need Some TP!

I walked into the bathroom, and sat down to pee. My life flashed before my eyes. Instant panic set in. Oh, my glob. This is it. The end of times.

I was about to jump in my car and spend the next 12 hours driving around to every store in the 100 mile radius I am currently detained to (as per Army Regulations). But then, just as I was about to leave, I remembered:

Oh yeah…we have toilet paper. That was a close one.

Instantly, I found myself wondering, is this what has happened across the country–nay, the world?! Did mothers everywhere, spot the empty roll, realize we’re living in Pandemic Province, and instantly Pandemic Panic Purchase Paper-Products?!

How silly did all of them feel when, upon returning home from their Quarantine-Quest, they realized it was just another case of A Task Too Hard For Anyone But A Mother To Complete?

Don’t Tell Me to Stop

So, my blood pressure has been astronomically high since…honestly, I can’t pinpoint the exact moment, but back in February, my dentist pointed out how dangerously high it was. I take nothing seriously, so at the time I said “ok. I’ll look into it.” A few weeks later when I went back to get a few broken fillings replaced (nighttime Sam has spent over 3 decades sabotaging her smile with grinding), the dentist informed me that my blood pressure was so high, she would only do work on me if I got nitrous. Which was strangely like being drunk at the dentist (honestly, I slept through my dental work). She once again asked me to please see my doctor.

Meh.

Well, here we are, 4 months later. It’s still high in the sky, and I still rarely take these things seriously. Until my doctor last week (during a completely unrelated appointment) said, “I want you to stop taking your antidepressants.”

Umexcusemewhat??

Deer in headlights.

“How long have you been on the Effexor?”

“Um…4 years?”

“And how long has your blood pressure been high?”

“Um…”

“4 years?”

After coming out of the haze of the initial shock, I agreed that I have felt lately like it wasn’t working. But I had mostly chalked that up to other issues: my husband is on the other side of the Earth, I am a year into the full time working mom gig, 9 months into my single working mom stint. I’m a serious introvert, with a lack of a local support system. I am terrible at multi-tasking. And I inherited my Mom’s overactive tear glands.

But really, I get too overwhelmed. And if I cry any more, I might dry out and turn to dust.

I guess. I don’t know. Just when I start thinking, “maybe this week I won’t cry at work,” I have a nervous breakdown in a parking lot over a dented bumper.

So, in order to address my super-high-for-unknown-reasons blood pressure, I have to be unmedicated. For the first time since…shortly after Xander was born. That, to me, is scarier than any blood pressure, heart issue, scare.

I have dealt with/suffered from depression since I was……9? 5? Always? It’s hard to say. Meds have come and gone, and none will ever make me “normal,” but they sure do keep me from shattering plates on the floor because Justin paused too long before telling me what he wanted to drink with dinner (can we talk about the hero of this story for a minute? Because the partners of us mentally unstable squirrels are by far the most under-appreciated at times. And mine has put up with a lot in 13 years, and still sticks around to help keep me sane).

Also, the unmedicated, barely-functioning depression I suffered through while pregnant with Shea (while Justin was deployed), springs to mind. I could be a non-functioning blob before kids–that is not really a state I can enter into while having to be responsible for tiny humans.

I am officially one week into the process of slowly cutting back (so as not to be launched into the head pounding, nightmare-inducing, vertigo causing, withdrawal that this particular medication is known to cause…in me…after one missed dose). I’m still overwhelmed. I still cried today at work (literally because I was told I had to call the help-desk to sort out an employee’s timecard. And then I couldn’t find the number. And then my phone cut out. And then…tears). My blood pressure is still high.

Deep. Breath.

Stay positive.

You can do this.

Dental Therapy

My Mom is by far, the best Dental Hygienist in existence. Of course, I’m possibly biased. All I know is, once upon a time (close to 30 years ago, to be precise), I had my teeth cleaned by a different hygienist in the office where my Mom worked; the experience was not fun. She stabbed my gums a lot, asked a million questions while her hands were in my mouth, and was less than understanding of my small mouth and my jaw’s need to occasionally close.

In the 12 years that I’ve lived away from home, I have still continued to get my teeth cleaned by my Mom during visits home. If I needed work done, I would even wait until visits to do that as well. I have no issues seeing other dentists–it’s the cleanings that worry me. It’s probably the one thing that makes me want to cry like a sleepy toddler: “I want my Mom!!!”

In December, she cleaned my teeth. And pointed out 2 broken fillings (I have some serious clenching/grinding issues). It was time to put my big girl panties on, suck it up, and see a local dentist.

After two months of putting it off, I followed the recommendation of a lifeguard who spent her senior year doing CP (career practicum) in a dental office. And, wow.

First of all, I had a minor panic moment when the hygienist said she was going to take a panoramic x-ray and asked if I had any earrings in–and then looked and said, “oh my gosh. Ok, so, we’ll do everything else, and you can take those all out and we can do the x-ray at the end.”

Of course I had decided to put 90% of my earrings (or 20) in that morning.

You know you’re the daughter of a hygienist, when you become so relaxed during a cleaning that you almost fall asleep. Who needs a massage!? Can I just get my teeth cleaned once a month?!

I have officially met the second greatest Dental Hygienist in the world.

And guess what? Yup, I clench and grind. And broke 2 fillings. And also: Jaw arthritis. Jarthritis?

As an introvert, I think I will use that as an excuse to not have to conduct job interviews: “you know I would love to talk to this kid about why she thinks she would make a good sales clerk. But my jarthritis is really acting up today, and what happens if it stops working and I end up mumbling!?”