toddlerspit

I take it back.  I’m a three.

But you knew that.

Eric’s been getting lots of good feedback lately.  He has a contact at a local lab who gave him positive encouragement about his skill set, for example, and told him to keep applying there for work, which is great. Eric’s soon-to-be-former employer has been arranging resume workshops and opportunities for laid-off employees (euphemistically referred to as “at risk”) to meet with hiring managers from the huge company’s subsidiaries all over the country.  One of those subsidiaries, in Seattle, drooled all over him at the meeting yesterday.  E also has a former colleague and friend who lives in Florida.  He can have a job there anytime, the friend says.

I think I’m hanging in with all of these big changes pretty well at the moment, but the idea of moving, or worse, of Eric having to commute to another state, away from us, tears me to pieces.  I’m so proud of him, on the one hand:  he’s skilled, accomplished, and well-respected.  He deserves to have a good job he enjoys and that pays him well.  On the other hand, I’d rather he scrub toilets at the Flying J (a job I once had, believe it or not) than tear our family up in a commuting arrangement.  I know other people do it, but I sure don’t want to be one of them, if I can help it.

I’m only slightly more ambivalent about moving.  It has taken years for us to develop our friendships here, and they’re the strongest I’ve ever had.  I love Colorado.  I love our house.  And, most of the time, I enjoy my work, and feel at home here.  The academic job market is worse than sour, and relocating will be difficult.  I know, if it comes down to it, I’ll find the silver lining and eventually get excited about starting over with a new adventure.  But right now I’ve got my heels dug in and don’t want to go anywhere.

So, I spent hours on big, uncontrollable sobs last night that probably had a lot to do with a bunch of things (including the impending monthly visit of my lady friend), and maybe had a lot to do with my position on the Enneagram, according to my friend Ellen:

Apparently, I’m a 6, a “loyalist,” and our main motivation in life is to avoid, evade, or escape abandonment (at our best we are centered, loyal, productive friends).  Perhaps the thought of Eric leaving is triggering that?

Or maybe it would just suck donkeys, and I know it.

The guy who DID win has been teaching at the school since the year I was born (or so), and has a list of accomplishments a mile long.

I did NOT win, unfortunately, but am not too upset, now that it’s all done with.  The anxiety was much worse than the result, and the competition, I see now, was stiff.  In fact, I’m not sure how I even got nominated.  I was so worried that not winning would be seen as some sort of statement about my choice of calling, or my abilities, or something.  Lesson:  I was only one of three people in the room who knew I got nominated, and so I’m the one who was making statements.  In my head.

Love when I get myself all fired up.

I am insufferable right now.  InSUFFERable.  And I know it.  You poor things, all six of you readers, all of a sudden reading a flurry of posts right now because now, the last few days, I have entered a manic crafting-writing-creating phase.  I’ve made a new skirt, a shirt, crocheted a bowl (from pillow case scraps), made a dragonfly necklace, and some other crap I’ve probably forgotten about.  All from stuff in my overflowing craft closet.  And then I redesigned the blog and am posting and have actually been on Facebook recently and drawing with Addie and that stuff. 

I love all this, I do, and I get a lot of pleasure from it.  But I’m a little, no A LOT, obsessed with it right now, I can feel it (I felt this way in December, too, at the end of the last semester).

It’s not that I’m entering a period of not knowing what to do with myself.  I have plenty to do this summer (and please don’t ask me what I do with my “summers off” the way everyone else does.  Puh-lease).  My dance-card is fuh-uh-uh-ull.  Same with fall.

I don’t think it’s our current state of economic uncertainty (“our” meaning our family).  Maybe I’m deluding myself, but I feel okay about that.

It’s that I feel like I’m waiting for something.  For an important email.  Magically appearing money.  High honors.  I’m clicking send/receive on my email button every five minutes.  Racing to the mailbox.  Checking my phone.  I’m up for that teaching award–which has a nice cash prize–today.  It’s freaking me out (the mental machinations of THAT are for another post).  But I don’t know.  It’s a weird sort of anxiety, and not even laying down on my office floor and breathing big breaths is making it go away.  Maybe I need to just go into it or something.

My meditations lately have been centered around the themes “pride,” “humility,” and “shame.” 

You make the connections.  I can’t bear to.

Addie and I have been reading a chapter of Charlotte’s Web every night.  For those of you who haven’t been in fourth grade for a while, that’s the book about the little girl Fern who raises a baby pig, Wilbur.  Wilbur ends up befriending a spider, Charlotte, who saves Wilbur from the slaughter by weaving descriptions of Wilbur into her web (“some pig”; “terrific”; and “humble”).  It’s a nice book.  A book that’s not too dark or scary but that deals with the fact of death.  The whole circle of life thing.  You know.

Anyway, a colleague at another university has been posting about the swine flu, and wondering about the impact of large-scale farming on the spread of animal-to-human diseases.  He posted this video on his blog today:

I try not to be one of those bloggers, posting every YouTube thing out there.  But this is pretty much horrible.  Next time I feel like being a bad vegetarian and having just a little bite of bacon, I’ll try to remember this.  And think of Wilbur.

Addie and I were on the way home from ballet today when I needed to pull over and get gas.  She wanted to get out with me and see how the pump and stuff worked, and I let her (relax, now, I gave all of the requisite stern warnings and such).  She asked about the changing numbers on the pump, and I told her one tells us how much money we have to pay and the other how many gallons of gas go in the car.

Back on the road, I thought I’d be all smarty-pants-Mom and ask her about what other things in our life cost money.  Not that that’s been on my mind or anything.  Addie came up with toys, trees, and oh yeah food.  I said, that’s right.  And we also pay for our house we live in, and for your school, and all of our clothes, and stuff like that.  But we’re going to be having a little less money for a while since Daddy is leaving his job.

I said all this in a chipper way, like not trying to lay some anxiety trip on her.  Not sure that worked.  But for what it’s worth.

She thought for a moment and then said, But what will Daddy do for his job now?

I don’t know, I said.  He’s thinking about…

BEEKEEPING, BEEKEEPING, BEEKEEPING!  She shrieked from the back seat.  I LOVE HONEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEY!

Right.  Beekeeping.

Actually, it’s not that much further out than some of our other ideas.  Selling our skunky homemade beer.  Inventing digital signs for cars, so that drivers can tell you how they’re feeling from inside their automobiles, like on Facebook.  “Get out of my way, a-hole!” the digital sign would read.  Or, “Honk if you’re not wearing pants!”  Being in a band, but not a band that travels or wants to gig very often or very late at night.  Opening the third biggest brewery in Golden.

That sort of thing.  I mean, beekeeping seems quite reasonable.  When you think about it.

Hooray for NOLIE!  That little monkey slept through the night last night in her UNDERWEAR with no accidents.

Could it be that, at last, we are approaching the end of Diaper Road?  Could it be that this train is pulling out of Pull-Up City?  Lord, I dare not think it.  But I must!  Rejoice!  Rejoice!

***

Not that you were up late at night worrying about it, but my neck is indeed better.  I go in for the tune up Thursday with Dr. Magic Hands.  Thanks to all of you for the great descriptions of Osteopathy.  But I still think it’s magic.

Also, I don’t think I wrote about it, but I was having some really painful blood clots in my arm from having a stupid i.v. during the random uterine infection a few weeks back.  Those are also going away. 

I’m giddy with health.

***

And, we have been receiving some mysterious and unexpected sums of money lately.  Nothing huge, but little chunks of change here and there.  I was meditating last night and felt this huge opening in my heart, and into my head came thoughts of being in the flow.  There it was.  I felt totally connected.

Maybe it’s the juggling.

Addie and Eric were watching PBS this morning.  Some lady on some show says, “Well, kids, if you want to learn more about that, you can always ask your parents!”

“Unless they’re idiots,” mutters Addie.

Indeed.

Dr. Magic Hands was most excellent this morning.  I haven’t seen her since before Nolie was born.  With both pregnancies, my back felt like it was being crushed by a two-ton weight (that weight being my giant belly and ass, no doubt).  I was in pretty much constant pain or discomfort by the third trimester with both pregnancies.  The doula we hired for the first pregnancy recommended Dr. Magic Hands, an osteopath, and I was an instant convert.

First off, I don’t know what osteopathy is.  I know Dr. Magic is a “D.O.” and not an “M.D.,” but what do I care?  All I know is I go in to her office (a converted church) where tibetan chanting is on the stereo, she slips her hands under my body (the butt, the spine, the neck, wherever), holds them there for about 20 minutes, moves them around  little, and when I sit up I can all of a sudden move my shoulders back, or the pain in the lower back is gone, or that little throbbing in my left temple disappears. 

It’s magic. Or her hands are the hands of god.  Or I just believe in her, and allow myself to release.  I don’t know.

I realize now it doesn’t matter how she does it, or if it’s her or me “doing” it.  I used to ask her, “What are you doing to me?  How come I feel so much better?”  She just shrugs, her crazy, ratty ponytail bobbing at the side of her head, and hands me a nonsense brochure titled something like, “This Is Osteopathy.”

So I don’t ask anymore.  I just stand in awe and gratitude.

Today she did the hands under the back thing, and I felt my lungs open up and my right leg erupted in this most delightful tingling.  After about 20 minutes, she came up to the neck, put her hands right on my sore spot and said, “Hmm.  We’re about 70% there.  I’m going to have to do a slight articulation.”

And the she spun my head around on my neck, I saw some stars, and all of a sudden was able to hear out of my left ear (I hadn’t realized it had been clogged up).  “That’s going to be sore for a few days,” she said.  “Come see me next week.”

Reading over this, I realize I sound like a nutjob.  If the shoe fits, and all.  I only know what I know, and this chick is the cat’s meow.

Meow.

So, I’m grumpy about a few things today.  This was the third morning in a row I’ve woken up with a nasty crick in my neck, which I think is in communication with a knot in my mid-back, both of which are causing me much angst.  It’s off to the miracle-working shaman D.O. tomorrow morning for some help.

I made it to a new gynecologist today, and again got no answers about whatever it is that continues to plague my uterus.  Apparently, my body will just heal itself.  Ugh.

And, the President of the U. had a “town hall” today (which should tell you something).  We learned both that our school is in better shape than a lot of universities and that, the state legislature will probably get more bad news in June, which will mean loads of furloughs in the fall.  I didn’t spin out or anything, but my little leprechuan Fear came and sat on my knee for a few minutes.  That little fucker.

So, I’m going home.  And here is what I’m going to give my energy to for the rest of the day:

Kids.  I think Peter Pan is on the docket for this evening.

Juggling.  It’s coming along, it’s coming along.  I am still not a coordinated person.  I was hoping to grow into coordination at some point, but perhaps at 34, I should stop waiting and just embrace my monkey arms and spaghetti legs.  It makes me laugh my ass off every time I try it, so that’s worth something.

The good news.  There’s been plenty of bad news this past year, but also the good news:  my new, beautiful nephew, Holden Jace, being born; my brother getting engaged; my dad’s supposedly deadly cancer being in remission.  And lots more.  Lots to celebrate, and meditate on.

Stretching.  I’ve been doing yoga everyday as it’s the only thing that relieves the neck pain.  So, again.

See you tomorrow, yo.