Hold onto your hats

From today's weather report in the LA Times:

Sunny. Highs around 60. From Leo Carrillo to the Hollywood Hills...north winds
20 to 30 mph with gusts to 50 mph through and below canyons. Winds decreasing to
15 to 30 mph in the afternoon.

Um, yeah. It is awfully windy here today. Last night was so windy ("gusty" is a better word), our windows rattled in their frames, our building creaked, the neighbors' wind chimes produced a nonstop, frenzied, cacophony, and our cats expressed their agitation by crying off and on during the early-morning hours.
The wind woke me up several times in the night. I find high, gusty winds quite unnerving. They're loud and violent, and they make going outside an unpleasant experience, to say the least. They also cause branches to snap and boughs to fall on people's cars and homes. And they wreak havoc with traffic lights and satellite television. They give me the impression that the weather is out of control and dangerous, and they make me anxious.
Back home, where I grew up in the Northeast, high winds usually preceded a thunderstorm. I loooved thunderstorms, so I loooved the gusty wind that came before them, because I knew what those winds meant. Also, those winds had a forseeable endpoint. These SoCal winds go on and on, with no rewarding thunderstorms at the end.
I should've known that the glee I was feeling because of our lovely Christmas weather would be short-lived!
Oh, well. It's still sunny out, and I do love that sun...

...and here are the photos

CHRISTMAS 2007

Overview of tree and gifts

Maya on her new hog
(She's ringing the bell here)

Maya builds with her new blocks
(Anyone else remember these from preschool?)

S reads Maya one of her new books

Hooray! S no longer has to tote his lunches to work in flimsy old grocery bags!

Daily Insight calendar full of Dalai Lama quotes

Christmas lunch. The mashed sweet potatoes look so sloppy and gross in that bowl. Oops.

Oven-roasted kale to the right there. If you like salty, crispy foods, please---I urge you---go roast some kale. You won't be sorry. Thanks, J, for the recipe.

Off they go to explore the neighborhood on three wheels. Mommy cannot join them because she is STILL IN HER PAJAMAS.

The End

Christmas wrap-up

Oh, man. There's SO much I'm itching to post about right now! However, I feel compelled first of all to do a Christmas summary for those of you wondering how the holiday played out for our little family of three.

First of all, and not to stick it to anyone currently hanging out in colder climes, but the weather this week has been GORGEOUS here. Monday and Tuesday were downright balmy---so sunny and warm and clear, with a slight breeze. No jacket required! (Apologies to Phil Collins.)
Secondly, having S home for four days in a row was special and fun. He got a ton of quality time with his daughter, which we all enjoyed.

Now then, let's cut to the sequence of events:
1. Christmas Eve: S took Maya to the playground, and I made a quick run to IKEA during Maya's nap. Attention IKEA lovers: IKEA is damn near empty on Christmas Eve! Please take note! I zipped in and zipped out (to the extent that one can "zip in and zip out" of a ginormous, three-level, labyrinth of a retail outlet), Maya's rocker toy was in stock (and only $10, people! TEN DOLLARS.), and the SoCal freeways to and fro were unusually free of traffic. The entire trip took just over an hour from start to finish. Yee-haw!
2. Christmas Eve continued: After Maya's nap, she and I decorated cookies together, which is a tradition I hope to continue until Maya loses interest. (At which point I'll resort to bribing: "Maya, you can take my credit card and car to the mall today! Just as soon as you help me decorate these cookies. That's the deal. Hey! Get back here with those car keys, young lady, and start spreading frosting!") Maya took her frosting-spreading and sprinkle-shaking tasks oh-so-seriously, and a good time was had by all, including Daddy, who videotaped the whole thing. Afterward, we all ate delicious tacos from the Mexican restaurant up the street.
3. Christmas Eve, the conclusion: S and I capped off the day by watching a Tivoed episode of "The Amazing Race" by the glow of the Christmas-tree lights. Right before turning in, I wrapped S's stocking gifts (Gold Bond medicated powder! Right Guard deodorant! Q-tips!!!!!) while he set Maya's new tricycle up beneath the tree and walled it in with Maya's new cardboard blocks. (Thanks, Gram and Pop-Pop!) Photo to come!
4. Christmas morning: Maya woke at 8:30, and we excitedly carried her out to the living room where she immediately noticed her new toys. After giving her her milk, we turned her loose to explore Santa's bounty. She loooved busting through the blocks and was even happier to find a "bicycle" (as she calls it) hiding behind them. Much tricycle-riding, unwrapping, and block-building ensued, followed by a late breakfast of cinnamon buns and chicken-apple sausage (thanks, Trader Joe's). I must note here that Maya utterly snubbed the cinnamon bun (even after we fibbed and called it a bagel in a last-ditch attempt to get her to try it) but consumed her weight in sausage. That kid is going to grow a casing any minute now, I swear.
5. My god, are you still reading this? Sorry. I have never been good at summarizing. I have trouble editing out the details. Obviously. The rest of Christmas day was spent calling family, lounging around, eating, and watching various Christmas specials on TV. Our meal was cranberry-stuffing-stuffed turkey breast (additional thanks to Trader Joe's), mashed sweet potatoes, oven-roasted kale (holy god that was delicious), green salad, and pumpkin pie. Maya napped through the whole thing and was totally unimpressed by it later, when we tried to offer her some for a late lunch after her nap. Also, I didn't change out of my pajamas till 3:30. A-hem. In the late afternoon, we pushed Maya in her new tricycle to the playground and goofed around a bit.

There you have it! Now I'm at work today (boooooooooooooo, hisssssssss), and so is S, and Maya is home being babysat by one of her preschool teachers. As I was leaving the apartment this morning, Maya was crying. I can understand her disappointment and confusion. After four lazy days at home with both Mommy and Daddy, this sucks!

I agree, Maya.
:-(

At the end of the day, she's perfection

It's funny---no matter how fussy or difficult or contrary Maya might be on any given day, I always go to bed at night thinking about how magnificent and beautiful and bright and funny she is, and how very grateful I feel to have a child who far exceeds my expectations, just by being herself.
Believe me, I do way, way, way more than my fair share of worrying about her, and if she's ill or especially upset, or if she spent the evening crying non-stop for reasons unbeknownst to S and me, I'll feel edgy and helpless and half-crazy in the hours after we put her to bed. However, the overarching feelings I have for Maya are appreciation, admiration, and intense love, even at the end of a tough day.
I hesitated before typing perfection up there in the headline, because the last thing I want to do is to give the impression (to Maya and everyone else) that I desire and expect perfection in my child. No, no, no! What I mean is that I love Maya, all parts of her, even the difficult parts. She's perfect in that there's nothing about her that I don't love---see what I mean? She's perfect because she is Maya.

Remembering Grandma G.

My Grandma G. passed away two days ago. She was 95 and died of natural causes.

I loved my grandma, and I was close with her up until very recently, when her hearing loss made it impossible for me to talk with her on the phone. Even after that point, I know Grandma G. knew how much I loved her and how special she was to my brother and me.

Here are some things I remember and admired about my Grandma G. Most of these memories come from the week or so every summer that my brother and I spent alone with her as kids. I am so grateful for these summer visits and the chance they afforded us to get to know our Grandma G!

• She was a no-nonsense, highly independent, resourceful woman.
• She had an adorable giggle.
• She was very careful with her appearance and always took care to color-coordinate and accessorize. (S remembers her wearing "lots of pink" and layering her nightclothes just so: nightgown, bathrobe, slippers, etc.)
• She took my brother and me on many adventures around her town: trips to Ross Park, Cole Park, Otsiningo Park, and local playgrounds.
• She always served my brother and me meticulously peeled and cut fruit on our cereal, and wonderful little liverwurst sandwiches on DiLascia's rolls.
• She always managed to win at miniature golf, even into her 80s.
• She kicked butt at Boggle. Her vocabulary knew no bounds!
• She taught me and my brother to play Flinch---and we always played it together while drinking Sprite, Slice, or 7-Up out of clear plastic cups.
• She had an impressive collection of houseplants.
• She was the healthiest eater I've ever known. For instance, after cooking vegetables in water, she would refrigerate the cooking water and drink it later!
• She was environmentally conscious ahead of her time. Grandma rarely threw out "disposable" plastic containers, such as yogurt cups and margarine tubs. She washed and reused glass jars. As a kid I thought this was weird; now I admire her desire to recycle before it was fashionable. (She was thrifty, too.)
• She dyed and painted Easter eggs with my brother and me.
• She ran errands for and looked in on elder friends who needed help.
• She was a capable single mom for much of her life. This did not mean anything to me until I became a mom myself. Now I appreciate this fact.
• She loved floating on a raft in my parents' swimming pool in the summer. Skin-damaging UV rays be damned!
• She often smelled of witch hazel and flowery Avon lipstick.
• She kept knick-knacks around her apartment that fascinated my brother and me: a prism (which I now have), a block of rock salt, a glass jar of seashells.
• She used Jean Naté bath powder.
• She had a real sense of propriety: Beds were to be made the correct way, slips were to be worn under any and all dresses and skirts, lipstick was to be applied before leaving the house, etc. (Thanks to K for reminding me of this!)
• For many, many years she put together bags of tiny, individually wrapped Christmas gifts for my brother and me. These were so much fun to open! They were like stockings, but more mysterious, because you truly never knew what Grandma would find and wrap for you. (One could expect anything from earrings to cashews.)
• She was very well traveled. She brought me back beautiful nesting dolls from Russia.
• She kept a rack of old (and I mean OLD) LIFE magazines, which I loved to thumb through. I enjoyed looking at the old advertisements.
• She had very soft, delicate hands.
• Like me, she loved doing those JUMBLE puzzles. (She did them in the newspaper, I do them from a big book.)
• Every Thanksgiving that she spent at our (my parents') house, she would assist my dad in carving the turkey. The two of them, my dad super-tall and my grandma super-short, made an odd-looking pair, bent over the bird together.
• She called me "Honey."
• Not being able to see her great-granddaughter Maya very well, she spent some time caressing Maya's bare baby feet last Thanksgiving when we visited. Both Maya and Maya's cousin Jack seemed very content sitting with Grandma G during that visit (which I believe was a testament to my grandma's calm, gentle demeanor).

Boo-hooing my way through the tough times

I am a crier. Always have been. When I'm sad, I cry. When I'm overjoyed, I cry. When I'm upset, I cry. When I'm hugely disappointed, I cry. When I'm very angry, I cry. (That last one drives me nuts, though. Sometimes crying when I'm angry makes me feel like a bit of a loser. But I can't help it! The tears, they have minds of their own, and when those tears are ready to spring forth and course down my cheeks, there is no stopping them.)

When friends or acquaintances or whomever tell me they "never cry," or that they "can't remember the last time" they cried, I am amazed. I believe them, because I know that some of us are criers and some of us just aren't, but still, I am awe-struck by the non-criers. I wonder, How is their emotion released? Or, is it simply that non-criers are less emotional, less dramatic than us criers, so they don't cry because they aren't provoked to do so?

I wonder.

Worth reading:

Dooce's recent post on mental illness and treatment

Little of this, little of that

It's brain-dump time! At the risk of scaring you off entirely, this post will consist of a random assortment of unrelated (but perhaps vaguely interesting?) thoughts and observations from yours truly.

And we're off!

1. My physician agreed to test Maya's blood for lead in November. The test results were reassuring: Maya's lead levels are currently quite low. Hooray! However, I still plan to purchase more of those home lead-test kits and perform checks of her toys from time to time.

2. I bit off way more than I can chew this holiday season. It came to a head last night, a few minutes before ten o'clock, as I was frantically sprinting around Whole Foods grabbing gifty tidbits (and some basic kitchen staples) while the store employees prepared to close the store for the night. I had my planner open to the page that lists all the holiday shtuff I have to do and get and mail in the next two weeks, and I was checking that list, running to an aisle of the store, checking the list again, muttering to myself, running to another aisle, etc. etc., until finally I was forced to head to the checkout line at 9:59 p.m. Then, I hoofed it back over to Borders, a hundred or so yards down the sidewalk, to pick up the four-million gifts I'd bought over there before ducking into Whole Foods, to retrieve said gifts from the very sweet elderly woman who was wrapping them for me. After a long, not-so-spectacular day at work followed by dinner with a tantrumming Maya, it was not the leisurely holiday shopping I'd been looking forward to. Oh, well.

3. On the other hand, though, I believe I have found the perfect Christmas gift for friend J. Don't you love the feeling of finding the PERFECT gift, one that the recipient is not expecting but that you know fits him or her to a tee? I looooove that. Although I am dying to divulge what J's gift from me will be, I cannot, as she is a loyal Waxing Prosaic reader. The element of surprise must be maintained!

4. I have a cold. But you know what? I don't mind! Compared with the Evil Stomach Bug I caught from Maya after Thanksgiving, a head cold is nothing. Nothing, I tell you! Because hey! I can eat food! I can walk around upright without doubling over in agony! I can easily leave my bed! It's allllllll relative, people. Hooray for the common cold!

5. Oh how I love the iGoogle. Do you know the iGoogle of which I speak? (You probably do, since, according to Wikipedia, it's been around in one form or another since 2005, but was recently made a whole hell of a lot better a few months ago. Where have I been?) If, like me, you are brand-new to the iGoogly goodness, please hie thee to Google immediately and explore the magnificence that is iGoogle and its thousands of "gadgets." On my iGoogle homepage, for instance, I've got a Flickr slideshow, a preview of my g-mail, a local weather report, the time and date, three constantly updating New York Times stories, several constantly updating recipes from various sources, a daily Buddhist quote, and more. Those geniuses over there at Google are just bringing it with the creativity!

Alllll righty. That's it for now. Thanks for stopping by and perusing the contents of my brain...

Quickie post

Ooooooo, it's soooo nice out today! I just got back from a lunch-hour walk in the lovely sunshine. I would guess it's around 70 degrees, balmy, slightly breezy, clear. Just perfect!
I miss many things about living on the East Coast: my family, friends, autumn colors, snow (and snow days), older architecture, and more. However! I do not miss the cold, punishing winters. No ma'am.

Holidaydreaming

Having nothing to do here at work, I spent most of my morning reading blogs and came across this post on Well. Following the post were a number of reader comments, many in the vein of, “This is exactly why I refuse to fall victim to the trappings of a consumerized Christmas! I hate shopping, and I refuse to put up lights or decorations. If I could hibernate from Thanksgiving through the new year, I would.” That kind of thing. I felt a little sheepish reading the comments, because while I’m not really into the gifting aspects of the winter holidays, either, I do love so many other things about this time of year.

For starters, I love the music. My dad complains that “they start playing the Christmas music on the radio IN THE MIDDLE OF NOVEMBER,” but I don’t mind a bit. Now that Thanksgiving’s come and gone, I’ve dug out all of my holiday-music CDs (and bought one or two more) and am playing them constantly, enjoying every track. I just love Christmas music! Some of the love is nostalgic, some of it is simply related to my musical tastes. (Nostalgia love: any version of “Little Drummer Boy.” Musical-tastes love: Bing Crosby’s “Jingle Bells” featuring the Andrews Sisters.) And holiday music, when enjoyed on the radio, online, or from a few favorite, old CDs, doesn’t have to cost much, if anything.

Secondly, I love holiday décor. Even here in sunny SoCal, winter can be a little dreary, so lights and poinsettias and festively decorated trees brighten my spirits. I think it’s normal for people to want to counter the cold and gray of winter with lights and ornamentation. It’s fun, frankly. And it doesn’t have to be expensive. Hanging a small wreath on one’s door, or tying a red ribbon on one’s lamppost---these are not costly, crazy-consumer endeavors. As for me and mine, we’ve put up a lovely new tree (artificial, thank you Target) and a cheesy-but-entertaining little train-station tabletop decoration, which Maya LOVES, and each day we look forward to turning these items on in the evening and enjoying their pretty little lights.

Thirdly, the Christmas cookies. Oh how I love Christmas cookies. Last year, one of my very favorite gifts was the little collection of homemade Christmas cookies my friends J and P gave me. Maybe it’s my Grandma Watson’s influence, but I’ll always equate homemade baked goods with love, warmth, and friendship. Baking cookies for someone is such a lovely, personal way of telling that person you care about her and are thinking of her, in my opinion. In the past I’ve organized workplace cookie exchanges, which to me are a fun, low-key, low-cost way to celebrate the holiday season.

Fourthly, I always look forward to the perennial Christmas specials on TV. Charlie Brown, Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer, The Grinch Who Stole Christmas (the 30-minute original animated version, thank you very much), Frosty the Snowman, A Christmas Story, Christmas Vacation…they’re fun and goofy and reminiscent of happy childhood Christmases. Plus, many of them, such as A Charlie Brown Christmas, include wonderful music. And again---enjoying these specials is free of charge!

Lastly, I just plain enjoy the added excitement that this season brings. It’s nice to break away from the ordinary for a few weeks. Holiday luncheons at work, little get-togethers with friends, holiday parades, Christmas concerts, holiday cards, and the like are pleasant diversions.

I guess what I’m getting at is that sure, rampant holiday consumerism and retail pressure is a drag, and kind of a national embarrassment, in a way, but a person can still enjoy this time of year without spending tons of money and energy shopping and racking up tons of expenses. Boycotting the holiday season is anyone’s right, but it seems to me that everyone can find something holiday-related to enjoy and feel good about.

Nablopomo is nablopomOVER!

Today marks the end of my failed attempt at completing the Nablopomo challenge. Although I missed three days of posts, I found the experience worthwhile, mostly because joining a community of bloggers was just as fun and inspirational as I'd hoped it would be. Over at the Nablopomo headquarters, I made friends (like Myla), I joined groups, I got into some interesting discussions (like one with DaveX about whether a blog can be "too self-indulgent"), and I found motivation to add some neat little bells and whistles to my blog (like the Flickr slideshow down there on the left). I also sampled many blogs written by other participants. I really like this one, by a Nablopomo participant named Jenni, but I think I freaked her out by commenting too enthusiastically on her Nablo page.
:-)
And here's where I thank my two most faithful readers, J and A! Thanks, J and A, for muddling through. Thanks also to Myla and Scott.
Goodnight, everybody!

At home with Tivo

Day 2 of being housebound with the stomach flu. Good times, y'all!
By midday, however, I was feeling good enough to fire up the Tivo and pick a saved program to watch. (In contrast, yesterday I was so incapacitated, I could barely leave my bed and could not tolerate any sensory stimulation whatsoever.)
Apparently the last show Tivo recorded was on Bravo, because Bravo popped up on my screen, and there it was: The Real Housewives of Orange County.
I know, I know.
Believe me, for the first minute it was on, I was all, "Ugh. Why do they make this crap? Can anybody get a reality show these days?" But then 20 minutes later, I was still watching. Here's the thing: I am nosy. I am interested in other people and their daily lives. When I was a kid, I wanted to be a spy when I grew up, simply because I liked people-watching. Now add to this curiosity the fact that these women are super-wealthy, and I'm not. I had to see what their lives were like! (That is, I had to see what their lives were like within the contrived construct of a scripted reality show, of course.) It was too much for me to resist. I got sucked in!
Right away I learned that at least three of the housewives aren't housewives at all. They're working women with successful real-estate careers. (So why do they call the show "The Real Housewives of Orange County"? Isn't that totally inaccurate?)
Anyway, I couldn't immediately scorn a group of hard-working women (all mothers, too). I mean, I respect women with careers. I suppose I could've scorned the mom who went clubbing with her 21-year-old son, or the mom who stage-managed her daughter, who was modeling jeans at a local boutique. But mostly I was just fascinated. These women just live a completely different lifestyle than I do, and it's not necessarily a bad one. It's just different. And it's not as if these women's lives are free of hardships. One of them recently lost her husband. Another one is estranged from her husband and struggles with her weight.
Anyway, I can't judge the whole series on one partial episode. But I have to admit, the half-episode I watched today thoroughly engrossed me.
And so here comes the confession: The Real Housewives is now season-passed on my Tivo.

Sicko

OK, well, apparently my last post tempted fate, because I woke up this morning at 5:20 with what I guess is the same stomach bug Maya had. I've spent a miserable day holed up in our apartment, all feverish and sweaty and achey and gross.
So then, I'll end it there.

I failed, and here are my excuses

Well, as is obvious by my three days' worth of missing posts, I've failed the NaBloPoMo challenge. On one hand, I am crushed, ashamed, and disappointed, because I'm not someone who even bothers to start things I know I won't complete. Once I've set my mind to something, I really keep the pressure on myself to finish. So, as my therapist would say, my failure to post for three days this month is "not in line with my integrity," and it makes me feel crappy.
On the other hand, I am comfortable with the fact that the three days I didn't post were full of real-world obstacles and challenges that wore me down and kept me utterly occupied with more pressing matters till the wee hours---and on East Coast time, no less! I won't go into these events in detail, but one of them---seeing my Grandma George, who is 95 and currently unresponsive, immobile, and dying (under the care of Hospice) in her nursing home---was deeply disturbing, emotionally painful, and life-changing. Another major factor in my no-post record was Maya, who vomited lustily three times during our trip (including once in a restaurant and once on the plane ride home), which sent me into frantic cycles of toddler-comforting, toddler-bathing, clothes-washing, linens-washing, and anxiety. (We still don't know why she was puking, and we have no idea if it's over or if she'll puke again two minutes from now.)
Add to that my parents' dial-up connection and slow-arse computer, which kept seizing up on me the nights I did post, and you get a recipe for no NaBlo.
So, yes, I realize I'm giving excuses. But they are valid, and I guess I feel I have to write them here if I ever hope to get over the feeling that I'm a big fat failure.
But, on the bright side, there's no reason why I shouldn't be able to finish my daily posts for the remainder of the month, now that I'm back home. Wish me luck!
Hope everyone had a nice Thanksgiving.

Still cold

Day 2 in Albany. Cold as all get-out. Took a brief walk around the neighborhood today wearing a thin fleece jacket and a leather coat. And gloves. Froze anyway! Was secretly relieved to arrive back to the toasty house.
Maya is enjoying exploring Grandma and Pop-Pop's house and playing with her mommy's retro 70s and 80s toys.
S and I are enjoying tasty home-cooked meals and lots of desserts. Tomorrow we will visit my Grandmas Watson and George.
There's hardly any time to get online here. When I finally did, the beep-bap-boop-creeeeeeeeeeek-fzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz sound of the dial-up modem startled me. Talk about your retro toys!
:-)

Traveling

After a looooong day of traveling, we arrived in chilly Albany exhausted but overjoyed to see my parents. (Yay! Familiar faces after seeing only hundreds of other anonymous, fellow travelers all day!)
It's cold here. Very, very cold. But my parents' house is warm and spacious and comforting. And it smells like chili and corn bread!
Happy Thanksgiving.

The end of "packing light"

I've been scurrying around our apartment for the past two hours now, feverishly checking my to-pack list and squirreling away clothes, medicines, personal-grooming items, toys, books, bottles, sippy cups, and about three-million other assorted items into various suitcases and carry-on bags in preparation for our Thanksgiving journey to Albany, New York. We leave tomorrow morning.
If I may bitch and moan for a moment, I would like to play Mistress of the Obvious here and announce that PACKING "LIGHT" IS IMPOSSIBLE ONCE YOU HAVE CHILDREN. I mean, damn, people. Maya, a toddler, requires way, way, way more gear than I do. Her suitcase is crammed full to bursting, and my two big old carry-ons are jam-packed with all manner of toys and snacks for her for the plane. (In contrast, the only personal "fun" items I've packed for myself are a Newsweek and a novel. Oh, and some gum. And a pot of lipgloss.)
I realize a child does not necessarily require 600 new toys for a five-hour, cross-country airplane ride. However, I am desperate for her to behave and remain reasonably occupied and contented during this flight. The only sound more panic-attack-inducing than a child crying in a car is a child crying on an airplane. Am I right? I'm just really, really hoping to keep the wailing and tantrums to a minimum while we're 30,000 feet off the ground. S and I are going to stuff this kid full of Cheerios and read her stories till we're hoarse. Then, when all of that has lost its novelty for her, we'll start pulling out the toys, the coup de grace of which is a borrowed Mr. Potato Head, courtesy of one of my mom-friends. Maya has never laid eyes on a Mr. Potato Head before, and I know the interchangeable eyeballs and lips and ears and shoes are going to blow her mind, rock her world, and the like.
So yeah, I'm packing a ton of toddler gear and about one square foot of stuff for myself, and my old, pre-baby strategy of "packing light" for Thanksgiving has been totally shot to hell.
Buh-bye, packing light! I'll see you again in about twenty years, maybe.

Half-empty

Today on the NPR Web site I came across a This I Believe essay by Barbara Held, a professor of psychology and social studies at Bowdoin College and the author of Stop Smiling, Start Kvetching.
Held's belief is that there is "no one right way to cope with all of the pain of living," and that, for many people, feeling temporarily negative and down about a situation or life in general is a valid way of coping with adversity. We shouldn't necessarily try to force positive thinking or cheerfulness on people who are worried or scared or sad about something, Held says. "Sometimes a lot of what people need when faced with adversity is permission to feel crummy for a while, to realize that feeling bad is not automatically the same as being mentally ill," is how she puts it.
Or, even more simply stated, it's OK not to be happy all of the time.
This has been a revelation for me.
This essay resonated with me so much, it actually kind of startled me. S and I have been talking a lot lately about the Buddhist principle that life is difficult, and how that principle is actually freeing and comforting to us in an unexpected way. On the contrary, if we go around thinking we need to be happy and positive all the time, we're going to be at best disappointed and at worst paralyzed with fear when we find ourselves face to face with hardship, loss, or tragedy. Then, on top of that, we're going to feel guilty that we're unable to think positively about our misfortune.
Personally, it has been helping me, when I'm upset or anxious or angry about something, to remind myself that life is difficult. It's not supposed to be one big happy, breezy party all of the time. And it's difficult for everyone, not just for me and my family. We're all in this difficult life together. This fact soothes me, and Barbara Held's piece reassures me that I'm not alone in my sometimes glass-half-empty perspective.

Let's talk sleep deprivation

How do you feel when you've barely slept for several consecutive days?
I start out overconfident and then drastically crash the second day. The morning after the first night of poor sleep, I actually wake up feeling kind of hyper and all adrenaline-buzzed. I'm chipper, I'm alert, I pour myself an enormous mug of coffee and think, "Hey, this really isn't that bad!" I might even have a good day and foolishly pat myself on the back at the end of it.
Then Day 2 arrives.
Day 2 is cruel. Day 2 reminds me that no, Maureen, you can't actually overcome the laws of biology and maintain satisfactory performance when you've slept only nine of the past 48 hours. I wake up on Day 2 feeling like an overweight person is standing on my face, driving his heels into my eyeballs. My body is uncoordinated. My brain is sandy. Speaking hardly seems worth the effort. As the day continues, my patience is thin, my sense of humor has disintegrated, and my bones hurt. Tasks comprising three steps or more seem herculean and confusing. My inner eyelids burn.
Day 3 is the breaking point. I am unable to cope; I'll cry when I find we're out of quarters for the washing machine AND Maya has just spilled her orange juice on the kitchen floor. Life is so hard, so demanding, so ultimately depressing! What's the point of it all, etc. etc. etc. That's Day 3.
I never knew sleep deprivation until these past few years, and then I still didn't know cumulative sleep deprivation until our darling girl came along. Wouldn't trade her for nine hours of solid, uninterrupted sleep, but I would trade almost anything else.

Easily amused

Today S, Maya, and I spent way too much time watching old Sesame Street segments on YouTube. Maya's favorite characters are the ubiquitous Elmo, compulsive-eater Cookie Monster, and the Count, a happy puppet for children inspired by Count Dracula, a sinister blood-sucking vampire. (Interesting choice, Jim Henson! But I like it, I like it.)
I'd forgotten that the Count used to have more hair. (I guess he, like other men, balds as he ages.) He was my favorite as a kid, I think because I found him slightly scary and therefore quite thrilling. I distinctly remember loving that "Bats in my belfry" song and feeling spooked by it at the same time.
Here are S and Maya watching the Count count apples, with Cookie Monster surreptitiously snatching each one and eating it after it's been counted:

G'night!