1000 Words

The featured image on this post really captures the essence of my quest. I am the person on the left.  I want to become, or have access to becoming, the person on the right.  I like my thoughts, I like my ideas. I just need to make them usable.

Interestingly, I am a skilled yarn detangler. It’s something I started doing when I was a kid. I’d sit there with a ball of yarn that was masquerading as a tumbleweed and (in retrospect) hyperfocus on undoing all the knots until it looked like something out of a hair conditioner commercial. Smooth, no strand out of place. Can you imagine a kid doing that today’s digital environment?  I can’t. My kids get nervous just sorting out their own clothes from the clean laundry pile.

I also once heard that if you want to ‘test’ a woman to see if she’s good wife material, you should give her a ball of yarn to detangle and see what she makes of it. I say that, clearly, this test does not work, as I probably rank about 60% to 70% as a wife, depending on the day (I’ll have to consult with DH on this one) but I’m somewhere above 95% when it comes to detangling yarn. Take THAT, misogyny. That being said, I do see some merit in the test– I mean, think of all the ways a person might react to this challenge. Detangling it shows infinite patience (for inanimate objects, anyway) and economy.  Chucking it out and buying a new one shows either impatience or a different kind of economy altogether– time is money after all.

You know what? I take it back. You cant’ tell anything from the yarn test.

(I would love to give credit for this image to whoever created it but I can’t find the source. I originally spotted this on an Instagram feed, but the person who posted it didn’t know where it came from and a google image search didn’t turn up anything either. If you recognize this picture and know who drew it, please tell me so I can credit them!)

(I also don’t remember the source of the yarn test theory, though I’m not sure it deserves to be credited. )

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Let This Be The Toughest

Sometimes you need to be grateful for your own challenges.

I was reading through my blog post notes– the ones I send myself from my dictation app as I talked about a couple of posts ago. I have been really hesitant to put this up because it’s quite personal and really exposes my vulnerability. I’ve been told that, as a writer, I am not open enough and that I would benefit from showing more of myself.  Also, since I’m documenting a journey here, scenes like this are a very real part of it, though thankfully, they don’t happen too often.  With that in mind, I’ll go ahead and post this:

Not too long ago, I spent three quarters of an hour sobbing in my car. By sobbing, I mean the kind where your whole body is involved, lots and lots of tears, with the nose contributing it’s own fluids. There is gasping and choking. It’s not pretty.  In fact I think the internet has a name for it– ugly crying.
I was alone in the parking lot outside the gym– which I hardly ever get to, and definitely didn’t venture into that day. Thankfully, nobody saw me, or if they did, maybe I didn’t appear too approachable. I don’t cry like this very often. The last time I remember doing it was when I forgot to put my kid in a white t-shirt and send in a fruit for some themed day-care situation — that was about a decade ago. I was pregnant and working at least two jobs so I put it down to hormones and stress.  Prior to that, I remember crying this hard over a breakup. It was a bad breakup but, like so many bad breakups, good riddance. The common element between these episodes was, fortunately, not pregnancy, though who knows when emotion-inducing hormones decide to rear their heads. I was definitely stressed in each situation, but that’s to be expected. After all, we’re not talking tears of joy here.  The real common element was an underlying rationalization process.  Under the cloak of tears, my mind is racing: What’s happening? Why am I crying? Does the precipitating event really merit this outburst? No? Then what is causing me to feel so bad?
Concurrently there is a sub-thought process going on: I am so grateful for the things I do have. Nothing is terribly wrong here. Let this be the toughest. Let this be the toughest thing I have to face. Let these be the worst tears I ever have to shed.
I have a lot of things going on right now.   I’m trying to write an edit and make a living at it. I love writing and I love editing. I’m trying to build up my own business, which I haven’t really talked about in this blog, but it has to do with education and empowerment, and it’s something that I love to do.  I didn’t look so empowered making hoarse noises in the car that day — snot has a way of taking the edge off a power situation. I was, at that time, going through a renovation which is difficult on so many levels– a change in living conditions, keeping on top of the work day-to-day, managing all the people who come in and out of the house, planning, contending with surprises– things that I am grateful to have the opportunity to do, but which still cause a great deal of stress build-up.  Just the simple act of trying to have a meal is stressful because I don’t want to feed an entire crew of drywallers and painters every day, yet I feel a sense of responsibility to offer other people food when I’m eating. So I end up either not eating or sneaking food around my house and into my office to eat in secret.  Of course, then there is the day-to-day running of the family and the house and all the things that entails.  I also work in a couple of roles for DH’s business, and that work alone could amount to a part-time job. (In fact, if you add up all my  ‘jobs’ together you’d probably find that I carry several full-time positions.) But none of that was the trigger for this sob-fest.
The reason I started crying is that I found out I didn’t get a job I applied for which I really, really thought I was perfect for, and which was perfect for me, and which I thought I was definitely going to get.  It’s true, I don’t need one more job on top of everything else, but I would have dropped a bunch of my other ambitions if i’d gotten it– or at least I’d be able to relax about accomplishing them.  I’ve spoken about this before— that I need to be able to answer the question ‘What is it that you do?’ with a sense of pride and satisfaction.  This job would have helped me meet that criteria. Also, it would have gotten me out of the house and given me a chance to mingle with creative people. I put so much heart in to the application. I was dealing with my kids being home from school that week and  a friend whose husband was suddenly admitted to the ICU (he’s fine now), and still I pushed through and managed to submit a piece of work that brought me so much pleasure that I simply could not stop rereading it. Why didn’t they see what I saw?
Also, I know that I could have done the job really, really well. Judging by the job description, what they were looking for was what I do best. Still: Rejection.
On top of everything else, and I feel very petty acknowledging this feeling, much less committing it to paper, I am dealing with some serious jealously towards the business owner.  Why is their business taking off and not mine? My product is better! My personality is better! Good, old fashioned covetousness.
But that’s not why I was crying.
What really triggered my emotional outburst, though it took a few hours for it to sink in, was the fact that DH was disappointed for me. As in, he was disappointed on my behalf. Knowing that he felt bad for me made me feel the badness twice as hard.  We’d talked about it the night before, gone to sleep, woken up, dropped the kids off at school and then, when  the self-pitying thoughts were allowed to come in to my head, they took over and had their way.
Hopefully this will turn out to be a growth experience. Hopefully, one day I’ll look back on this job that I didn’t get and say ‘good riddance’.  I have been trying to channel my jealously into good wishes for that company, because their overall goal is to bring betterment to the world and not to screw me over. I asked for feedback on my application.  I am working on turning that frown upside down and using it to fuel my own growth.  Onwards and upwards.
Here’s another aspect of this situation to consider; one which turns this post into a Drupdate (if you’re unfamiliar with the expression, see here). I can’t remember which medication I was on at the time, but I’d just taken it that morning for the first time in two weeks.  I haven’t had an overly emotional reaction to a medication since adderall, way back in the beginning of my medication journey.  Concerta, as I’ve noted in the past, has made me a bit emotional, but nothing like this.  Could the medication have contributed to the outburst? Eight Ball says Maybe So. I did note over the days preceding this incident, that my mood would suddenly turn to blue– fleetingly, but strong enough for me to take notice.  Maybe I should have paid more attention.
I cried, and then I felt stupid for crying because I consider myself to be very even keeled, so I cried some more because I’m not being me, and then I didn’t go to the gym. A release of emotional constipation with a side dose of medically induced hysteria. That’s most of what I thought about and how I felt before, during, after, and about this episode. I did leave out a couple of things, but did the overall vulnerability add value to my writing?This has been a very difficult post for me to write, on many levels. Was it worth it?

What A Wonderful Mom

A couple of weeks ago I wrote about what a wonderful cook I am.  This week I’m going to write about what makes me such an incredible mother.

I think I’m kind of the opposite of a helicopter mom. More of an earthworm mom. The kind that stays burrowed under the sheets early in the morning while telling you where to find the cereal and milk on your own.  I foster independence in my children by not doing things for them that they can do alone, or which I think they can probably do on their own if they tried.

When I feel it’s appropriate, I raise my expectations of them. For example, once upon a time, setting the table meant the kids had to lay out plates, cups, and cutlery. But today they need to clear the table off, find the tablecloth, lay it out straight and even, bring the dishes out of the cupboards, carry them over to the table, and make sure everything is on it that we’ll be needing for the meal: The right number of settings, salt, trivets, napkins, the works.

Kids don’t need as much help as we think they do. They just need space and time to explore and build, develop friendships, make mistakes, and learn from them.  A lot of parenting, I think, is trying to figure out when to interfere, when to offer corrections and advice, when to let them figure it out on their own, and when to just let it go.

Perhaps you now understand what makes me such a good mother. Or perhaps, knowing me, you’re waiting for the self-deprecating part of this blog post. Well, here it comes.

I have to admit– or at least I have to wonder— how much of my parenting style is due to my ‘phillsophy’ and how much is due to sheer laziness or– you guessed it– ADD.

I am distracted. I am lazy. I hate cooking. I hate cleaning. I would rather be writing. I’d rather someone else folded the laundry.

Of course, I do the housework that I need to do. I just feel a lot of guilt for not going above and beyond.  Sometimes I wonder if I’m even covering the basics.   I don’t have a healthy snack waiting for the kids when they get home. I tell them to wait until dinner, but is that a fair demand when I haven’t even started making the meal? I feel bad that the kids are late for school so often. Getting them there on time would require me to be a lot more strict on things like bed times and wake times — theirs and mine.  These things all require the type of discipline that  does not come easily to me — and that’s what really at the heart of the problem.

I am constantly struggling to stay on top of things that seem to come so easily to other people. Our house gets super messy super quickly. I feel compelled to apologize  when people come in. (Some of those people even have the audacity to tell me that I need to put my kids to work cleaning up after themselves. Do they think I haven’t figured out for myself that I need to tell the kids to hang up their coats instead of dumping them in the front hall?)  Keeping the kitchen in a relative state of order takes HOURS for me. I know this because, when our reno was done, I became hyper aware of the mess, and I tried keeping it perfect for a couple of weeks. This resulted in my evening activities being limited to just cleaning the kitchen. Just the kitchen. Every night. All this on top of trying to keep up with the mess throughout the day. Of course, it seems that as soon as you have one area of the house sorted out, another one has exploded into disorder, and you need to start sorting out that section.

Actually, cleanup is a great example of this grey line between good and bad motherhood. I believe strongly in giving my kids responsibility and having them take ownership for the state of the house.  Every week, they are responsible for certain chores, from sorting the laundry to cleaning the bathroom, to helping in the kitchen.  The problem is that enforcing these chores is a full-time chore in itself. If I am busy cooking ( I do cook; I just don’t claim to enjoy it) or working or occupied in whatever way with a time-bound task, it is not always possible for me to sit over the kids and make sure that they are plugging away at their jobs.  Yes, there are consequences. Yes, there are rewards. But guess what– sometimes these methods just don’t work. Sometimes the tasks are not completed, consequences kick in, and nobody is happy.  Now what?

On the other hand, I’m pretty sure I’m not too much of a deadbeat parent.  My brother heard DH and I discussing DS the other day. He commented that he wonders if other parents spend as much time as we do talking in-depth about their kids as we do.  I know that, for all the bickering that goes on in the house between the kids, they’re well mannered and kind out in the ‘real world’. People tell me so all the time.  I worry that my kids get too much screen time — though I realize that they get relatively little, based on conversations I’ve had with peers. And while I sometimes have to drag them away from the TV, I also quite often have to urge them in from outside for dinner or bedtime when they are organizing street-wide soccer games or trading Pokemon cards with one another. I consider all of these activities to be parenting ‘wins’.

Upon reflection, because that’s what this blog is for, I guess I am not the best mom out there. I could be more efficient in making lunches. I could be more insistent on them learning to touch-type.  But on the other hand, by some will and grace, they somehow seem to be turning out OK. I can burrow down in my bed without too much guilt– in fact, If I did that more often, and at a normal hour, it might result in some of our other problems being resolved.

 

 

 

Unloading. Warning: Not a funny post.

This is just a status update on my life. A bit of taking stock, a bit of letting off steam. These are good descriptors: My life right now feels like a big soup— all kinds of ingredients thrown into a pot together. Hope it’s a healthy one.
I’ve been going to bed at 2 a.m. every single night lately.  It’s a bad pattern.  What’s worse is that I wake up with a sense of panic… what do I need to get done today? I don’t usually feel this way,  but I guess I have a lot on my plate right now.
I’m definitely overloading myself.  I think that the new business I’m starting up can really do well, but I am simply not putting the time in that I need to be. I am not following up leads, not advertising, not updating the website, hardly putting in any development time at all.
I’ve also got my bookkeeping which, wouldn’t you know,  I’m really behind on.  I’m trying to pursue all of my different writing projects: There’s my blog and my other blog, my editing work which I really enjoy and might also be able to grow into a business, and of course the amazing books that I’ve been planning putting out there since I was a ‘tween.  Have you heard of Judy Moody? When I was about eleven years old I started writing a book called Moody Judy. I was beaten to the punch… it wasn’t hard.
My husband keeps asking me if I want to drop the report writing that I do for him. I wouldn’t mind, but it’ll be so expensive to replace me.  He could do it himself, but it takes him forever.
There’s another startup someone has just asked me to participate in. I agreed, because it sounds like fun, but now I’m really nervous about committing the time.  I spent an entire workday with him last week, and it was a tremendous sacrifice. Most of it was spent driving to and from the meeting site.  I hope this is worth it. The benefit of this particular project is that I’m doing it with another person, which is what I think I’m missing from many of my other endeavors. I need another person  to hold me accountable. Somebody  I can’t let down and somebody who will be accountable to me as well.
The reno is still dragging on. If you walk in to my house you won’t realize that it’s not completely done, but there are 100 tiny things that people keep coming in and out of my house to take care of, and it almost always means altering my schedule.
I got caught up in a pretty huge family matter that took up a good chunk of my day today and yesterday.  It looks like it’s not going to be over anytime soon. In fact, I am struggling very hard to not let it take over my life.
Did I mention that it’s tax season?

Then there is just Life and Parenthood and housekeeping and all the mundane stuff that also kind of gets jilted.
I know it’s all a matter of prioritizing. I know I need to choose one or two things and do them well. There are a bunch of things that I already have dropped, for better or for worse.
On the plus side, I invested one half day last week cleaning up my office. It was in a real state, and things had been piling up and piling up since before winter break.  I finally got everything sorted out. So even though I haven’t gotten through all the stuff I must do, at least I have a reasonable idea of what needs to get done now, and I got some of the more urgent stuff off the table. Literally.
Here’s the part where I outsource the blame for my predicament:
Last week we had a guest from out of town. She wasn’t even staying at my place but she relied heavily on me for about a day and a half of my week. I only have about three working days worth of time in a week so a day and a half is a big sacrifice. In that same week, a friend of mine asked if I could pick up her kids from the airport. I agreed, but on the morning of the flight, I got a little panicked.  For one thing, it was another half day of my time, because it’s 40-minute drive there and a 40 minute drive back.  I would have still done it for this friend because I know that if she asked me, she probably didn’t have a ton of options.  Then I realized that the flight might be delayed and that I might not get back in time to pick up my own kids from school.  I guess I really did not think this through before I agreed to it, but I really wanted to be able to help out.  The irony is that this friend is the one who taught me to turn things down and just say no to people.  Further irony: She taught me this value with regards to the friend from out of town who I mentioned earlier in this poaragraph.  Life.
I texted airport mom with my concerns. She was a bit taken aback, but it all got sorted out in the end.  I called to apologize. When I call to apologize and don’t just send a text… you know it’s serious.
Before that, it was the week after winter break. I spent most of the time just running the errands I couldn’t run when the kids weren’t around. I did have one milestone– I ran a program for my afore-mentioned business, and it went really really well. But prepping for that meant most of whatever hours I wasn’t running errands. Of course, nothing got done at all during the school vacation– I mean, nothing work-wise.
Of course, vacation means that I don’t go into the studio for the ‘doing my own stuff’ day that is the arrangement I have with my husband. It’s the day he picks up the kids and I get to work as late as I need to from a work-conducive environment.  On top of that, the kid’s after-school schedules got switched around so there is no longer an ideal day for him to do pickup. Today he had to leave work early– but I’m holding my ground. I have to. This keeps me sane.
When’s the last time I got to the gym? I may be sane, but I’m not really fit right now.
I feel like there’s more…
There’s more.
And more.

Drupdate #3

I’m giving myself 10 minutes to write this post. I’ve been sitting here in the quiet privacy of my friend’s studio but I’ve been working for hours straight… hmm… is this an indication of the drug working…?

Hard to say. That seems to be my theme when it comes to medication.

So in my last post– rather, the one before last  I mentioned that I was going to try taking the meds consistently for two weeks. I think I’ll just do this in bullet form, for the sake of brevity and also bc these Drupdates are really just logs.

Sunday, May 14 – ON I think. I hosted a huge party.  Like, 100 ppl. But these things are old hat for me now.

Monday, May 15 – ON.  I get mad at DH when he reminds me to take my pill. It’s a sore point. I think he thinks it’s much more effective than it really is. He was working from home, which I find to be difficult.

Tuesday, May 16- ON. Really hard to work with hubby home. Tried to get through ‘desk pile’. Didn’t get through much. I think I might have started work on my brochure this day…

Wednesday, May 17 – ON. Midday meeting. Put in lots of time at my desk in the morning and then wasted the rest of the day at the mall, where the meeting was. Sometimes you just need to get out.

Thursday, May 18 – ON.  Yoga, dentist, worked on brochure.  I think I took it after Yoga… I think. Incidentally, I had a filling without anesthesia. Are you impressed? I am.

Friday, May 19 – ON. Grocery shopping and frenzied cooking in between three different school pickups. I was hoping to get some work done but instead made 70+ pieces of schnitzel. I did get some feedback from friends on the brochures I’d been preparing.  I wrote it all down in the grocery store on the notebook I keep in my purse.  Schnitzel is a LOT Of work, so when I do it. I just do a lot.  Also I had to prepare extra for a friend who had a baby. It was my turn to bring dinner. I had the same experience as I did last time— that I couldn’t figure out how to spice the food properly. I think that my schnitzels were not quite as good this time. It’s really hard to cook when your appetite is suppressed.  I rely on instinct but that part of the brain is suppressed as well. I wonder if it’s actually NOT connected to appetite suppression, but more to impulse control??? This is definitely something to explore.

Saturday, May 20 – OFF.  Lots of reading, some cleaning.

Sunday, May 21 – ON. Pretty sure.  It was a rainy day.  Woke up late, watched some TV with the kids, bought gardening supplies, went shopping for reno supplies but everything was closed. Went swimming. Ate Mac N Cheese

Monday, May 22 – OFF. I’m pretty sure.  I was out all day on a long-weekend excursion and didn’t feel like I needed them.  Which I realize is besides the point because I’m going for consistency here.

Tuesday, May 23 – ON.  Spent all day in waiting rooms, tried to read some work material but there were too many stops and starts and people to look after and pay attention to.

Wednesday, May 24 – ON.  Took late– about noon. Spent all afternoon at studio, finishing the brochures.  What a lot of work they’ve been, but I enjoy it.

C(K)eeping Up With The Concertas

I saw my new shrink last week.  She was nice, friendly, positive, and generally affirmative (affirmational? She affirmed what I said) but, as she pointed out before we even sat down, it was a bit of a mismatch.  She deals with palliative care patients, and not at all with ADD.  She was only handed my file* because they needed people to take over for my regular shrink, who is now on maternity leave.

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Not My Shrink.                         …ok now tear your eyes away and go back to the blog post…

I was a bit disappointed because I had been imagining this new doctor-patient relationship as the one that would complete me, mental health-wise.  Alas.  I need a Tinder for psychiatrists.

She asked me, at one point, probably because I was rambling at high speed and holding a Grande Pike Place, whether I was self-medicating with coffee. I am not, and I told her as much. I usually have one coffee in the morning and one, if I am desperate to stay awake, around the kid’s bedtime.

She also told me, as my last shrink told me, and probably everyone in the medical profession will tell me, that I need to get on the meds and just stay on them if I want to have a good idea of whether or not they’re having any effect. As you may recall, this is one of the great questions that surround my decision to medicate.

Since taking them intermittently, as I have been doing (sometimes intentionally and sometimes unintentionally)  for more than a year, is not a viable option for me at this point, I have a problem.  Even if I ‘set an alarm on my phone’  (which everyone thinks is the answer to everything ADD), taking them on a regular basis has proven to be much more difficult  than it would seem.  It’s not that I don’t remember to take them. It’s that if I remember, and I am not seated at my desk (where I keep the bottle) or in a position to get the ‘travel pack’ out of my purse immediately, then the task will get put on an indefinite ‘snooze.’

WhatsApp Image 2017-05-15 at 1.44.52 PM
The Elusive Travel Pack              Writing About it made me remember to refill it!

At the behest of Dr. Affirmational, I decided to try once again. She asked if I could commit to two weeks straight and I told her, without much confidence, that I would surely try.  My appointment was on a Thursday, and I decided that the following Monday would be my first day. I took a pill on Monday. I took one on Tuesday. I took one on Wednesday. I forgot them on Thursday and Friday and then didn’t bother over the weekend.

Correction: I did not forget them on Thursday and Friday, Rather, I remembered on Thursday but I was in the car, driving. And I remembered on Friday but I was in the supermarket, and I  was in a rush to get out.

Today is Monday, the start of a fresh new week.  I took one this morning. It made me jittery after an hour. I calmed down. I am finishing my blog post that I’ve been meaning to write for 11 days.  Thanks to the shakes, I know it’s having an effect on me, but I don’t know if it’s actually fulfilling the intended purpose.  Hopefully, if I can keep up with the Concertas,  I’ll be able to tell you in two weeks. Wish me luck.

 

*Interestingly, she was actually NOT handed my file.  So most of my visit consisted of me recounting all the things I do and the things I don’t get around to doing and how I feel about it all. What else would we have talked about, really?

The Med Factor: Dinner Is Served

We do a lot of hosting at our house, and that means a lot of cooking for me.  I don’t particularly like cooking, but apparently I’m not half bad at it. Rather, I am half bad at it but the half that’s not completely burnt, over-boiled, or otherwise wasted due to negligence usually tastes pretty good, I’m told.

I always joke that most husbands, when they get in the door, call out ‘Honey, I”m home!’ My husband will walk in and automatically call out “Babe, what’s burning?”

Actually, that’s not a joke at all. He says that every single time he comes in the house.  Of course, with the fire alarm blasting (mine speaks English and French: FIRE! FEU! BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP. FIRE! FEU! BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP. And sometimes CARBON MONOXIDE! MONOXYDE DE CARBONE! BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP.) and the kids fighting over the chance to stand on a chair with the broomstick (which we keep against the wall for this exact purpose) and stab the darn thing into silence on it’s elusive sweet spot (HUSH MODE ACTIVATEDMODE HUSH ACTIVÉ), there is no denying what I’ve been up to. Here’s another joke, but not: How do you know when it’s dinner time at my house? 

dinner_will_be_ready
Too obvious?

But I digress…

It’s not entirely accurate that I don’t like cooking. It’s true that I’d rather be…  dunno… writing, reading, hiking, not cooking etc. but I like cooking better than, say, washing dishes or bringing the trash cans in from the curb. Cooking is a chore but not the worst chore. The part I really don’t like is cleaning.  Cooking means cleaning;  it’s inevitable. And when you cook in a mad, hyperfocused frenzy like I do, the mess gets bigger and bigger throughout the process until it almost takes over the counter entirely., and sometimes the floor.  Peelings, wrappers, dirty dishes… I hate them all.  I can cook a four course meal (soup, sides, salads– yes, all plural–  and main) in under two hours but the kitchen is positively ravaged when I’m done.

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Not my kitchen, but close.

I never make desert, though.  Guests are responsible for bringing desert, or else I cut up fruit after I serve the main course when things have calmed down a bit.  I almost never bake. I hate it, and I am terrible at it. When you bake you need to be so careful about measuring and having just the right ingredient  and other dull and unnecessarily uptight details.  And it makes so much more mess.  Not worth it.

When I cook it’s a largely spontaneous experience and always experimental, like an art piece.  I know roughly what I’m making because I shopped for it that morning and it’s in the fridge waiting. But I never know exactly whether the ground beef is going to be meatballs, patties, bolognaise sauce, or lasagna until I start cooking. Herbed? Sweet n’ sour?  You just never know. I might consult a recipe for inspiration, but then I always revert to whatever I think is more fitting or (let’s be honest) whatever method will result in fewer dirty pans.  I have a lot of spices, and I’ve developed a feel for how to make them my own, and how much I can tweak a recipe before it turns the corner from home or exciting  to meh.

Last week I was on the meds while cooking. I’d had a lot to do that day and cooking was just one of the items on the agenda, albeit a large item.  I started cooking earlier than I normally would, which is maybe evidence of the medication serving it’s intended purpose. The meds were still in full effect and my appetite was pretty suppressed.

All of a sudden I realized that I had no idea what spices to use in the dish I was making.  I scanned my spice rack, waiting for the right ones to pop out at me as they usually do, but they all looked the same– bland.  I had to really stop and think about it in a logical fashion; What might taste good in this meat? Cinnamon? No that’s Middle Eastern and not what I’m going for. Garlic? Well yes, obviously but… oregano? Yes, that sounds Italian..  I think I’m going for ‘Italian’…

It may not sound like a big deal, but the experience was  it was kind of freaky and unsettling for me.   I didn’t have any precedent for this kind of feeling, and I was unsure of how to handle it at first.  Imagine trying to paint a ladybug,  looking at a palette of paint colours and not having any point of reference for which puddle to dip your brush into.  You know it should be obvious, but the answer is somehow eluding you, like in a dream.

Well, I’ve been cooking dinners for over a decade now and my inference, if not my instinct, kicked in.  I know ladybugs are red, and so I dipped my  brush into the puddle labeled ‘red’.  I made the food. It wasn’t artistic, but it was good, they tell me.  Essentially, it was formulaic, like baking.

What an unexpected side effect for ADD / ADHD medication;  Regular function might be impaired due to lack of appetite.  More accurately, it was a side effect of a side effect.  I wonder what other side of side effects I’m experiencing that I haven’t yet noticed.  Sometimes I wonder if there are any effects at all.

Before I sign off, I want to include another story about food and my husband, just to redeem his reputation in case you think, based on this post, that he is overly harsh or critical.

When we were engaged, and this was way back before I became the gourmet chef that I am today, it was pumpkin season, and I was taken with the notion of making pumpkin soup.  Working from my gut, I brought the pumpkin home, baked it, peeled it, pureed it, and spiced it, and then served it to my fiancee and a friend of mine for dinner that night. The soup was horrible and not at all what I’d intended.  I couldn’t eat it and neither could my friend. But my darling man tasted it, said “It’s not that bad, maybe I’ll just put some humus in it.” Yes, he ate the whole bowl with humus in it. And that is why I love him.

Notice: No ladybugs were harmed or ingested in the writing of this blog post or ever, really, by the author, to the best of her knowledge.

Drive Inspired

I had a phone call the other day from what I guess I’d call a friend-once-removed (an FOR), by which I mean she is a person who is friends with another friend of mine, and who, consequently,  I see several times a year but don’t really have anything else to do with. I like her fine.  I’m just not particularly close with her. An FOR.

Although I was initially surprised to hear from her, her motives became clear as soon as she said the words ‘hoping you can help me with a little venture I’m working on.’ My suspicions were confirmed when her schpiel ended with ‘can I meet you for coffee?’

I asked:

“Is this Arbonne?”

It was.

Who has a great skin care routine? THIS GUY!
Aaaay. Who has a great skin care routine? THIS GUY!

Arbonne is a line of products whose marketing scheme is word-of-mouth and rhymes with “Fonzie.”

“I’m not buying anything– you should know.” I didn’t want to mislead her, though clearly she was trying to mislead me  by making it sound like she cared for my actual companionship.

It’s fine, she told me. Even if I didn’t buy anything I’d still be helping her firm up her pitch and it would be good practice. I was being asked to help. I was flattered. We made a date.

I don’t necessarily disrespect people who choose to chase the dream and make ‘a little money in their spare time,’  as it were.  In fact, I was totally impressed by FOR’s verve , get-go, drive, or whatever you want to call it.  It takes some serious cajones to call people out of the blue when you barely know them and try to get them to open their hearts, schedules, and wallets to you.  Of course, it makes it easier if you’ve already destroyed relationships with all your original friends, but it’s all worth it, I think, when the Arbonne people show up at your door with a thank-you gift in the form of a white Mercedes. No, really, they promise you a Benz if you sell enough body lotion and shampoo.  Whooooa. Happy days!

I was trying to avoid sarcasm in this post and now look at me.  I blame the Fonz but the Fonz doesn’t care. Aaaaay!

So I met with this FOR at one afternoon at a popular coffee place which I will not name but rhymes with Spar… Bucks…  and I brought my Little One, who happened to have a day off.  He was excited for the hot chocolate aspect of the meeting, and I was excited to do my friend of a friend a good turn as she began her journey to purported financial freedom.

I should mention that I’ve already been accosted by friends in the past who got on the Arbonne train. In fact, I’d won an entire gift basket worth of merchandise from a trade show and through some internal political hierarchies having to do with geography and/or nepotism, the person assigned to my followup telephone call was a girl not-removed from me, but an actual friend. An actual friend that I had to listen to as she rambled on about the products for fifty minutes until I managed to find some reason to excuse myself from the conversation.  So I know a little bit about Arbonne. I’m still friends with that girl, by the way, but we’ve never ever spoken about what I’ve come to think of as The Horrible Arbonne Incident.

I scheduled FOR’s coffee date for the end of the school day just in case it… uh… didn’t have a natural end.  I figured 45 minutes was enough time for her to practice her shpiel, drink a coffee, try some products, and get out.  To make a long story short, I learned about Arbonne all over again, even though I told her, in nicer terms, about my previous education in the same department.  I had the complete presentation including power point, demo booklet, and a little trial kit of toiletries — six products!! — that I was meant to use daily and return to her after three days. Six products? I feel proud if I have the energy to brush my teeth at the end of the day!  I can’t even remember to take my ADD meds three day in a row!

Of course, I ended up taking it all home in a tote bag embossed with enormous company logos. I somehow followed the skincare routine for three full days (though I used up the little squirt of night cream on DD’s dry hands when we couldn’t find her regular lotion).  I even met her on the morning of day 4, though I forgot the tote bag which I’ll have to get to her at a later date.  I did not remember to take my pills during this time.

To add insult to injury, turns out the FOR is not new to Arbonne. She did not need to practice her pitch on me because she has been doing it for over two years. My efforts at do-goodism were for naught.  I’m such a sucker.

But I digress.

Seeing FOR in action, even though the action was being taken against me, in a way, was somehow inspiring.  The girl has a goal: to supplement her income (which I would describe as steady but limited). She has a means: The Fonz. She has a market: Other FOR. She has a modus operandi: Call, cajole, coffee, call again. And she does it. It sounds easy, but know how difficult it can be to tear oneself away from a good game of candy crush and make even a single sales call.  I know it’s hard to put oneself out there and present oneself with confidence, even if you believe that the rewards are great and have optional seat warmers.

So even though I don’t think I’ll be peddling beauty products anytime soon, I can take a lesson from my FOR and push myself to write one more blog post or send out that promo package.

Because as she, and so many zombie-like and  glowy-cheeked Benz hopefuls before her remind us:  Don’t think “what if it doesn’t work?” Think “what if it does?”

 

 

 

 

update-clipart-canstock19412148

I saw my Shrink again last week, and here’s what I had to report:

When I first got this new round of prescription after our last appointment and  I started taking the medication,  it was the week before winter break.  I took it the first day and the second day, but on the third day I felt all cloudy and disoriented.  I think I skipped that day– or the next.  I had started a list so that I could keep track and maybe chart the effects of the medication on my productivity– because, ultimately, increased productivity is my goal.  At least, I think I started a list. I have one attached to my pill bottle with an elastic band but it has some very random dates on it. Seems I haven’t been keeping track very well.

Strike one against the effectiveness of medication, I guess.

I wasn’t sure if the cloudiness was due to some side effect of the medication or a withdrawal from it.  All I knew is that I was barely functional. I could hardly prepare school lunches– something that is usually rote for me and doesn’t require a whole lot of thinking (though I still hate doing it and it sill takes me waaay too in the morning.)

On the other hand, i also had a cold, and this could have led to the cloudy feeling as well. Coffee helped. Napping too, though how much of an opportunity do I really get for that?

For me, the problem with being in a fog goes even deeper than zombie-like, purposeless wandering.  It reinforces a deep fear of mine, which is that I will become dependent on meds in the way that people are dependent on glasses, or that they will permanently dull that region of my brain because I’m not using the muscle behind it.

I decided at some point that week–  I believe I’d had 3 out of 5 of the intended doses, to postpone the big experiment until after winter break.  I still had work to do in the intervening weeks– I was preparing for a new business initiative I’m hoping to get off the ground, not to mention all of my regular duties.  But I didn’t want to do this medication thing haphazardly– because then what would be the point? I want to know if the stuff is working and if it’s worth all the soul searching and departure from my long-standing resistance to medication. As I had discussed with the shrink at or last encounter, I need to stick it it consistently for long enough to figure out whether it’s worth sticking with at all.

I started taking the medication regularly – Concerta– when the kids went back to school after winter break when my routine, theoretically resumed.

As I mentioned above, I am working on a new program that I hope I can develop in to a business.  I am hesitant to mention it here or even tell people around me about it because it seems that every few months I embark on a new project with great enthusiasm, and sometimes at great expense or personal investment, only to abandon it a little while later — always with a different excuse ultimately forming a pattern of failure associated with ADHD. I guess it’s important that I keep trying to find success– but the process can be disheartening.

In this case, however, I gave myself a deadline. I set up a date to present my project to a local organization, and that date was last week.  Even though I so far have only that date and two subsequent ones (it’s a series) booked at the same venue, I put a ton of work into it, hoping that the investment will pay off with further bookings and that, by the end, I’d have a program I could market more broadly.

As it happened, my weekly ‘protected time’– the one day each  that I arranged with my husband would be my own time to work on my own projects without interruption when he’s responsible for picking up the kids and being with them late into the evenings–  got compromised the first week after winter break because of a job-related commitment that there was no way for him to get out of. I tried to put in time that day anyway, but then my DS called home sick from school , so that day got cut short.

On the second week’s protected time, DH was desperate for me to help him out with a few projects that he regularly relies on me for, and they also really couldn’t wait. So last week I also lost a good half day from my protected time. I did manage to get a lot done in the late afternoon and evening, however, so it wasn’t a total loss.

Throughout the past two weeks I have been taking my meds pretty faithfully. One exception was last Thursday when I did my presentation. I find that the medication can make me shaky, depending on what other elements are happening (whether I’ve eaten, slept well, etc) and just today I noticed that they actually make me a little emotional the way that Adderol did– not to the point of being crazy, but enough to cry over some sad and/or heartwarming articles I read during my brain-warm up this morning (aka acceptable procrastination time– but that’s another blog post for another time.)

I guess that the pattern I’ve found so far with these meds is that the benifit– the drive– that is (most likely) supplied by the meds, is accompanied by a degree of stress. With this med it is to a lesser degree than the last, though I don’t remember feeling it at all before last week. I wonder if it has to do with the fact that they say it can take several weeks to start working.  Is it going to get worse now? Or is this as bad as it gets, because I can handle it at this level.

There was also another day the week before that I forgot or neglected to take the meds.  Let’s say I took them for 8 our of the 10 intended days.  I was supposed to only take a break from them on Saturdays but I haven’t been taking on Sundays either.

For me,  a deadline is the best motivation to get working, and I really pushed myself to get all everything done on time, and done well. It’s hard to say whether the pills were working or not, but I felt very motivated, and I spent a lot less time ‘getting into’ the work, and a lot more time actually working on it.  When I got distracted, it was a lot easier for me to get back on track, whereas sometimes it can take me half an hour or more to ease back  in.

Also, this is work that I really love to do, and I know that I’m good at it because I have done it for years, though not lately. So again– hard to say if it’s because of the drugs.

My program went well, though I only got through about half of the materials we’d prepared. I thought the participants really enjoyed it and that it got their wheels spinning. I’ll find out when I get back the evaluations.

After telling the doctor all this, I was surprised to hear her say that she was concerned about the fact that I was feeling cloudy.  The meds are supposed to make you more functional, not less, she said.  With regards to that, and also to my fears of long-term damage, though, she didn’t tell me to stop.  She just said again that I need to do a risk/benefit analysis.  Are the meds helping me meet my goals, overall? If so, are the risks and/or side effects tolerable?

The idea behind the medication, she reminded me, is not to provide a cure, but to provide a higher level of function.

Also, we discussed how I’m effectively doing three jobs at once if I take on this new venture.  Mothering, working the equivalent of part-time for DH, and now this.  Honestly, I don’t mind putting the work in to see if I can get this started, even if it means a couple more late nights.  Granted, it also means I’m pushing off some of the mothering stuff (nothing significant) and also some of the paperwork I’d otherwise be doing, which means it’s building up faster than usual.  I guess I’m ok with that too.

 

 

 

Still Justifying

Despite all my ramblings about how I came to the decision to start medicating, I still feel like I need to justify my decision. The featured image of this post is a set of scales.  As you can see, it’s already been tipped to reflect my decision, but it does not reveal the rationale by showing you what factors are weighing it down– mostly because I am still a little fresh at Photoshop (actually this image was crafted in MS Paint bc sometimes it’s just the easy way out) and the image started getting a bit confusing when I started adding stuff in.

By waresponsibilityy of affirmation, I will deposit one justification marble in this blog– you can also call it a badge I’m awarding myself– every time I remember one of the reasons I am sky-high on Concerta*.

This badge, Responsibility For Others, reminds me that my failures, my lack of accomplishment, my procrastinating, my difficulties in self regulation**  all have an effect on the people I love the most and for whom I have a great responsibility.  This, if you recall, was the straw that broke the camel’s back. It’s the reason that tipped the scales.

* Ok I’m not sky high. In fact, I am not really sure if it’s having any effect on me at all.

** I’m not THAT bad.  But I could use improvement, hence the drugs.