And you may ask yourself, well, how did I get here?

I was talking with my brother Sam over the weekend, just catching up and chit-chatting about this and that. I mentioned that I had been sick for two weeks and after kvetching about the various drugs I'm on and the various symptoms I'm still experiencing, I shrugged and said, "well, it'll go away eventually.  I'll live."

"Or not," he said.

"You're right!" I acknowledged. "It could go either way. I'll get better or I'll die."

"Yes," he said. "One of those two things will happen. You never know."

"But one way or the other, it'll resolve itself."

This is how we talk - you say "yes, and.." and keep it going.

We both laughed and continued talking about a book that he recommended that I'm in the middle of, about how throughout human history, mankind has made all of these changes to it's economic and cultural structure that have come under the guise of progress but that have actually altered the course of human history - and of the Earth's history - for the worse.

It's actually super-interesting and not depressing, though I know it sounds that way.

The conversation (both about potentially dying of a sinus infection, and the book) got me thinking about life in general, and how so much of what we do every day is in service to materialism, or to obligations that we are bound to because of our choices. We've created this mythology that allows us to believe that we are special and every minute is special and that life is to be cherished and every day is to be seized, and that we are not only entitled to happiness, but that if we don't feel happy we somehow aren't trying hard enough to embrace gratitude or whatever.  Then we feel inadequate and stressed out because we're not approaching things the way we're supposed to be approaching things, so we're failures at the happiness game.

But the truth is, life is often cruel and throughout human history, people have lived their entire lives in miserable conditions and without any notion of happiness as we view it today - it wouldn't occur to them that happiness was anything to be valued or sought out.  The point of living was to keep living until you died, and maybe propagate the species along the way.

Again, it wasn't a depressing chain of thought.  It was just ruminating on something that's interesting to me and that I think about sometimes -- that the way our culture approaches happiness as a goal of life is both a totally artificial construct that keeps us going, and also a source of enormous stress and dissatisfaction because it's such an elusive goal.

Anyway.

The end of summer and the focus on a new school year reinforces the speed with which time passes. I sometimes feel old and like I'm approaching the end of my shelf life and that I haven't accomplished anything of note.  Other times I feel good about where I am. But the number of my age is frequently in the back of my mind - I'm racing against a clock and it's ticking along but I don't know how much time is left on it.  And the fact that my kids are getting ready to turn 7 and 9 is weird to me - on one hand, it feels like they were just babies, but on the other, the baby and toddler years feel like eons ago.  They are such fully formed people now.  The barely human little amorphous blobs who needed to be swaddled and jiggled and shushed in order to calm down or get to sleep are, at this point, as familiar to me as aliens.

What's fascinating is that they also are so cognizant of the blazing speed at which time passes.

The night I was thinking all of these Deep Thoughts was the night before the first day of school.  The kids were excited and nervous and wired and anxious.  I was trying to put them to bed and sing to them to soothe them (badly, because my voice is still froggy and fucked up - I have no sense of my range and can't control the way it sounds), but they couldn't calm down.

Zeke said, "I'm nervous about school, and I'm also sad about it being the end of summer. It felt like it went so fast."

"It did, honey. And the truth is, you're going to realize that everything feels that way. You're going to start school tomorrow and before you know it, it'll be your birthday and then Halloween, and suddenly we'll be at Mimi and Papa's for Thanksgiving, and it's going to speed by and you're going to be amazed at how quickly it feels like summer arrived again."

He nodded and was quiet, clearly thinking about it all.

"I know you're feeling anxious, and I totally get that.  But tomorrow will be here before you know it, and once you get to school you won't even have time to be nervous because all of a sudden you'll be in the middle of greeting your friends and meeting your teacher and everything else.  So the day will quickly be over and you'll have dealt with it.  And the truth is, you do like school, so chances are it's going to be a great day."

He agreed that that was the likely outcome, but he and Josie were both restless and really wanting to talk through what they were thinking about, so I let them get in my bed so that we could talk quietly in the dark and fall asleep together.

We talked about the specific things they were worried about - would they make new friends, would their teachers like them, would they be able to learn new things and not feel stupid, would anyone be happy to see them.  Josie in particular has an ability to be anxious about something and then talk herself into a state of extreme agitation until she ends up sobbing, so I was trying to keep things light and make jokes and be silly.

But they were both wound tighter than the strings on my banjo, and I didn't realize how close to the edge they were.  And sometimes I forget how innocent and impressionable they are.

In the midst of all this, they asked me what were the things that made me nervous or anxious.

Half joking, I responded, "I worry that no one will ever love me again and that I'll die alone."

At which point, they both burst into tears and climbed onto me, smothering me with hugs and kisses and tears and drool.

"Nooo! Mama, why would you say that??  Why would you die alone?  You have us! We love you so much! Why would you think no one will love you??  Aaaaaauuuuuugggghhhhh!  We love you Mamaaaaaa!!!"  

They were seriously distraught and it took a few minutes to reassure them that I'm fine and that I know that their love for me is boundless.

I realized I need to leave those comments for conversations with my brother, who will know to respond, "yep, it's a distinct possibility!"

I also realized (for the millionth time) that these beautiful little people fill me with happiness, as elusive as that feeling can be.

Deja vu all over again

On Monday I got a wild hair that I needed to cut my hair off immediately.

I've had it long forever and while I liked the length, it was driving me crazy.  I've always had thick, shiny, healthy hair, and suddenly I was hyper aware that, whether because of age or living in a dry climate or coloring my hair or whatever, the ends were getting damaged and frizzed out and it bugged me.  So I did some internet research on the type of cut that I wanted, had an online consult with my friends, and decided to get it chopped.

I have no patience when it comes to decisions like that.  Once I've made it, I want to act right away. And in the past, I would have called my hair salon immediately and made an appointment with the next available person and cut it off as soon as possible.

But now I try to act like some semblance of a grown-up woman, so I have a dedicated stylist person (Candace) who I go to every time, who knows me and knows my hair and is familiar with its cowlicks and curls and texture and everything else.  She's the mom of one of Josie's friends from school and she's young and hip and effortlessly cool, with her gorgeous blonde hair streaked with pink and purple.  But I couldn't get an appointment with her until Thursday, so it was two days of agonizing and getting nervous and feeling impatient.

First world problems, I know.

The big day came and I headed over there during my lunch hour. Candace and I confabbed and she snipped here and there and we would make adjustments and confab some more and she would cut a little shorter here and shape the pieces around my face and I would say "maybe a little more off there" and eventually we got it to where we both said, "that's it. We're there. It's perfect."

I love it.  It's bouncy and cute and easy to take care of and frames my face nicely. My hair looks healthy and shiny again, rather than frizzed out and tired.

I've got a couple of mediocre selfies that don't really do it justice, but here's what it looks like:

Just after leaving the salon. A bit windy.

Mirror selfie. Meh.

Now I need to learn how to take care of it - how to do it in the morning, whether there are certain products to use, that kind of thing.

I got some smoothing cream that's supposed to work really well at giving it some gloss and get rid of flyaways.  I had it in my purse at work and wanted to take it to the restroom to use it.  I don't usually take my purse in with me to the bathroom.  I've actually always thought it's kind of weird when women do that, unless they're in a restaurant and are worried about their bag being swiped.  But at work, what's in there that you need?  A tampon? Just carry it in your hand, or tuck it up your sleeve or something.  Who cares?

I have no idea why this bothers me.

In any event, with the hair smoothing stuff I ended up putting it in my purse and taking it with me. I was afraid if anyone saw me they would think I was taking a giant pink dildo to the bathroom.

More than a little phallic, no?

Later that night, I was getting ready to wash my face before getting into bed and needed a headband to hold my hair back so it wouldn't get wet.  Before cutting it, I used to just put it back in a ponytail, but it's too short for that now.  I looked in a bunch of different places but couldn't find any headbands.

As I rifled through one of my drawers, it occurred to me that I could do what I did when I was in the extreme throes of pregnancy brain and use a pair of thong underwear.  But the thought of having to explain to my children why I had underwear wrapped around my head was enough of a deterrent that I kept looking until I found a sash I could use.

In other words, in spite of appearances to the contrary, my standards have actually gone up a little bit.

Vacation, the all-medication diet, meth, and nose penises

I didn't even realize until a day or so ago that the last thing I'd written about was Sarah's death. Which, admittedly, threw me for far more of a loop than I thought it would.

But, as ever, life goes on and that is a good thing. Especially when it involves two weeks in Duck, North Carolina, on the Outer Banks.

Because I didn't have the kids for spring break this year, I had more annual leave time than I normally would at this point in the year.  I know people who don't use all their leave time and end up with hundreds of hours built up, but I'm all, no, I will take all of the leave, thankyouverymuch.  That's what it's for. I'm reminded of my friend Michele's strategy to always having something (like a trip) to look forward to. So use your vacation time, people.

Anyway, the beach was great, the water was great, the weather was great (if a tad hot), the Outer Banks are beautiful, the house was great.

The dunes at dusk.

Full rainbow!!

 Spending time relaxing and reading and swimming and going kayaking and hanging with the family and getting tan was rejuvenating.

I know that, like everything else these days, getting a tan means I'm going to get cancer and die tomorrow, but hell, at least I'll look good.

My children also demonstrated a knack for hard labor, so if all else fails, at least they'll have construction as a fall-back.

An added treat was that because my brothers were only coming for the second week, we had extra room in the house the first week. So Lisa came down with her kids for a few days, and our children immediately got on like gangbusters. They collected jellyfish (the non-tentacle-y sting-y kind) and swam in the pool and played in the ocean.

India developed a particular affinity for my dad, so he explained Amelia Earhardt to her. He likes explaining things.

Lisa went out and got Duck Donuts for us every morning. Notwithstanding the fact that my family has been coming to the Outer Banks forever, we had never had Duck Donuts.

I am not much of a donut person, but Duck Donuts are insanely good. The rest of the vacation, I ate many donuts. And key lime pie and ice cream and chips.

I figured I'd get back on the wagon and lose the fluff when I got home.

This turned out to be easier than I anticipated, because I hadn't been back in Denver and off the plane for 3 hours before my throat started to hurt.  The pain got worse and worse over the next couple days. I went to the doctor, who prescribed lots of medicine. Between the medicine and the pain, I couldn't eat much.

The throat pain went away, but there was lingering congestion in my nose.

"No biggie," I figured. "It'll clear up."

It didn't clear up. I couldn't breathe, I felt like shit, I was exhausted, and every time I blew my nose or coughed, the product was greener than the time before.

After 5 days, I went back to the doctor. He diagnosed a sinus infection, gave me more medicine, told me to take other medicines for the various symptoms, and sent me home to bed.

"You're going to feel horrible for another week," he prognosticated cheerfully as I left.

I am now on day 11 of this bout of plague. I take five different medications at bedtime and four when I get up.  My appetite has abandoned me entirely, so I've lost whatever pudge I gained on vacation.

On one hand, yay!  On the other, I'm not sure this is a fitness strategy I'd recommend.

The congestion is still there, so I polled my friends on ways to combat it.

Lisa suggested meth, but I ruled it out because I'd like to avoid the black teeth and the inevitable descent into prostitution to pay for the habit.

I'm not really an essential oils person, so that was out.

Everyone raved about neti pots/saline sinus flushes, so I decided to give that a go. I opted for the plastic squeezy bottle rather than the neti pot that Walgreen's was selling because it looked too much like I'd be sticking a blue penis in my nose.

Which, though I've never really given it much thought, strikes me as something else I'd like to avoid.