My Back Hurts

2/27/2010
Once upon a time I had a chocolate Lab named Ralph (named Ralph because George always wanted a brown, male dog named Ralph like the piano-playing Ralph of The Muppets). Ralph was a sweet dog. He was even more lovable than normal because he was unaware of his massive, 116 pound size, and honestly believed that he could sit on your lap. Ralph was also very curious and had what is probably the dog equivalent of human ADHD. One day I needed to put a harness on Ralph so that I could take him somewhere. It completely escapes me right now why I was in a hurry to accomplish this task. As usual, Ralph was interested in something else, so he wasn't terribly cooperative. I tugged on his collar to get his attention, which eventually progressed to my pulling on him as though he was a tug-of-war rope to get him to move. With as much effort as I was using to pull toward myself, Ralph was pulling in the opposite direction. And then, all of a sudden.....Ralph stopped pulling. I landed on my bottom on the cold, hard, tile floor....and was unable to stand.

That must've happened at least 8 years ago. We've since given Ralph to a wonderful woman who operates a doggy bakery and who has veterinarian parents. We had to, since Ralph was a very, very needy dog and we'd just brought home an attention-hogging baby. Still, every so often, I think of Ralph, and I miss him...until my back starts to hurt. Then I think of that fateful day that I should've decided to change my plans!
Prior to last weekend, I took my back for granted. I forgot how important it is in the process of walking. I bent over frequently without giving it a single thought. I used it often to sit and stand straight. And then all of a sudden, my back got tired of being used with no thanks. It finally got mad and pretty much declared that it would no longer work for me until I showed it some care and appreciation. I have had no choice but to listen and wait.

Alex's Journey Toward God

4/4/2010
Six years ago, if someone had told me that I'd be baptizing my son Catholic, I definitely would not have believed them. I didn't know I was pregnant yet six years ago today, but I already knew that George was vehemently against infant baptism, since he was raised Mormon and he insisted that baptism was a choice that older children should make.

When I found out I was pregnant, we battled fairly regularly over the fate of my unborn child's soul. I eventually gave up the fight, convinced that God would not only protect my son, but would also show mercy toward his innocence. Still, I prayed regularly for years that somehow, Alex would be blessed with baptism. Over the last six years I have truly battled with my love for the Church and my passionate distaste for all of the pain that has been caused by the Church....and while I am at peace with God and am still a religious person in the sense that I pray and try to live each moment in such a way to serve God, I have become less and less Catholic. Somehow along the way, I

Imagine my surprise when a year or so ago, George began insisting that Alex be baptized....Catholic.

Imagine my utter shock when a few months ago, George started talking to Alex about God and began insisting that Alex learn prayers....Catholic prayers.

June Musings

May and June were big months for me (and by extension, those involved in my world)! Part of me wishes that I was a better blogger, especially because I'm a bit overwhelmed by all the ideas I want to talk about, but a larger part has decided to stop chastising myself for not doing things like this regularly. It frees up a significant amount of time that I now spend chastising myself for other things, like sleeping too much and not ingesting enough fiber on a daily basis.
At any rate, I'll just list things and add a little commentary. That way it all gets out of my head and onto the screen:

• A small fly died in my bosom last Saturday night. (This sounds like the beginning of a bad story.) I was at the wedding of my former student teacher/current friend in Prescott, and the weather was gorgeous, but my dress was entirely outrageous. First of all, it is a coppery color (I love it because it is a derivative of my beloved orange) and it's made of shantung fabric (so it has a bit of a shine to it- this is a dress that pretty much screams, "Look at me!"). Second of all, it reveals entirely too much of my womanly parts up top. I spent the entire evening fretting because I'd forgotten to pack safety pins. Naturally, we were running a bit late to the wedding, so we couldn't stop to get some at one of the many convenience stores in Prescott (sarcasm). George later told me that the gentleman who sat to my right at the reception seemed to be enjoying his view. Some women probably think nothing of displaying their cleavage to the extent that I was...but it turns out that I'm a bit prude-ish when it comes to this sort of thing. So anyway, I was sitting next to George and the ceremony had started. As I admired the bride's dress and choice of bridesmaid dresses, I felt something crawling around. I looked down and saw a small fly on my chest, in my dress. In my attempt to inconspicuously help it out of my dress, I smashed it with one of my two humps. The poor, smashed, disgusting, dead bug stayed on the valley of my chest until after the ceremony, when George (who was amused) walked me over to our truck so I could fish the fly out with a tissue. Needless to say, I scrubbed much of the area with Purell at my first opportunity!
• Need to get rid of stuff? Move! I have been soooooooo generous in the past few months and have given away amazing things- decorative items, furniture, window treatments, boxes, food, clothing...and the giving hasn't ended yet. As I unpack, I find myself wondering why I have held on to some of this stuff so long.....and then I throw it in the give-away pile. I suspect that the move, which has been disorienting, has caused me to notice possessions I'd forgotten about over the years. Of course, this doesn't apply at all to items with sentimental value, like my HOBY Orange sign that Tomika told me to throw out last week.
• I've lived in this new-to-me house for a month now, and it still kind of feels like I am a guest in someone else's home. This morning I found myself missing the old house as I lugged a laundry basket up the stairs. And then I marveled at how in a short amount of time, I've almost completely cured myself of my fear of falling down stairs. That's when I almost tripped and almost fell down the stairs. Maybe I should limit my thinking when I'm on stairs. I definitely won't be texting or talking on the phone while climbing/descending them!
• Last night, as I was playing my 1,752,467th game of Bejeweled (and that was just in one day-lol!) because I couldn't sleep, I started to think about.....work. It's been a month and I have managed to not think so much about work- in fact, I identify more with "housewife" than I do with "teacher" these days. But the thoughts came last night. In a very short amount of time, I will be thrown back into teacher-mode, and the joys and sorrows that come with it. And then my own classes will start and I won't have a life and will probably become an unsightly caffeine addict....it was easy to start predicting at what point of the year I would burn out and get sick. Once I started doing that, I started to think about my behavior patterns over the years. I started out teaching with gusto ten years (ten years!?!?) ago, and I truly loved my job until Alex was born. Looking back now, I had a severe identity crisis after he was born that was exacerbated by leaving Moon Mountain (a decision I still sometimes regret) and working half-time. I'm fairly flexible and able to handle new things, but being a young mother who went from full-time work to half-time work at a new school was too much change for me at once. Then I had hormone issues (that makes EVERYTHING worse!) and had the worst depressive episode of my life- so bad that I had to do a stint in group therapy for a month and take short-term leave from my teaching and miss the last months of school. At that point, I thought that maybe teaching was too stressful for me, so I briefly (for like, two weeks) considered a career change. Then I took a job teaching at Rancho Solano, which renewed my love of teaching because it was all I had to do- I didn't have to worry about all the other roles public school teachers have to assume. Interestingly, that same thing- not worrying about all the other roles- made me want it again...and that's how I ended up at Desert Heights Charter School. I love my job again, which is a huge comfort! Still, I've noticed that my health has deteriorated/absences have increased at the same time for the past two years...so last night when I had an "ah ha!" moment, I took a break from Bejeweled and looked up depression in the workplace. I have (reluctantly) accepted that my depression (a.k.a. clinical depression, major depression, unipolar depression, etc.) limits me in certain ways. I'm "stress intolerant" according to my psychiatrist, and my medication helps me to deal. Still, I don't handle stress as healthily as I could, and once I reach my "limit," I get sick, or my back hurts, or I start to become disorganized and disconnected and it affects my job performance. Even though I have become self aware, I'm not quite sure how to avoid it happening again....still thinking about it. In the past I have considered asking for accomodations (while I was in college), but that isn't such an appealing idea to me because 1) it means admitting that my depression is disabling at times, when I'd rather believe that it isn't and 2) teaching doesn't lend itself naturally to usual accomodations, such as extended deadlines, breaks and working from home. It's funny to me how patient and compassionate I am toward students who struggle and need accomodations when I am not that way with myself...
• I'm the person I always wanted to be ten years ago- in my thirties, somewhat settled in my career, married, and a mother. I feel a sense of pride when I think of all I have accomplished in the past decade, but also a sense of horror that so much time has passed and I still have yet to find true inner peace, discover the cure for procrastination, or become a statistic (though it is too late to become a teenage mother...sigh). Guess I'd better get busy!
• OMG! My parents' 33rd wedding anniversary was yesterday, I think. We don't celebrate it, mostly because the marriage is a strange testament to why divorce is necessary...but still, 33 years is a long time. I should know, I'm almost that old!