On Slowing Down

It’s 11:00 on a Thursday.  The kids are still in pj’s.  It’s a bummy movie day.  Here’s how we got here:

• Last Friday, Isabelle started breaking out in poison ivy.  It’s finally getting better but still bumpy and gets itchy when she gets hot playing.  I spent two nights in her bed to keep on top of Benadryl and topical creams so she would not scratch to bleeding in her sleep.  This means I slept not so well, got kicked, snuggled a sweaty little sleeper, and got a crick in my neck.  Her mattress is not the finest.  We intentionally got an inexpensive one so if it got ruined with bodily fluids, it wouldn’t be the end of the world.  This decision was made naively without considering that WE would end up sleeping on it some, too. 

• The last two nights she has spent in our bed with me.  Better, but still sleeping contorted to avoid her thrashing upside-down sleeping self.  Waking up to toes in my face while the incision spot on my forehead is still sore is not thrilling.  This morning, I got up at 5:30 to treat itching boo-boos, got back in the bed to snuggle for a while, and eventually made motions to get up around 6:15.  My neck sent me a big “F you!” as I stretched—that crick in my neck?  Well, in that general area, I had a muscle spasm so strong that I froze, facedown mid-stretch.  It’s been since before Isabelle was born that I had one like that!  It was so bad at first that I couldn’t move my head or left arm at all.  A heating pad alternated with a huge cold pack, an 800mg Motrin, a smear of muscle ache cream, a long soak in the tub with jets pointed right at tender spots, some gentle head-turning to stretch, and another turn on the cold pack, and it’s feeling manageable.  

• So back to this morning…Frank, wonderful man that he is, fixed Isabelle breakfast, made up the bed, and got Will up and pottied.  I would have been hurting really, really badly if I’d had to do that first off!   Will eventually wanted breakfast, and wandered into the kitchen…where he proceeded to get that funny look and throw up a little bit in his hand.  About this same time, Isabelle announces that she has to poop and scurries off to the potty.  This is 3 days of daily going, which is not her usual.  Either gluten-free really suits her, or Houston we have a problem.  What the hell is going on in my house?  All I want to do is clean a little so that we can have friends over tomorrow to play.  I have no idea what the throw up was all about, but he happily (and slowly) at a banana and some plain cheerios at the table with a big bowl for throwing up at hand.  I made them both a double probiotic, double elderberry syrup in apple juice (organic!) topped off with water to stave off any potential bugs and am set to watch and wait today.  Luckily, nothing further has developed on this upset stomach front.

Taking a step back, I’m thinking all of this is a big kick in the pants to force me to slow down and look at priorities.  At first, I was all frustrated this morning that my week of being active (walking/strolling and yoga) and productive (keeping house neat/clean, cooking healthy stuff) was shot.  There are things I HAVE to do today to meet my own expectation.  Wait a minute.  The world is going to continue going ‘round if I don’t vacuum or cook dinner.  So, I start thinking about the Deepak Chopra Soul of Healing Affirmations album I downloaded on Sunday.  Sure it seems cheesy, but it works.  It’s making me think at least.  I’ve only listened to a hand full of the tracks and will not add more until I remember these few and am incorporating them into my daily life.

“…Our body is…the battleground for the wars we wage within our minds.  By changing the conversation that is happening in our minds, we influence the body so the body will become the playground instead of the battleground for the wars you wage in your mind.  Your body will become the playground for all the love that you want to create in your life.”

~Deepak Chopra

Do any of the things I am dead set on doing improve my own or my family's happiness or health?  Nope. Does worrying about getting it all tended to increase my stress, make my fuse shorter, and take my focus down a negative path.  Yes indeedee.   My kids would rather run around in pjs (even in the back yard today), watch movies, eat a pizza from the freezer, and get out every toy we own than be put together, eat a perfectly balanced meal, and pick up as we go about the day. 

Here is a list of things I will *not* be accomplishing today, things that can get kicked down the list of priorities until I can at least turn my head again:

Vacuuming, mopping, bathroom cleaning, dusting, fixed hair, putting on a bra, shaving my legs, ironing, baking, cooking dinner,  exercising, obsessive toy picking up 3x a day, full laundry basket, and chickens who’d like to peck around the back yard.

I’m sure there are more things that will be left undone without ruining my life, my week, or my day.  I'm making an effort to slow down, play more, and praise my kids more.  Those things can be hard to do when I'm so caught up in all of the "have-to's" I pressure myself to complete.  Nobody else in the house shares my sometimes extreme expectations.  

What in your daily life can you let go of or reprioritize to increase your wellbeing and decrease anxiety?

Girlie Day

Today has been a day full of errands.  Odd runs here and there disjointed like the movements of a piano concerto.  Somehow the closing of the piece ties together all of the loose ends.  It all fits and makes sense.  There is no more dissonance, only resolution.

The random running began with a well-earned trip to the Disney store with Isabelle.  She'd never been before.  It was awesome.  She was more than a little awestruck.  Not wild (honestly, apeshit) as I anticipated, but cool and a little blissed out.  We counted out the saved Christmas money, and she picked out just what she wanted.  The first favorite was a purse filled with pink jewel dress-up accessories, "Because I don't have things to go with my PINK dress, Mama."  At our house, one must match in costume.  No wild, disorganized get-ups.  Outfits per the princess's orders.  She is never Cinderella when in a blue Cinderella dress.  "It's just Isabelle IN a Cinderella costume," she is quick to say.  Funny kid and neat to see the complexities of preference and personality are very present even at four.  In close second was a zipper pouch filled with colored pencils, markers, a ruler--school stuff.  My mother described it perfectly when she said, "Oh for making trash.  Yeah, she does that at my house, too."  Sorry, dear daughter, fine arts abilities don't run on my side.  I'm thrilled for her to play in it and enjoy it all, but I won't be saving any of it for an exhibit at the Met in decades to come.

Quick ride on Pumba

So, home again, home again, jiggety jig after stopping to have froyo for lunch.  Mama was SO much cooler than usual today.  As soon as Will went down for a nap, I ran to a local junktique store looking for a birth stool rumored to be in some store past Walmart.  Score!  It was there.  I didn't get it.  What on earth will I do with that?  It won't be seeing any action in the near future if ever at my house.  Maybe for an office later, but our house is bursting at the seams already.

The birthing chair

On to the health foods store--how I love Five Seasons in downtown Ocean Springs.  Jan and Paul are incredubly knowledgeable and helpful.  I'm hunting for a home remedy for my sweet kitty who has feline herpes virus.  No laughing, it's very common in feral cat colonies or unhygienic places where cats are overcrowded.  Both of those describe her humble beginnings from what I can gather.  It's pitiful.  She pukes all the time, has rotten teeth, and has upper respiratory symptoms periodically with outbreaks.  We are currently having an outbreak.  So far, probiotics, grain-free crunchies, grain-free canned food just for her, plus olive leaf extract (gag, it's vile) are really helping.  She is still snot rocket sneezing, albeit less often, so I picked up some colloidal silver to treat the infection.  The outbreaks always come with a wicked upper respiratory infection.  I'm trying to avoid the vet, because the only way of treating there is with anitbiotics which kill ALL of her gut flora.  With an autoimmune issue at the root, I hate to level her defenses and kill all the beneficial cooties.

From the heath food store to the grocery store for a beer run, quite a bit in fact.  The weather is pretty.  We love sitting outside.  Beer is practically required to rock on the back porch on nice, warm evenings.  By this time, I've decided that the birthing stool is the perfect early Mother's Day gift for myself.  I mean, really, if this simple, hand hewn piece of history was picked up by someone not in the know because it was a cute little chair for wherever, what a loss!  I have imagined it's tragic end by this point--getting broken and tossed out with the trash.  Think of all the stories lost if it sits unappreciated in some corner.  That seems worse than being broken and discarded. 

The lady at the store grins when I come in the store again.  She knew I'd be back.  The first time, she told me about all three of her births.  Her kids are grown, my age-ish.  This stuff sticks, folks.  Anecdotal experiences like this morning, the random stories of ladies I've met, the research I love--it's sure nice when science backs up what I've suspected as elderly ladies tell me what they remember vividly of their experiences.

I now own a birthing chair, or birthing stool.  I'm glad I bought it.  It may be a silly way to spend money, but both of my grandfathers were born at home in rural areas of Mississippi within a couple of hours of here.   Maybe there were seats like this where they were born.  Maybe not.  I think both were caught by their grandmothers.  I can personally attest to the importance of something sturdy to hang on to when giving birth--squatting bar with Isabelle and the handles of the birth tub with  Will.

My dad's father was born in his grandparent's home in Wayne county Mississippi almost a year after his mother's first baby was stillborn.  He and his sisters settled on calling her a "community nurse" when they were telling me about her and how they were all born at her house.  Apparently, she served the area in many capacities, assisting the local doctor on house calls and catching babies when needed.

My mom's father was the youngest of five boys born at home in Covington county Mississippi.  I think he came too quickly for the doctor to make it to the house in time.  His grandmother stepped in to catch there, too, I believe.  Just last summer at the family reunion, one of his cousins got up to talk about Granny.  Feisty, tiny, red-headed lady who was hailed a healer and had well-remembered medicinal and flower gardens.  She had the ability to walk in to the sickroom, take a whiff, and discern the fever or illness from the smell.  She taught her daughters how to do this as well and what plants to use.  One of those girls lived well into her hundreds, and I knew her.

If any of that is incorrect, dear family, please correct me.  It's oral history.  Nobody has written this stuff down that I know of, and I'm a couple of generations late for getting the details spot-on.

I love knowing this kind of family history and now owning a piece of local history that is tied to what I do.  It's fascinating and sad all at once that they knew so many things that I am just beginning to re-learn.  We know a lot more now in ways, but we have also lost a lot of knowledge.  Sure, I'm not opposed to medicine and appreciate having access to medical care when we need it, but I can handle a lot at home.  That said, I'm going to watch my squirrely girl wallow in her new stuff, drink a beer, sit outside at the picnic table and bench my crafty husband just threw together, contemplate repurposing a dog house into a chicken coop, and figure out in which pots to attempt rooting the elderberry that is growing wild in the lot next to our house to wrap up my day of randomness.