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May 6, 2011

Mother’s Day Presents

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Scene: In the car the other day.

Cordy: Mama, it will be Mother’s Day soon. What kind of present do you want?

Me: I don’t know. What do you think I’d like?

Mira: Mommy, you like flowers!

Me: Well, yeah, flowers are OK I guess.

Cordy: No, Mira! Mommy likes chocolates more! You want chocolates for Mother’s Day, right?

Me: Ummm…I am trying to diet…

Mira: Flowers! Mommy wants flowers!

Cordy: Chocolates!

Mira: Flooooowers!

Cordy: Chooooocolates!

Me: What about sleep? I’d like that for Mother’s Day.

Mira: Mommy, that’s not a present!

Me: Oh, you’d be surprised what mommies would consider presents…

Later…

Cordy: Mama, I know what your present will be! Us! We’re your presents, mommy!

Me: Well, yes, but actually, you’re the reason I get presents on Mother’s Day.

Cordy: (panic in her voice) But we can’t get you anything because the Toys R Us doesn’t have anything you like!

Me: Um…well, I guess that’s true…

Cordy: So if you don’t like anything from the Toys R Us, we won’t have anything to give you! Can’t you like a toy that we like, and then we can get you that?

Me: I think you’re missing the point now…

—

After that conversation, I’m a little scared to think what will be waiting for me on Mother’s Day. It’ll either be nothing, flowers, chocolates, or a new Thomas & Friends train set with some easy reader Backyardigans books.

Note to self: teach my children what “spa” means and why mommies like it.

And I still argue that sleep can be a present.

Filed Under: being a mom, Cordy, kid logic, love, me me me, Mira ·


Apr 26, 2011

Drowning

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As a young child, I loved to swim. On more than one occasion the words “like a fish” were used in discussing my love for the water. I spent my summers at our local community pool, practicing flips and handstands in the shallow waters, and fetching pennies from the pool floor of the five-foot deep area.

I remember one time I was at a party, and the hosts happened to have a pool. All of the kids were in bathing suits, swimming and playing with various pool toys. I don’t remember the details, but at one point one of the preschoolers had thrown some plastic beach-type toys in the deep end of the pool, where they rested under ten feet of water.

I think one of them asked if I could get the toys. Or maybe I just volunteered myself, since I liked helping others and was quite confident in my swimming ability. Either way, I was the foolish kid (I couldn’t have been more than eight years old or so) going to the bottom of the pool.

Never having learned to dive properly, I stood on the edge of the pool, pinched my nose shut, and jumped in feet first, using the momentum to help me sink a few feet into the pool before orienting myself head down and kicking my legs furiously to reach the bottom. Ten feet felt a lot further than I thought it would be.

Once at the bottom, I gathered up the plastic toys, pushed off from the floor and kicked back towards the light.

If you hear my grandmother tell this story, you’d think I nearly drowned. I know I scared her pretty badly. I’m not sure how long I was down there, but it was long enough to worry the adults at the party. When she told the story years later, I laughed it off and said I had it all under control.

The truth, however? I’ve never been so close to drowning in my life as I was in the pool that day.

The deepest pool I had ever been in was eight feet of water. Ten was really pushing my limits. By the time I reached the bottom, I realized I needed to get back up quickly. But I wasn’t going to look like a failure, so I made sure to grab those toys.

As I pushed off from the floor, I could already feel my legs were weakening. Looking up, I could see the light reflecting off the top of the pool, but it felt so, so far away. How did it get so far away?

I kept kicking my legs, but my chest was on fire. My lungs were nearly collapsing in a reflexive effort to take a breath, yet I kept my nose pinched and mouth clamped shut. I was focused on getting to the surface, even though the light at the top looked a little darker and I started to feel lightheaded.

I lost the grip on my nose as my lungs forced air out and I started to panic that I wouldn’t reach the top in time. It was just as water was starting to come into my mouth that I broke the surface, spitting out the water as I gasped for air.

Clinging to the side of the pool, I weakly offered up the toys to their owners and smiled as my heart pounded. Nope, not going to look like a failure today.

I still remember some of the details of that event for a few reasons. First, I’m actually still very scared of drowning, even though I love water. And second, because I think on how many times in my life I’ve nearly (figuratively) drowned because I didn’t want to look like a failure.

Taking on too much is commonplace for me. Like Ado Annie from the musical Oklahoma, I “cain’t say no.” I never want to miss an opportunity, and I never want anyone to think less of me, so I will often agree to do far more than I’m capable of. Problem is, I then find myself at the bottom of that ten-foot pool, wondering how I’ll make it to the top without running out of air.

I look around at other working mothers and wonder how they do it, only to realize that either they’re better at saying ‘no’ to all of the requests on their time, or they’re smiling on the outside while panicking on the inside, just like me. Only they make it look far easier than I do.

One day I hope I can come to terms with the reality that I’m not superwoman, I can’t do it all, and occasionally I do fail miserably. That sometimes you don’t have to be the hero: you can instead hang out in the shallow end sipping a martini while your kids splash around you and let someone better suited to the job  – someone who has practically no chance of drowning – dive to the bottom of the pool.

Filed Under: me me me, memories ·


Apr 13, 2011

Geek Squared

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When I graduated from high school, family and friends all asked the same question that every university-bound teen is asked: “What will you be majoring in at college?”

I’ll admit that they were disappointed when I told them elementary education, or maybe liberal arts.

At my graduation party, there were a lot of whispered conversations between my relatives and my mom. “But why THAT?” “She’s selling herself short.” “She’s got so much potential in other areas.”

And then my mom: “I know. But I can’t force her.”

Everyone expected me to become a scientist. Or maybe a doctor. Anything related to the sciences, really. Truth is, I was a whiz at math and science.

Math (other than geometry, which I still have problems with) was a breeze, and even my math teacher was impressed at my speed with calculus proofs. The math award was given out to one senior each year who had the highest math grade for all four years of high school, and that year I was the recipient.

Science was equally simple as long as I avoided physics. (Geometry getting in the way again.) I scored a perfect score on the science portion of the ACT. Chemistry equations were like a second language to me. Some classmates considered me a snob for not helping them balance chemistry equations, but it wasn’t that I didn’t want to help them – I just couldn’t really explain how I did it. I’d try to explain, they’d still be confused, and then at some point the phrase “It’s easy to see” would slip out of my mouth and they’d storm away.

Yep, I was the perfect nerd: good at math and science, poor at sports, and socially awkward. You can guess how many parties I got invited to, and chess club doesn’t count.

But back to college: I wasn’t interested in being a scientist, and becoming a doctor sounded like it would take forever and be boring. I wanted a new challenge, so of course I jumped right into areas where I often did poorly, beginning with elementary education (I wasn’t good with kids), then switching my major to theatre (yes, I have panic attacks on stage) and finally ending with a BA in History, which happened to be my “worst” subject in high school. I didn’t switch majors because I found the others hard – I simply wasn’t as interested and kept trying to find my passion. Or maybe I only wanted to pursue topics that were hard for me.

Of course, a degree in history isn’t very useful if you don’t pursue graduate school, and after one quarter of a dull graduate school experience, I quit. I had a natural talent in technology, so I worked for several years as a technical writer for e-learning courses. My abilities in the sciences came in handy for that job.

I’ve since gone back to school and have that science degree in nursing. I think my family is a little more accepting of my career at this point, if only because my job options are a little more secure. And while I resented their opinions in high school, I’m lucky that I grew up surrounded by successful women who believed that a girl could do well in science. I never experienced any expectations based on gender other than their hopes that I wouldn’t let gender stereotypes hold me back.

As the mother of two daughters now, I can already see their strengths emerging. Cordy has a natural ability with patterns and numbers, while Mira is curious about the world around her and wants to know how everything works. I’ll continue to encourage them in learning about their world, embracing technology, and developing a love for science, just as I was encouraged as a child.

And if they want to pursue degrees in art and classical mythology someday? I’ll try to remind the relatives that they’re free to do what they want.

—
This post was inspired by my friend David Wescott and his call to bring together mom bloggers and science bloggers for his #scimom project. If you want to join in, go visit his blog and learn how!

Filed Under: geek paradise, me me me, memories, school ·


Mar 15, 2011

What I Learned At A Lady Gaga Concert

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1. I’m old.

2. Because I’m old, I was only a little sad that I didn’t splurge on the standing-room-only floor tickets. When there was a 90 minute intermission between the opening act and the appearance of the Mother Monster, my feet and lower back appreciated my little seat. And the cup holder for my drink.

3. I’m not so old that I feel concerts are too loud. Sure, it was loud, but that’s exactly what I wanted.

4. I am old enough, however, to appreciate the role of Madonna in getting Lady Gaga to where she is today. Yes, Gaga has a great message of unity and accepting yourself, but you know Madge went there first. The torch has been passed and in its passing has been made brighter and stronger, but I remember when Madonna was first running with it.

5. It’s a lot harder to get out of your row to go to the bathroom when you have to step over the girl in a blue corset top and fishnet stockings who is already passed out in her seat from too much alcohol. And the opening act just finished.

6. I was severely under-dressed. I somehow missed the memo that this was a costume ball. The younger folks, however, did get the memo.

7. What I may lack in youth and beauty, I make up for in experience, wisdom and knowing how to dress for my body type.

8. Some people shouldn’t be allowed to wear spandex. Or fishnets. Or duct tape. Don’t they have friends?

9. Governors should not be allowed to attend Lady Gaga concerts. Because no matter how badass and free you feel at the concert, you lose some of that when you look over and see Governor Kasich sitting in section 205. It kinda felt like having your dad watching you at the concert.

10. But then I realize, hey, at least I’m not as old as him.

11. And I thank all that is mighty that he didn’t dress as a Little Monster. In spandex.

12. I apologize for planting that last image in your head.

13. I miss going to concerts. Aaron and I had a great time, and for 2+ hours I forgot about all of my responsibilities. (Other than remembering I had to go to work after the concert.) I may be old, but I realized I need to get out more often and just have fun.

14. But I won’t wear spandex. Or fishnets.

Filed Under: me me me, pop culture, random ·


Mar 7, 2011

Losing My Mind (And Finding It Again), Part 3

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(Continued from part 1 and part 2)

I’d like to say everything was sunshine and rainbows after that first pill, but that’s not the way it happened. I continued taking the pills as instructed, although I quickly found there were some side effects I didn’t like. My muscles tensed up sometimes. Occasionally my heart pounded hard and my head felt like it was in a vice. I wasn’t so sure the clear thoughts were worth the physical trade-offs. But it was easier to fall asleep without all of that noise in my head.

At my next check-up, I told everything to my doctor. First, she was amazed that I could sleep while taking the medication, saying many aren’t able to sleep and she often has to prescribe a sleeping pill as well. For the other symptoms, we agreed to try cutting the dose in half to see if it helped. She also suggested trying a different medication, but due to health insurance not covering any of these drugs, I needed to stick to the cheapest option.

Cutting the dose in half did help, and after a year and a half most of the physical symptoms have vanished. What I like the most about this medication is that it’s short-acting, so I only take it when I need it. This goes a long way in helping me feel like I’m not chained for life to a drug. If I know I’m going to need focus for a task, I take it. If it’s the weekend and we’ve got nothing planned, I skip it. My doctor encouraged me to take vacations from the medication, too, so that I don’t build up a tolerance and need a higher dose later. So far it seems to be working.

Even though the first time I took the medication I experienced complete silence in my head, it hasn’t remained that way. I still have to struggle for focus every single day. Some days are worse than others, but give my brain a chance to spin off in some random direction and it’ll quickly jump on it. The medication just makes my efforts for focus a little easier, and it provides a temporary defense so I can build up greater mental discipline against the waves of sensory onslaught that threaten to drown me on a daily basis.

At the end of last year, with my doctor’s guidance, I tried to stand alone without any pharmaceutical help. It had been over a year and I thought maybe I was ready. I wasn’t ready. By the end of a week I was a disorganized mess.

The hardest part of all of this has been the mixed reactions I get when I do tell people I have ADD. Some have been genuinely supportive and wonderful. Others have nodded and listened, but I could tell they didn’t quite believe me.

And some have been outright mean, stating that there’s nothing wrong with me and I’m just looking for an easy way to cope with a mind and life like any other. These people don’t believe in attention-deficit disorder, especially not for adults. I’m just lazy, weak in mind and discipline, and either I don’t have enough to do in life to sit around and think I have ADD, or I’m too busy and would be fine if I just cut out all of this “online” stuff and stuck to work and mothering.

(As you might guess, some of these people also don’t believe much in autism and think Cordy just needs more discipline.)

I can function now. I can carry a thought from the beginning to the end without losing it halfway through. I can do my job without struggling to push past random thoughts to retrieve the knowledge I need. I can focus on a conversation with a friend. It’s awesome.

I’m also still me, just more anchored in the moment than I was before. I can still recall obscure facts rapidly, I can still think several steps ahead of what I’m currently working on, and I have yet to be told that my personality has changed in any way other than being happier with my life.

This is all a journey, and I’m continuing to find my way through it. My focus still isn’t perfect. I may not need the medication in the future, or I may try a different medication when we have health insurance again. I don’t know how it will all play out. But I’m thrilled with the progress of the past year and a half, and I’m so thankful to feel like I’m in control of my mind again.

I’ve learned that mental disorders and illnesses are simply conditions and not something to be ashamed of. Seeking out help isn’t weakness, it’s taking care of yourself, just as you would diabetes or heart disease or an infection.

It’s good to be comfortable in my own head again.

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Filed Under: clearly insane, me me me ·