Waiting Room Woolgathering

I am in a waiting room at the car place while my vehicle undergoes repairs for yet another recall. In fact, this is a re-recall because I already had this particular issue addressed a couple of years ago. Or, not addressed, apparently.

There is one other woman-presenting person in the waiting room with me. She just consented to a $160 tire alignment. I am 95% sure that the service member who came to speak with her referred to her as Suzanne, and the service person who checked me in already told me my car’s alignment failed. What are the chances that two Suzannes would both have failed tire alignments at the exact same time?!

It’s been kind of a rough start to the school year. Or maybe not rough so much as nonstop busy? None of it is BAD stuff; it’s all stuff that we’ve done or chosen on purpose. Well, except for the leak in our pool. No one wants that. I think it’s like this every year, and I simply block out the memory of the frenetic bustle of it all during the relative calm of the summer months. Annual or not, I currently feel like I’ve jumped into the middle of an ice-cold lake and I’m not that strong a swimmer.  

What I really want to be doing is spending my days walking, writing, and hanging out with my cat. That sounds like my ideal level of interpersonal interaction right about now.

Ignore the doorbell and the dishes and the laundry and the fact that you need to pick up your kid and the neighbor’s children from school and lie down with meeeeeeeeeee…

In practice, I’ve been spending an average of two hours a day in a school gymnasium, making conversation with other parents, cheering for our kids, and trying to stave off butt and back pain from the relentless discomfort of the bleachers. (This little purchase has helped quite a bit with the latter.) Or rushing to/waiting around my house to discuss various home maintenance and repair and improvement projects with a parade of vendors. Or scrolling aimlessly on my phone in an attempt to stay awake while my daughter finishes her homework (she hasn’t gone to bed before eleven a single time this school year). Or driving to or from school and/or sporting events. Or working on a volunteer project, which involves both in-person meetings and a group chat. I remain terrified of group chats.

This is all, like, totally normal parent and life stuff and yet I am feeling overwhelmed and overextended and wholly unsuited to any of it.

Let’s just hope this is all an ADJUSTMENT period, to which I will ADJUST. My kiddo, by the way – who is the one DOING THE SPORTS AND HOMEWORK which is quite a bit more strenuous than observing those things – seems to be handling everything with much more grace and much less whining than I am.

On the plus side, I have not cooked a single meal all week. On the minus side, I did buy ingredients to make a giant salad several days ago and I am pretty sure they are all gradually rotting into inedibility in my fridge.

There are five of us in the waiting room now. One of the staff members has chosen this very moment to vacuum the floor of the waiting room. Why now, buddy? It’s not like someone just spilled a bag of chip crumbs or anything. The floor looks perfectly clean. Is this a conscientious objection to the inanity of Jenna & Sheinelle, which I didn’t know was a show? Is it passive aggressive proof to his manager that he is Doing His Job? Puzzling.

Those of you with better memories and/or experience with middle school and high school kids, is this just… How Things Are? Carla goes to school, goes to sports, scarfs a quick and less-nutritionally-balanced-than-I’d-prefer dinner, immerses herself in homework, goes to bed, repeat. There is literally no time to do anything else. She doesn’t have a spare ten minutes to tidy her room or practice her instrument or go visit the neighbor dogs. The only time we talk is in the car or over a hasty meal of fast-food nuggets. We’ve been sacrificing a traditional breakfast in favor of a few more minutes of sleep, and she’s been eating ants on a log or drinking a smoothie in the car on the way to school. Our only “non productive” time is the five minutes of cat videos we watch together every morning, and the ten minutes I spend reading to her in bed every night.

(By the way, I am currently reading her this book, which I remember liking when I was a kid, although not enough to read any of the other books in the series. But I am finding it boring and kind of dumb???)

My husband thinks that it was like this for him when he was in school. My mom thinks it was like this for me when I was in school. But I have no recollection of doing three to five hours of schoolwork every night. Maybe in college, but even then, only when I had a paper due the next day. Three to five hours of schoolwork seems BONKERS, let alone doing it on top of two to three hours of Sports.

I keep spiraling about Carla’s commitments. The spiral starts with: This is too much! This school isn’t right for Carla! Something must be wrong, either with the teachers or with Carla’s ability to do the work! Should I email the teachers? The principal? Should I encourage Carla to email the teachers? The principal? Should I make her quit Sports?

Then eventually (sometimes with help from my much chiller husband) the spiral makes its way around to this: But Carla seems to be doing okay. She’s tired, sure, but isn’t that true of ALL teenagers, EVERYWHERE? The other parents I’ve talked to say their kids are doing similar amounts of homework, and going to bed similarly late. And none of them are pulling their kids out of school or making them quit the team or marching into the principal’s office demanding Action. And Carla really seems to enjoy Sports! She’s getting better, she seems to be making a positive contribution to the team. The physical activity is certainly good for her. As is the social interaction. She seems to be completing her homework, even if it’s late when she finishes it. Her grades are fine, so far. And her own father says that this is How It Was even back in the golden era of the nineteen-nineties.

The calm doesn’t last particularly long, though. It doesn’t help that I am also getting less sleep than I prefer, and I’m much busier than I prefer. Maybe once those things resolve (will they resolve?) I will be more zen about Carla’s level of busyness.

Speaking of being more zen: The last time I posted here, which was eons and eons ago, I mentioned my fret about feeding the sports team. THANK YOU for pointing out that doing such a thing is inadvisable. I spent the first three weeks of school not signing up, and simply taking Carla some nourishment to eat between games. She eats WRAPS now, can you believe it? Ham, tomato, and lettuce. (I wrap the tomato and lettuce in the ham, so they don’t soggify the tortilla.) (Yes, we have decided to throw caution to the wind and get back on the lettuce train.) Other parents have been signing up to provide sustenance, and I have been observing what they bring. They are not bringing dinner, they are bringing SNACKS. I can totally bring snacks for the team. That’s much less daunting than providing an entire meal. Thanks for talking me down, internet.

And there’s the service guy who checked me in. My car is done, and so is this post.

Scattershot Saturday Thoughts

Will I ever write a single topic post again?

Some might say that I should make several small posts instead of grouping a bunch of small topics together in one post. I say, the heart wants what it wants and today it wants to jibber jabber about a bunch of random shit.

I am obsessed with my cat.

This is likely not a surprise to you. Lenny is The Best, and since I am at home a lot of the day, every day, he is my constant companion. I cannot tell you how much of my one wild and precious life I have devoted to looking up things to enhance his quality of life. Catios, toys, communication systems. One thing I read frequently about cats is that they love to be UP HIGH, and my cat has a cat tower in the kitchen and a window perch in my office and, of course, a balcony (surely the people who built this house had Lenny in mind). But I’m always wondering if we could do more. Maybe I need a floor-to-ceiling cat tower for my office or my bedroom or my kid’s room or the basement?

I mentioned recently that my cat has become obsessed with a grasshopper that attaches to his wand toy. Well, my daughter handed him the grasshopper and he absconded with it and now I have no idea where it is; either it’s gone forever, or it will show up someday under the oven or in my bed at three in the morning. Fortunately, I can buy grasshopper replacements! Which led me to these rabbit fur toys. How many toys does one cat need, Suzanne?!

Instagram is well aware of how much I adore my cat, and feeds me all the cat content. Lately, it seems like everyone is getting another cat, and oh how I would LOVE to have a friend for Lenny. My husband, who did not particularly want a cat in the first place and agreed to get Lenny purely out of love for me and our kid, is not on board. And I respect that. But also: I want a second cat. Much as many non-parents believe with their whole hearts that they will NEVER be the kind of parent to have toys lying around their living rooms, I was firm in my conviction that I would never have cat towers or cat toys cluttering up my space. And, just like those non-parents who do a complete 180 when they have a kid, I now spend long minutes staring at my walls, wondering how best I could incorporate a wall climbing system into our overall home design and daydreaming about teaming up with my dad to create a custom set of cat slash Other Things shelves – maybe this combined with this (or this or this)? – that would look elegant and natural on our walls but would also provide our cat with a new way to see the world.

“How can anyone NOT be obsessed with me?”

Longterm projects to complete with a partner

Okay, moving on from my cat! My mom told me about a local challenge – sort of like a pub crawl, but without the pubs. We went to our first non-pub yesterday and plan to visit another one next week. I love that she suggested this joint activity: it gives us an “excuse” to get together, it encourages us to visit different parts of our community, and it supports local businesses. This is exactly the kind of thing I’ve been wanting to do with her, but a) I haven’t really known how or where to look for this kind of thing and b) nothing has jumped out to bite me.

I have to believe that there are other, similar types of activities that we can do together once we’ve completed this one. BUT WHAT??? Everything I come up with almost immediately hits a non-negotiable.

Visiting local museums seems like an obvious idea. Although I tire of museums quickly. Plus, they often cost money and it would be ideal if this joint activity were free. Birchie has taken on a hiking challenge several years running, which sounds appealing. Unfortunately, my mom lives nearby primarily in the winter months, and hiking in the snow and ice isn’t at the top of her list of fun things to do. (Don’t you love how the prior sentence cleverly implies hiking in snow and ice IS on MY list of fun things to do?) Elisabeth visits lighthouses, but the closest lighthouses to me aren’t reasonably close to my mom’s house. A coffee shop or restaurant or ice cream shop crawl would be fun, but again with the spending money, not to mention that those types of places tend to be crowded and noisy, which cross them pretty firmly off the list. A dear friend of mine would be all about finding local haunted places, but I don’t think that’s my mom’s jam. Stephany recently did a reading crawl, which I find deeply appealing… maybe my mom and I could visit one bookstore or library at a time and spend an hour or so reading together? My mom doesn’t really enjoy shopping or live music, neither of us are that into group exercise classes.

Are there any options I’m not thinking of? Have you ever done a “challenge” or a multi-part activity, either on your own or with a friend or family member?

Favorite podcasts

Based on Engie’s enthusiastic recommendation, I binged the entire second season of “Adults in the Room.” It was compelling and thought-provoking, and I found myself staring into space after every episode, wondering about things like the knife’s edge balance between “protecting a victim and future potential victims from abuse” and “protecting people from false accusations”… the many, many ways people can inflict themselves and their desires on others non-consensually and whether “abuse/abuser” are the most accurate terms for every act/person on that spectrum… and how big systems, like school districts, can feasibly and reliably balance the need to employ staff against their responsibility to protect the people they serve. It was a heavy topic, for sure, and the podcast of course had limitations in its scope and viewpoint and ability to address the bigger questions, but I found it completely engrossing.

Last fall, I think, Nicole recommended that I listen to a podcast called “Beth’s Dead,” and hoo boy, THAT was a fantastic listen. It also touched on heavy topics, but it was mostly about the intensity of parasocial relationships and I loooooved it.

I am not typically a podcast listener, although I can’t articulate why I gravitate toward other types of media first. But I enjoyed “Adults in the Room” and “Beth Is Dead” so much that I would love something exactly like either of them. I just started “Scamanda” which might do the trick, but would love more ideas if you have them.

Initial thoughts on physical therapy

The other day marked my first physical therapy appointment to treat a case of tennis elbow. Reminder: I do not play tennis. My best guess is that I injured my forearm while lifting weights.

This was my second time patronizing a physical therapist; the last time, some seven or so years ago, was also in response to a workout-related injury. That time, I’d squinched my lower back doing ab exercises during a barre class. I don’t remember much about that PT experience, except that it was helpful. So I am going to try to write about this experience in more detail, for the benefit of Future Me.

When I arrived at the PT office, I had to fill out a series of long questionnaires – the kind that ask the wrong questions. (For instance, it asked “Does your pain interfere with your social life?” instead of “Does your pain interfere with your ability to work out the way you want to, which affects your mental and physical health on a daily basis?”)

After I’d filled out all the forms and handed over my insurance card for photocopying, my physio (Allison calls her PT a physio, so I am going to do that as well) called me back to a little office that looked like a doctor’s exam room: exam table, couple of chairs, cabinet with sink. The physio asked me a bunch of questions about my pain level and when/how I thought I’d injured the area. (He also noted that he had no part in designing the questions, nor has he ever, in twenty years as a PT, looked at any of the completed questionnaires.) (ARRRGGGHHHHHH, amirite.) Then he pressed on various parts of my arm and moved my arm around in a variety of ways and asked if anything caused pain. Then he agreed with the diagnosis of tennis elbow and said I would need to come to PT twice a week for six weeks. Ugh.

Then he showed me a couple of stretches to do, advised me to ice my elbow twice a day, and took me into the main space of the PT room, where there were exercise benches, weight machines, yoga mats, treadmill, and massage tables. I sat on a chair with my arm resting on a massage table and the physio ran an ultrasound machine over my forearm for what seemed like a long time. Then he massaged my forearm using a metal tool that looked kind of like this. He asked me if I could tell how tight my muscles were (or maybe he said “tendons”?), and when I said no, he showed me how the metal tool was unable to slide smoothly over my arm, but instead looked as though it were gliding over a bumpy road. Then he showed me how to massage my own forearm, using the elbow of my opposite arm (not easy or fun), and that was it.

I wasn’t really prepared for anything about the experience, because I had no idea what to expect.

Two things I wish I had known in advance:

1. That I would be a lot of pain after the appointment. My arm is sore, and in a new way than it has been; I would compare it to the same soreness I’ve had after getting a vigorous back massage, or even similar to the soreness of doing a rigorous exercise routine. Allison suggested that I take Advil before PT, and I will do that next time for sure.

2. That I would be expected to CHAT. My physio was lovely and friendly and talkative, and it turned out we had a lot in common to discuss. But chatting for A Whole Hour with someone I don’t know well is exhausting. There was one other patient in the office while I was there, and he looked at his phone the whole time his physio was massaging him… but he was on his stomach and she was working on his legs/feet, and I think it would be a lot more difficult/rude to stare at my phone while my physio massages my arm right there next to my face. I already dread going to the dental hygienist because of the chatting, and I only have to do that twice a year. HOW am I going to survive eleven more hours of conversation with this guy? (Who, again, seems lovely and friendly and kind!)

Wall art

My primary resting spot in this house is in the cozy armchair in the corner of my office. My view from the chair is of my bookshelves, but I am increasingly aware of how bare the walls are on either side of the shelves. Wouldn’t that be a nice way to display some family photos? We have TONS of artwork around our house, but very few family photos.

I have gone so far as to select a variety of photos that I’d like to display, but that’s where I get stuck.

What is the best way to display them? Gallery-wall style or on a series of floating shelves? Is there a way I could incorporate my decorative skiing tile, which I bought from Lauren years ago and LOVE and have never figured out how to properly display? (If you look closely, it’s sitting there on top of the Sue Grafton mysteries, but I would like it to be more visible.) If I have one non-photo, should/could I also add a small painting or a poem or something? How do I figure out how many [items] would look good and what sizes they should be?

I realize my success with gallery walls is zero, but this is MY office so I have more control over it than over shared spaces.

Ergonomic laptop holders

Speaking of my office sitting habits, I forgot to tell you about the part of my physical therapy appointment during which the physio scolded me about my computer usage habits. (He wasn’t mean about it or anything, more aghast that I was doing such constant harm to myself.) He suggested that I immediately stop using my laptop while sitting in an armchair (don’t let him know where I am writing this post) and sit instead at my desk, and invest in an ergonomic laptop holder so that I stop doing intense and ongoing damage to my neck and posture. He also recommended that I immediately cease using the track pad and keyboard on my laptop and get a separate mouse and keyboard.

What I want to know is, are there ergonomic laptop holders I can use on my lap? I really don’t like sitting at my desk.

How long is too long to sleep in?

Between the cat and perimenopause, I am no longer a sleeper-inner. My husband, who is chronically underslept, can sleep in until ten o’clock on the rare occasion the stars align for him to do so. My kid, who is almost-but-not-quite a teenager, has begun to sleep in more luxuriously than she used to; for years and years, she was an up-with-the-sun kind of kid.

My question is, how long do I let her sleep? I know she doesn’t get enough sleep these days, so I’m inclined to let her sleep until she wakes up naturally. But I also don’t want to start a Bad Pattern, and sleeping late often leads directly to staying up late. Ten o’clock feels decently decadent to me, but my husband says he remembers sleeping in until one or so when he was a teen.

When you can sleep in, how late do you sleep? If you have kids, how late do you let them lounge in bed?

Also me.

That’s all I’ve got today, Internet. I hope it is not snowing where you are. You know I love snow, but not in May.