You know how you learn a new word or hear of something for the first time and then suddenly you see this word or thing 54 times in the next few days?
I have seen so many booted people lately. Every third person on the street is wearing a boot.
OK, I exaggerate. But there are a lot!
It's like suddenly I became hyper-aware of boots, and lo, there they already were, all around me.
Nick has stopped wearing his, even though he hasn't yet gone back to the doctor. Our doctor.
And I can understand it. The boot is a hassle. Not just clomping around in it, but finding a shoe that matches it in height. It makes your hips and back hurt to be off-balance like that. Most importantly, his achilles is no longer achillin' him. (No, I will never let that go.)
Now, on the one hand I was thinking maybe he should wait until the doctor deems him healed. But on the other, I was relieved.
The other day we walked over to our friends' house together. They live about six or seven blocks away. Not far, but far enough when you're booting.
We were both in our respective boots, when we saw people walking towards us on the sidewalk, I put a little distance between us and pretended Nick and I didn't know each other.
I'm not proud of this fact, but it's true. (Also, Nick didn't know I was doing this. Until now.)
Anyway, I figured that if anyone looked at our boots and laughed at us, I'd go ahead and be all, "What? We met at a boot support group!"
Monday, March 09, 2015
Wednesday, March 04, 2015
In bootness and in health
Oh, hahahahahahahaha!
So I woke up yesterday with the ball of my foot all hurty and swollen, and then I hobbled on it all day, because as it turns out you need the ball of your foot for many things like walking and standing and such.
I sent pictures of my normal foot and my swollen foot to Nick at work and he said it looked like I needed some sex and he'd help me with it when he got home.
I told him I was looking for constructive feedback and this was seeming very much like him not being super helpful when I wanted to warm my icy little feet on the warmest place on his body.
Upon actually seeing my foot, he suggested I had gout, and when I asked how one gets gout he said, "Lots of rich, fatty foods." And then he laughed really hard.
And then I said if I have gout and he does not there is no justice in the world. To which he said that sex cures gout as well.
I've been saying things like, "Hey there, bootie!" and "You might want to hobble upstairs and get changed before you get too tired." Not unkindly. More like descriptively. But Nick didn't take it well. So this is payback, I think.
Anyway, this morning I called Nick's podiatrist—you know, the one who recently gave him The Boot—and asked if they could please squeeze me in even though they'd never seen me before. They did and as it turns out; 1. The podiatrist is extremely interesting, 2. The foot, a replica of which I held in my hand, is kind of creepy, and 3. I have fractured one of the wee little bones under the ball of my foot.
So I said, "What does one do about this? I mean, beside The Dread Boot."
The answer? The Dread Boot.
We have the same boot now, my love and I. On the same foot. Just in vastly different sizes.
I'd told Nick that he was going to have to stop wearing his if I had to get one, and when I called him he once again laughed really hard.
And then he said he can't wait to clomp down the street together, hand in hand.
Wednesday, February 25, 2015
12 Things Worse Than Throwing Up All Day (But not as bad as Ebola, cancer, ALS, plane crash, being chained to a train track, getting beheaded by ISIS, traveling back to a previous life only to find yourself on the Titanic, etc.)
And obviously it's subjective. I mean, there are probably those among us who'd be fine eating a plate of runny egg whites. And many humans like Will Ferrell.
Yesterday after 2.5 hours of dental work, during which time I was afraid I'd throw up (Could I ever live down puking on my dentist?), I came home and spent the rest of the day vomiting. I couldn't sleep in between running to the bathroom because my whole body hurt.
As one might imagine, I was feeling quite sorry for myself.
I hate throwing up with the burning hatred of hatey-hate. I'd much rather have diarrhea. I'd rather go skydiving naked, even though that sounds really cold and windy and possibly deathy—three more things I loathe.
I felt such self-pity that I listened to For Good sung by Kristin Chenoweth, which I was introduced to by my dear ex-blogger friend Steve, and which always makes me cry. I couldn't watch, but put my phone on the pillow next to my ear and gently wept.
Yes. I was there.
When I get to the point of thinking "What could be worse?" I tend to start making lists of things that could be worse. So.
12 Things Worse Than Throwing Up All Day
(But not as bad as Ebola, cancer, ALS, plane crash, being chained to a train track, getting beheaded by ISIS, traveling back to a previous life only to find yourself on the Titanic, etc.)
- Bleeding from your eyeballs.
- Guinea worm.
- Forced marriage to Dick Cheney.
This one turns out to be contentious. My practical Canadian friend Rob points out that he is 74 and worth $90 million, so really. Now, I have considered foot prostitution as an alternate career (but have since been told by foot lovers that no, I couldn't make it as one), and I do think we all have our price...but I guess this means my price is higher than $90M?
Also. I believe that Cheney has Horcruxes hidden all over the planet and as such, will never die.
My friend Andrew also says how could I be sure he'd have me?
Listen, people, all I'm saying is, this would be a thing worse than throwing up all day. - Botfly (thanks for the reminder, Jessica!).
- Having to give an elephant a blow job (credit to Kristin for this one).
- At the risk of being repetitive, having your limbs hacked off by Hutus. Or anyone, now that I think about it some more.
- Being locked in a room with a continuous loop of Will Ferrell movies on high volume.
- Having to eat a plate of runny egg whites.
- Some of my Internet dates. Like this one and the mean one that inspired this post.
- Sitting in the window seat of a no-recline aisle on a long plane flight, both without the feeling of easy access to an emergency exit (aisle seat! I need an aisle seat!) and near an over-used bathroom.
- Getting attacked by a rabid raccoon. Or potential rabies. Let's just say potential rabies. Because actual rabies is in the beheading category.
- An hour with one of my old bosses. The one who insisted that we make Canada smaller than the US on our website map, so that American members wouldn't think we thought Canadians were more important.
I would definitely rather vomit all day than spend time with her. I might even rather bleed from my eyeballs.
Monday, February 23, 2015
Child-rearing guilt and angst: Kindergarten edition
Today's episode of parenting frets will be devoted to Jordan and school.
DC has schools that start at Pre-K 3, and so, at age three, Jordan started school. Prior to that he was in daycare, and daycare in DC is costly. So for us it was no question but that he'd start school at age three rather than us continuing to pay many and many thousands of dollars for childcare.
In any case, he was going to be somewhere outside our home, whether it was daycare or school.
He has an August birthday, and there's a September 30 cutoff, so while he's not the youngest in his class, he's among them. There are kids in his grade who turned six in October, so are nearly a full year older.
We have Jordan in this terrific bilingual school. We bought in this particular area of DC so that we'd be guaranteed a spot.
His two prior years were at a different school. We loved his teachers and the school, but the Spanish instruction depended on the teacher. For us it was miss rather than hit. This was fine, because his primary teachers were wonderful for him. He just didn't learn much Spanish.
Now he's in Kindergarten at a school where half the day is spent in Spanish. He's learning math in Spanish.
He says he hates it.
He's in a good mood when I pick him up at the end of the day. I know he likes his teachers. He has friends.
But every morning he doesn't want to go and over and over he says he hates his Spanish-speaking teacher. And when you ask why he wails, "Because I don't understaaaaaand him!"
Jordan is, like his mother, someone who sits on the side until he is comfortable. Someone who is anxious about making mistakes. Someone who will not just jump in and barrel through. He wants to know he can do it well before he does it at all.
I'm sorry about the genes, little pal. And also all the stress I was under while pregnant with you. Oh, and the PPD. Did I do this to you? (Guilt and angst, guilt and angst.)
I wonder if we should've started him a year later. This is a pointless fret, because we did what we did.
But now we are wondering if we should have him repeat Kindergarten.
His class has a wide range of abilities, and he is at the low end in terms of reading and writing. When he brings English books home to read to us, I know he's just reciting what he's memorized, or what the picture is making obvious. "There is a tree."
When it's a Spanish book, he has no idea, refuses to sound out letters, and generally makes it all so miserable that I am just like fine, fuck it, never learn to read and go ahead and limit yourself to miserably few low-wage employment options.
I don't say that, of course. But I hate reading his Spanish homework with him. He whines and cries and says it's too hard and I just have to remember to breathe and be patient and try to remind myself that wine is not the solution.
But I've started to think that repeating this grade might be the answer.
I mean, I know that he will learn to read and write. I don't actually have that concern. Nor do I feel a need for him to be at the top of his class. What I want is for him to be happy.
Instead of struggling so hard, instead of feeling like he's hanging on by his fingernails, maybe he could feel good. Right now he feels like everyone in class knows what's being said and he doesn't (this is not the case, but it is how he feels, so it's real to him).
But if he did Kindergarten again, maybe he could actually be comfortable. Maybe he could feel like he knew what he was doing, and perhaps even do some things better than others. Which (I think) would make him a much more confident student.
However. I also worry about him feeling bad about himself for still being in Kindergarten when his peers go on to first grade.
I talked to the teachers, who said they could go either way with him. He could stay on grade level and get extra support. Or he could repeat. We're going to have this conversation again in June and decide.
Ultimately, we'll make this decision with his teachers and the administration. But I'd like some personal stories as I consider it.
Do any of you have experience with this? What are your thoughts?
DC has schools that start at Pre-K 3, and so, at age three, Jordan started school. Prior to that he was in daycare, and daycare in DC is costly. So for us it was no question but that he'd start school at age three rather than us continuing to pay many and many thousands of dollars for childcare.
In any case, he was going to be somewhere outside our home, whether it was daycare or school.
He has an August birthday, and there's a September 30 cutoff, so while he's not the youngest in his class, he's among them. There are kids in his grade who turned six in October, so are nearly a full year older.
We have Jordan in this terrific bilingual school. We bought in this particular area of DC so that we'd be guaranteed a spot.
His two prior years were at a different school. We loved his teachers and the school, but the Spanish instruction depended on the teacher. For us it was miss rather than hit. This was fine, because his primary teachers were wonderful for him. He just didn't learn much Spanish.
Now he's in Kindergarten at a school where half the day is spent in Spanish. He's learning math in Spanish.
He says he hates it.
He's in a good mood when I pick him up at the end of the day. I know he likes his teachers. He has friends.
But every morning he doesn't want to go and over and over he says he hates his Spanish-speaking teacher. And when you ask why he wails, "Because I don't understaaaaaand him!"
Jordan is, like his mother, someone who sits on the side until he is comfortable. Someone who is anxious about making mistakes. Someone who will not just jump in and barrel through. He wants to know he can do it well before he does it at all.
I'm sorry about the genes, little pal. And also all the stress I was under while pregnant with you. Oh, and the PPD. Did I do this to you? (Guilt and angst, guilt and angst.)
I wonder if we should've started him a year later. This is a pointless fret, because we did what we did.
But now we are wondering if we should have him repeat Kindergarten.
His class has a wide range of abilities, and he is at the low end in terms of reading and writing. When he brings English books home to read to us, I know he's just reciting what he's memorized, or what the picture is making obvious. "There is a tree."
When it's a Spanish book, he has no idea, refuses to sound out letters, and generally makes it all so miserable that I am just like fine, fuck it, never learn to read and go ahead and limit yourself to miserably few low-wage employment options.
I don't say that, of course. But I hate reading his Spanish homework with him. He whines and cries and says it's too hard and I just have to remember to breathe and be patient and try to remind myself that wine is not the solution.
But I've started to think that repeating this grade might be the answer.
I mean, I know that he will learn to read and write. I don't actually have that concern. Nor do I feel a need for him to be at the top of his class. What I want is for him to be happy.
Instead of struggling so hard, instead of feeling like he's hanging on by his fingernails, maybe he could feel good. Right now he feels like everyone in class knows what's being said and he doesn't (this is not the case, but it is how he feels, so it's real to him).
But if he did Kindergarten again, maybe he could actually be comfortable. Maybe he could feel like he knew what he was doing, and perhaps even do some things better than others. Which (I think) would make him a much more confident student.
However. I also worry about him feeling bad about himself for still being in Kindergarten when his peers go on to first grade.
I talked to the teachers, who said they could go either way with him. He could stay on grade level and get extra support. Or he could repeat. We're going to have this conversation again in June and decide.
Ultimately, we'll make this decision with his teachers and the administration. But I'd like some personal stories as I consider it.
Do any of you have experience with this? What are your thoughts?
Tuesday, February 17, 2015
Brian Cuban in DC February 25
Interestingly, Mark is the one who gave me my favorite pair of jeans in high school. The Levis he'd grown out of, and the ones that became my benchmark for being thin enough through years and years of weight struggles. Of starving and exercising too much and getting depressed and gaining weight and getting it all under control and getting skinny again.
When I'd get skinny enough to fit into those jeans, I was thin enough. Which meant I was pretty enough and good enough. (Pretty enough? Good enough? For what?) And then I'd gain weight, which meant...the opposite, right?
If you haven't heard of Brian Cuban—and I hadn't—he's a lawyer, an advocate, and an inspirational speaker. He talks about his personal experiences with eating disorders, drug addiction, depression, and attempted suicide. He'll be in DC speaking at GW on the evening of February 25. Details are on this poster.
So if I can swing it, I'll be in the audience.
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