We’re all born with a bit of superpower in us. Some hone it a little more finely than others, but we all have the skills. Otherwise surviving this traipse across the planet would require an unlikely amount of luck. Me? I’d say I have my fair share helping me along.
…I dig in?
What if I just tell my body to f*** off? That I’m not ready to feel weak. That I can be strong again if I work for it. That I want more.
What if I Just Said No? No to the aches and pains, no to the weariness. No to the idea that going downhill after forty is inevitable.
What if I dusted off that determination? The drive that pushed me through school, picked me up when I was down, and kicked me into blogging.
What if I used that drive to change my life? Diet, exercise, coping with stress – all of it. To find my best self.
What if I said I was ready?
What happens then?
I’m a middle child (thus the Riddle from the Middle blog name) who grew up experiencing both the joys and sorrows of following a sister and leading a brother. Apparently we even have a national “day” now – August 12th has been designated National Middle Child Day, an occasion for celebrating the child without a role.
Well, until they decide someone else needs it more.
When I was a girl I loved hopscotch, the Brownies, and my cat. I played soccer like a champ and ran like the wind and felt soaring pride when I beat boys on the field. I had a bike with a banana seat and curved handlebars, and my pack of elementary girlfriends all watched Wonder Woman.
When I was a teen I rolled through a variety of stages, some of which probably aged my parents exponentially. I cringe to think of that skintight black miniskirt I sported for a while, a phase my folks managed to ignore. I worked lots of jobs but never saved my money, though I couldn’t tell you now what on earth I bought with it. I had great friends who stood by me in good times and bad, and I managed to graduate high school with excellent grades and no misdemeanors.
DANG, y’all.
I was all psyched about getting back to normal. And then the migraine hit. And the headache leading to full on sinus issues. Add in miserable days and sleepless nights and losing my voice…I mean, come on.
And then, as sista-friend so eloquently put it, we discovered a portal to the bowels of hell under our master bathroom. (Thanks for that laugh, girl, I desperately needed one.)
Proceed to ripping out tile and walls and sub flooring, finding more and more mold & mildew along the way, and you’d think we’d hit the end, right? Surely we were getting ready to turn a corner. Surely there weren’t any more big surprises in the works.
Oh, but you’d be wrong, because that’s when my face exploded.
Well, technically not my whole face, just my eye. (“Just” my eye.) Red and oozing (sorry, gross), swelling until I could only see out of the tiniest slit. Even if I’d felt like writing (I didn’t), I couldn’t see the freaking computer screen. Sidelined. Urgent care. Then eye doctor.
Well, $#@!
The good news is two days of antibiotics has already helped. Not in a “people don’t stare at me like I’m contagious” sort of way; it’s more of an “I don’t feel like digging my own grave” kind of thing. But I’ll take it.
Good grief.
This season has been all about the learning for me. Summer months filled with sights, sounds, and experiences to file away…bits of knowledge that may or may not be useful at some future point. You know…stuff.
Like our recycling program. They pick up our bins every other week, but it’s run by the same company that handles trash disposal. Now I can’t help wondering if the whole thing is BS & everything ends up in the landfill after all.
And Roombas, those automated pods that toodle around vacuuming your floor? They’re designed to pick up debris and programmed to change directions, but in a huge design oversight they don’t immediately come to a halt if they run over, say, cat feces. (True story.)
Now, for your reading pleasure, some of the random bits and pieces I’ve tucked away this summer.
I can’t…what…why…what’s that noise? It’s…so…so early.
[claw my way close enough to consciousness to hear 1, 2, 3, 4 by The White Stripes]
omg, it’s the alarm. Why why why why why…do I have time for a shower before camp drop off? Maybe a quick one. I’ll just hop in real…
[screams from kitchen]
What’s that? [check bedroom, no Gracie] Okay, then, gotta be the dog. Intervene? Leave the kids to handle it?
[more screams]
Intervene, it is. [scurry out of the room]
“What happened? What happened? You’ve got to stop screaming.”
[first child gasping with fury while second child presses Gracie to the floor]
She ate my breakfast!
“Well, that would make me mad, too. Let’s just put her outside and start again, shall we?” [drag dog to back door and throw her outside]
Okay then. Everyone in one piece? Phoebe still hiding under the table? Breathing again?
Do I have still have time for a quick shower?
Life slid a bit sideways yesterday.
Sometimes those balls just get dropped. You don’t even know you’ve done it until you’re halfway into your day and it strikes you like lightning – holy crap, I totally forgot to handle this. The best you can hope for is that it isn’t for something life or death. Thankfully, yesterday’s I-can’t-believe-I-dropped-that-one moment was more ridiculous than calamitous.
As a result, though, our family’s gone off the grid for the weekend. It’s kind of nice, actually, and a good way to celebrate our last baby’s graduation moving on to middle school. I hope all of you have a wonderfully restful June weekend, and I’ll catch up with you soon.
Stay cool!
