So I've been a Californian for a week and so far, it's not that great. California Dreamin', wishing all the girls could be California Girls; no, so far for me, it's been Hotel California.
Okay, it's not that bad, we've had some sun, in between all the raindrops that have fallen on my head and almost knocked me out cold. (Okay, I'll stop with the song titles). But really, it's Klamath Falls about 10 degrees warmer. So instead of any snow, it's all rain. Except there's no one to talk to because my friends are actually in Klamath Falls. As is my husband. For at least two more weeks.
And now Baby C is sick. Fever of 102. Coughing and crying between hours-long naps. So I can't even go outside, dodge the killer raindrops, and go do something fun. Like go to my cool new gym. Oh, wow, you should see this gym. It's a real sports club. It has tennis courts, and racketball courts, and basketball courts. It has a huge area for the kids, with Wii Fit, and a rock-climbing wall, and a foosball table. The younger kids can climb in a climbing thing like they have at the McDonald's, but with no bigger kids to run them over because they are all separated.
The workout area consists of about 1000 cardio machines--treadmills, stairmasters, bikes--in various places around the gym. Then they have a huge, and I mean HUGE, free weight area and two weight machine areas. Then there's a pilates room, a spin room, an aerobics room, steamroom, sauna, hot tub, and both indoor and outdoor pools. To top it off, the outdoor pool has two slides: One for big kids and one for little kids, and it starts at six inches, so even bitty kids like Baby C can take advantage of the pool this summer.
Yeah, and all that cool stuff has to wait for me, cause my poor baby was exposed to some idiot who had the nerve to go out in public and spread his germs around.
Oh, well. I guess I can watch Netflix for now.
Friday, March 25, 2011
Sunday, March 13, 2011
Yes, We're Moving
I'm officially giving notice, we are leaving our house and our town and heading south to California. Right now we are on Plan B, which I think is pretty good, all things considered.
Plan A was to go down to California in a month, after we'd given notice on our house, and after we planned and packed in an organized fashion. So Erik got boxes, some friends got me newspapers, I got up Saturday morning and starting packing, and promptly had a panic attack.
Plan A didn't include any mention of my bipolar attributes, including my almost complete inability to cope with changes, and my total need for things to be organized and in control at all times. Have you ever moved? So you know how close to that definition moving is not.
Having bipolar disorder has changed so much for me. So many of the things I used to be good at, and enjoy, I now find frustrating and overwhelming. I was an organized person who was assistant to vice-presidents at various insurance companies. I was in sales for a while. Now there are times I feel myself pushing my brain to work.
I used to really enjoy moving, in fact I moved a lot. Now it is a nightmare. I have my binder and my colored pens and everything else needed to have the move organized, but I can't seem to get my brain to actually move in that direction. It's so frustrating, because I know someone is going to have to actually do the work, and that someone ends up being my husband.
So my wonderful husband, knowing he's going to be doing the work anyway, and wanting to make my life and his easier, offered up Plan B. Plan B is now in effect: I simply pack the stuff we'll need in California, pack up the kids, and he'll drive me down there next weekend after our daughter gets out of school. Win/win. He'll get to pick up his parents' truck and horse trailer to aid in the move, and get rid of the biggest move stressor in his life, namely me.
This is actually really good for me, even though it sounds like it would be more stress, not less. I have to organize my week, which I can do, I'm good at that. I only have a small part of the move to worry about, so I have complete control. I have a limited amount of time, so I have to get everything done and after that, it's not my problem.
The hardest thing is that I'm still really stressed. I have no control over it, and I can do all the stress tricks I know, and I can take my Ativan, and I can get enough sleep, and I still have this amazing brain that tricks me into thinking things that aren't true, or twists the truth, or whatever it does. I panic over things that aren't there, or that aren't that big, or that aren't worth the effort.
So what I will do this week is make a schedule to live by. I will plan each day so I have to focus on the here and now. I will try to leave as little time as possible for me to actually think, because when I think I start to panic. And then we will get to the end of the week with sanity intact and all things ready to go. And it will be a fun week, not a stressful one.
Plus, I hate to imagine what Erik has as Plan C.
Plan A was to go down to California in a month, after we'd given notice on our house, and after we planned and packed in an organized fashion. So Erik got boxes, some friends got me newspapers, I got up Saturday morning and starting packing, and promptly had a panic attack.
Plan A didn't include any mention of my bipolar attributes, including my almost complete inability to cope with changes, and my total need for things to be organized and in control at all times. Have you ever moved? So you know how close to that definition moving is not.
Having bipolar disorder has changed so much for me. So many of the things I used to be good at, and enjoy, I now find frustrating and overwhelming. I was an organized person who was assistant to vice-presidents at various insurance companies. I was in sales for a while. Now there are times I feel myself pushing my brain to work.
I used to really enjoy moving, in fact I moved a lot. Now it is a nightmare. I have my binder and my colored pens and everything else needed to have the move organized, but I can't seem to get my brain to actually move in that direction. It's so frustrating, because I know someone is going to have to actually do the work, and that someone ends up being my husband.
So my wonderful husband, knowing he's going to be doing the work anyway, and wanting to make my life and his easier, offered up Plan B. Plan B is now in effect: I simply pack the stuff we'll need in California, pack up the kids, and he'll drive me down there next weekend after our daughter gets out of school. Win/win. He'll get to pick up his parents' truck and horse trailer to aid in the move, and get rid of the biggest move stressor in his life, namely me.
This is actually really good for me, even though it sounds like it would be more stress, not less. I have to organize my week, which I can do, I'm good at that. I only have a small part of the move to worry about, so I have complete control. I have a limited amount of time, so I have to get everything done and after that, it's not my problem.
The hardest thing is that I'm still really stressed. I have no control over it, and I can do all the stress tricks I know, and I can take my Ativan, and I can get enough sleep, and I still have this amazing brain that tricks me into thinking things that aren't true, or twists the truth, or whatever it does. I panic over things that aren't there, or that aren't that big, or that aren't worth the effort.
So what I will do this week is make a schedule to live by. I will plan each day so I have to focus on the here and now. I will try to leave as little time as possible for me to actually think, because when I think I start to panic. And then we will get to the end of the week with sanity intact and all things ready to go. And it will be a fun week, not a stressful one.
Plus, I hate to imagine what Erik has as Plan C.
Friday, March 4, 2011
It's time to organize
I have a binder. I have a binder, and I'm getting organized. Yep, you can all now be in awe of me, because me and my binder are going to organize my house and my life like nobody's business.
Of course, first I have to find the binder. It's in my bedroom on my shelf, I'm pretty sure. I saw it the other day when I was looking for the stamps. Which were in my jewerly box. Which is why I felt the need to get organized. So I will put my hands on the binder within minutes of finishing this post, if not days.
Then, I will go to Staples and buy stuff to fill the binder. You can't get organized without stuff. I'm going to need pens, preferably gel pens in different colors. And I will need a highlighter, in yellow. I will also need paper clips and push pins. Because if I can't hang it up where I can see it, it will be lost. And then I will be back at square one.
Once I have all that, I will come home and make checklists on spreadsheets. Checklists make it much easier to be organized, you know, because you can check off what you have done. And you can use different colored gel pens for different rooms, or different tasks, or different people; there are so many options here. Then you can highlight the tasks that still need to be done, so you can see what hasn't been checked off in red, green, purple, blue, or pink.
Oh, and I'll need binder dividers so I can make a section for each room. That way I'll know that Julianne's purse hanger still hasn't been hung up by her dad (BIG yellow slash through that one), and I'll be able to keep reminding him about it. And I can easily flip to the kitchen and see that the one cabinet has a broken child-proof lock, which also needs to be fixed by dad.
Hmmm, maybe I should have a divider called "Dad to fix."
Anyway, this is because I am noticing that my stamps are getting lost and winding up in my jewelry box, and my furniture isn't getting dusted except when the sun shines a certain way and makes me realize that it's got fingerprints. In the dust, not on the wood. Things are slipping through the cracks and I don't like it. I'm normally very organized.
Which is why I even have an empty binder laying around in my house. Because there is always the chance of a binder emergency, for which I will be prepared. Such as now. So I will go to Staples, satisfy my need to organize, and hopefully in the next week or so I'll feel like an executive SAHM (stay-at-home-mom), and not just a mailroom SAHM.
Oh, and a clipboard. Now that says professional.
Of course, first I have to find the binder. It's in my bedroom on my shelf, I'm pretty sure. I saw it the other day when I was looking for the stamps. Which were in my jewerly box. Which is why I felt the need to get organized. So I will put my hands on the binder within minutes of finishing this post, if not days.
Then, I will go to Staples and buy stuff to fill the binder. You can't get organized without stuff. I'm going to need pens, preferably gel pens in different colors. And I will need a highlighter, in yellow. I will also need paper clips and push pins. Because if I can't hang it up where I can see it, it will be lost. And then I will be back at square one.
Once I have all that, I will come home and make checklists on spreadsheets. Checklists make it much easier to be organized, you know, because you can check off what you have done. And you can use different colored gel pens for different rooms, or different tasks, or different people; there are so many options here. Then you can highlight the tasks that still need to be done, so you can see what hasn't been checked off in red, green, purple, blue, or pink.
Oh, and I'll need binder dividers so I can make a section for each room. That way I'll know that Julianne's purse hanger still hasn't been hung up by her dad (BIG yellow slash through that one), and I'll be able to keep reminding him about it. And I can easily flip to the kitchen and see that the one cabinet has a broken child-proof lock, which also needs to be fixed by dad.
Hmmm, maybe I should have a divider called "Dad to fix."
Anyway, this is because I am noticing that my stamps are getting lost and winding up in my jewelry box, and my furniture isn't getting dusted except when the sun shines a certain way and makes me realize that it's got fingerprints. In the dust, not on the wood. Things are slipping through the cracks and I don't like it. I'm normally very organized.
Which is why I even have an empty binder laying around in my house. Because there is always the chance of a binder emergency, for which I will be prepared. Such as now. So I will go to Staples, satisfy my need to organize, and hopefully in the next week or so I'll feel like an executive SAHM (stay-at-home-mom), and not just a mailroom SAHM.
Oh, and a clipboard. Now that says professional.
Wednesday, March 2, 2011
Girly-Girl
I am a girly-girl. I admit it, I am proud of it. My husband loves it. I've always been this way. I hear people say they can't wait to get home and get out of dress clothes and I wonder why. They don't bother me a bit. Nylons: Never been a hassle. Slips: Never had a slip-up. I love wearing make-up, I love having my nails done, I love painting my toenails. And don't even get me started on the high heels!
Turns out, according to an informal poll done by me (and thanks to girlfriends Stephanie and Nova), only one-third of women are girly-girls. That means that, if handed $100 to spend as you pleased, two of you would think about what to do with the money, while I would be at the salon, already in a chair with someone doing something for me.
I know this, because I love salons. If they had make-up counters in salons, I would be in heaven. I would probably spend much of my free time there. My boys would grow up to be stylists and make-up artists, thinking that's all there is to life. I'm actually having a hard time writing, because I'm trying to figure out why no one has thought of this idea before now. I really think this could be a huge money-making venture for someone.
Back to salons, though. Did you know there are people who, if handed $50, would not have a mani/pedi?? If you don't know what a mani/pedi is, you're part of the two-thirds, and I'll explain, it's a manicure and pedicure. And you probably are thinking, WASTE $50 on your feet and hands??? Well, I'm here to tell you, it's not a waste. It's a glorious pleasure that kids' shoes can't match. Seriously, my younger daughter J has three pair of school shoes. Plus boots. How many does she wear? One. Plus boots. The cost of those other two pair? A mani/pedi. The boys? They could care less how many shoes. Baby C doesn't even wear shoes except when we leave the house, and if he can figure it out, he's going to leave them somewhere so even that doesn't happen. Cost of the extra shoes? That's right, a mani/pedi.
But I'm not going to convince you, and that's not my point. My point of this is that being a girly-girl is hereditary. My younger daughter is definitely showing signs. She wants to wear her princess dress to school on Friday, which is Career Day. Actually, the conversation went like this: J: "Can I wear my princess dress on Friday? It's dress-up day." Me (looking at calendar): "It's career day." J: "Whatever. Can I?" If she considers a career as a chance to dress up, then so be it. Heck, whatever she does, she'll be wearing a princess dress, so I say go for it. Let the school tell her it's not appropriate. At least she dressed up for a job, right?
My older daughter, though, is the shock: You'd never guess her for a girly-girl, all the tattoos and attitude. But sure enough, guess who takes after her mother. Manicures, pedicures, high heels, hair coloring, expensive make-up and perfume. She even has a little drama queen in her, although she'll never admit to it. She doesn't do dresses or anything like that, but trust me, it's a day or so away. She needs something to go with the heels.
Turns out, according to an informal poll done by me (and thanks to girlfriends Stephanie and Nova), only one-third of women are girly-girls. That means that, if handed $100 to spend as you pleased, two of you would think about what to do with the money, while I would be at the salon, already in a chair with someone doing something for me.
I know this, because I love salons. If they had make-up counters in salons, I would be in heaven. I would probably spend much of my free time there. My boys would grow up to be stylists and make-up artists, thinking that's all there is to life. I'm actually having a hard time writing, because I'm trying to figure out why no one has thought of this idea before now. I really think this could be a huge money-making venture for someone.
Back to salons, though. Did you know there are people who, if handed $50, would not have a mani/pedi?? If you don't know what a mani/pedi is, you're part of the two-thirds, and I'll explain, it's a manicure and pedicure. And you probably are thinking, WASTE $50 on your feet and hands??? Well, I'm here to tell you, it's not a waste. It's a glorious pleasure that kids' shoes can't match. Seriously, my younger daughter J has three pair of school shoes. Plus boots. How many does she wear? One. Plus boots. The cost of those other two pair? A mani/pedi. The boys? They could care less how many shoes. Baby C doesn't even wear shoes except when we leave the house, and if he can figure it out, he's going to leave them somewhere so even that doesn't happen. Cost of the extra shoes? That's right, a mani/pedi.
But I'm not going to convince you, and that's not my point. My point of this is that being a girly-girl is hereditary. My younger daughter is definitely showing signs. She wants to wear her princess dress to school on Friday, which is Career Day. Actually, the conversation went like this: J: "Can I wear my princess dress on Friday? It's dress-up day." Me (looking at calendar): "It's career day." J: "Whatever. Can I?" If she considers a career as a chance to dress up, then so be it. Heck, whatever she does, she'll be wearing a princess dress, so I say go for it. Let the school tell her it's not appropriate. At least she dressed up for a job, right?
My older daughter, though, is the shock: You'd never guess her for a girly-girl, all the tattoos and attitude. But sure enough, guess who takes after her mother. Manicures, pedicures, high heels, hair coloring, expensive make-up and perfume. She even has a little drama queen in her, although she'll never admit to it. She doesn't do dresses or anything like that, but trust me, it's a day or so away. She needs something to go with the heels.
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