Snow, Ice, and Ativan

It seems to have happened again. Winter has managed to sneak up early and wrap her icy grip around our house and around my heart. Accompanying the layers of powdery white snow that covers every branch and surface of our small New England town, and the darkness that ensconces us at 4pm, comes the heavy feeling of profound worry that eats me up inside.

Call it what you will, seasonal affects disorder (SAD, my favorite acronym of all time), or just the normal reaction to a dark, cold, depressing reality, it really only makes sense to hibernate. No reasonable people should be expected to stay awake all winter, it's just not natural. Except for those skiers, they've got it made, lucky bastards. A whole season for fun downhill swish-swashing and jolly hot chocolate drinking in the lodge, that might be a good solution, but probably not going to happen. (Note: I have lived in New England for most of my life and I have never once even touched a pair of skis).

My reaction to the winter misery is to have gripping, powerful anxiety surrounding winter driving and airplane travel. The way I become aware that the season is really changing is when I start to imagine I am on a plane while falling asleep in my bed each night. I feel the feeling of take off as I lie there, and the panic starts to wash over me as I realize I am trapped like a rat on a moving vessel I can't control. Except for that I'm not, I'm in my bed and I'm fine. Holy fuck, I think, is this what crazy feels like? Where did that Ativan run off to?

I am fighting one of my winter fear battles especially hard this week, the winter driving. Unfortunately Mother Nature has made this one particularly challenging quite early this year, as we have been pummeled with snow and ice and the roads are complete shit almost everywhere you turn. I had no idea how lame the Honda Odyssey is to drive in the snow. Man, that bad boy can skid on even the simplest of turns. So yesterday I strained the hell out of my credit card and invested in studded snow tires. An expensive, yet amazing investment in my sanity and my family's safety. The difference is uncanny, I am not sure why I hadn't thought of this before (or why I perhaps didn't think to buy a car with 4 wheel drive when I am pretty sure I will live here forever).

This morning I am trying desperately to motivate to get all of the pre-Christmas errands done before I head in for three nights of work, but the urge to stay nestled by the fire in my unattractive long underwear and bed mussed hair is a strong and powerful force. But no! The car needs to be inspected! We are out of milk! But it's sooooo cold out there. I will probably get it together soon and force myself to get this crap done so I can hurry back to the living room and hunker down once more. Maybe I'll go out and do some major donuts with my new snow tires, that'll show you Winter.

The Lawn Gnome in the Living Room

As many of you already know, my husband had surgery two weeks ago for an ongoing spinal injury. He was nervous about going under the knife, as any reasonable person would be. This was his first time having anything major done, his first experience with anesthesia, his first time spending the night in the hospital. It seemed normal for him to feel apprehensive about everything. I started to worry about the recovery process, however, about a week or so before the surgery, when he slumped about the house (in too much pain to do much of anything) breathing heavy, anxious sighs every ten minutes or so, rolling his eyes towards the heavens, and calling everyone he knew to say goodbye "just in case". Dear God. 

The surgery went about as smooth as could be expected, health wise he was recovering appropriately, but it became clear to me from hospital day one that maybe wives shouldn't be their husband's nurse maids. We snapped and snipped at each other while he moaned and writhed in pain. "Help me change position", "No! Not like THAT!", "Aargh! What do you want from me?!", "I'm not an invalid you know, now help me put on my socks!", "Do you want me to make you soup? What more can I do?!" Ugh, it wasn't pretty. 

We have spent long hours the past two weeks up in the middle of the night with him trying to find a comfortable position, discussing his bowel habits in great detail, and me trying to drum up the same compassion I have for my patients in the hospital, or my kids when they're sick. I'm embarrassed to admit how challenging it has been to really feel anything besides annoyed at how long it is taking for him to get better. Do other people feel this way when their mate is out of commission? Does this make me a bad person? A bad wife? Probably. I'm sure a better woman would feel terribly concerned, dote endlessly, and never want to scream out in irritation when grumbled at from the sofa to change his bandage for the fifth time that day. 

I felt especially guilty this week when he was able to get around enough to make a sloooww painful trip to the store to buy me flowers to thank me for taking care of him. Oh the guilt and shame. But he was so whiny! But I'm an asshole. Perhaps it's a bit of both. He is one whiny, sniveling, annoying sick person. And I suck at taking care of him. Thank god I take care of pregnant women and not injured relatives. And I will maintain that men are not as tough at getting through surgery as women. This must be a documented fact somewhere. It must. 

I guess the reality is that it's hard to see your mate as anything other than your strong hardworking partner. And having your husband planted in the living room like a lawn ornament watching endless reruns of Law and Order can get awfully old after three solid weeks, especially when there is no recognizable end in sight. Regardless, I'm feeling like a pretty callous person at the moment, and trying hard to channel my frustration with the situation into a positive force. It really could be much worse, but I'm pretty sure I couldn't survive that. 

A Dusty Road To Done

I think it's fairly obvious to all within a five mile radius of my Facebook page that we are living in a construction site while our house is being renovated. Having bought a century-old farmhouse with way too many walls, we have spent the past month creating some open space. We have had the wall removed between our kitchen and living room, and are adding a wood floor and a wood stove to our main living area. Albeit a small project, it is both magical in the transformation in our home, and slightly miserable for our lifestyle while we await completion. 

When I began thinking about this transformation I did not consider how long it would take to make things happen. I thought that, given the relative smallness of the project, it would take two weeks, maybe three. Now over four weeks in and with no clue as to how much longer, I realize that I may have been a bit naive. 

The floors went in today, and by golly, it felt like a home makeover TV show. Stunning transformation from our carpet/linoleum number. Unfreakingbelievable. Francisco and I both waltzed around the fumy living room in complete awe and a bit of a polyurethane haze. The wood stove has been positioned where it will eventually live, and -gasp- removed from its crate, and the walls have been repainted and are ready to go. 

A thick layer of construction dust is still covering every surface, not to be removed until the renovation is finished, and the entire contents of our kitchen are still sausaged into the hallway, but the light is visible at the end of the tunnel. I can finally see how this will drastically improve our quality of life, and maybe curb some of my never ending wanderlust. Maybe. I know I will revel in my new found open space. I'm just hoping the fumes dissipate before my kids' chances of getting into college are completely squashed.  

The Ruins

The almost completed floor

Stewing in Your Own Juices

As many of you know, this weekend included the arrival of a very special new addition to our family: the hot tub. I have been waiting many years to make this dream of mine a reality and now - ta dah! - dream actualized. Very exciting. And yes, the first soak made it incredibly clear to me why I have wanted this for so long. What is more lovely than taking a super hot bath and being naked in your own backyard as powerful jets massage away your upper back tension? It's all glorious and heavenly. Until the water starts to smell. Really really bad. 

It turns out the pool store I bought my chemicals from (and relied on to fully instruct me in all ways of hot tub care and maintenence) seemed to have someone under qualified working the desk the moment I popped in to buy my chemicals. Bad advice and lack of my usual internet prowess lead to an unfortunate build up of imbalanced spa chemicals after our first three days of Roman bath-like hot tub use. It turns out that the hot tub is not actually a mini pool for kids to jump in at their leisure (much to their dismay), and you can only sausage so many people into the tub so many times a day before you really need to manage the situation. Otherwise you end up with a tub that smells eerily like the YMCA locker room on a Saturday afternoon, and water that resembles alka seltzer. Not good. 

The good news is that all hope is not lost. I returned to the pool store today and replenished my supply of chemicals, and insisted on a full length tutorial from a new and seemingly knowledgable salesperson. I got home and spent the better part of the afternoon rectifying the situation, and the water is now sparkling clean and smells like water. Lesson learned and I'll be back in full on soaking action tomorrow.

The Traveler Stays Home

It's official: I have shocked myself with my own lack of traveling ambition. 

A quintessential part of my personality is that I love to go places. This is no secret, anyone who knows me knows that I am always loading my kids up and heading out somewhere, or (more likely) daydreaming about my next adventure. I think that was why I was so surprised this morning when I woke up and thought "I just want to stay home." 

It doesn't help that both kids and I woke up feeling a little under the weather. Nathan has the kind of cough that makes you think that he might get knock-down-ginger-ale sick, or could be fine tomorrow. For now it is all just a tickle of sickness, but somehow that's all it took for me this morning to forgo our four day trip to one of my favorite towns in Pennsylvania with one of my all time favorite people. Pretty unheard of for this gal, but it's true, I just want to stay home today. 

Perhaps it is the craziness of the new school year. Or maybe it's the fact that construction is going to start in our living room in a couple of weeks and then being home will become royally unpleasant and I'll be scratching at the door to get anywhere I can find an open door or a spare cot. Whatever the reason, for now I am sticking around, a choice that may be regretted after just one day of inevitable whining and fighting, but so be it. 

Keeping up with the Cosmes

Forget the Kardashians. These days I am barely able to keep up with my own family. I feel like someone should give me a reality show, except that it would be the most boring show of all time as every episode would take place inside my minivan, with the exception of a few hours spent in a preschool gym. This might still be preferable to the fashion dilemmas of the collagen-lipped Kardashian sisters, but not by much.

This school season our roster increased with the addition of my lovely stepson Carlos to our year round household, and I am shocked at how exponential the busyness is when you go up from two to three kids. Yowsers. Football, soccer, gymnastics, swimming, dance, playdates, sleepovers, school, appointments, and oh yes, work. Total insanity. I am unsure if we will ever have a meal together again that isn't in the car on the way somewhere. When am I supposed to make dinner when there is barely time to take a crap? Maybe those things could be done at the same time, but then no one would ever visit us for dinner again.

Are all families like this? Is this chaos universal in the modern day household? If so, there is a major flaw in this plan. When are families supposed to decompress and spend time together? This hectic lifestyle does not seem conducive to a healthy life.

I know that I feel this way at the beginning of every school year, and every year we get into the groove eventually, but I can never remember when that happens, so I am hoping it's soon. Until then I will keep on checking my calendar to make sure I'm not forgetting anyone, and try like hell to savor every moment of down time that comes my way.

Camping with the Cosmes: Notes from the overplanned mother.

Well, the Cosmes have now officially been camping. Woah. Actually, it's not all that exciting or stellar news, but it merits a blog post as it is hard to get my husband out of the house to do anything, let alone something he LIKES. That may, in fact, be quite extraordinary.

So we went to Tully Lake in Royalston for two nights. Not far away or overly adventurous, strategically planned so there would not be an excess of whining from either my husband or any of the three kids. Easy drive, site close to parking lot so there wasn't a lot of dragging stuff in, bathrooms nearby, meals planned, pretty nice.

And then we get home and I'm hit with the realization that I have spent weeks planning something so simple it is gone in two days, and I've barely noticed when it's passed.

Sure, we had a lovely time kayaking around the lake, and sleeping in our cozy tents. Grilling outside on the fire was a big hit for Francisco, who channeled life in the Dominican down by the river. But does it need to be so hard?

I'm thinking the answer is no. I am giving up the plan-plan-plan for quick vacations to make everyone happy. My goal for whatever next trip we go on (and if you know me you can pretty much expect it will happen any day now) is to just GO. Throw some clothes in a bag and worry about what happens when we get there. Enough packing, list-making, meal-planning crap. I don't care who has fun or who is missing their underwear, I seem to be draining all of my energy over planning and then can barely get it together to enjoy our trip.

The highlight of our two day camping adventure was Francisco's joyful expression as he set the platter of perfectly cooked chicken wings in front of us all and gleefully announced "Now THAT'S how you do some grill!" I think maybe that quote alone made my weekend.

So quote me on this people: my next vacation goal is to be agenda-free and see what happens. I have the feeling that might work better for me next time, although it has great potential to backfire and bite me in the ass (picture two kids with no socks and cold wet feet crying out in hunger in the middle of the night from our half-prepared tent). Well, we'll just have to see how it goes.