Porky blasting

SO, MONDAY morning I get up and get dressed for work.  Work in my situation can involve anything from getting called out in the field to inspect a sewer overflow, to meeting with members of the City Council or other government officials, or merely sitting in the office holding down my chair for eight hours, so as you can imagine, getting dressed appropriately is sometimes a dicey proposition.  Not too fancy, not too casual.  It's a hard line to straddle.  If I know I'm going out and about, I'm usually in jeans and a nice-ish couple of layers (think LL Bean), and I wear my trusty work boots (most comfy footwear in the world).  If I have a scheduled meeting, I'm in my blazer and a pair of slacks.  And once in a while, usually on the days I've designated "Uncasual Fridays", I'll slip back into one of my nice skirts or dresses, just to remind myself that I'm still a woman.  Never underestimate the power of a pair of heels to rule the world!!

So  Monday, thinking that it was going to be one of those hang-out-on-the-puter all day days, since it was in that awful tweener-week in the valley between two major holidays, when every SANE person has thought to put in for the week off and the place looks like a ghost town, I split the difference, threw on my jeans and a pair of loafers, figuring that confort reigned.  Alas, that is just tempting the fashion fates.

I had one sip from my cup of coffee and was settling comfortably into checking my work email favorite blog sites and filling out my timesheet seeing if there was a new Dilbert strip when the phone rang.  It was my maintenance supervisor, J.   J is my cohort in our maintenance office; while I handle the paperwork and the bureaucracy, J handles the day to day operation of our utility.  He's the one who schedules the street crews to plow snow, or lay deicer, or, as today, "other duties as assigned". 

"So, do you have the handheld GPS unit ready for the guys to come pick up?"

Say what??  I look over at the GPS unit, sitting on my desk.  It's charged and ready, but nobody's had the chance to play with it to make sure we knew how to use it since we purchased it this summer.  I knew we were going to need it in a few weeks, since we always go out to do outfall inspections in mid-January, so I've scheduled a time to tackle this chore next week.  "Today?"

"Yeah," J says.  "There's been no snow and things are slow up here, so I'm going to send the guys out on outfall inspections this morning.  They're going to be down in a few minutes to pick it up."

This sends me scrambling. I normally go with the guys and do all the paperwork and take annual photos, but my boots are still in my nice warm closet at home.  I have my coveralls, but with these fancy little loafers, I'd slide like a greased penguin down the frozen lakebanks that we have to scale to get to the outfalls.  I look forward to this inspection time, but this time I have to take a pass.  The guys come down to my office, and we muddle our way through figuring out the GPS unit.  I hand them the clipboard, teach them how to fill out the inspection forms, and send them on their way. 

In the afternoon, I get another call.  It's J again.  He's sending the guys back down to bring the GPS unit back.  Evidently one of them slipped and fell down a bank and hit a key on the way down, so they've rendered it useless, since nobody knew how to get back to the main menu.  Clearly we need to have more time to work with this piece of equipment. 

"By the way," J says "They didn't get very far.  There's a porky in the very first line.  D bent over to straighten the grate in front, and something hissed at him.  We're going to borrow the flush truck from the Sewer department tomorrow and go in and flush him out."

"I want to come!" I say immediately, sensing a fun and exciting adventure.  I make him promise to call me when they are on their way out.

TUESDAY

I get a call from J telling me they will be ready to meet on site at 1 p.m. after everyone gets back from lunch.  I suit up in my insulated coveralls and race out to the site, camera in hand.  When I get there, J and two of his crew are there, plus Daisy from the Sewer Department with the flush truck.  Daisy is the only woman in her department, and she's an absolute sweetie.  She gives me a grin and a shout hello as she drops her flush hose into the catch basin grate upstream of the outfall. 

For the unfamiliar, a catch basin is the storm grate you normally see at the curb on the street.  It takes runoff water from the streets and drains it via a pipe to wherever you want it to go.  In this case, this one goes under someone's yard and out to an outfall: an open ended pipe that discharges water into the lake. 

The pic to the left is the outfall to the lake.  This one has a 10" pipe and a concrete hood around the mouth that keeps the flow from eroding the bank where it comes out.  Typically these concrete hoods have a grate over them to keep debris and animals from getting into the pipe and blocking flow.  Here, the grate has been malfunctioning, allowing Mr. Porky to move in.  You can see porcupine poop all around the mouth of the structure.  They have an elongated scat pellet similar to a deer.  Looks like this guy has been here a while - this is the inspection pic from last winter's inspection, although he wasn't home when we looked at it last.

As the guys and I cluster around the outfall (but not too close!), D turns on her hose about a quarter of the way.  In this pic, I am standing uphill, so you can barely see the outfall hidden in the grass.  It's to the left of that rebar hoop.

We see the water beginning to come out of the hole, but after a few minutes, it becomes evident that it isn't sufficient to evict Mr. Porky.  J shouts up to Daisy to turn er up a notch.  

She turns the pressure up about halfway, and we begin to see porky butt, but this guy is holding on tight (how can he hold his breath that long??)  J tells her to turn it up again, full blast.

She cranks the pressure up all the way and finally he begins to emerge, the water pressure pushing him to the edge of the outfall.  The water is hitting him in the face and jetting upward, splashing out about fifteen feet into the lakebed below.  He wavers, clutches onto the concrete for dear life, and digs in.

After a few minutes of this, though, he's had it.  He lets go and backs away to catch his breath.  We've got him now.   The guys warn each other not to get too close, because we don't know what he'll do.  One of J's guys jumps in with the shovel and bangs on the concrete.  "Shoo!"  He tells the porky.  "Go on now!"

Mr. Porky has had enough of us.  He moves slowly off to the side a few feet and into the base of a nearby tree.  He is truly the most pathetic looking creature I've seen in my life.  He sits there absolutely soaked, looking back at us as if to say "I hate you guys..."  There's no menacing attack; he's sodden and shivering and miserable.     While Daisy shuts down the truck and comes down to join us, the guys work on getting the grate fixed and bolted back into place.  The porky sits in the crotch of the tree and watches us.  Both Daisy and I feel sorry for him, having to find a new place to live in the middle of the winter, and sopping wet to boot, but it can't be helped. 

While the guys work on their stuff, I sneak around on the lakebed and take a pic of Mr. Porky from the backside, where I can get a better shot.  He turns around to look at me after a while.  He or she is a pretty good sized beast - I hadn't realized they were actually that big.

Eventually he decides that we're too much trouble, shakes himself off, and begins to amble away down the lakeshore.  Standing on the lakebed, I get a few more good shots.  I am surprised by its nonchalance - it really doesn't seem much afraid of us, despite what we've just done.

As the guys gather up their shovels, the porky shuffles off into the underbrush.  At times like these I"m glad I don't speak porcupine, because I'm sure he was cussing us out all the way!

When I got back to the office, I read up on porcupines.  It turns out that they have great longevity, so the scat we have been finding for the last several years in this outfall was probably his/hers.  I hope it finds a new den quickly and is able to cover for the winter and recover from its dousing.  I feel bad about having to evict it from what was probably a really nice warm den, but when snowmelt occurs, the flooding upstream can be a big problem. 

It's not every day that we have exciting days at work, and it's not everyone that can say that they spent their day porky blasting!  Today it's back to tackling the foot high stack of paperwork that needs filing that I've been procrastinating all year long.  I'll be just waiting for the next call, when I can zip up my coveralls, hop into my truck, and jet off on another STORMWATER ADVENTURE!

12 Questions That Will Change Your Life

Will this quiz change my life?  Let's see.....

Original article, http://lifestyle.msn.com/your-life/just-dreaming/articlerb.aspx?cp-documentid=22782071


1. How do I spend my alone time?

Alone time comes very seldom, so I cherish it and use it very selfishly on things that please me and make my soul smile.  You can nearly always find me in one of a few places:  on the laptop, writing, painting, or just drabbling.  Reading a book (preferably in the bathtub, or in my comfy chair, weenie curled up beside me, with a hot cup of great coffee).  Or catching up on one of the many little projects that I always have going (painting a room is one of my favorite occupations!).

2. Do I pay attention to what my body needs?

I like to think so, but I know it's not always true.  Sometimes it's more like "Yeah, body - I hear you, but I need to finish this right now."  I eat convenient, mostly, and not always well, and I will forgo sleep in the interest of completing something that I've started.  However, my body always tells me about it, usually in the form of a migraine, which stops me in my tracks and forces me to do the things I should have done all along.

An odd note on this one is my love/hate relationship with my partial hysterectomy ten years ago.  Yes, it's wonderful nice (and convenient!) not to have a period anymore.  No more week filled with inconveniences and migraines, no more messy and expensive supplies to buy.  But I find that being period-free is somehow lacking.  I don't have that week anymore - that week that my body whispers to me "Slow down.  Rest up.  Draw inward, and care for me". 

I miss the heaviness of my body during that week, that softness and fullness.  The physical reminder that my small cycle was part of some larger, more important cycle.  During that week I typically stayed in more, moved less, became introspective and moodier - a big old round gravid moon, silent and beneficent.  Even the cramping seemed to have purpose, as if in rehearsal for a grander event.  My period was the monthly test of the Emergency Broadcast System - "This is a test.  This is only a test.  If this had been an actual pregnancy, this test would have been followed by a baby." 

It was a week built not for the outside world, but only for me.  That week does not exist anymore.  I have no excuse.  It almost makes you long for a cold, just to take that sick day, to stay wrapped in comfort and warmth and feed your body the very best things and listen to the slow tick of the clock rather than the frenetic motion of the outside world.  I miss it.

3. To whom am I grateful?

I am grateful for B, for replacing the funhouse mirror that I have used all my life with the one he sees me in, where I am OK after all.  

I am grateful to my kids for making me live rather than just exist.  For challenging my viewpoints rather than just swallowing them.  They make me THINK, and clarify my worldview and all that I hold important.  Every important thing in the world that I have ever done I have done for them.

I am grateful to work for giving me the chance to prove that I could do what no woman before me here had done: succeed in the mens' arena, and shine.

I am grateful, more than any other thing in the world, to God, for this life and all that is in it.  Thanks for never giving up on me, ever, even when I was giving up on myself.  May I be worthy.

4. Do I compare my life to other people's?

Ugh.  Yeah.  (Who doesn't?)  Too much, I think.  I want to be like my friends, who have church families and scads of close friends, who seem to be gadding about everywhere all the time doing fun things together.  I want to go off on all the vacations I hear about all over my Facebook page, just once. 

I want to be like the "Safeway ladies", the ones always in front of me in the checkout lines, four inches taller, perfectly coiffed, looking like they stepped from the pages of Vogue or Town and Country as they do their shopping.  I wonder how they look so perfect all the time:  perfect hair, perfect skin, perfect clothes, perfect smiles.  I get my hair done and for a shining hour or two after the salon I look great.  The next day, the perfect haircut looks just like my own, with a few pieces standing every which way and the cowlick behind that flips out.  *sigh*  I wish I were comfortable in my own skin.  Of all the deadly sins, envy is my worst.

5. Do I spend money on things that speak to my soul?

Mostly I spend money on bills and necessities, but occasionally I buy something that speaks to my soul.  There were two chairs at the furniture store recently, mismatched but beautiful, deeply discounted because they were onesies.  Both were in that deep rich wood that I love so much, with gorgeous fabric seats and deeply tooled details (one with wrought metal accents).  I bought them and took them home, where they please me every time I look at them.  No, I didn't need them (although I needed a place for B to lay his clothes at night, there were other cheaper options), but they tie the room together and make me feel rich in spirit.  That alone was worth their price.

I painted a wall - one wall - yesterday that had the same effect.  Paint is not a necessity.  Paint is love.  I could not live in a world bereft of beauty, and I have a need to create it wherever I go.  I don't always have the money I'd like to do what I want, but I usually make it happen by finding a cheaper way.

6. What do I see when I look in the mirror each morning?
Just plain old me.  I actually have grown fond of this old face.  It's taken years and years, but I think I'm okay.  I love my eyes, even though they (and my nose) are my father's.  I see the high cheekbones and strong jawline of my mother, and the 'i-want' frown lines between my brows and the smile brackets that are my own.  I see that I'm twenty pounds too heavy and that the cellulite is aggravating, but the curves are still curvy and they light B's eyes.  I'm trying my best to see what he sees.  Slowly, it's working.

7. Have I figured out a way to handle the less-than-perfect relationships in my life?
I think so, but this is a very recent development.  I have decided to say "no" to the things that are toxic, and to set some boundaries.  More on that later.  It is an ongoing struggle, made easier because what is at home is so wonderful and so fulfilling that I no longer need the approval and opinions of these toxic people in order to survive.  Slowly, I am working to build those healthy walls so that what we have created is not threatened.

8. Do I have faith in something bigger than I am, whether it's God or some other spiritual form
Yes.  My only sorrow is that I can't seem to pull my spiritual life and my home life together as well as I would like.  And I wish I'd worked harder on bringing my kids up in a spiritual way.
 
9. What positive things do I bring to relationships with my husband, my kids, my friends?
I'm an organizer.  I always have the things everyone else forgets.  I think ahead.  And I never forget to say "I love you". 

I don't know what else.  It's hard to think of good things to say about yourself.  I always feel like "I just do what needs to be done."  Nothing seems out of the ordinary.

10. Is there a space in my home to do the things I love (paint, practice yoga, play cards with friends)?
I usually just find a space.  B has carved me out a corner of the office now where we can sit side by side as I work on the puter, where he can play Bejeweled and I can paint.  It's great.


11. How many hours a week do I spend on my computer, my TV, my BlackBerry?
Ouch.  A LOT.  But a lot of my 'me-time' is on the puter as well, as is my work. Does that count??

I text a lot, but that's the best way I have of keeping touch with my kids as they're off and running about.  I think it makes our relationship stronger. 

12. Do I feel older or younger than my years? How often do I feel good about being exactly the age I am?
The morning after we got the Wii I felt WAAAAAY older than my years!   LOL  But truly in many ways I feel much younger than my years.  I'll always be 20 in my head: somewhat naive, wondering, awestruck by life.  Somewhat off balance next to those supremely confident people like B, always a half step off.  I'm the stumbler, the fumbler, the bumbling bubbly redheaded bimbo.  B and I laugh at my misadventures all the time, and he calls me fondly "Lucy".  But I'm okay with that, because he loves me.  And more importantly, as I have come to understand very slowly and with no small degree of struggle, I love myself.

The best laid plans

WELL, SO MUCH for the concert idea.

We took the half day so that we could have some time to get there early and do some shopping.  Realistically, what that REALLY meant was that we came home early and took a NAP!  ;-)  One of those blessed, long deep ones, about an hour and a half of bliss.  It was hard to get up and go.

We set off about 2:30 and got out of town about 3, once we'd made a few stops.  It's an hour and a half drive to the big city from our little town, and we wanted to be able to stop at Costco and do some last minute shopping before the concert.  The tickets I bought were at the will-call window, and we wanted to leave enough time as well to be able to go through the line.  I had a really weird feeling in the pit of my stomach as we left town, but I wrote it off to the seafood dip from our buffet lunch earlier at work. 

The dashboard thermometer read 33 degrees when we headed out.  It was foggy, but not terribly bad.  The weather report said fog all the way, but we figured if it looked like it did at home, we were home free.  The miles passed, and gradually we became aware that the thermometer seemed to be moving along with the miles. 

31...30....29...  The tumbleweeds from last week's windstorm, blown up against the barb wire fences and the wheatfield circles, were glistening with hoarfrost.  Our attempts at chitchat seemed to close in as the fog did. 

28...27....  The fog got deeper the further we went.  Big semi trucks were slowing down.  The cars that passed us threw up no road spray.  It became apparent that the fog was freezing on the road instead.  My unease deepened, and I looked over at B.  He was intent on his driving, and he frowned.

"How much did you pay for those tickets?"  He said finally.  We were about an hour into a drive that should have taken us thirty minutes.  The turnoff to Highway 17 which marked the middle leg of the route was coming up in a few miles. 

"Not enought that I'd risk my life for them."  I said.  We looked up at the thermometer again.  "It's really been dropping."

"Holy crap..." he said, watching the numbers change.  "It was 29 a minute ago."  We watched it turn from 27 to 25. 

He took the turnoff, white knuckling as a braver soul in an SUV rode our rear down the off ramp.  Luckily, we were able to stop at the intersection at the bottom.  "I'll just go up to the next little town and see."  He said.

As we pressed on it just got thicker.  By the time he got close to town, you couldn't see much beyond the car.  We pulled off the road in a parking lot and sat to regroup.  The what-ifs loomed.  What if we didn't make it to the city?  What if we made it to the city, and then had to come home at midnight?  Did we really think it would be better at midnight?  And there was a long stretch of road ahead of us in a steep canyon to go. 

We looked at each other.  "Let's go home." 

I called the box office and found out what I knew - that the tickets were non-refundable.  The lady at the ticket counter said that the show was sold out, and that I could give them to someone who could come.  I told her no one in our town would want to make the same drive (especially this late) and to go ahead and make someone's day.  "Give them to someone who is looking for tickets."  I said.  I thought later that I should have told her "And tell them 'Merry Christmas'." 

Almost immediately when we turned around I felt better.  Something was telling us not to go.  We lost a hundred dollars, which was to be our joint Christmas present, but the way I look at it, I could have lost a lot more by insisting we make it to a silly concert.  I'm very, very happy that B feels comfortable enough to speak up out loud.  "I guess I'm just the chicken."  He joked, but for that I am very, very grateful.  Too many men would allow their pride and testosterone to press the issue, and to what end?  He is not a risk-taker.  He is a thinker, and for that I love him.

We came back to town and had a wonderful dinner out to celebrate instead.  Then we went home and put on our jammies and had a fire in the fireplace.  I think whatever it was bothered the girl too.  She was visibly relieved to see us home, even though she said if she were in our place she would have gone.  I told her "At my age, I've learned what's valuable and what isn't.  I no longer feel like I am bulletproof." 

Later that night as she was going to bed she said "I'm glad you came home.  I don't like it when you guys aren't here." 

I know what she means.  Yep, I'm a mother hen.  I don't feel whole unless we are all present and accounted for.  The whole is definitely greater than the sum of its parts.  I can't think of a single thing in life- no concert, no event, no experience, no possession, that I would trade for one of my family members.  There will be other concerts.  I want to make sure we are there for them.

Christmas miracle

This is your Christmas miracle story for the day, but I have to keep it quiet. I had to tell someone, since I can't tell B yet.

Christmas is light this year, since we bought a house and had several unexpected things come up (B's daughter's wedding out of state, the girl's medical crisis). I was worried about it, and about bills that, while they were getting paid, weren't getting paid very fast.

This morning my HR guy came to see me.   He's one of those guys that you never want to see coming - it usually doesn't mean good news.  He had a rolled-up sheet of paper in his hand.  It looked like something official.  My pulse went up about twenty points as he came in and sat down.  "I have something I need to talk to you about." he said.   My mind raced.  Yesterday I had a migraine, and spent most of my work day with my overhead lights shut off and the monitors turned down low.  I figured he was here to talk to me either about the fact that my leave was perilously low, or that people thought I was gone since the office was dark.  I thought fast, meaning to tell him that I was here despite feeling miserable, and if anyone had complained about my lights being off and the office looking a bit unconventional, well, that's what it took to make sure I was able to be here working rather than home in bed.

"I heard you weren't feeling good yesterday."  he said.  "Want me to make you feel better?" 

I sat back in my chair, nonplussed.  He's never been my best friend, and I couldn't imagine why he would come to exchange pleasantries.  I watched him unroll the paper, and wondered why he was suddenly the one who looked uncomfortable. 

It turned out the story was this: 

Last April I got moved into my new postion at work. When you move into a new position, you have to go through a year of probation all over again, just as if you were a new hire, and you're at what they call "B step" for pay - which is a percentage of the full rate for the job. When your year of probation is up, your supervisor makes an evaluation, files a paper with HR indicating department approval, and you get moved up to "A step" - the full rate.  It's called 'getting the bump'. 

I'll back up.  This year has been SO busy and SO crazy between work and home that I did not even remember that April 13 was my anniversary date. Evidently neither did my supervisor, nor the HR guy, so no one put in for my bump. It was discovered on an end-of-the year audit (I suspect).  He was extremely apologetic, and not sure how it had happened, but made certain to assure me that it was remedied now - the paper in his hand was my official department approval notice - and that I would be getting my raise retroactively on the next check. 

Our next payday is Christmas Eve. On that payday, I get all of my bump differential retroactive to April 13 (about $1.06 per hour). 

GOD IS GOOD. And prayer works. Believe it.

I am SO overwhelmed right now. B and I will be going out tonight to the nearby 'big city' to see Mannheim Steamroller.  It's our joint Christmas present, and we've been looking forward to it for weeks - a night out just for us two. I think I'm going to tell him then.  I'm having a hard time believing it this morning. 

 

God bless all of you, my friends.  May your Christmas miracle be right around the corner, whatever it is that you've prayed for and needed badly. 

 

And the flip side

And because I feel like there's been so much gloom and doom in the last few months, here is the other side of the coin (because every coin has two):

I am thankful that my daughter has turned her life around in the past two years, from wandering aimlessly, partying, and blowing off school, to taking an incredible class load in her junior and senior years so that she could catch up and compete.  I am thankful that not only did she take several Advanced Placement classes, but she took the tests and passed with '5's - the highest grades possible - which means for every class and test it's five more credits of college that she doesn't have to take.  I am thankful that that will mean almost a year of college that she will be ahead when she goes.  I am thankful that she finally dropped the loser boyfriend that threatened to follow her to college (and run her life).  I am thankful for all her help around the house.  She is truly my right-hand-woman, and I trust her judgment in household matters as much as I trust my own.  I am thankful that she has become a good role model for her brother, and tries to help him out.

I am thankful that my son has become an incredible young man, all 6'2" of him!  (And I'm still trying to figure out where he came from - I am 5'3 and he can rest his chin on my head when I hug him.)  I am thankful for his hugs, which mean the world to me; those unselfconscious and spontaneous displays of affection.  I am thankful for the man he is becoming - his thoughtfulness and kindness, his loyalty and fearlessness.  I am thankful for his quick wit and intelligence, and the way he makes me laugh.  I am proud of the way he's thrown himself into his hobby - weightlifting - and the discipline and persistence he's shown in achieving his goals.  I am blessed by the knowledge that if ever someone in his family needed him, he would be there.

I am incredibly thankful that my kids have embraced B and accepted him, despite the way things began so awkwardly.  We are very blessed that most of the time this place does not feel like a *step* family, but just a family.  We laugh and chat over the dinner table, even if some of the conversation is NSFW!  I am thankful for the opportunity to have this beautiful home, and the way it's beginning to look not just as if we are squatting here but that we LIVE here, with all of our personalities shining through.  I am thankful for the damdogs too - the obnoxious, whiny, barky, bossy weenie, who thinks I gave birth to her and without whom I would have no replacement-baby to hold close to my heart (and no little head tucked sweetly  under my chin), and the Charlotte dog, who persistently packs my stinky ol slippers around the house with her (and sleeps with them in her bed!) so she can be close to me.

I have a car that runs, a great job with a secure future and good bennies, and a house in the nice section of town.  I am (mostly) healthy, and still have all of my immediate family, even if some of us are further away than others.  We have enough to eat, pay our bills, and still have a little bit of fun, even if vacations aren't on the radar. 

And I have the privelege of waking in the morning with my best friend beside me, softly breathing, with his leg thrown securely over mine, knowing that he will be there at the coffeepot, bringing me the paper and letting me read the funnies first.  He'll be there in the shower, to laugh at me when I drop the soap and to wash my back where I can't reach it.  He'll be there at work, to solve a problem or to give me a new perspective, and to eat lunch with.  He will be there at home, just in the next room, if I need him.  He will be there when I am hurting, when I am filled with joy, when I am frightened, when I am sad.  He will be here when the kids are flown. 

God willing, he will be here until the day I breathe the last.  That's all I can hope for, and all the more I wish - that our number of days fall close on the calendar.  I am a lucky woman, and I need to remember that.

Holiday blues, or something else?

I AM officially tired of Facebook.  I am tired of Lolcats.  I am tired of the newspaper, the TV, the little dog's incessant crying and the big dog's earnest neediness as she sits for hours staring at my face.  I am tired of kids who need picked up from their girlfriend's house at nine o'clock at night after I am warm and settled in my pj's because they were *absolutely certain* before they went that they had a ride home.  I am tired of the incessant ups and downs of work things, which seem to intrude on our home lives because they are too big for the work box.  I am tired of painting Christmas windows, which became a huge obligation to everyone in four different buildings after the first couple of fun little freebies I did just as a lark.  I am tired (and I feel OH so guilty for saying this) that B's daughter calls every single night for her evening chat just as we sit down to dinner, because she is at work and is bored. 

I am tired of my family, who disapproves of so many things that I do with my life and the way my children look.  I am tired of the skeletons who fall out of my closets at the most inopportune moments, just when I relax and try to draw a breath (and why does those skeletons always revolve around fathers, whether my own or my kids'?).  I am tired of my friends that jet off to Bermuda and the Bahamas and Hawaii and on cruises, just on a whim, when I can't afford to go on a simple camping trip.  I am tired of my capricious tummy, with its GERD and tempermentality.  I am tired of fighting with my boss to do the things that we both know need to get done, because he just doesn't want to be unpopular. 

I'm tired of being tired.  Of getting to bed so late at night that all we do is fall into it and out of sensibility, with not much conversation or cuddle.  Of the pain in our various joints that means we can only lie one way comfortably. 

I am tired of the Christmas pressure, and parties, and gifts, and command appearances with family.  Of expectations that are grander than my budget, and no reduction in the needs of daily life to compensate.  I am spread as thin as a sheet of rice paper, and I.......AM........TIRED.

B and I finally broke down tonight and talked about it, all this hubbub and chaos and crisis and whirl.  It's not good for him, and it's not good for us.  I told him that even when these kids are gone (and at 16 and 18, they are precious close to having their own lives separate from ours), we must have an *us* to rely on.  If we don't nurture our own relationship now, we can't expect it to support us later.  When we're going fifteen different directions at once, too often when we get a moment's peace it's down to him in the office, typing on the computer, and me in the living room, surfing Facebook.  Sure, we need some down time.  But there has to be some *us* time too.  In fact, there MUST be some us time.  I won't let us lose us in the commotion.

We are both feeling unmoored and adrift at this holiday season, one half step removed from the other half of our souls.  We are used to moving in tandem, and this disconnect is painful and confusing.  We must get back what we let slip.  The world will go on without us.