meaningless minutiae

Swine Flu By the Numbers

Number of days in bed: 5.5

Number of times I left the house in 5 days: 3

Number of books read: 2 (pathetically low, indicating what a mess I was)

Number of naps taken per day: 2-3

Number of times I threw up from coughing so hard: 3

Highest fever: 99 (who knew?)

Days without drinking any alcohol: 6 (a many-year record I suspect)

Number of family members infected: 0 (so far, but oh, accomplishment!)

Speed my car was moving when I pushed my children out the door to school each morning: 5 mph

Bottles of nyquil demolished: 1.5 (cherry is really gross)

Lectures from Hadley re: vitamins & my immune system: 1

Random Wednesday Morning

My immune system needs help. Help! The children have been back at school for a mere two weeks when I came down with a nasty flu. Started coughing on Saturday, and by Sunday night I felt lousy. This is day three in bed and I’m starting to feel a bit better but still not great.

I know. The universe is shouting at me to chill out. I get it.

But I don’t like it. I do have Dan Brown’s new book and a huge stack of magazines, a fan blowing on me and clean sheets on my bed. Under other conditions that would be almost the definition of heaven to me (well not Dan Brown necessarily, but my foggy head doesn’t lend itself to anything more challenging).

I’m struggling to let go of the half marathon I wanted to run on October 11. No way can I do it now without this week of training. Alas. I know there will be others. Letting go is harder for me than pushing. I am slowly – I know, dense, dense, and denser – realizing this. In all aspects of my life.

Trying to let go while simultaneously not swamping myself in deep metaphorical thoughts about why I am always sick. What it says about my not having defenses, about my armor being broken down, about weakness. I feel like I am sick all the time. Why? Why can’t I be tougher, stronger, more resilient? What do I need to do differently?

Let Go.

Friday afternoon randomness

On my run today I listened to a lot of Ray Lamontagne. I love Ray Lamontagne. I also love love love my orange ipod. Small pleasures.

I ran past my father in his little green Mini. Tall man, little Mini. Good man!

I thought about the ways I am truly an introvert. The activities that most women think of as social that I do, almost always, by myself:

  • running
  • shopping
  • movies (though this is not as gender specific)

It was a gray day and is now raining hard. My poor babysitter has Grace, Whit, and a friend of Grace’s on the T and is taking them into Boston. For the adventure and to drop Grace and friend at a movie with two other friends and one (generous, optimistic) mother.

Whit had as big a tantrum as I’ve seen in years last night, crying inconsolably for a good 45 minutes. I realized after I finally got him to sleep that he is coping with a lot of transitions: new school, new schedule, new classmates, new teacher, new babysitter situation. Plus mercury being in retrograde and all (I love Diana’s blog).

And this morning, running and listening to Ray’s scratchy, soulful voice, I thought about how I hate transitions too. How I hate change, that I fear anticipated change even more than the real thing. Of course Whit is freaking out. He is my kid. Of course he acts out by spitting, screaming, and calling names. I guess I do an adult version of that. With a lot more tears and less spitting. And I am not super proud of that behavior. What he needs – and I am, I guess, pleased that I figured this out last night when I gathered him into my arms and just held onto his shouting, sweating, red-faced, shaking body for a while – is just what I need in these times, which is for someone to say: It’s okay. Everything will be okay. I guess what we all need when we are afraid is shelter. As Ray sang about this morning (oh yes, the inelegant it all ties together! I am no Ondaatje, that is for sure!)

So this Friday I am thinking about change, about Minis, about the October half marathon, about Ray Lamontagne, about who shelters me, about the rain falling outside my window that mirrors my mood.

Things I Cannot Live Without

Sorry, no deep thoughts today, or even articulate sentences. I’m just too tired.


1. Cherry chapstick. This is my oh-so-sophisticated version of lipstick. In college Q used to like the Dr Pepper kind because it even has a slight pink tint along with that delicious DP flavor. I tried to use lip gloss for a long time but my hair kept getting stuck in it and I finally just accepted that this is all I need.
2. LL Bean tote bags. In the Mead household growing up these were called “canvas carriers” and I still use one almost every day. They are duffel bag, gym bag, yoga bag, diaper bag, work bag all in one. These used to be my favorite baby present and I thought I was so original until Whit was born and I received seven of them. That’s okay: I use them all. I think I probably have about 15 in total and they all get used. For a weekend in Marion the kids and I each pack in one.3. Crocs for my kids. I know. They are not pretty. But they are easy access and there are no laces to tie. Also, I have a real blind spot about shoes and never know my kids’ sizes, so invariably the day comes in November or something when the only thing they have that fits is crocs and it is snowing outside.

4. Spray sunscreen. I’m too laissez-faire about sunscreen to begin with (witness Grace’s deep, dark tan) but my GOD if I had to actually hold the wriggling children still and rub the stuff in? Forget it. This is my only prayer. And I do believe that sunscreen is pretty important.

5. My iPhone. It’s my umbilical cord to the world. And also my main camera these days. In a pinch, a babysitter (G&W are partial to Doodle Jump and iChalky).

6. Hair elastics. Because I’m in a ponytail 90% of the time. Because I can’t stand hair in my eyes. Seriously, it’s kind of a crisis if I don’t have one. Also functions as jewelry for the 10% of the time that it’s on my wrist and not in my hair.
7. Big sunglasses. My current favorite pair is a browner version of these, with the big hardware hinges on each side. Sunglasses hide my tired eyes, my wrinkles, my tears, and help with the hair-in-face problem.

8. Starbucks venti nonfat latte with 2 splenda. No explanation needed. Diet Coke a close second in the beverage category.
9. Old Navy white tank tops. Wear one almost every day three seasons a year. In the winter, this is replaced by long-sleeved J Crew cashmere tee shirts.
10. Band aids. These are the cure-alls for Grace and Whit. All manner of bumps and bruises and injuries, perceived and real, are immediately better with a kiss from me and a band-aid. Even better if they can go into the cabinet and get it themselves.

I am sort of fascinated by the small things that people have with them all the time, on their person or in their bags. By the things we carry, as it were, in our day to day life. What is it that you always have with you, without which you can’t imagine living?

This is what 35 looks like.

I am a bundle of contradictions at 35, of details old and young, of emotions and preferences both conflicting and complimentary. As Whitman says, fine, I contradict myself. What else do you expect, after all, for I contain multitudes.

This is what 35 looks like, today.

At night I use both Neutrogena acne cream for occasional pimples and retinoids for the wrinkles around my eyes that show up when I smile and, in truth, when I don’t.
I listen to Taylor Swift and James Taylor, to Raffi and to year-round Christmas carols.
I wear rubber flip flops and 4 inch Manolos.
I don’t have any gray hair but my breasts definitely aren’t what they used to be.
I like my white wine on ice and my water at room temp.
I carry both an iPhone and a blackberry (blackberry only because work won’t support the iPhone).
I have a lot of friends but truly trust very few people.
I read more than 20 magazines monthly and more than 100 blogs a day.
I can recite both Goodnight Moon and Tennyson’s Crossing the Bar by heart.
There are things I want dearly that I can’t have, and things I have that I prize highly.
I still can’t drive a stickshift.
I am one of the most overly sensitive people I know, and I’m still waiting to figure out the way this can be a strength.
I have had a mammogram but the last time I went to the doctor they had to use the child blood-pressure cuff on me.
I aspire to live a life with more stillness, but I move almost always at a frenetic pace.
I drink copious amounts of white wine but am a big chicken about hard liquor or most cocktails.
I own tens of girl-sized logo tee-shirts and approaching fifty cashmere sweaters.
I delivered two children without medication but I complain ad nauseum about a slightly tweaky knee, wrist, ankle, or other assorted aches and pains.
I have used Suave shampoo and Cetaphil for as long as I can remember, and I am utterly incompetent when it comes to makeup.
I like it super cold when I sleep, but I always need to kick a foot out from under the covers.
I hate talking on the phone but could email and text all day long.
I have an MBA but I have little interest in business.
I get a bin of organic produce every week but a lot of the time I eat cheese sticks and red licorice for dinner.
I am tone deaf so I listen to music mostly for the lyrics.
I am terrible at laundry, refusing to sort darks and whites, but very anal about kitchen counters being clean and dishes being put away.
I have two children, including a first grader, and most of the time I’m still waiting for the actual mother to come home.