TH's Question

Update: TH is reading all of your comments with interest and gratitude. They are surprisingly (to me) consistent. You are right: it is easier to deal with the whole thing if we keep our eyes on the prize, i.e., what is best for HB — and clearly protecting him is best. Also that you can’t argue with a crazy person. (And to be very clear: we are not in the least interested in any money or inheritance from Nana. We just think HB might like to hang out at her place once he’s old enough to ignore the craziness.) So thank you.

So here’s the deal with TH’s mother, Nana of the Histrionic Personality Disorder (and I don’t mean just aspects of it — all of it). (Pardon the wordiness; I’m putting this out as fast as I can since I shouldn't be on here at all!) I’ve discussed some of my (our) struggles with Nana in the past here and there, but there’s of course a lot more. For instance, when HB was around two, after he’d spent any time alone with her, the next time I said “I love you!” to him, he would answer, “No you DON’T.” She frequently talks about some scene in Steel Magnolias (I think? never saw it) where one of the grandmothers pulls a child aside and tells her that the other grandmother is evil, and I suspect that’s what Nana was doing to HB about me. Nice, right? And the time we let her babysit one evening and HB told me that when he cried because he missed us she got mad and told him he would get a time-out if he didn’t stop crying.

TH has awful stories from childhood about how she pretty much lied to him every day to get him to do what she wanted—constantly shifting the rules, telling him it was later than it was, that there were laws against this or that, that he wouldn’t get any presents for his birthday if he didn’t whatever, and, what he found worst of all, making all sorts of promises that she never kept. Then really, really crazy stuff when his parents got divorced. So it really pushes his buttons when she does any of this with HB.

So the final straw happened about two months ago she came down for a grandparent visit to HB’s class – which went fine by all accounts. What I didn’t know was that she kept pestering my husband to let her take HB back to her house with her for a “few days” (she lives six or seven hours’ drive away) — to teach him how to behave. Because “he’s polite when you two aren’t around.” (The only non-polite thing he’d done with her is to prefer us to her — e.g., to sit on my lap instead of hers and to get annoyed when she pressed him on it.) TH said no, of course, to which she said, “Why not? Didn’t you have a wonderful childhood?”

Several times during this visit, any time HB was paying attention to me and not to her, she’d say, “You’re NICE to me when your mama’s not around ... You’re in LOVE with your mama.”

Friday night we hear that a big storm is coming, and that she’ll probably be stuck until Monday earliest. But Saturday morning she realizes the storm hasn’t hit yet and she can drive away from it. So she packs up her car. HB was just waking up and unaware of any of this.

Then HB gets up. He’s not a morning person; it takes him a few minutes to even start speaking. She starts pestering him in her baby-talk way and he’s doing his it’s too early, get the fuck away from me thing that he does to anyone who gets in his face in the morning—nothing serious, no swearing or hitting or name calling, just saying “stop talking to me!” and walking away. So she follows him and says, “It hurts people’s feelings when you’re so rude to them. And you know what? It has consequences. It makes me want to leave. So I’m leaving RIGHT NOW. Because of YOU.”

And she went out the door, jumped into her Porsche Cayenne, and peeled rubber out of here.

TH called her later to see if she’d survived the drive and she started lighting into him about how he has to crack down on HB now or “he’s going to be the kind of eight-year-old who says ‘fuck you’ to his parents!!!” (I will add here that HB is considered one of the best-behaved and politest child in his kindergarten.) (I will also add that TH’s younger brother got into trouble non-stop as a child and was in drug rehab by the time he was fifteen …)

I know that it’s an old, old story, the grandparents who interfere/disapprove with how the grandkids are being raised, and whatever, I’m fine with that, I can agree to disagree. What I’m not fine with is her deliberately trying to bully/frighten HB, tell him lies, or turn him against me. And TH, well, this makes him CRAZY. It brings back so many ugly memories of childhood, plus he’s very protective of HB.

The short-term goal is: only let her see HB in a large group. For instance, we usually have a huge party on his birthday weekend and last year we put her and Baba up in a hotel for a night and that was fine. His birthday is in June. But aside from that, we just don’t want her around him.

The long-term goal is not to start a family feud, and to leave open the possibility of a relationship once HB’s old enough to not be so hurt and confused by her. There are some benefits to having a relationship with her (not least of which is that she lives on 50 acres in a resort area in a house that could be a B&B with no renovations required …)

I’ve offered to let TH use me as a scapegoat. She likes me for my fancy credentials, but personally, well … so no big loss there if he tells her it’s my doing. But he doesn’t want that, in part because he’s noble and because HE doesn’t want her around either. What TH really wants to do is to get her to understand how her behavior is unacceptable—even though he knows that’s useless.

So his question to you all is, what should he actually SAY to her? Anyone have any experience with something like this?

Previews and Excuses

The excuse: the last little while has been crazy with nonstop work (including rounding and taking 24 hour calls this past weekend and 2 big deadlines last Friday), so not much blogging activity going on. But I am going on vacation on Friday (Mexico!), and will take my laptop (for fun ONLY, work will be ignored).

The previews:

1. TrophyHusband wants your advice on how to tell his mother we are not allowing her to spend time with HB anytime in the near future.

2. My big epiphany. (To make you laugh and roll your eyes in the meantime, in this piece I will mention the movie Avatar. Not exactly in a Groundhog Day or Atlas Shrugged way, but it will show up.)

I Tried It But Didn't Like It. Really!

I have a pretty crappy track record when it comes to choosing men. (First off, I have mostly let them choose me, and there’s an error in judgment right there.) I think I’m a decent life coach in a lot of ways, but if you bring your relationship questions to me, the best I can usually do is ask a few clarifying questions and then say, yeah, been there—sucks, doesn’t it? (I may be being a little too harsh on myself since I did manage to remain unwed until landing my TrophyHusband, but I suspect that was more good luck than good planning.)

So my college boyfriend. I didn’t love him, but he was fun. (And boy did he loooooove me … he must have, because why else would he get so jealous about me talking to other guys, or having had previous boyfriends, or wanting to spend time with my friends and family instead of him? And why else would he say he would kill himself if I ever left him? You can see where this is going, I’m sure, but I couldn’t.) And boy did he love his mind-altering substances. You name it, he’s smoke/sniff/swallow it. (No injecting up to that point, but that was probably mostly from lack of opportunity.) And whatever the substance du jour, he would do the mostest of anybody. I once counted 36 shots of tequila in one evening.

My college was not a party school. At my school, the girls were anorexic (no, not me!) and the boys were premed, and there was a paucity of peddlers of mind-altering wares. But my boyfriend came from the inner city, and he had connections. He had the connections and the appetite, but not the cash. Hence a brilliant plan to provide a much-needed service to his fellow students was hatched.

It started small—a little vial of white powder brought from home. Sold briskly, with enough left over for some nice parties. Another couple vials. Then another. Pretty soon there were nightly scratchings at the door from desperate souls looking for a little more, a little more, a little more … and yet there was less and less as more and more flew up my boyfriend’s nose. (I was lucky, myself. I found it to be about equivalent to very, very expensive coffee. I’m lacking some receptor, I suppose.) He pretty quickly tapped out his sources from home.

In the meantime, I apparently hadn’t read enough women’s magazines, because I missed the article on 20 Ways to Recognize a Potential Abuser, You Dumbass. I developed a headache that lasted for a solid month, yet somehow failed to connect this to any problems in my personal life. I told you, I’m not smart that way.

The light finally went on for me was the day I unlocked the door and walked in on him and a actual armed, dreadlocked gang member standing in front of an actual balancing scale with actual heaps of white stuff. My boyfriend said something to the effect of my being ok, and I smiled weakly and pretended to fetch something and got the hell out.

Did I do the brave thing? No, I just hightailed it out of there and then dropped out of school for a year (which turned out to be an awesome thing to do, and I had enough AP credits to graduate in three years anyway). My ex did not in fact commit suicide when I left, nor, thank goodness, come after me. He miraculously escaped arrest, but did not escape ten years spent crawling around abandoned houses and, I think someone told me, losing an eye to some “accident.” He called me from a rehab once saying he was supposed to do the step of apologizing to those he’d hurt, but what he said was, “I don’t really remember most of what happened when we were together,” so I didn’t expect that attempt to take. (But from what I’ve gathered, he is now sober,  has a job and a daughter and a wife, and things are good.)

Take-Home Lessons:

1. Read that article about 20 Ways to Recognize a Potential Abuser, You Dumbass.
2. Don’t rely on me for relationship advice.
3. Don’t use your own product.

Shiny Happy People

I have a friend whose father, a really smart, successful, funny guy, was also kind of an asshole. He was arrogant, negative, selfish, and prone to anger. Then, at the age of 50 or so, he went to see the movie Groundhog Day, and suddenly decided that he was going to be a different person. And he was. From that day onward, every time he had one of his old negative impulses, he would think “Groundhog Day” and then react the way he wanted to be. Other people were even allowed to remind him if necessary. It’s been something like 15 years now, and he’s never slipped back into his old ways. He’s kind, thoughtful, positive, and accepting now.

I’ve been hoping for that kind of moment myself, ever since. Not that I’m particularly arrogant, negative, selfish, or prone to anger … though I’ve had my moments of all of the above. I’ve got lots of impulses that I don’t like, but the main thing I’ve wished I could change is the lens through which I perceive my life.

So this is very scary and even embarrassing to admit, but … I think I’ve done it. It’s only been a month or so, but it feels real. However, it feels too soon to write about, which is why I’ve been quiet here. Another month, maybe, and I think I’ll be able to describe it more. (No, I haven’t discovered religion.)

In the meantime! Would you like to hear about the time I was attacked by a patient? My college boyfriend dealing serious drugs out of his dorm room? (Did I already write about those?) Other? None?

Don't Make Me Squash You, Maggot

I’m quite pleased that so many of you are still out there running while the winds of winter snatch at your snatches*.

However.

Unless you are running between the hours of, say, 8am and 4pm, you should know that if you are not properly attired, NO ONE CAN SEE YOU, MAGGOTS.

A couple of weeks ago, I made a nice, legal, slow turn onto my block, only to have to slam on my brakes for a jayrunner attired entirely in black. Who then had the gall to flip me the bird. I felt like stopping and yelling “You’re lucky I LIKE runners, Maggot!”

There is a tricky turn near my house where two lanes of cars must try to enter a street on which there is already a salmon stream of cars jockeying for position. Anyone with the temerity to cross the street on foot risks going under the wheels of a driver who has suddenly spotted a tiny hiccup in the flow and guns it. Recently, as I took a quick look to see if there were any pedestrians about to make a squirrel-dash before I turned, I spotted one of my best friends poised at the curb. I managed not to flatten her, but it gave me the vapors. Later she cheerfully said “Of course you saw me, I was wearing bright pink!”

Um, sweetie, you know I love you, but as Ben Franklin said, in the dark all cats are gray. So I immediately ordered her one of these.

If you ever run in the dusk or dawn or dark in a place where you could cross paths with a car or even a bike, you MUST have one. (No, I am not being paid to say this. In fact, I’ve paid for three of them myself already.) Wearing this, I feel like I’ve gained a super power. It practically makes you visible from the space shuttle; I can hear cars hesitating when they’re still blocks away. One time I forgot to wear it, and suddenly felt like someone had put a bounty on me—why are all these cars trying to kill me? And it’s much less annoying to wear than a traditional vest, which flaps and twists.

Of course, it’s possible to get taken out at any time of day by someone who’s, say, steering with their knees while lighting up a crack pipe. So you might think about purchasing one of these as well. I’ve got one that attaches to my shoe; it has my name and birth date and my husband’s name and cell number. My husband has a wristband version for when he’s on his (goddamn) bicycle. It was a pity that a teammate of his didn’t have one last month, when he crashed and got concussed and couldn’t remember his own name. (Oh and I have a discount code good for 20% off in the month of February: PC613486BBAF.)

Go ahead and ignore my orders if you want, but just know that if I squash you flat and you’re taken to a hospital as Runner Doe, it’ll totally be your own damn fault.

*or packages.

When I Start Sounding Like This, Take Me Out Back

I’m not sure if anyone else will find this as funny as I do, but this is the Christmas email my mother received from her sister. My aunt has always tended to be a little bit … critical, and age has not mellowed her.

NOTE: THIS IS NOT ME. THIS IS A QUOTE. TAKE ME OUT BACK AND DO SOMETHING VIOLENT TO ME IF I EVER START SOUNDING LIKE THIS.

From: bitchyaunt@comcast.net
Date: December 27, 2009 10:12:36 PM
Subject: Nice Christmas

Our Christmas began on the Eve. Chris’s boys didn’t come until today so missed the dinner. Brittney’s boyfriend was with us plus the French exchange student, Julie. Only Dave’s family made it for the 5 p.m. church service. The rest were supposed to meet us at 6:30 at our house. (We gave them an extra hour and they were still late.) After doing stocking gifts and cocktail hour we went to the Vintage Press. We had a preordered dinner of cioppino. It was delicious but we later found out that Julie was allergic to shellfish and didn’t feel well after dinner.

We came back to the house for dessert and the tree. It was a fun night.

On Christmas Day we went up to Chris’s at 2PM. It was a beautiful day. Almost 70 degrees and clear. You could see the Sierras which were gorgeous. Elizabeth put on the same dinner we had at T’giving as Brittney wasn’t home then and wanted the same food. Brittney is something else. She is so self absorbed, I wonder how this new relationship is going to go. He’s quite handsome with the stubble chin look. During dinner I noticed him looking at his reflection in the window. He’s an attorney but not in a firm and does wills and trusts. He also has a day job which he never explained.

This a.m. we had breakfast with Dave’s family at the country club. Always enjoy hearing what’s going on with the kids. Jason was playing blackjack last night and says he won $120 but had been up to $500. He’s home for 3 weeks but hasn’t offered to earn any money from us doing odd jobs. Megan, who is always on his case, said she’d work for us.

We’re doing an open house on New Year’s for Jerry’s 75th from 11 to 2 at our house. There’s just too much going on to put on anything else. It’s not like he’s never had any recognition.

We had a note from Bob on their card but seems his 75th wasn’t too noteworthy.

Looking forward to hearing about your holiday. Love, Sis

AGAIN: THAT WAS A QUOTE. AGAIN: PLEASE LET ME KNOW WHEN I BECOME THIS MUCH OF A BITCH.

You have any horrible relative holiday stories?

More Helpful Hints

How to Sleep Better Without Pills

This is by request. A disclaimer: I don’t think there’s anything wrong with taking over-the-counter sleep aids. Heck, I used to take Benadryl every day as a child during allergy season; it’s not like taking Seconal or something. And drinking alcohol before bed is much worse on your sleep patterns than these kinds of medications. However, there are some relatively easy tricks for sleeping better—with or without medications. Most people know that you should have a quiet, cool, dark, comfortable place to sleep. Here are a few things that you may not know: Don’t watch TV in bed, even if you think it lulls you to sleep. Don’t read in bed if you can’t sleep; get up and sit in a chair. Don’t toss and turn if you can’t sleep; get out of bed and do something boring for a while. If you have a snoring bed partner, get a white noise machine. If your problem is waking up in the middle of the night, trying going to bed a half hour later than usual. And here’s one that many people resist: cover up your clock or turn it to the wall so that you can’t tell what time it when you wake up in the middle of the night. If you check the time, you get anxious, and then you really can’t get back to sleep. Finally, if you are taking something to get to sleep every night and want to stop, you should go cold turkey and expect to have 3-4 rough nights before you’re back to normal.

How To Childproof on the Fly

Releasable zip ties. (I have no idea if that’s a good website, I was just too lazy to get a good picture of them myself.) Discovering these was like finding the internet, only less exciting. With a little imagination, you can use these to fashion a way to keep a toddler out of all kinds of things when you’re in a hotel room, visiting childfree friends, etc. I used to keep a pack of them in my suitcase. I still have one around the knobs of the liquor cabinet. (I figure anyone who’s too drunk to operate the release has probably had enough. There’s plenty of beer in the fridge if you’re that desperate.) They’re also good for managing computer cables, keys … make your own magic!

How To Connect Almost Anything to Almost Anything

Non-releasable zip ties. These made it possible for me to put baby gates on our impossibly narrow stairs (gates that lasted years and endured much abuse without failing, despite my husband’s initial skepticism), and they are astoundingly strong. They also facilitated one of my most ingenious solutions:

How To Keep From Losing Tiny Remote Controls


Is this not cool? You can use anything large and squishy. (Note: I do not advise using a cat. A particularly well-trained dog might suffice.) I started out with rubber bands, but for some reason children must put asunder what a rubber band hath joined together.

How To Put Eye Drops Into Uncooperative Eyes

Some of us could pour a shot of Jim Beam into our eyes, but some—e.g., many children, my husband—blink and squirm and freak out over one or two drops of anything. The trick is simple: lie on one’s back with eyes closed, put the drops in the corner of the eye (making a little pool), and then open the eyes. (Gratuitous doctor’s soapbox proclamation: Antibiotic drops for “pink eye”? 99 percent of the time useless—and occasionally allergic reaction-producing. I know we all grew up doing it, but almost all pink eye—especially if it’s bilateral—is viral, usually a cold virus. And it’s no more or less contagious than a cold.)

How To Stop a Nosebleed

You can find that here—an oldy but bloody goody.

How To Keep Cats from Jumping on Your Head To Wake Up and Feed Them

Cats can understand cause and effect, but only up to a point; too many steps in a process and their fuzzy little heads start to hurt. If upon arising you immediately feed them, they will learn to wake you up, and often in creative ways. If you separate getting up and filling the bowls by more than, say, two steps, they will eventually forget that the two occurrences might be connected.

And finally: a picture in which you can see my own personal stomach-sleeping-preventing bumper:

(Levitating child not included.)

DoctorMama’s Helpful Hints

I’ve been neglecting you. To make up for it, I’ve prepared a real treat for you: a whole bunch of helpful hints and ingenious solutions to problems you didn’t even know you had. If I could patent these, I would, but since I can’t, you’re getting them for free. You’re welcome.

How to Stop Sleeping on Your Stomach
Those of us who stomach sleep tend to get cricks in our necks and sore lower backs. If I spend more than a few minutes doing it, I get a back spasm so bad that I am unable to turn back over, and I’m left to struggle like an upside-down turtle. One solution I’d read about was to sleep with a long pillow next to you on the side you usually turn to. Good in theory, but unless your bed is next to the wall, you’ll just end up with a pillow on the floor. My brilliant solution? Tuck the pillow under the fitted sheet, creating a bumper. It won’t fall out, and when you turn over, you naturally sling your knee over it and stop halfway.

How to Keep a Toddler (or Drunk) from Falling Out of Bed
See How to Stop Sleeping on Your Stomach above! It’s genius, I tell you.

How to Use Decongestant Nasal Spray Without Becoming Addicted
When you have a cold and can’t sleep because you can’t breathe through your nose, use decongestant spray in one nostril only. The next night, you can use it on the other side. Don’t use any during the day. You can keep this up indefinitely.

How to Quit Decongestant Nasal Spray
If you’re already addicted, quit using it on one side. Once that side is more or less back to normal, quit the other side.

How to Avoid Losing Your Child in a Crowd
Or rather, how to find your child after you’ve already lost them in a crowd. All you need is some masking tape and a marker. Put a strip of tape across the child’s upper back and write on it: IF FOUND CALL [cell number]. My son adds: tell your child to approach either a Person In Charge or someone who also has kids.

How to Clean Out a Stainless Steel Carafe or Thermos When You Can’t Reach Your Hand In
Put a Brillo™-type pad and some water in there, put the lid on, and shake it like a hurricane.

How to Fix Yellow Toenails
If you wear pink or red toenail polish, you may have noticed that they leave your toenails stained yellow. I searched for years for a cure, and finally discovered that the clear polishes that have names like Yellow Out actually work. Duh.

How to Keep Noisy Toys from Driving You Nuts
Put clear packing tape over the speaker holes. Several layers if necessary. Kids’ hearing is way better than ours; they don’t mind at all, and it makes life so much more bearable. (This trick is not my own invention; I learned from another cranky old parent.)

How to Keep Your Ice Cubes from Getting Smelly
Because I’m sorry, baking soda just doesn’t work. Charcoal odor absorbers, however, do. Drop one directly into your ice bin and voilà.

How to Cure Diaper Rash Quickly and Cheaply
Most diaper rash is at least partly due to candida (yeast). Buy a (store-brand) tube of vaginal yeast cream (throw away the applicators that come with it). It’s good as prescription cream; clears it up in, like, 12 hours. Works on athlete’s foot, too. We call it Toe-Butt-Vagina Cream.

How to Stop Picking at Your Face (Or at Least Cut Down)
Put 25-watt light bulbs in your bathroom.

How to Soothe a Sore Throat
Suck on a baby aspirin. (Do NOT let children do this.)

How to Keep A Cat From Shredding Your Furniture (Besides Declawing)
Keep its front nails clipped. A regular nail clipper works fine. You’ll probably need a second person to do the cat holding, but it’s not as hard as you’d think—nothing like trying to pill a cat.

How to Get Children to Behave
I have no frickin idea.

O Soleus Mio (updated)

I have a rule of thumb for injuries/pain and running. To wit: if running doesn’t make something worse, go ahead and run.

I am at baseline a sore person (not a sorehead; it’s hard to offend me). At any given moment, at least two things will be hurting. Doing a rapid inventory right now, I’ve got: right acromioclavicular joint, low back, right elbow. Depending on the day, it can be my head, neck, shoulders, elbows, thumbs, upper back, lower back, knees, right ankle. I get out of bed in the morning feeling like the arthritic sloth I try to mimic when I set off on each run. I’m not sure if this is normal or not; I asked my husband if he typically has pain somewhere and he said no, which I’m inclined to believe since he’s a bit of a whiner like that and if something is hurting he lets me know about it, but I haven’t done a systematic survey of everyone I know. I don’t think this is particularly related to the passage of time; I’ve been this way as long as I can remember. I also don’t know if it’s because I have a low pain threshold. Past experience would suggest I’m not especially sensitive, but how can one ever really know? Mostly I’m used to it and will maybe pop a few ibuprofen tablets if something’s really bad.

One of the coolest things about running for me is that after a run, everything always hurts LESS.

But now I have been felled by my soleus. The left one. It’s ok for about three miles, and then WOW WOW WOW, does it hurt. I’m not sure what happened to it, although I have a sneaking suspicion it’s related to the fact that although I do very little in the way of stretching before running as evidence doesn’t seem to indicate that it does much for you, I have always done soleus/Achilles stretches simply because it feels right. And lately I’ve been skipping them. (An explanation — featuring a Spiderman action figure! — can be found here.)

All of which is to say, I’m taking my own advice and not running through this (honestly I don’t know if I could anyway), and it’s making me insane in the membrane.

However: I at least have some reason to believe that my knees are going to be a-okay when I’m ninety.

You sitting here reading this: is something always painful somewhere on your body?

UPDATE: Reassuring to know that I’m not alone in my aches & pains, though I’m sorry so many of us are in the club. (And no, I don't have any systemic disease process, fortunately.) I think it’s more accurate to say that I’m tender rather than sore — i.e., things hurt when I use them or push on them, usually not if I don’t bother them.

Re: my soleus. It seemed to be responding, albeit slowly, to decreasing my speed, distance, and frequency, plus new shoes, plus stretching, plus ice — BUT! then I got a chest cold, and am now on a program of unplanned rest. I’m actually happy that if I have to get these things, at least for once they happened together. (My rule of thumb for running when sick: sick above the neck: run; sick below the neck, rest.) So I hope it will be fine when I hit the road again, but I will remain in the dark as to which measures worked.

(Oh, and: the barefoot running thing? I dunno. The idea seems to crop up every now and again but never really catches on. Obviously one can’t run truly barefoot through the city, and while I’m sure those new foot-glove things are wildly sexy, they do change the position of your foot unless you’re naturally spread-toed, so I’m not so sure they really count as barefoot. Anyway I’m sticking with real shoes for the foreseeable future.)

Running for the Schedule- and Sleep-Challenged

Elle, a new Emergency Medicine resident, recently asked me the following:

Please, can you tell me any advice to continue running during residency?

First, you have NO IDEA how much running helps when you’re a resident. It’s probably more beneficial for a resident, mile per mile, than almost anyone else. So you really have to. What you’ll have to give up on is rigid consistency. Get three runs in per week no matter what and no matter when. When you get home – whenever that is – just get those shoes on and get out there.

For example, when do you run? After work or before? How does it affect you at work if you ran before a shift?

I run after. Nothing chills me out after a hard day better than a run; it’s a beautiful thing. Before work, I don’t yet have any built up frustrations/worries/anger/etc., so a run feels a lot less useful. And: I am unbelievably stiff when I wake up, so running feels less good physically. A lot of people are morning runners, though, and they tell me that it gets them ready for the day. I think it’s something you just have to figure out on your own. If you can switch up, you’re lucky. When I had the odd night shift, I would run in the afternoon, and it felt fine.

When is sleep more important (because I'm sure my sleep-deprived mind will always think sleep is more important)?

Hmmmm. Well, I came up before duty-hour regulations, and I never could sleep well at the hospital, and I need a LOT of sleep, so I guess I’m qualified to say this: running always trumps sleep.

Should I adjust pace or length of run for sleep deprivation?

Pace.

If I don't go at all, say during a rough 4 week rotation, at what percentage of my original distance/time should I be running once I get back to it?

Maggot, you are NEVER going to not run at all. That is NOT allowed. I ran even when I was on an ICU rotation, sleeping at the hospital every third night, having work weeks that regularly ran over 100 hours.

Ahem. Anyway. If there is something terrible that prevents you from running – bad chest colds do it for me – how quickly you bounce back will depend on your “base” – how long you’ve been running. If it’s years, you only need maybe one or two easy runs (i.e., even slower than usual) before you’re back to normal. If you’re a newbie, it might take you a week or two.

Can you comment on running after a night shift? If I wake up and run in the middle of the day, is that better than other times to run?

That depends. If you’re up one night and then back to day shifts, take a nap, then get up and run, then go to bed at a near-normal time. If you’re completely switching to night shifts, you’ll probably have to figure out whether you can completely reverse your days and nights and run accordingly, or if you have to fit running in at odd times, which is what I did.

Anyone have any other advice for the schedule- and/or sleep-challenged runner?

Thick Water

What, really, is the point of having a sibling?

The other day I got a question I hadn’t heard in awhile: “Are you related to [semi-famous actress with the same slightly unusual last name as me]?” It’s a question I used to get a lot, back when she was popping up fairly regularly in well-known movies. Now she mostly does supporting work on TV, as happens to depressingly many actresses who get a little long in the tooth.

The answer is, yes and no. Here’s the story: my father became an officer in the Navy when he graduated from college, mostly to bug his parents, I think. While he was stationed stateside, he met a girl—let’s call her Joyce—who had gotten knocked up by a recruit. The knocker-upper said “oops” and shipped out, leaving Joyce with the ticket. So my father married her, and she gave birth to a child—let’s call her Annelise—who had my father listed on her birth certificate. It was a “real” marriage, as far as I know, and my father was Annelise’s father (as much as anyone in the late fifties who was in the Navy and shipped around the world was, which is probably not a lot). My grandparents were horrified, especially my grandmother, who was, to be honest, a real bitch. She was mean to Joyce and never treated Annelise as a grandchild.

Once my father was out of the Navy and hanging around for long enough for Joyce probably to figure out how difficult he could be, they divorced, and my father left the state. Annelise was about five years old. Eventually he knocked my mother up and married her. I always knew about Annelise—they told me I had a sister, my father would occasionally go visit her (and paid child support), and they said I’d meet her one day.

When I was five, my father fell off a mountain on his motorcycle and died. For awhile we knew what Annelise was up to because my father’s social security benefits were divided amongst all of us, but I never did get to meet her. Once the benefits were gone, I didn’t hear about her until I saw her name on the credits of a movie. Then pretty soon she seemed to be everywhere. My aunt wrote to her once, and Annelise wrote back, politely saying, essentially, your family was always mean to me and my mother, and now you want to know me? (My grandmother was mean to my mother, too, but Annelise never knew that.) When my grandparents died Annelise declined her share of the proceeds, which was rather nice of her, since it meant more for me and my brother and sister.

I’ve never met her, and she’s not genetically related to me. So, not my sister. But: we did have the same father, a father we both essentially lost at the same age. Does that make us sisters?

It’s not like my undisputed biological sister feels much like a sister either. We have met, of course, but we were almost six years apart and always very, very different:

Age 6 8 13 15 18 21 26

Me books boy haircuts hanging with the geeks traveling alone to Europe flat chest and stringy hair getting advanced degrees running

My Sister dolls princess clothes caught smoking at school unprotected sex in Corvettes buxom and extremely pretty getting married smoking, smoking, smoking

(It’s not like I wasn’t, um, experimenting, I just worked at hiding it rather than flaunting it, you know?) She was always sure that I looked down on her for not being as intellectual as I was. And I really don’t think I did. (I looked down on the Corvette thing, because really? A Corvette?) In a lot of ways, I envied her. I envied her for not having had a father die (she was born after); I envied her bravado; I envied her looks; I envied her singing voice; I envied her seeming sureness about settling down. I also felt like since she was my sister, we HAD to be close. I spent years trying. I finally thought I had, around the time she adopted her son. We talked a lot, I visited her often, and I defended her to my mother during my sister’s divorce from her very nice husband. She was always kind of … bitchy, but I told myself that was a front for her insecurities. Then my sister got the most obnoxious new husband you can imagine. A guy who the best thing you can say about him is, he doesn’t hit her … I think. A guy who, after they visited us, my unbelievably tolerant husband said, “That guy is never allowed in my house again.” But she looooooooves him. And seems to have morphed into his clone. She says mean things about everyone, she spends her evenings getting drunk on Bud Light and smoking, she keeps talk shows on her TV 24/7 … it’s like she’s working on making me look down on her. Which, well, now I do. We haven’t seen each other since shortly after their wedding four years ago. We speak once a year at Christmas. So: My sister? We have the same mother, but the same father only genetically. Does that really make us sisters? If my sister were left alone in the world and homeless, I would help her out. I’d feel obligated. But why? Why does a genetic tie mean anything? I have friends who would—and have—dropped everything to help me out in times of need. And I will always be willing to do the same for them. My stepfather? Even were he and my mother to divorce, he would be part of my family forever. This is one reason I feel no guilt about not “giving” HB a sibling. There is no way I could guarantee him anything from a brother or sister. Let him find his true siblings as he goes along. In my experience, the majority of only children appreciated not having to share their parents, and an awful lot of people have siblings to whom they might as well not be related. (I haven’t really mentioned my brother. That’s perhaps an even more complicated story.) How about you? How do you feel about your sibling(s) or lack thereof?

Survey

When is one too old to run in just a jogging bra and shorts?

A. If you have to ask, you're probably too old.

B. Never! Rock on, Grandma.

C. Depends on what you're rocking.

D. As long as Madonna is still wearing a bustier.

BWAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!

I have a really good idea on how to make the world a better place: pass a law that car horns can only do a little short beep like the beep some cars do when they get locked. The only meaning of the long “BWAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!” is to say to another driver, “You’re a fucking idiot!” To which the response is almost invariably “BWAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!! No, YOU’RE the idiot!”

Which does not seem to serve any purpose other than to wake babies and rattle everyone else on the road. I mean really: if you’ve got enough time and a free hand to go “BWAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!,” you must not actually be in danger, am I wrong? And if you’re not in danger, what’s the big deal?

This probably makes everyone suspicious that I am getting more than my fair share of the “BWAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!,” which I don’t think I am, although how would I really know, since whenever I’m in the car I’m almost always the one driving, and the amount of “BWAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!” I get seems normal to me. (I will add that in over twenty years of driving, I have never even ONCE had a moving violation.) (I admit I have violated a few posts and parked cars. Not recently, though. Don’t blame me for that scratch.) (My Scion started out quite square; four years of street parking has whittled it into something more ovoid.)

Now, something about running. I keep forgetting to mention this:

YOU CANNOT PREDICT WHETHER A RUN WILL BE GOOD OR BAD.

Which is one of the reasons that you have to go no matter what.

Example: last week, after a hellish few days of:

• HB vomiting in the bed
• TH not vomiting, but lying around trying to look pitiful
• broken washer
• broken dryer (still not fixed)
• multiple graduation-related events at night

and god knows what-all, I had no choice but to take HB with me in the dreaded running stroller if I wanted to get a run in.

First I had to lug the stroller up the basement stairs. Then I had to inflate the tires (with “help” from HB). Then I had to assemble the thing. Then I had to put all sorts of snacks in the pocket. Then I had to get dressed to run. Then … sudden torrential downpour wipes out the blue skies! So I’m like, maybe we shouldn’t go—by the time the rain lets up I’ll be too hungry, HB will be hellish on the ride, my shoulder hurts and I don’t want to push the stroller, etc. etc., whine, whine … but then I smacked myself in the face and off we went, once the rain let up enough to be able to see farther than 10 feet ahead of us.

And HB was an absolute ANGEL. A few quotes from him: “No, you don’t have to put the cover up, I like the rain—I’ll let you know if I need it!” At the 1.5 mile mark, as I turned the stroller around, not wanting to push my luck: “What are you doing? Let’s keep going!” On the way home, “Oh! Look at the rainbow!” “Listen to the birds!” “The flowers have all the colors of the rainbow!”

I was a little suspicious that he’d found a tablet of E on the ground somewhere, à la Jude Law’s child (suuuuure, it wasn’t theirs! They just somehow got a really good look at it before she popped it in her mouth! But weren’t quick enough to stop her!). But the only thing he has ever found on the ground and put in his mouth is a cigarette.

It works the other way too. Some days the weather is gorgeous, you have all the time in the world, you’ve eaten just enough but not too much, your ipod is charged, you’re wearing your cute new shorts, and—somehow it sucks. But: it’s kind of like sex or pizza for guys: even if it’s bad, it’s still a run, and a run is better than no run.

How Time Inches Along!

HB will be turning five soon.

This is the place where every other parent on the planet adds, How did that happen? They say it goes fast, but it seems like just yesterday he was [born / playing peek-a-boo / taking his first steps / add your own heartwarming milestone here]!

I said to TH around the time HB turned four, “Do you understand what people are talking about when they say it goes fast?”

“Absolutely not,” he answered. “Every stage seems to last forever.”

My child has a Superman-like ability to slow time to a crawl, at least for his parents. It seems like I can feel every minute of every day of the past five years. Other people’s kids get older awfully fast; not mine.

This child just wears you down. He’s an Xtreme Child (as in Xtreme Sports). The other day he went to the park with my parents to play baseball. On the way home he decided he didn’t want to carry the bat home as he’d promised to do before they set out. An argument ensued; he flung the bat to the ground. My stepdad said, “Well, that’s okay, you can just leave it for someone else to find.”

HB did not carry the bat home. He kicked it home. The whole way.

That’s what I’m talking about.

Actually that’s not what I’m talking about. I’m talking about the really cool things about HB, in honor of his one-twentieth of a century.

I was raised with a WASPY horror of bragging (e.g., when I was in college my mother wouldn’t even tell people what school I was attending for fear it might sound like bragging. She would say, “Oh, she’s … in college … in another state …” I think some people may have thought I was in prison). So I try very hard to avoid it here, especially the kind of bragging where you’re like, “oh, it’s such a pain, having a child who can do physics at 3—it’s so embarrassing when he starts talking about the degree of the arc of his pee in the restroom!”

So this is a little hard for me, but I will try to do this straight, without HB-deprecation—aside from the tirade above, of course.

• For a preschooler, he’s almost Buddhist in his non-attachment to material things. He doesn’t beg for toys in stores, he doesn’t seem to notice when obnoxious toys “disappear,” and he doesn’t get worked up when something is lost or broken.
• He can read, and as far as I know taught himself to do so.
• He’s agile. He’s in T-ball but doesn’t need the T, for instance.
• He doesn’t mock others for their idiosyncracies. He’s great with special-needs kids.
• He can make scrambled eggs by himself. Really.
• He doesn’t pick his nose or bite his nails.
• He doesn’t like TV.
• He has no irrational fears—the dark, monsters, toilets, etc. do not worry him.
• His pencil grip and scissor skills are excellent for his age, I am told.
• He is affectionate.
• His outfits make me smile every day.

Phew. That was actually really hard for me—I felt the need to asterisk almost every statement, David Foster Wallace-style. The past week or so has been especially rocky. But I am grateful for getting such an amazing kid, the time crawling notwithstanding. Probably one day I will even be grateful for how he slowed the passage of time.

All’s Fair

Who knew that men’s legwear was such an organized movement? Not I, for one. The pro-men’s legwear contingent will be happy to hear that we gave a pair of tights to another boy in the class. (We asked permission first because we weren’t sure how traditional this kid’s parents might be.)

The whole discussion about gender “appropriate” clothing made me think about what goes on in our family; what messages might we be sending HB re: gender roles. And since I love lists, I made one.

Below are the main household/family duties and activities I could think of. I’ve highlighted the more traditionally female ones in pink (since we’re being traditional, you know) and the male ones in blue. I put an item in one person’s column if that person does it 70-100% of the time.

Me Work longer hours Make more money Laundry Gardening Power tools Buying presents Home repair/remodeling Buying clothes for kid Groceries Finances Baking (with kid) Housecleaning

Him Work shorter hours Make (slightly) less money Assemble toys and furniture Schlep kid to & from school Stay home when kid is sick/has day off Trips to playground etc. Dinner Kid birthday parties Playdates T-ball Drycleaner’s Clean cat box

We’re pretty even on bathtime, story reading, taking out trash, doctor’s visits, and getting the kid dressed and fed in the morning.

These divisions were never really spelled out, we just kind of fell into them, but we are both committed to being—or at least feeling—equitable. And either of us will do the things in the other person’s column if specifically asked to do so.

This list looks pretty reasonable to me—and I think we’re setting a gender-equal message to HB. I’m curious—what goes on in your family? Is it a struggle? Do you have to negotiate?