Suburbanly Incorrect

Morgan’s Lyme Story

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My daughter was diagnosed with Lyme Disease almost 2 years ago. I have briefly written about this (sometimes with humor) but I thought it would be better to hear directly from Morgan herself. Because May is Lyme Disease Awareness month, I wanted to honor her and everyone battling this disease by posting her experience in her own words.

The article was originally posted on The Mighty titled “Lyme Disease” by Morgan Darrow.

“The good news is we know what’s wrong with you. The bad news is, you have Lyme disease.”

After 6 months of trying to figure out why I was getting insanely bloated to the point where my appendix was mistakenly taken out, constantly getting a weird tingling feeling up and down my body, achy joints, memory impairments, failing every test I was taking in school, and overall feeling not “right,” I finally had not only the answer to my problems, but a solution to it as well. Three weeks of antibiotics and I would feel like myself again. It’s like having strep throat or a cold, not a big deal.

Except that is not the case. I can’t and don’t blame people when they don’t fully understand the pain I have endured over the past year and a half. Lyme disease isn’t marketed to the public as a life-altering chronic illness. The reasons for this I won’t get into, but May is Lyme disease Awareness Month so after a lot of convincing and reflecting, I decided I would write this, not for sympathy or attention, because really after all of this I know who was a good friend or supporter, but more for people to really understand what it’s like to live with a chronic illness.

I’ve been sick for over a year and a half, and the first year was a very different experience than the second. When I first got diagnosed, I didn’t understand why my mom was so persistent in finding a doctor that specializes in this field, otherwise known as a Lyme Literate doctor. Why couldn’t we just stay with my pediatrician? There is truly no way for me to put into words how amazing my mom is and has been throughout all of this. I really mean it when I say I honestly have no idea how I would be where I am without her. I don’t even know how she knew the extent to which she did. For instance, making sure we found the right doctor(s) when I first got diagnosed. She called everyone she knew who had the slightest amount of insight into what this long road ahead of us would entail and was open to any and every piece of information someone offered, including random people in the supermarket she came across. Again, something I did not understand at the time because to me, I would be better after 3 weeks of antibiotics. Well, 9 months, 3 doctors, 1 in-home massage therapist, 2 infrared saunas establishments, too many Epsom salt baths to count, and a complete lifestyle makeover later, I was only on the road to recovery. My senior year of high school was truly a blur to me. The number of days I spent sleeping more than I was awake are too many to count. This was supposed to be the “best year” of my life so far, yet rather than spending time with my friends, I was laying with a castor oil pack on my stomach questioning how I was supposed to go to college the following year. I woke up in the morning not knowing how I was going to feel when I got out of bed that day. Was I going to be extremely nauseous? Was I going to have a migraine to the point where I’d have to lay in my bed in darkness the entire day? Was I going to have to limp because my joints were too achy to put pressure on?

I am a very private person. I don’t like people to know my business and I don’t like people to really ask me questions. It’s ironic because those that know me, know that I am the nosiest, most inquisitive person. I am always eager and curious to learn more information. So it is partially my fault when I would get upset that people didn’t understand what I was going through.

Another thing about Lyme disease and most other chronic illnesses is that “treatment” isn’t your typical take this and you ”feel better”. For one, you will 100% feel worse before you feel better. Second, there are secondary changes and treatments that need to be completed before you feel “normal.” I used to play competitive soccer. I’d train 4-5 times a week, have games on the weekends, and I would still have energy. I was always working out in some capacity, eating mostly whatever I wanted. With this, there was no getting out of bed let alone working out. Eating? No gluten, no dairy, no sugar, no soy, no food additives, no salt, no oil basically no nothing. In “kid” terms, no late-night pizza with your friends, no ice cream, no french fries, no candy, and no doing anything spontaneous that could cause me to have a flare the next day. In addition to this, I’ve taken more supplements and pills than I think my 83 year old grandma does. Lyme isn’t just Lyme. Lyme affects your thyroid, which subsequently affects your energy. Lyme affects your vitamin levels. Your cells’ ability to rebuild. Your livers’ ability to detox. I would go from the infrared sauna to Epsom salt baths to my lymphatic drainage massage therapist to try and relieve my pain all in one day. I probably cried at least once a day, most times before I fell asleep, again questioning if I’d ever feel normal.

I was diagnosed at the end of November, went to an infectious disease doctor in December, and finally found my amazing doctor in February. In February, after being diagnosed with Candida (an overgrowth of yeast probably developed because of antibiotics without a probiotic) I decided it was time to take matters into my own hands if I wanted a true shot of going to college. My mom had found the right doctor and I would research every free moment I had looking up ways to get better. I did every weird voodoo thing you can imagine and was open to anything to be done with this chapter in my life. Despite the flares up in between, the many breakdowns, mood swings, sadness, envy for my friends who were living normal lives, I slowly began to get better. Leaving for college that August, I had my “toolbox” ready. I had an infrared sauna I would go to in Wisconsin. I knew what I could and couldn’t eat. I was on the right medicine. I lowered the number of supplements I would take and I had a tiny bottle of healthy titos and Lime juice ready for my nights out. I was ready, I was optimistic, and I was finally done with this sick chapter of my life.

Until I wasn’t. About a month into my first semester of freshman year, everything came back. I couldn’t understand what was going on. Why I was so sad some days, so happy others, so emotional, so inflamed, so nauseous, so lightheaded, the list goes on. Obviously, before leaving for college I had blood work done, I was fine and my doctor assured my mom and I that I was healthy. That’s why when I came home for the first time, an absolute mess, my parents thought that naturally, I was having adjustment issues. I knew this wasn’t that. I wasn’t homesick and I was fine until this point. I told my mom I woke up and went to bed every night and morning with debilitating anxiety so what else was she supposed to think? One weekend in October, I came home to see my parents. That Sunday night I flew back to college, my parents assuring me I was healthy and I was fine and I just had to make it until Thanksgiving which was only 5 weeks away. I had gone to camp my whole life and 7 weeks flew by so I convinced myself it would be fine.

Long story short, I didn’t make it to Thanksgiving.

When you are sick like I was sick, you know your body. And I knew that these were not adjustment issues. I knew there was something going on inside my body and something that was causing me to act like this. The culprit: MOLD. Mold in the apartment building I was living in. Mold and autoimmune diseases go together like oil and water. They don’t. This time around being sick was different than the first. I was done with this. I had already spent my entire senior year sacrificing so that I could be myself again, working harder than I had in my entire life to get to the point I did, and then this happened. I became resentful and I became angry. Everyone else living in this building was fine, but I was sick again? It didn’t seem fair. It wasn’t fair.

This again is where I question how my mom was able to handle this. This was not what she envisioned for me and I’m sure for herself as well. She was also trying to get past this year of hell we had just gone through together. I could write a whole other story about all of the crazy experiences my mom and I have gone through together in great detail. For instance, driving 2 and a half hours away to go to a “different” type of doctor where before we went inside I asked her if she thought the person who sent us was trying to get us to join a cult. I truly don’t think there are enough words to describe my mom. She is determined, she brings humor into every situation we’ve gotten ourselves into, like when we lived in a hotel together for 2 weeks in Wisconsin, and her support is unconditional. I truly mean it when I say I am so lucky to have had her through this. I don’t know what I would have done otherwise. She is the one person who never questioned me, pushed me too far, or made me doubt myself throughout this whole experience. And yes, my dad and sister have been amazing too and I am so lucky to have had the support and empathy from my family throughout this because without them, again, I would not be where I am today.

Having to come home from college, face the fact that I wouldn’t be able to go back second semester while all my other friends flaunted their crazy nights out, and then eventually admit to myself that I needed to transfer was very hard to face. Again, I don’t blame my friends, I would have probably done the same thing had I not had to come home, and I just as easily could have not looked at social media after I knew my friends were going out the night before.

After finally facing reality and realizing I was sick again in a whole different capacity since the levels of mold absorbed into my bloodstream were so high and so poisonous that had I stayed any longer I am honestly not sure what would have happened to me, I was determined once again, to beat this.

Getting sick again was hard as different symptoms kept appearing. I couldn’t shower without clumps of my hair falling out. My migraines got so intense that I couldn’t lift my head without getting so dizzy. Fatigue, tingling, joint pain, anxiety, brain fog, extreme nausea, and insomnia yet complete exhaustion. I was sad, I was confused, and I had relapsed. Except now I didn’t just have Lyme disease, but also Mold poisoning, Mast Cell Activation, Sibo, and once again Candida.

So now, 5 months later, after more hard days than not, I can finally say I am on the road to recovery again. It took many more mental breakdowns, tears, and tweaking my eating habits again because now I couldn’t eat moldy foods or foods with high histamine like peanut butter, bananas, and strawberries, but I’ve gotten through it.

I know that Lyme disease is something that will always be a part of me and my story, but it is not something I will let define me. And the last thing I will say is- It is Lyme, not Lymes, there is NO “s.”

 

Back to school part 1

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My daughter has Lyme disease. It’s something I haven’t written about because generally I try to keep things light and funny and this is not light or funny. But that is for a different post. Throughout my life humor has carried me through any crisis I may encounter and to this day it is my go to in my “toolbox.”

So it is with my “go to” that I had to deal with a relapse of my daughter’s Lyme disease 6 weeks after starting college. My husband and I never had our  “Empty Nester” moment. We never got the opportunity to become those annoying people on Facebook we all talk about. Please do not act like you don’t know who I mean because we all know at least one couple who seem to be living their best life, reliving their childless 20’s. Out every night, drinking and partying all over the country, yeah that’s not me.

Like I said, things started to slide backwards 6 weeks in. The symptoms were a little different but she knew something was off . Because this is 2019 not 1985 every nuance was shared with me, all day long. Let me repeat that… ALL DAY LONG.  My husband and I were parenting somewhere between 1985 and now so we tried the tough love approach. Giving inspiration where we could so that she could push through whatever it was that was bothering her. I was using my Web MD degree to diagnose her from being fine, run down, having strep throat, you name it and I diagnosed her with it. I just could not bring myself to admit that possibly a relapse of Lyme disease was lingering.

At this point she came home for 5 days. We nursed her back to health as well as we could, put her back on a plane and hoped for the best. The hope lasted around 8 hours. Within 24 hours she felt worse than before she left to go back to school. We got her a hotel room to sleep it off, that did not help so the next 24 hours were spent getting her a flight home 48 hours after she left.

So, now she’s home and we are right back to where we were a year ago. Except now I have a college freshman asking me “why is this happening to me?” Internally I was asking myself the same question. Not really seeing any humor yet.

It’s around the time of this conversation that the humor and irony starts to kick in. As we are driving home from the infrared sauna (another perk of Lyme disease) I hit a deer. In all my life I have never come close to hitting a deer but here I am driving my daughter, who should not be with me, home from this sauna all because she got a bite from a deer tick and now I hit a deer.

I’m pretty sure the deer itself had Neuro Lyme disease because, and I kid you not, the thing basically flung itself in front of my car.  All I saw were antlers and its face, so once I heard the thud I swerved into oncoming traffic to avoid it more (or so I thought) and then had to swerve back due to oncoming traffic. You know that expression deer in headlights?  I get it now.

I could not get the idea out of my mind that because of a deer I was in this situation with my daughter and  yet the idea that I could have killed a deer (pretty sure I did) was freaking me out. Now my car was destroyed now as well, another fabulous thing Lyme disease has given me.

So it was with great irony I thought that the next day when I look out my front door I saw this. I wish I could say this was joke but sadly no its just my life. So now I am left  wondering: Is this some ticked off relative (no pun intended), Did the guy I hit follow me home? Is this some deer ritual ?  I was half expecting to see MURDERER spray painted on the hood of my now wrecked car. If you zoom in you can see he was clearly staring me down, obviously mad that I took out a member of his team so close to the holidays.  And all I could think is how many freakin’ ticks is he letting loose all over my lawn?

Animal House Millennial Style

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When my kids were little, visiting day was the stressful part of the summer. Not because we worried if the kids would be ok leaving us at the end of the day but because we needed to make sure we were fully equipped.  Gift Baskets, take-out food, personalized gifts, bunk gift presents, you name it we had to have it. Because going to camp for 11k per summer not including all the clothes and crap was not enough there is always more more more.

You would think when camp ended that would be it. Except its not. Because after camp comes college, which brings acceptance photo, acceptance party, move in photo and of course, parents weekend.

Parents weekend was created, I’m assuming to give parents a chance too see where their hard-earned dollars are going while seeing their beloved children. Fast forward to 2019 and parents weekend is as far from that description as you can get.

Its hard to imagine the TV parents of our youth Marion and Howard Cunningham, doing a beer bong or hotboxing with Richie and Joanie. But somewhere between 1979 and now,] this is what being a parent in the millennium  has become.

My first parents weekend I was not prepared. I did not have the required school clothing to wear for the photo to be uploaded to face book. I had to borrow one.  I was not prepared for the pre-game before the tailgate. Nor was my husband prepared for the beer funnel he was coerced into doing (especially since he had not done one since 1986). I was not prepared to wake up before the crack of dawn to start drinking while watching my peers relive their youth ( or the youth they wished they had). And I was not prepared to  feel like I needed a Xanax by noon because the pressure to continue to drink and PARTY like a rock star was beyond my comprehension and physical ability. (See below)             Obligatory Tailgate photo,  Actual result of tailgating like I am not a member of AARP

All one has to do is look at facebook one weekend to figure out that the  schools have coordinated so most parent weekends are the same. And the photos look the same, with the same headline… AMAZING WEEKEND, LOVE YOU SO MUCH, THE BEST FRIENDS … then there are the photos that follow.  Child with 15 of their closest friends, many of whom in 6 months the child will never speak to again. The photo in the football stadium, we all have it. The one with  family and child in the stadium because we are all having so much at the football game, especially after drinking since dawn. Nothing says I love my child more than adults wearing bozo the clown overalls in college colors while chugging a beer. Then of course are the frat party photos, there is the “cool” mom with the college tattoo on her face, and of course we need the obligatory girl in a tube top, who cares that its 25 degrees outside.

I try to think back to my own college years and I am fairly certain my parents weekend went like this: my mom flew in, took me to Target, bought me some food and toiletries. Maybe she changed my sheets on my bed. Next, she took my roommates and I out to dinner. Met us for breakfast the next day.  End of story. Another parents weekend in the books. Its hard to imagine my mom with a face tattoo and ASU tank top walking around a frat party offering to partner up at beer pong with someone.
parents weekend 1989                                                                         (Parents weekend 1989)

I have another parents weekend coming up. I am told this is going to be epic. Someone actually used this word to describe the weekend to  me. I am not sure how to prepare for this epic-ness. At 52 I think epic is being able to do an exercise class without peeing in my pants so my barometer is a little skewed.

I am ready though. I have my old sneakers for the frat party, I have my obligatory school clothes, I am prepared to be friendly and plaster a  smile on my face at all times. I will go where I am told and only post 5 of the 10,000 photos that will be taken. Although the truth is this daughter hates social media so this begs the question. If I DON’T post obligatory photos of The Weekend did the weekend even happen?

Stay tuned….

Scary Mommy

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Like many people I have been feeling morose lately. All my New Years goals and ambitions went the way of past New Years goals and ambitions. The thing that makes it worse this year is that this was the year I decided to stop procrastinating and get moving. Write more blog posts, clean out my house, get in shape…yada,yada,yada. My dog being diagnosed with a degenerative disease also makes it hard. Last June, we were on a walk and he fell, more like collapsed in front of my house.  Needless to say it was high drama. The one thing that stuck out in my mind was not how scary it was but that a neighbor drove by my entire family and did not stop to ask if everything was okay or did we need help (obviously no and yes). As she passed us in the dust her “magnet” on the back of her car was etched in my memory. She was a marked woman.

Fast forward almost 9 months later. I have not seen that neighbor since that day until yesterday. When she blew through a stop sign and almost hit me. As I wailed on the horn and I did not lift my hand I could see she was ignoring me. I knew who it was by her stupid frigging “MAGNET”. Word of advice, if you are going to be that douchbag driver don’t put a “MAGNET” on your car. Since again, she is my neighbor I had no choice but to follow her towards my house were true to her character she blew through the stop/yield sign on our corner. Now I was furious.

As I passed my own house to follow her to her house, I knew that she must be thinking I was following her, not heading home. As if to throw her off I did not want her to know I lived 3 houses away from her so I continued after her. I did not pull into my garage. However that psycho Sally continued driving. Now I was faced with 2 choices–go into her the cul-de-sac and wait, but if I did surely she would see my car or I could do a u turn and wait between her street and mine and confront her as she turns on her street . Because this is not psychotic behavior.

As she was turning I turned my car and rolled my window down, I wanted to explain I am not a psycho but I am her neighbor and she almost killed me.  Not only did she ignore me but she drove past me as I was still motioning the “roll down ” motions.   And as she blew past me I noticed that she took the time to pull over and take off that MAGNET!  As if I couldn’t see the dirt circle where the magnet once was! What an amateur.

I pulled my car in my garage put my groceries on the counter and decided I was going to walk over to her house and ring her doorbell. Game on.

Let me stop by saying I know I sound completely unhinged. I recognize that I sound like an absolute lunatic right now. I was. There was no reasoning with me. My daughter was sitting doing her homework and as I dropped my groceries and ran out the front door I think she was fearing what was to come.

On my way over to my neighbors I was laughing to myself about what a total psycho I had become. This was a complete whacko move. This was what I read about on Facebook in mom group chats . Women who teeter on the brink then boom, someone runs a stop sign and you have middle aged woman on your doorstep. Next thing you know Ill be posting photos of her car in the FB group chats and writing a scary mommy blog post . I will show you “scary mommy”.

As I approached the house I saw her husband standing on the driveway. He had a phone to his ear and he looked concerned. I knew what he was thinking. I asked him if he lived there and if his wife drove a black ***** and is she driving around the neighborhood fearing a madwoman in an SUV chasing her down? I calmly explained his wife blew the stop sign, almost hit me then I said I knew what she was thinking. But, not to worry I was not following her (technically). I calmly again explained I have a young driver who at 17 would not have the reflexes I do after my many, many years of driving and most certainly would have had an accident. I was calm and well spoken and explained that I get it. We are all in a rush, trying to get our kids where they need to be. We are on the phone, texting and some of us are even eating but she is going to kill someone or run someone over. He was apologetic trying to tell me that this is not his wife’s normal behavior. I nodded but knew this is most certainly his wife’s behavior. She drove past my family laying in the street with their potentially dead dog, need I say more?

I apologized for scaring his wife  but the truth I wasn’t sorry.  I was still pissed and was hoping the scaredy cat would show up.  At this point she was still driving around the neighborhood like a nut job. Here I was trying to seem less unhinged than I appeared. Let’s be honest. I followed her to her house, even if it was 3 doors away. Then I walked over to her house. I was prepared to ring her bell I didn’t care. I was unhinged.

When I got home I was proud of myself for not going full throttle on the woman and her husband. I thought I was well spoken. I was pretty proud of myself. Then I replayed the story to my friend and realized I seemed like a total nut job. The thing is I don’t care. I did act like a nut job but no worse than the lunatic who was driving around my neighborhood thinking she was evading me.

Bottom line is this. Be cognizant of stop signs. When is says STOP you need to stop. Stay off the phone and please take the damn MAGNET off the car. There are so many reasons why those magnets are stupid but if you are planning on breaking the law and offending your neighbors my suggestion is you do it covertly. And do not piss off a mother of a new driver or you will have an unhinged middle aged woman chasing you down, blaring the Bridge and coming for you.

Hey Ma What’s For Dinner?

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Like every other parent there are a few things during the course of my day that give me stress. The texts from school (all day long) begging me to bring whatever forgotten item my kids may have left on the counter, navigating the parking lot at the supermarket and of course what is for dinner. Out of all the “troubling” things I have to deal with during the day, what I am making for dinner may rank at the top of the list.

I am out of ideas of what to feed my family. I do troll FB and instagram looking for ideas. Mostly I end up feeling bad about myself and my cooking abilities. The Tasty videos are awesome to watch but has anyone ever tried to make one? I have and all I realized is that I am a terrible cook.  I have a standard rotation of 5 basic dishes.  Most of them from the back of a Campbell soup can.

So, with that in mind, the other night when my 16 year old was getting ready to go to soccer and needed a “healthy” meal, I felt pretty sure of myself that I could provide that. After rummaging through the refrigerator I came up with the remains of a rotisserie Barbeque chicken. That was it. To be creative I thought, I will add some avocado as well. Look at me, lots of protein and almost instagram worthy! Then I remembered that a friend was kind enough to bring me these new rice tortillas she was raving about from Trader Joe’s. They are not made with flour, they are made with rice so they are paper thin almost cellophane looking.  I could make a wrap. Because I was dealing with getting her dinner, feeding my dog and probably texting I grabbed the first thing I felt in the bag.

The tortilla felt really thin, paper thin but my friend did say they had a differnt texture and tasted kind of gross so I wasn’t very surprised. When I went to roll it up, I struggled a bit due to the tortillas consistancy but I did it. I have to say it looked pretty good. I thought the texture was weird but then I remembered the rice noodles at the chinese restaurant and their cellophane like appearance, exactly like my tortilla so I was confident that this was just healthy and weird.

I gave it to my daughter who promptly said “What the hell is this?” “Why does this look so weird?”  I immediately told her to stop complaining, be happy she wasn’t eating ravioli out of a can like I did as a kid and just eat it. She continued, “Mom, there is something wrong with this, it’s paper. This is not a tortilla.”  This went on for the duration of her eating the entire tortilla. She had taken one bite decided it was not for her and picked all the ingredients out.  Because she is tenacious she continued on and on about the stupid tortilla. So to shut her up I pulled out the package to prove to her they were indeed just gross tortillas and not paper.

As I threw the package at her to prove my point I pulled out the tortilla to show her, unfortunately for me the tortilla was sandwiched between 2 pieces of paper. Paper that I thought was a wrap and made my daughter dinner with. I made my daughter a paper wrap.

Here is the thing that makes this worse. I did not care. I laughed. I laughed so hard I peed my pants (although that does not take much these days). My daughter was convinced she was poisoned by eating paper. I tried to explain to her that eating paper does not make you sick, my youth was spent eating processed meats in a can. Toughen up snowflake or I will give you an expired yogurt.

Add this to my list of parenting fails. Paper dinner. Maybe next week I will serve tin can dessert!

#parentinginthenewmilleniumsucks

This is the actual tortilla bag. 

This is the tortilla against the paper. I could esily see how one could mix up the tortilla and the paper. Just saying.

 

Bladder Matters

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I  turned 50 in July. That was 6 months ago .  From the day that I turned 49 I have been talking about turning 50. Truth be told  from the day I  turned 45 I have been saying I am almost 50. There are so many shitty things about turning 50 I could go on and on, yet,  I am aware the alternative sucks so I should be happy. I am healthy and above ground. Is this what happens after 40? You start setting the bar really low that just breathing is your barometer? I have been struggling with the whole menopause thing recently. I can own that I am old and things are changing. I am trying to handle each change one at a time attacking from every angle.  Sort of.

Weight gain, I have battled that my whole life. My hair changing?  I have complained about that incessantly for the last year I am over it. Even my random hot flashes, I dress in layers shedding as I go along. I can’t really say I have my mood swings under any kind of control but I think my family is learning to deal with that. I notice they hide out a lot more to escape me regardless of my crying or yelling. Pretty much only my dog has escaped my wrath and that is because he had cancer.

All of these things I can handle but my random peeing is where I draw the line. This has sent me over the edge. At first it was random squirts. When I was attempting jumping jacks at the gym, or when I sneezed or laughed. But then it was more frequent, like always. I ran a half marathon and I am pretty sure I was slowly leaking the entire time. At first I couldn’t tell if it was sweat or pee, it was kind of cold out so it was hard to tell. It wasn’t like there was smoke coming from between my legs, it was just wet and not in a good way. Nothing says “Hello old timer” like getting in your car and realizing you smell like the nursing home you used to visit your grandmother at. I now understand why older people smell like urine all the time and that totally freaked me out.

Right after that race I Called my doctor and said this is a 911. My doctor is used to me calling with emergencies. Our last emergency was my hair breakage. I had to explain it was not just my hair breakage, it was my dry skin, emotional outburst, fits of hysteria, sleepless nights and overwhelming appetite.  The bloodwork showed what I already knew.  I was going through menopause. I swear I should have gone to medical school, I definitely missed my calling.

After a series of questions we determined I need to see a urologist. My doctor is in the city and I just did not have the energy to trek into NY during holiday season for something that can be figured out 2 miles from my house. I got some recommendations and off I went.

When I got into the waiting room I looked around and realized A. I was the only woman here and B. the average age of the patient was 75.  Once I got into the room the nurse had me empty my bladder so she could do a sonogram. She then proceeded to do a sonogram of my bladder. She turned to me and said,” you didn’t empty your bladder”.  I replied back to her, “Yes I did, I have nothing in there”. Her response?  “Hmm. Ok.”

WTF?? “Hm Ok?” what did she see ? Do I have a tumor? Is there a leprachaun hiding a pot of gold? What is in there? As I am planning my eulogy the doctor walks in. She is about 25. Maybe younger. Was she some kind of prodigy? Seriously, she looked a few years older than my teenage daughter. And she was like a piece of wonder bread. I need some bedside manner, some personality. Give me something. You are about to stick your head in my Hooha please have a personality. No dice.  No-one had been downtown other than my doctor and husband in over 20 years so I was slightly self conscious about what she may see in there. It’s usual visitors know how to deal with me should they find something unexpected.

She pulled her head out of my crotch and said “ok your urethra moved.”  Awesome. What does that mean? Well, with childbirth and now menopause things are moving and dropping. All I could hear was Walt Frazier calling a knicks game. Look at Amy’s urethra moving and grooving, shaking and baking dropping pee with every step. Ok, great what can we do to fix this.

The remedy? Physical therapy. What? Im not going to physical therapy for my HooHa. I dont have the time or patience to sit at a red light let alone PT for my HooHa. I kindly explained to Doogie Howser that this was not going to happen, please give me another option and do I need surgery? As a  a bottom line person I needed this doctor to give it to me straight. She proceeded to tell me that I will know when the time is right, when I will need surgery. And then she handed me a book and my dignity and sent me on my way.

I sat in my car flipping through my “Fun with Dick and Jane”version of losing your self-respect and  realized I had a few choices. Choice #1. take the Dr’s. advice and go find some physical therapist, #2 , shrivel up and cry or #3,  throw the book in the junk drawer and pretend like this day never happened.

I chose the last option. It has been a few months since that Dr. visit. Do I still pee everytime I laugh? You bet I do but I am so happy to have a laugh I will take the dripping. And as far as the ocassional pee while exercsising? I did the only logical thing I could do. I quit doing jumping jacks and pretty much anything that requires me to move up and down. I am thinking of getting a Peloton. This way if I am peeing I am in the comfort of my own home.

So to my local friends, if you see me running through the mall with a look of determination on my face chances are I am looking for a bathroom not trying to beat the crowds.  Should you find yourself in a similar situation do not hesitate to text me, I know where EVERY bathroom in New Jersey is, I am happy to share my secrets.

Things I think about while driving

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1. Why does Facebook have to come up with fake national holidays. Life is hard enough without FB making us feel guilty for not celebrating National Hot Dog Day .

2. Why does everyone think it’s acceptable to wear spandex ? Camel toes are a real thing

3. When did talking on the phone in public become acceptable? I don’t need to know your ovulation cycle or potential baby names. Especially when I’m at the gym on the elliptical machine concentrating on Shahs of Sunset .

4.  Why do I watch Friends and still want to wear Jennifer Aniston’s exact outfits 20 years later?

5. Where do beauty bloggers store all that make up? I barely have room for deodorant and they are constantly updating. I’m not too proud to admit my eye shadow brush is from my wedding. 20 years ago.

6. When did people stop realizing deodorant is a good thing

7.  When did eating in your car as if it’s a diner become a “thing”. It is not a good look, even though I do it myself

8. Why is every housewife on television going through menopause and why do they appear to be  crazy? It actually explains so much in my own life

9. Where do all my phone chargers go? I am always left with a random box and no cord yet my kids are constantly needing new chargers

10. Why does my CVS coupon always expire the day before I actually need to go there ?

Welcome to the Jungle

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This is a particularly long post so I apologize in advance I have much to say.  I dropped my daughter at college 3 weeks ago.  My first born, my baby. I thought I was prepared for anything that would come my way. I went to college, I had been in her shoes.  Having read every Grown and Flown article on FB, probably twice and having gone to Bed Bath and Beyond, numerous times. I thought I was armed and ready, I was sooo not ready.

College drop off is alot like pregnancy. There are little things no one prepares you for and its almost a secret club that you get in only by actually experiencing it.

My colllege drop off was nothing like my daughters. I had been paired with a roommate from Laguna Beach (this was way before the MTV version). She had a boyfriend who was a real surfer, covered in tattoos (80’s style) drove a pick up truck and did not go to college. My other roomates were from Chicago and Beverly Hills. The Chicago roommate was from the town John Hughes based all his movies on and I think she thought she was starring in one, and my roommate from Beverly Hills was being raised by her spanish housekeeper whom she yelled at on a daily basis, in spanish. She had the biggest jar of dippity doo I had ever seen and her greeting to me was “Do you have an answering machine? Everyone in LA has an answering machine” I literally wanted to run screaming from my dorm room. Not only did I not have an answering machine, my fake ID was apparently really lame, My clothes were all wrong and basically any sense of coolness or confidence I thought I had I left behind with my Benetton rugby’s and OP shorts.
We loaded up the car the night before and felt good about our packing job and how she was being moved in. We rented a giant truck, one size short of a U-haul. I packed everything she owned, all her new purchases and everything from Bed and Bath. I was prepared. My plan was to avoid going to Bed and Bath once we got there. I figured if we had everyhting with us, I could unpack and get the room together in a few hours and avoid the crowds. We were assured that moving in would not be an issue. Move in carts were signed out for 20 minutes at a clip and they stuck to that schedule. I was feeling overly confident about how this was going to go down.  We arrived to mayhem.

One of the most important parts of move in day is securing “the cart”.  How else are you supposed to move in all your bottom shelf purchases from Bed,Bath and Beyond. People had hand dolley’s, empty palettes and their own freaking carts. We had nothing. We were such rookies. As we unloaded the car on the curb and I tried not to let her tampons and other feminine hygiene products fall over the place I started to realize this move in may not go as smoothly as I anticipated. I started to make one of my many treks across the parking lot, past the giant trash compactor and into the service elevator holding as many bags as I could until I could get into her apartment.  I thought to myself, “no big deal” that its 85 degrees with 90 percent humidity, and even though I was now doing serious manual labor I was still positive things were going to be  great. Lindsay was living in an apartment, all the rooms were supposed to be very big, much bigger than the dorms and the closets were suppposed to be even bigger, from what I was told almost all closets were walk in! I opened her bedroom door, got in and realized the room was smaller than any dorm room I remembered from 1985. walk in closet? Not here!  As a matter of fact the closet door had fallen off the hinges and was leaning against the yellow wall. I looked down and noticed a band aid stuck on the carpet from the previous tenant. As I was trying desperatley to rip that sucker up I looked around and tried  to figure out how I was going to spin this as “ALL GOOD!” This may be out of even my reach.

I went back downstairs and said “ALL GOOD” to my daughter standing on the curb looking like a deer in headlights. I whispered in Adams ear, ” The room is a fucking shoe box I dont know how we are going to do this”, naturally he responded back ” stop being so dramatic and negative”. Oh, ok Mr. happy. I handed him the key and said “go for it” and bring up those giant hefty bags filled with shoes while your at it. 25 minutes later he came down looked at me and said “whatever”. We have been married long enough for me to know that is code for “your right but I can’t deal with you right now”.  After standing on the curb and spending over an hour going back and forth carrying bags of crap up and down Adam managed to “borrow” a cart from some unsuspecting freshman and we were able to pile almost everything in “the cart”. I tried giving my two cents on how to pack the cart but at that point we were all sweating, we were tired and no one wanted to hear from me. Bad move. When I pack I am very aware of what is going where, for instance when piling things on perhaps a Kim Kardashian giant acrylic make up organizer is not the thing that one would put on the TOP OF THE PILE, especially since its not in a box. SEE where this going? As we were headed into the elevator Adam decided to drag the cart filled with almost everything my daughter owns over the lip of the doorway. The cart probably weighed something short of a ton so the only thing that moved was the giant acrylic make up organizer, and it moved across the top of the pile and like a projectile shot across all of us standing there and landed in front of the elevator.

Another secret no one tells you is that if you don’t have a good marriage, college move in is the nail in the coffin. Sign the divorce papers. This one will send you over the edge faster than a reality tv show. Needless to say in front of all the innocent freshman I looked at Adam and said, “Are you a fucking moron” it was rhetorical so I am not sure why he felt the need to respond. I should preface this and say I never speak like that to my husband, I swear I don’t. We had been up since 5:30 in the am, driven 3 1/2 hours and was nowhere near move in. I was sweaty, smelly and stressed out beyond even what my neurotic brain could process. There may have been a call to my own mother snuck in at this point. I admit to having crossed that invisible line that all couples have. And after it came out I immediately knew I had crossed it. Or it may have been when he said “Are you kidding me” in his really scary crossed the line voice and I knew I had to apologize. We had not even gotten on the elevator yet.

Once we got everything in the room it was a giant shitshow. There is no ther way to explain it. I don’t know why it took us so long to pull it together, but I think we were in her room for like 6 or 7 hours moving her in. This is not normal. The room was so small I could not make the bed, although I kept saying “I need to make the bed” and I repeated it like it was my mantra. Every 20 minutes or so I woud just randomly blurt out “I think I should make the bed” even if no one was in the room. After being in the room for about an hour Adam decided he needed food. I just could not understand how he thought eating was going to take priority over getting this done. As I re-arranged the room, and rearranged the room I realized I was just moving things in circles. After about 2 hours I saw I was alone in the room. Lindsay was in the bathroom doing who knows what, but where was Adam. I went into the hallway and there he was, computer on the lap, searching websites looking for a new car. “What the fuck are you doing?” He looked at me with a straight face and said, “there is no room for me in there, no sense both of us being in there, you have this.” I gave up. I went back to the room, continued to move things around until I was able to clear enough crap of the bed to actually make it.

At this point I have to talk about decor, which clearly is just as important as tailgate clothes (another phenomenon we did not have in 1985). To move into your room you need this new stick on wallpaper that your husband or yourself need to have a degree in interior design to know how to hang. Being the newbie that I was I only bought one roll, this covered a spot behind her bed which equated to nothing. So on top of needing the perfect set of plastic drawers, we need to search for more stick on wallpaper. I would start on the string lights that go around the room but as luck would have it, my daughter is as neurotic as me and the fear of a potential fire loomed in the back of her mind so we escaped the string lights.  As we left to go look for a Super-Target, (not to be confused with a Target Express) because we needed MORE stick on wallpaper, my mind was churning -wtf was happening here. This is NOT at all what this experience is supposed to be like. Granted, move in in 1985 consisited of securing the rental refrigerator and hanging a few photos. This is somewhat of a fucking nightmare.  We had already seen many FB posts of rooms looking finished with relaxed parents and students.  People were out to dinner already! We looked like we had just experienced some kind of natural disaster. After another 2 hours at Target I said to Adam, “I have a game plan”. The look of defeat on his face. “Just tell me where to go and what to do.”

At 7:00 am the next morning I woke everyone and was determined to make this day work . There was no way I could have another day like the previous. My daughter already was in the throws of a serious anxiety attack. She was like a PTSD victim. We spent the second day in a much better head space. We got done what we needed and of course the picture on FB looked perfect. No one knew what had actually transpired to get us to that finished product (until now. But I guess that’s the beauty of the internet, smoke and mirrors.  Which of course leads into an entirely different blog post about the fallacy of FB. But thats another time.

Adam and I survived the move in. As we said goodbye to Lindsay I of course was sobbing. I was sick to my stomache with the thought of leaving her but I also knew I had to do it. Rip the band aid off and walk away. Adam was yelling at both Lindsay and myself to pull it together and wrap it up. As we drove away I sighed and Adam reassured me all would be ok. He was eerily normal. Iceman. We stopped for gas and as I watched him pumping the gas I noticed a few tears falling. Are you freaking kidding me? He got back in the car and I said to him, “Are you crying?” He didn’t answer he just kept sniffling. His nose was actually running. This literally continued to Delaware where I finally said, “you need to pull your shit together, I am the one we are supposed to be worried about, not you.” It was like he was having some kind of emotional breakdown. I am not equipped to handle this. Children crying and being total emotional wrecks I can handle, my husband, no I am not ready for this. He finally stopped crying at the Starbucks rest stop in Delaware.

The pressure of the move in was tremendous. If I had to see one more photo of the perfect room I was literally going to shoot myself. When I moved in to college we hung magazine ads on the wall and had posters of Rob Lowe, we rented a refrigerator and called it a day. I have no recollection of buying bedding or “getting ready for college”. College move in in 2017 is a long ways away from 1985. Today you need a headboard, wallpaper (bring a level with you btw),  string lights, a collage, a monogram…the list is endless. I know with Morgan I will be so much more prepared. For instance, I am already investing in my own hand truck. My advice to future parents “getting ready” for college is this: Bring your own cart, do not put anything breakable on the top of it, leave your emotional baggage at the door and don’t forget the level. The wallpaper will forever hang crooked without it and of course lots and lots of tissues, you never know who will surprise you and need them.

 

Say Goodnight Gracie.. Happy Birthday to my sidekick

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                                  (Adam circa 1980,his future already mapped out while in woodshop)

Today is  another birthday in my house. It is Adam’s birthday and it is a big one. In true Adam fashion we are headed to the beach. For those of you who know my husband this is his only wish. He is a fairly simple man. His needs are simple. Wake up, have a nice cup of coffee (his words), a fresh hot bagel with cream cheese and baked salmon, and go sit on the beach for 14 hours.  So far the only thing that may happen is the coffee and bagel as the weather in NY looks pretty crappy for his big day. Since my gift to him is actually trying to NOT get him a gift, I thought I could write a blog post for him. It’s free and since only about 8 people read this, it’s not too humiliating.

What can I say to my husband on his birthday? I could write it like a FaceBook post. I could tell the world how unbelievable he is, how amazing he is, how in love we are, but let’s be honest. Those FaceBook posts are BS and frankly that is not me. I would rather be honest, not that I don’t love my husband, I do but I don’t not need to profess my undying love to prove it. It’s like the woman who talks about having sex with her husband all the time.  If you are talking about it chances are you are having more sex with yourself than your husband.

So here is my ode to Adam on his birthday. First, I want to say thank you. Thank you for our awesome kids and great life, thank you for all the wonderful things you have taught all of us through the years. For instance, never buy cut up fruit because you don’t know if the person cutting it is wearing gloves, and they use the days old fruit to cut up. Never eat peanuts or finger food off the bar, someone could have gone to the bathroom and not washed their hands. Now you are eating urine and fecal nuts. Thank you for teaching me to NEVER open the door to the bathroom without a tissue or paper towel, since according to you most people NEVER wash their hands. Thank you for teaching me to use my elbow when pushing the elevator button, since those same disgusting people who just left the bathroom are now in the elevator pushing the buttons with their fecal splattered fingers. 

Thank you for teaching me that you can return food to a supermarket. That you can actually ask for a discount at a department store (who knew!). That almost everything is negotiable.  Thank you for showing me that you can eat an entire 3 course meal and STILL be hungry and eat tostitos after dinner as a snack and still get on the scale that same night and lament you have lost weight. That lesson I could do without. Thank you for teaching me that you can slather sunscreen on in a way that somehow allows you to still get really tan and look like the joker all at the same time. Thank you for teaching me that it is possible to fall asleep literally anywhere at anytime. Thank you for teaching me that indeed all fashion does eventually come back so it really is a good idea to save that sweater from 1989 because lo and behold in 2017 the look is back in. Thank you for teaching me that words like schvadyding, sprachie,fakakta and legit are part the Darrow vocabulary. Thank you for teaching us that when it is 70 degrees it’s acceptable to open all windows because “cross ventilation.” And of course thank you for teaching us to dress monochromatically at all times.

I really could go on and on for all the funny and odd attributes you bring to the table, but the truth is I need to thank you for so much more. I need to thank you for being my number one supporter. No matter what I do (most of the time) you are behind me 100%. You show me unwavering support even when I am off the rails and completely irrational. Thank you for being a better husband than I could have dreamed about. Thank you for always being realistic and rational because those are two qualities I do not posess. Thank you for understanding that sometimes a new pocketbook is just as important as those 4 words, “Did you Lose Weight?”

Thank you for always putting our family first and never backing down when it comes to supporting any of us. Thank you for being the best father to our kids. Thank you for always being willing to play along with whatever crazy thing the girls (usually Morgan) has you doing. Thank you for teaching our kids how to be a true and loyal friend and what a real friendship looks like. Thank you for teaching them to be humble and kind and that family is always number one. Thank you for teaching them that you will always be there to help them, teach them, and support them. Thank you for teaching them  that U2 is the only band that really matters. (even if I don’t agree,I am impressed with your conviction)  Thank you for teaching our girls that the kid in high school who may or may not have been a metal-head can turn out to have more in common with them than they think.

So on your big day I want to say Thank You and today we will celebrate you. We will drink our coffee, go to the beach, read the NY Post, Barrons and Sports Illustrated. I promise for 24 hours I will not speak about my weight, shopping, or college (not sure what we will talk about but maybe that’s the point! #silence!).  We want to thank you for letting us fly our freak flags when need be and  for all you sacrifice every day our family (hello NJ Transit!) but mostly we want to thank you for being you. Without you we would all be getting E-Coli from eating at unsanitary salad bars, causing us to be worse off in the hospital where inevitably we would get some airborne illness. So thank you for protecting us and always being the comic foil for the family. I am personally thanking you for teaching me that “age is just a number” and of course, Thank you in advance for the awesome weekend that I have planned in honor of your birthday, you were so generous!!

 

Self Awareness 101:I Am A Bottom Shelf Shopper

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Getting ready for college has probably always been a stressful time. I must say though it seems to have taken on a life of its own in this digital age. If I see one more article on Facebook clog my newsfeed about packing for college or what emotional mindset my mind needs or things I wish I told my college freshman I’m going to scream. We get it our kids are leaving, going to college, not living with us anymore. Got it. However there are some things that go on that no one tells you about that need to be discussed right here right now.  And that is the Bed Bath and Beyond 20% off sale.

I know, I know they always have 20% off. Uh uh. This is 20% off your entire purchase. That’s right all those lists you have been reading on Grown and Flown about what to bring to school…..Pull those suckers out because it’s 20 off EVERYTHING!!!

I had been patiently waiting for this since the end of my daughter’s junior year because every person I came into contact with said “did you get your 20% off coupon? I was ready and waiting for it. But it never came. Like nothing. No email, no text no nothing! So I did what any other anxiety riddled middle aged, hormone depleted woman would do and I called Bed Bath screaming like a lunatic! So 3 (yes 3) 20% off coupons later I was truly armed and ready. I had rsvp’d on line, downloaded the app I was now really good to go. That is until my husband said “I think I’ll come with you” what ?? “Why on earth would you want to come with us and put yourself through this ?”Not to mention what we would be put through. Now I was having real anxiety, the last thing I needed was Adam following my daughter and myself around asking why she needed a squatty potty. Especially one for $29.99.

I needed a way to distract him. I suggested getting gas in a neighboring town (cheaper), catching up on correspondence (thank you Friends!) searching the camp website for photos of our other daughter, anything but please don’t come with us.

Twenty minutes later the three of us pulled up to bed and bath and the frenzy had started. There were plenty of fathers there so it was not “weird or “creepy” (per my daughter).

Once we checked in (this is serious you have to rsvp!) got our college list we really got moving. I was scanning like it was nobody’s business, for the first 5 minutes. Then began the interrogation. “Why does she need that clock ?” “Can we get it cheaper at Best Buy?” Why are you getting the biggest size? “Why does she need a laundry basket that big”? On and on and on. Finally I whispered to my daughter “Don’t worry I have 3 coupons we will come back, dad will never know. Of course you can get the light bulb for the toilet bowl, and the set of stackable shelves that fold into a yoga mat, go right ahead I said to Lindsay.

As I’m saying this, I’m noticing very large things are appearing in the cart. Stacks of washcloths, jumbo sizes of random things,  like the biggest fan, the largest makeup mirror that charges your phone at the same time. All are turning up in the cart with no room to spare. As I turn to ask where this is coming from I see my husband struggling to pick up and grasp the largest laundry hamper contraption filled to the top with merchandise, that I have ever seen. “What are you doing, I ask?  I was now mortified (there were ALOT of people there I knew!) He says: “all you guys are.. are just bottom shelf shoppers, the bigger it is the better for you” “Doesn’t matter what it is… if it’s the biggest you need it and want to buy it so I figured why not add this, it’s the biggest in the store”.

I looked at my daughter and we both started to laugh because even though I hated to admit it, he was right! I always look to the bottom shelf and I have absolutely no idea why. I do tend to just order the biggest and largest regardless if I need it. My iced coffees from Dunkin? always a large. My iced tea? of course a large. When ordering take-out chinese food, no pint for me its always the quart size. My mind went back to my make-up organizer I bought a few weeks ago. It was so big it couldn’t fit on my bathroom vanity, I had to put it on the floor. Adam and myself were tripping over this thing almost every time we walked into the bathroom, and I still thought it was ok! It was a Kim Kardashian make up organizer!! Same one as Yeezy has in his bathroom. Except his bathroom is probably the size of my entire upstairs. And he may or may not be worth millions of dollars. Sadly it was sent back to where it came from.

As I looked at my cart now filled with jumbo items like a giant shower head and dozens of washcloths I laughed. I laugh so hard I may have pee’d , because the stress of sending my daughter off to college was clearly getting to me. The pressure of making sure she had “all the right things” affected any common sense I had left.  Her giant step stool was not helping her overcome what anxiety she is feeling or sense of homesickness. (plus where is she putting that?) 

As I put back the laundry hamper I decided that I would try to start to de-clutter and downsize. It’s time for fresh starts for all of us. However, if you see me on line at Dunkin Donuts ordering a jumbo iced tea, no judgement please remember it is the small (or large) things in life that get us through the day. 

                                                      (My actual large iced tea!)