I continue to feel surprisingly upset and stressed by Elizabeth needing her tonsils out. I use that adverb "surprisingly" not because of the being upset and stressed, but because my upset/stress is out of proportion to the event in question. I've tried reasoning with myself, because I DO KNOW that this is likely to be no big deal, but perhaps you've noticed over the years how reason can be quite SEPARATE from emotion. The reasoning-with-myself can be comforting, but it's not like I think "Oh, my feelings are unjustified? Now that I've realized that, they've magically vanished!" (This was continually surprising to my psychologist, back when I was seeing one. He kept thinking that if he could just make me UNDERSTAND that my anxiety was IRRATIONAL, it would then automatically DISAPPEAR. Problem: I already KNEW it was irrational, which is what prompted me to engage the services of a PSYCHOLOGIST.)
I think the only thing that's going to help is getting through it. We got a call yesterday from the hospital, and they gave her the earliest possible appointment, which is August 15th. I'd thought I'd feel better once the date was set, and in some ways I do because now that's settled, and in other ways it's worse because now I have a new thing to fret over (it's so close to the start of school! she'll miss a week of swimming lessons!) even as I try to reason with myself about it (how nice that it's before school starts! and she'll only miss one week of swimming lessons!).
Well. I'm coping by shopping (that's a Milk and Cookies post on some of the recovery gifts I'm buying her), and by eating Dove ice cream bars (have you tried the new peanut butter ones? OMG).
I just finished reading Galore, which falls into the category of Books I Have No Idea If I Recommend Or Not.
The first few pages, I was thinking it was definitely not my style: folkloreish, plus really hard at first to follow who was who and what was happening (I had to read the first couple of pages several times), plus the whole "impoverished fishing village" thing that can be so depressing. Plus I almost never like a book if it starts with a family tree, and plus the dialogue was done with double dashes instead of with quote marks.
But before I knew it, I was almost ENTRANCED by it. There was an appealing element of magic/mystery (the aforementioned folkloreishness) combined with the appeal of a survival situation (the same thing that appeals to me about apocalyptic novels), combined with for the most part the author letting us have the whole story: that is, even when he was abandoning a story line, he'd often first flash-forward all the way to the end of that person's life. There were only a few people I was left wondering what happened to them. And I really NEEDED the family tree: the novel covers several interconnected generations, and I was frequently thinking, "Wait, WHOSE daughter is she, and WHOSE son did she marry?" On the other hand, I hated the way the family tree was an instant plot-spoiler.
Yesterday after the kids' swimming lessons, we stayed at the pool and I swam around with the little kids. It was kind of stressful because I had to watch all three of them every! second!---but it was worth it, especially since I suffer in the hot sun during their lessons. They had a good time, I had a good time and ended up cool and fresh instead of hot and cranky, and we all went home pleasantly tired and with that faint bleachy smell.
I hate wearing a swim suit, of course, but I'm lucky that at our pool is a very nice mix of women in swim suits: a nice approximately-representative sample of humankind, including women much thinner and much plumper than I am. I psych myself up by reminding myself that I feel nothing but relief and even a wave of AFFECTION if I see someone else's jiggly thighs or soft tum or lumpy rear. I also take a lesson from the lifeguards, who are not all Baywatch types and who nevertheless walk around in their bathing suits as if it is perfectly acceptable to have the bodies they have.
Gift ideas for an 8-year-old, part 2 of 2 - Last week I talked about the gifts we were getting/considering for Edward, who is turning 8 next month. This week it’s Elizabeth’s turn: not “girl gifts,” ...