Give a little bit

We pause from our usual diatribe of sarcasm, mocking self-loathing, jest and sexual innuendo to bring this message. I apologize if it's a bit off the mushy radar.

I had one of "those" moments in church today: self-awareness. I try to avoid them whenever possible. No one should be too self-aware, as you will suddenly realize how ridiculous you are. However, while singing, a particular line stuck in my head: live a life more abundant.

To me, abundance always means love. You can never have too much. In fact, most of us are in a deficit. But it also means forgiveness, kindness, affection, gentleness, encouragement, color, music, art, dance, sunshine... Abundance.

The ball of fire was sitting on the floor, playing in the seat next to me during this moment, so of course I had to apply my abundant revelation to my parenting. Do I give enough? Do I tell him I love him enough? Hug enough? Encourage enough?

One of my most important jobs as a parent is to raise a man who is kind, gentle, loving, affectionate and generally a good person. No one is without selfishness, anxiety, some level of hate or even meanness. But if all those negatives are tempered by the good things in adundance, then maybe humanity will survive a little longer.

Viola! My message of hope for mother's day.

I should note that while I was having this life-changing moment, my zipper on my jeans was gaping and I had drank so much cappuccino beforehand that I was vibrating in my chair.

Abundance does not equate to perfection.

Distracted living

There is a big push in Missouri -- and at work -- this month to curb distracted driving.

Distracted driving is the leading cause of traffic crashes in Missouri and nationwide, attributing for 27.6% of all Missouri traffic crashes in 2008. One such distraction: texting while driving.

On Aug. 28, 2009, Missouri passed a law that prohibited drivers under 22 from sending, reading or writing an electronic message. Multiple bills have been filed for the 2010 Missouri Legislative season that would make texting illegal for all drivers, regardless of age.

It's an initiative I support. However, I think if you are a responsible person at all, you should know that trying to type on a tiny keyboard while cruising at 80 is a stupid idea. But alas, it's the the stupid ones that seem to survive again and again. Kinda like the roaches and the nuclear holocaust theory.

I try to be level-headed about my cell phone in the car. I have been known to text while driving but generally I hold off.

There is one distraction I cannot give up. No matter how hard I try. No matter what I do. It's always there, lurking in the back seat, taunting me, baiting me to look. And he happens to be 6 so he is also bad about flailing.

Truthfully if you want me to be safer on the road, they need to install child restraints AND a sound proof barrier between the seats. Take, for example, today, shortly after school pick up.

He: "Mom, I'm hungry."

Me: "Ok, we are headed to the grocery store but I have a snack..."

He: "NO! I hate your snacks! I want a hamburger!"

Me: "Uh..."

He: "Hamburger AND fries AND soda. I'm starving!"

Me: "Buu..."

He:"YouneverhaveanythinggoodtoeatandI'mstarvingandIcan'tgotothestorewithagrowlytummyandIwantmyDS!"

Me: "I have gold fish in my pur..."

He: "I want them!! I need them now!!"

Me: "Wait until we get..."

(sound of seatbelt unbuckling..)

He: "I'll get it!!"

Me: "No, sit down... WAH!! Why are you climbing into the seat!"

(swerve sharply to the left and grab shifter as he kicks it into neutral)

Me: "Buckle up this instant!"

He: "I can't get this open, openitopenitopenitopenit!!!"

(At this point, contemplate driving into a building just to have some peace and quiet)

Me: "We are almost at the sto..." (Bag of goldfish shoved in front of eyes)

Me: "FINE, FINE!! GIVE THEM TO ME AND STOP TALKING!!!!!!!!"

(rip open bag with teeth, flinging gold fish all over car, careen into grocery parking and jam on brakes before hitting parked car.)

He: "Oh, are we here already? Can I just get a snack here?"

Motherfu---

Language of crazy

I made a careless comment to a friend today when I lipped, "words are meaningless." He, of course, immediately pounced with an, "I'll remember you said that."

Instant regret.

In fact, I am one of those people to whom words mean everything. Not just in my capacity as a writer, but as a woman, mother, friend and colleague, words said -- or sometimes unsaid -- have a lasting impact on me.

A few years ago, I took the 5 Love Languages quiz, pretty much knowing what the answer would be. I am a big believer in touch but also, words of affirmation.

Unsolicited compliments mean the world to you. Hearing the words, “I love you,” are important—hearing the reasons behind that love sends your spirits skyward. Insults can leave you shattered and are not easily forgotten.

I always chalked my lingering memory of insults to a solid Irish lineage, wherein revenge is a dish best served cold. I can dwell on harsh words for days, formulating the perfect retort to sock away for the next time.

The irony is that I can dole them out just as harshly. In fact, meaness comes easily to me. I can shoot an insult across the bow before the enemy has time to reposition. And then laugh when the eyes widen in surprise. When the shots are returned, usually I'll stand tall and deliver, but sometimes hover under the fire and wish for a peace treaty. (Like how I carried that analogy all the way through? Nice, right!)

Sometimes that two-minded attitude makes me seem a little crazy. Trading barbs for hours, I can turn to a friend and demand that it is time to "say something nice" and then discredit the compliment because I had to ask for it. I really should apologize for being a nut job.

Right after I call him an ass pony, of course.

Don't go away mad, just go away!

Have you heard we're in a recession? And did you also hear that said recession may have been caused by the giant mortgage bubble that burst and took most of the large banks with it? I know, crazy stuff, right?

So how is it that I slide into a new job, the hubby's company is going gangbusters and, AND we sold our house in two weeks? All good questions. These and many other important questions will never be answered in your lifetime, so just stop asking.

The truth is, we're doing so well, we should be frightened. And yet, somehow we're thriving. It's unheard of for a house to sell in two weeks right now. Forty-five days is the norm. The house we're buying has been on market for a year. And yet...

It defies explaination. So, I choose to ignore what I don't understand, listen to the new U2 album, which I may have gotten a little early and read about comets from infinity. That stuff freaks me out, it's so cool!!

Which one of you a-holes is going to help me pack?

Over sharing

Sometimes, it doesn't pay to tell your friends that you are having mental issues. I base this theory on a text I received late last night, reprinted here for the world to share in my suffering...

Heard on the news someone checked into a psych ward wearing a thong and riding a goat. I'll come get you but THIS IS THE LAST TIME!

Making Christmas

If you've read this blog for any length of time, you know I'm not much of a Christmas cheermeister. In fact, I'm a raging bitch. But this year, I'm making an effort to find happiness where I can (thanks in part to the makers of Zoloft) and I'm starting with the Christmas sweater.

I hate Christmas sweaters. I mean, loathe and detest. They are ugly, gross and shapeless. So I created my own version of the Christmas sweater. I think it's rather nice, don't you?

Shrinky-dinks

Dr: "So how are you this week? Any new panic attacks?"

Me: "I had one a few nights ago. I was convinced I had MRSA growing in my nose."

Dr: "MRSA? Why... Where did you even hear about that?"

Me: "I read things."

Pause.

Me: "Ok, one of the designers had it on Project Runway last year."

Dr: puts his forehead in his hand. "I just don't even know where to start with that one."

Research

I had a different post here today. One written when I was feeling the full affects of panic. I can't even read it now. It bothers me to feel like this. So I do some research instead:

Dept. of Gastroenterology, University of Naples, Italy: Depressive symptoms in adult celiac disease. Scand J Gastroenterol 1998; 33(3):247-50. This study explored depression experienced by adult sufferers of celiac disease (CD). Results showed that depressive symptoms are a feature of celiac disease, and are present in both childhood and adulthood diagnosed CD. Nutritional and vitamin supplementation to diet can be an effective method of treatment for CD, and can result in both physical and psychological improvement of the symptoms of the disease.

And an new alternative presents itself.

Contemplating naval lint

I must admit, I like therapy. It's nice to have someone totally unjudgemental hear all your deepest worries and concerns. Someone who doesn't laugh when you mention your anxiety attack caused by a skirt that is a tad too tight.

It's hard to figure out what I'm riddled. I have no new stress. The part-time gig is great. My freelance gig is swinging. My health is actually top notch. The family is well-balanced and generally happy. What the hell is my problem?

My last attack was Friday when I woke in the middle of the night, frantic that my bottom lip was swelling in reaction to .... air? Who knows? It's not like I'd been eating at 2:30 a.m.

So I undertook a new, ridiculous, just-for-the-joy of it project.

As you may recall, I went through a post-adolescent love fest with the "Twilight" books. Last week, our local hometown newspaper launched a writing contest to continue the Twilight story. It's a 400 word job, it has to center around two characters and take place soon after the conclusion of the final book. Oh my mind, she is a-racing.

I've chosen Jasper and Alice. If you haven't read the books, please stop reading this post. I don't want you nay-saying to ruin my buzz.

I'd like to do something that centers on Alice's past, specifically her time in the assylum. Us crazies like to stick together.

I think I have the concept and storyline in place. I just need to add the pretty part. I'm still ambivilent about submitting. I'm afraid I'll be competing with a bunch of 16-year-olds, and will feel ashamed, but I should do things I enjoy, yes?

Yes! So I push forward, tap into my inner teen angst and see what comes out.

I might just need to see High School Musical 3 to help with the project. Teen drama research is required!

Attitude adjustment

I have an appointment with that special doctor tomorrow.

Until then...self-medication.

Anxiety ants are dancing in my pants

Lately I’ve had a problem. I have had a series of some of the most severe anxiety attacks of my life. I’ve been anxious before about a job, test, confrontation, etc. Usually I’ll have a high-anxiety moment and then I’ll get a grip. Of late, that grip is elusive.

Most of my anxiety seems to revolve around my health.

Last week I was sure I had a kidney infection that was quickly spiraling into renal failure. Over the weekend I was convinced that I had an ectopic pregnancy. I’m still not 100% sure that’s not a problem. Herpes, HIV, colitis, irritable bowl syndrome, COPD: I’ve got it.

Last Tuesday I suffered a panic attack because I just couldn't breathe. I was sitting at my desk at work trying to take deep breathes but nothing doing. I stood up, and tried again. Every time I felt restricted. I put my hands on my ribs ... and noticed that I failed to pull my skirt all the way down the last time I used the restroom. Deep breath achieved.

Now while this may seem humorous, it is not. I have very real symptoms with these attacks. I have trouble breathing, I can’t stand or sit. My left arm tingles and my back spasms. These are really major panic attacks. Once they subside, I usually have an emotional dump that leaves me in tears, shaking and exhausted.

The stress on the body leaves physical problems behind including skin bumps, fever blisters, itches, upset stomach and a loss of appetitie. All of those things cause me to panic further about my health.

I seem to be stuck in a downward spiral that no one -- including myself -- knows how to break.

This is one instance where my lust for information has been a detriment. Researching the symptoms of this malady or another usually leads to cancer, AIDS or some other life-ending, body-invading illness. Of course, my logical mind reasons that my chances of having any of these killers is so slim, it's not worth the worry. But worry seems to be exactly my problem.

And when it comes to worry, apparently I perform in my usual manner: balls to the wall.

I expect to be institutionalized by the end of the week. I'll give you the address so you can send me soduku books and paperback Danielle Steele novels.