Things That Are True - Plans? What Plans?

What's the saying? "Life is what happens to you while you're busy making other plans." According to google, it was John Lennon who said that, although I doubt he said it first, it being one of those universal truthy things that bonks us all upside the head on a fairly regular basis.

Oh, the things I was going to get done today! I was going to be the very model of productivity! No task left undone!

But yeah. A feverish three year old will muck that up. Especially when a fever that seemed to be going away suddenly spiked to 39.4 C and said three year old has a history of febrile seizures.

So instead, this is what most of the day looked like:

A feverish little boy, couch bound, tv on, Curious George as pillow

This is the part where I'm grateful that I have the freedom to put work aside and spend time helping my boy feel better, right?

Things That Are True - Friday Confession

The Imp has been sick since Monday. Sleepless nights with a croupy toddler make me so very cranky. Last night, The Imp was awake, coughing, at 1:48 am. He stayed awake, clinging to me, needing a drink of water, his favourite stuffed toy, to sleep in Mommy and Daddy's bed, to sleep in his own bed with Mommy, to sleep anywhere as long as it was on Mommy. I held him, and I rocked him, and I stroked his hair, his back, his tired, coughing, wheezing little body. Because as parents, that's what we do, right?

It's 8:30 pm, and I just put him to bed for the night. Except for the brief times he was strapped into his car seat today, he has been in my arms, on my lap, or clinging to one leg or the other, for eighteen solid hours. Even when HWSNBN came home just before bedtime, The Imp still clung to me, crying, "Mommy, Mommy!" when Daddy tried to read him a bedtime story.

The last time The Imp was feeling clingy, in a hotel room in Victoria

Don't get me wrong. I love The Imp more than anything. I want to be there for him when he's feeling sick, especially when he's feeling sick. I want him to feel safe, and loved, and to know that I'll do anything in my power to help him feel all better.

But a full day of the constant contact, after a full week of the clinging, sleepless nights, and I'm just done. It's too much of a muchness. I've experienced as much touching as I can handle; I've reached sensory overload. My flesh actually crawled when he wanted to cuddle with me at bedtime. I just needed to have my body belong to me for a little while. But I sucked it up, and held his hand, and sang him to sleep.

Because as parents, that's what we do, right?

Cue the Mommy guilt.

Have you ever just had enough with the touching, or am I the only person who's actually that awful?

Things I've Learned - Fail Better

This morning I managed to stand up in the shower for ten whole minutes without needing to sit down. I've been so sick the last few days that everything but breathing has fallen by the wayside. There are any number of reasons I've been ill: The Imp's in daycare, a seething petri dish vector of disease if ever there was one; I've been taking on too much, running around trying to be all things to all people; but mostly I think I just had a little almost-breakdown in the last two weeks.

I've been thinking a lot of my past work in project management - there comes a time, on a troublesome project, when you just look at the patchwork that's been done to fix problems as they come up, and stop everything. Look at things from a new perspective, assess as objectively as you can, and then decide to tear the whole thing down and start over fresh. That's what the last two weeks have been like for me on an emotional level. And suffering through The Cold Virus of Doom That Will Not Die has slowed me down enough to really deal with some things for the first time.

A couple of weeks ago I connected some dots and gained some insights into the roots of problems I've struggled with all my life. Issues of fear, of giving up before I even try, of reacting with towering anger to minor setbacks. To an outside observer, what I'm going through doesn't look like much, but internally it has shaken me, rocked me to my core. I've had to rethink my approach to everything: relationships, business, and especially to parenting. Looking at patterns from my childhood and sifting out that which is good to pass on to The Imp, and finding a way to acknowledge and discard that which is not.

I don't have any pictures of me sick. So here's one of The Imp.

I think turning 40 has been a catalyst for much of this introspection. Realizing I don't care what people think anymore has opened the door, but it's events of the last couple of weeks that have really knocked me down and made me figure out how to pick myself up again. The revelation of the the source of so much of my anger has given me the freedom to consciously change the way I react when The Imp is acting up. A couple of mornings ago as we were cuddling before breakfast, I said to him, "Let's have a good day today. No hitting, no kicking, no scratching, no pinching. And no shouting. What do you think? Wouldn't that be great?" He looked at me and very seriously said, "And no naughty corner."

My heart: breaking.

"That's right. No naughty corner. Let's be gentle with each other today."

"Okay, Mommy."

And not for nothing, the last two days he hasn't hit me once. We've had two whole days without a trip to the naughty corner.

Despite me being so physically ill I could barely manage to bundle The Imp off to daycare in the morning, things have been better than I have any right to expect.

I'm not saying everything's magically all better now. I will struggle, I will fall down, I will fail utterly. But right now I'm feeling like the falling down won't be the calamitous, paralyzing thing it's been in the past.

Sometimes you really do need to stop what you're doing and tear it down. Rebuild from a stronger foundation, fail better next time.

And be gentle with each other.

I just hope next time it won't take getting the plague to make me see that.

Things That Are True - And The Body Says No Thank You

I've been running on empty for a while. Not enough sleep, not enough time, not enough focus. Just not enough.

Well, today The Body has said, "Enough."

Went to bed feeling not-great, woke up feeling not-good-at-all. This used to happen when I worked in the film business. I, along with the rest of the crew, would push myself, working 16 hour (or more) days in nasty weather, starting work at 6am on a Monday and 5pm on a Friday, which meant driving home at 9 or 10 on Saturday morning, sleeping the day away, doing laundry on Sunday, and starting all over on Monday.

On set in 1999 - Aftershock, a mini-series about an earthquake in New York. Photo taken by John Mavrogeorge. I worked my longest day in film on that show: 28 hours straight. Madness.

But the thing about the film industry, as hard as we work when we're on a project, there's a hard out. A pre-defined end date. Sure, if things don't go well during the shoot the end date may be extended by a day or two, but it's freelance, project-based work. You know it will end, so you push and push yourself, looking forward to the time off between projects to rest, recuperate, learn the names of your friends' kids, and wear something other than gore-tex and comfortable shoes. I would always get really sick a day or two after the words "That's a show wrap" were uttered.

I worked in film for twelve years; that lifestyle is habit-forming. I don't know how to NOT do things at mach 3 with my hair on fire. And that's good, I think. That basic operating system has made me strive to achieve, to learn, to grow. With time to rest in between spurts of tremendous energy output.

But? Parenting and running your own business have no hard out. Well, they do; everybody dies some time.

And today The Body is telling me that if I don't stop for a minute, that some time will be sooner than later.

Okay, Body, I get it. I'm listening. I'll spend the day wrapped in blankets, eating chips and chocolate healthy food, and watching TV trying to sleep.

And just so you know, Body, you didn't have to get all huffy when I dropped off some stuff at the Post Office. It was on the way home from The Imp's daycare. It wasn't really necessary to throw menstrual cramps into the mix. That's just not playing nice.