The Hits Keep On Coming...

So remember when I said that my crisis of the heart wasn't serious? I may have underestimated its impact a bit. Or, I may not have realized that it was a symptom of a greater problem.

Two years ago, everything in my life was, in a word, perfect. Not the Martha Stewart version, or the Bree Vandecamp version, but better than my life has been. Then, someone I trusted as a friend insinuated herself into my marriage, leaving little sacks of poison for me to stumble on. The first was her insistence that my OCD was driving my husband away, and that if I wasn't careful, he would get fed up and leave me.

Well, my husband knew I had OCD. It's never been a great secret; I have had it since I was in my teens, and some months are worse than others. The flare-up that prompted this "friend" to warn me came at a time where I was working part-time during a stressful season, we had two potty training children in the house, and I had become very emotional about the loss of my father-in-law two years prior. Mr. Engineer and I laughed it off, secure that she was FOS and that she had no idea what was going on.

The second came, I'm sorry to realize, as a result of Mr. Engineer being a good friend. This so-called friend had recently lost a fair amount of weight, and was looking for positive attention anywhere she could get it. Mr. Engineer, having known her for a fair few years, made it a point to tell her she was looking well, and she ate it up. So much, in fact, she would make it a point to wear something she felt showed off her best at all times around Mr. Engineer. I was always vaguely uneasy when this started happening, but, hey--he's her friend, she needed support. He was trying to help her see how far she'd come, and in the process, was stroking her oversexed and broken ego. She began to flirt with him, sometimes in front of me, sometimes in the presence of a crowd. She would call him on days she knew I was out or at work under the pretenses of talking to me, but would never return my phone calls throughout the week.

Then, she became overt. So much so that I started limiting my time with her. She would call, full of adminitions and high praise for Mr. Engineer; how she has always wanted a man that was such a good provider as he was. She's always liked a man who was smart and such a great father. How Mr. Engineer was so easy to talk to, and that he was funny, and I'd better watch out and get my tendencies to shut down in the midst of an episode, because she was deeply worried about our marriage.

Again, we laughed it off and set it aside. She left our lives (well, okay, I booted her self-absorbed ass after she hooked up with her loser husband) and I thought her influence would wane. Now, we're having issues and I can' help think that her coments about how Mr. Engineer could find someone more loving and caring and giving, someone without the issues that make me who I am are affecting my marriage, and possibly bringing it to an unfixable state.

She stroked his ego, made him feel as though he shouldn't have to try to romance me anymore. Since then, it has died a slow death, and Mr. Engineer's personality has changed in some undefineable, but increasingly evident, way. He's still a great father, an excellent provider, a great and supportive friend...but I don't know if he loves me anymore.

I don't know if there's any recourse for that.

Rockin' The Suburbs

Or at least Borders. I have been living there for weeks, writing, reading, hiding.

When my life turns tumultuous, I hide in books. The best thing about what I love to do is now it's my book I get lost in, writing away the blues. Except when what I write is the cause of them. It's hard writing about a proposal when the happiness tha should be bursting off the page is sadly absent from your own life.

Perhaps it's time to take personal stock--decide what I can't live without, what I am willing to sacrifice, and what doesn't need to be in my life at all. Perhaps I need to talk to someone about it, someone who can read my body and my face and know what I mean without having to hit someone over the head.

I'm unhappy. I'm having the biggest breakthrough on my novel and am within two chapters of the end, and I am miserable. Miserable in my personal life, my marriage, even doing things for my children is a chore. I eye the welbutrin in my bathroom drawer daily, but I hate the way it makes me feel.

But maybe I should not worry about feeling right now, and get healing on track.

A Crisis of the Heart

I'm having one. It's a long-simmering one, but a crisis nonetheless. It doesn't affect my marriage in any fundamental way (no, Mr. Engineer and I aren't on the outs, neither one of us is having an affair or has contracted a terminal disease), but the ramifications are just as long-term. It's not even a complex issue on the surface, but I know it is the cause for some of the personal happiness issues I've been having. It took a drunken talk with good friends to open this Pandora's Box, and it may take an act of Zeus to close it.

I want to have another baby, and Mr. Engineer doesn't.

I have always seen myself as the mother of three; when I'm having those discussions in my head with Katie Couric about my NY Times Bestselling fiction book, it's one of the first questions reporters always ask, "So, tell me about your family?" My answer has always been, "I'm married to my college sweetheart for (enter double-digit number here) years and we have three wonderful children that allow me to work from home."

In real life, my little guy starts kindergarten on Tuesday, my baby 'Roo is going to be in dance, and I am reduced to tears over all my friends' Facebook pictures of their new additions. I have been reading books like Baby Proof, trying to convince myself that I can just be happy to be an auntie and give back the baby when he or she screams/cries/poops/wakes at 3:00 am with a blown-out diaper and a raging ass rash, but I never quite get there.

I even thought Mr. Engineer and I had this agreement on three children: I initially said one or FOUR (don't ask why the huge leap, I'm not sure either anymore) and I distinctly remember agreeing to three. HE remembers the conversation as "We'll discuss baby #3 when we have finally conceived and borne babies number one and two, now come to bed, or this conversation is a non-issue, honey." (I missed that particular conversation, but he assures me it happened.) The rub is that he is happy with our two children, house in the 'burbs, and our spoiled cat, and would rather keep it that way.

So, enter the crisis of the heart. Do I simply live with these feelings and hope they go away as our lives evolve around two schoolchildren? Do I browbeat my husband into submission, knowing that he's either going to cave and be miserable, or possibly cave and be happy? There's always the possibility that he will not cave and I'll be miserable until menopause. Do I see a therapist and take drugs until menopause? Or do I just try to be happy with the hand that I've been dealt? I am having a problem not seeing this third child in our lives.

I think it would be different if it was simply baby lust-that can wax and wane like the moon, especially with all my friends becoming pregnant and/or giving birth in the next 11 months (last count was almost a dozen, and no, I'm not exaggerating). It's more complicated than that, though. I want a child--a little boy or girl that looks like my other two, with my eyes and Mr. Engineer's lopsided smile. I want to watch them grow and change and develop personalities, learn new skills. I want to see he or she learning to read, to write, to fall in love with books or baseball or art, to grow up and be a doctor or a lawyer or a teacher....to become a parent for the first time and be able to share it with their big brother and sister.

For me, it's not being in love with a new baby. It's meeting a new person that would change and shape our world for the better. It's watching my children grow and play together, and knowing that they have each other, and we love them no matter what. It's always been the picture in my head...and there have always been three of them together, two slightly bigger, one smaller, all holding hands and laughing. Now, I feel like it's fading out of focus--remember the dance scene in Back to the Future? One of them is missing, and it feels like they should be there all along.

So, yeah, umm, Hi?

Let me give you a rundown of my life in the past...holy shit, has it been four months? Wow, how time flies when you're coffee-fueled!

1) I managed to transition to the "maintenance" phase of my weight-loss program (I shut down Weighting for Change in the process) and have gained 13 of the hard-earned 50 pounds I lost back. Damn you cheese! Why must you be so delicious in leafy green salads?? They (the pounds, which I suspect are cheese-scented) are currently residing somewhere on my size 16 body, but I have no idea where. My dress and pant size, bra size, and ankles have not ballooned up at all. I think my earlobes got fatter, though.

2) The 'Roo started dance class, and has promply declared her desire to become the prima in the New York Ballet Company and take care of me for the rest of my life. Bless her heart. Ten minutes later, tap was "too loud" and she only still continues to do it because her dance instructor has the patience of an angel, a few saints, and the clinically medicated. I think she drinks. I would.

3) I went to Gaylord, Texas the last weekend of JUNE for Convention. Lots of fun, lots of information, thermonuclear tempuratures, and I came home about $200.00 poorer than I left. But, I now look like a collegian, minus the grey hairs and the designer shoes. It was like Paris Fashion week every night at dinner; some of the girls'purses cost more than my entire Convention wardrobe, and were super-sweet, so I couldn't beat them up and steal their shoes either. I do now, however, pour over every designer website and most of the high-end department stores to figure out if I can dress like them...provided that they do $40.00 "homages" at my favorite French boutique, Tar-zhey.

4) Mr. Engineer and I have been de-ghettofying our yard. I keep asking to get Jason Cameron and his "Desperate Landscpaes" to our house, which would ROCK, but I think he's busy. Plus, I'm not sure I could stop ogling him long enough to actually do any yardwork. Unfortunately, our front yard does qualify for the show.

5) I have been busy with communications stuff for our alumnae club...excuse me, alumnae group, which is very time-consuming. I still have to redesign the logo and update the web site, aand I am so not creative in that aspect.

6) On a related note, I'm sure if Andi wasn't pregnant and Steph, my protagonist for Retail Hell, was a smoker, they'd be out back sharing a cig and bitching about how I have forgotten them. I haven't. I just have to choose between a 3 am writefest or 5 hours of sleep before the children barge into my room and announce , "It's morning!" Sorry, ladies.

7) I met Jen Lancaster again at her latest book signing at Powell's. If she's coming to a bookstore near you, please do me a favor and go. She's sooo funny.

What have you been doing on your summer vacation?

Still Wondering Why...

I let things I have no control over keep me up at night. Like now, when it's 1:15 am and I am sitting in front of my computer when I should be snoozing. I just can't get to sleep; I have a bee in my bonnet (not that Bee, it's more metaphorical) and it's preventing a good nights' rest.

The issue is one that has plagued me for years now--maybe it's the fact that people underestimate my abilities/intelligence due to my looks, my age, or the fact that I don't have the business "street cred" in a formal corporate environment. Maybe it's the fact that I am a bit to the point when something needs done, be it cleaning or cooking or raising my children or running a meeting. For a few years now, I have been a volunteer member of a few committees that I have done well at. Things are progressing, even thriving and growing, whether as a direct or an indirect result of changes and effort I personally have put forth. What's keeping my up right now is the fact that I have been completely and totally disrespected and ignored by a small faction of people who either don't realize they're being obtuse, or glory in being a total bitch.

The former has continually ignored the written and then discussed and insist on keeping status quo for status quo's sake; i.e. the "we can't figure out why or what you're talking about, and reading the concise reasons as you have painstakingly laid them out for us constitutes effort, so we'll ignore you and do it our way," effect. Despite having the simplest of ideas or changes explained to them, it is painfully obvious that they don't grasp the concept, whether from a complete inability to adapt with the ever-changing times, or because that's not how it's always been done, I'm not sure. What I am sure of it's that it's completely annoying and I am about ready to simply direct them elsewhere...like to a proctologist. Seriously? There is a reason we create an agenda--it's to shape the flow of conversation and discussion. There' also a reason we create a handout to explain the concepts introduced. Read the damn thing already--skimming for keywords is pointless.

Then there's my personal favorite, the glory bitch. She will sit across from you, or next to you, and yet, she doesn't give a rat's ass what you're talking about, nor does she care. She will interrupt you mid-thought or concept, and a split second later, chastize you for interrupting her--yet had she kept her mouth firmly closed and allowed you to complete your sentence, her question would have been answered. Better yet, had she been showing even a modicum of respect and actually paid attention to the discussion in the first place instead of looking around the room and staring off into space (seriously, I was sitting right across from you! Did you think I would not have noticed??), her question would have been answered before she asked it.

But, she's a bitch. She thinks I am a child who has no fucking idea what I'm doing, despite being a college graduate and having enough credentials in my own right within the larger organizational scope. She thinks I am expendible, despite the fact that she isn't even in direct contact with me on a regular basis (proof that there is such a thing as good fortune), allowing to the fact that she doesn't belong to the same division of my particular group and has no clue what is going on. She holds some grudge against me for reasons incomprehensible, and she has decided to use what she considers her "sway" to discredit the entire organizational structure of our group simply because it's not the same as her vastly superior one. /sarcasm

So, why does it keep me up? Because, it all boils down to respect. I feel that I have been more than respectful, showed much personal emotional restraint, and go out of my way to be thoughtful, organized, and clear without being demeaning or condescending. I expect it to be a two-way street, and for whatever reason, I give respect and receive contempt and rudeness in return. I expect to be treated like the college-educated adult that I am, and I treat others in kind, only to be publicly chastized like some fifteen-year-old having a tantrum. I am your equal, not your subordinate, and you're not my mom.

No more. The gloves are off. I will allow myself to stand up for myself--I will demand the respect I give, and I won't allow glory bitch to push me around any longer. If you're going to be a rude bitch to me, then you deserve treatment in kind, but I guarantee I'll be more adept and exacting with it. I will give the obtuse and the clueless their own rope, and if they hang themselves from it...well, so be it. They're not my consequences to deal with.

Wicked and Whinging, An All-in-One Post!

Wicked, was, well, wicked good. The singing was spectacular (even if the score drowned it out at points), the costumes were amazing, andI splurged on a new tee and a gift for my mom. (So, yes, Dapoppins, it was too late for you to stab us and steal our tickets. Next time, we'll put out a mass call for invites!) Avery and I went to Romano's for lunch and Jake's for dinner. I must say, I would have rather been eating her lamb chops and mashed potatoes instead of my salad, but, hey--I had lots of tea and spent two hours at Powell's so, we cool.

I saw the doctor about my knee--you remember, the one I limped around on? Well, still limping. I have a very old knee injury, borne of practicing jump splits on a hardwood floor in high school. Your fearless heroine (that's me, just in case I lost you there) rolled her left knee and dislocated it, causing six weeks in traction and industrial knee brace, followed by twice-weekly physical therapy trips for another eight weeks and two steroid shots.

(No, I'm not wandering around in the annals of memory, there is relevance here. Stay with me.)

It seems that my kneecap is starting to track along the scar tissue from that injury due to the weight loss aspect of my life--namely, the fact that I actually work out. I will have to go to physical therapy for a few weeks to learn muscle-building techniques, but I should be better soon. Since I have lost 17% of my body weight in a year, I have freed up those joints, but have not strengthened them enough to deal with the shift in my posture and weight redistribution...hence the tracking issue. I feel like a missing package, what with all the poor tracking and all.

Anyway, I'm good to go--no surgery, and nothing stronger than Aleve. Perhaps I can get that novel finished I've been working on, hmm?

Oh, right. Budget meeting tomorrow. Sigh.

Dude, I'm a Slacker. Raise You're Hand If You're Surprised...

Yeah, didn't think so. Anywhoo, here I am, on my monthly visit--kinda like those retarded tampon commercials, only less disgusting and stabby. My bridesmaid dress came in this week, two and a half weeks before it's expected date, and it doesn't need a single alteration. Yay me! Now, I just have to make sure we pack everything and that I can drive with my craptactular knee.

Oh, did I mention running is evil and should be stopped? Yeah, so I tried a new form of exercise that millions of people do around the planet (and some even enjoy it--I'm looking at my sister-in-law here). Heard of it? It's called running. Yeah, I had heard of it, and its supposed health benefits, like losing weight, lowering cholesterol, improving your cardiovascular health, etc., etc. So, with this fifty-pound weight loss, I was feeling motivated...or perhaps all those endorphins got together and decided they were bored.

I went to the local community center, Firstenburg CC, last Tuesday. It's gorgeous and new, with a modern "retro" style to it. More importantly, it's cheap, close, and has child-care and a pool/hot tub, and lots of exercise equipment and classes. I figured Wii Fit and I deserved to see other people, and I was tired of being housebound in the rain and having to play policemom. We got in the Jeep and off we went.

Thirty minutes, and the child care center closes for their preschool--enough time for a quick circuit. I tried the equipment, but their indoor track looked inviting. I was feeling a bit schizophrenic--couldn't concentrate on one machine for more than two or three minutes at a time. So, I walked two laps very briskly--almost a jog, one might say.

Cool--no shortness of breath, not even sweating. Let's try an actual jog--one lap and a brisk two lap walk. Still doing excellent, although I am now lightly perspiring. Great! (Damn you, endorphins!!) Let's try the jogging thing again. Two laps jogging, three laps brisk walking...oh, crap. I need to stretch--only ten minutes left in the child care thingie.

Stretch, crunch, extend, push up, and I'm done. Back down the stairs. OUCH. Why does my left knee hurt? Step, ow. Step, ow. Shuffle, OW! Back home.

My knee now resembles a lump of dough, and I dose it with Aleve. By Friday, it looks like uncooked pizza dough, so I go in to the ortho..who can't figure it out, although he says it's really swollen. (No kidding, really? Could not have figured THAT one out.) MRI was this past Tuesday, and I'll know on Thursday if I did in fact, tear the meniscus in my knee.

Whoopie.

Did I mention I'm seeing "Wicked" tomorrow with Avery and we're walking in downtown Portland all day--I mean, shuffling thorugh Powell's and the Pearl all day? Or how about the fact that I have a pair of three inch heels to wear to the wedding which is less than a month away?

Yeah. Fun times.