Captain Obvious

I spend a few hours each Saturday watching Son #2 play baseball which I love. He's a fabulous pitcher and, on most days, a darned good hitter. And he's super cute. (Biased, I know.)

What I also enjoy is listening to the helpful comments from the dads watching from the sidelines.

"Swing if it's a good pitch."

"Try to hit the ball with the bat."

"Run if you make contact."

"Cover your base."

Really Dr. Smartypants?

At this age, most of the statements are positive reinforcement regardless of outcome. Good eye. Nice swing. And the parents basically root for any kid with a great hit or impressive catch regardless of team. One for all and all for one.

From what I've been told, this is preferable to the maniacal zeal that apparently comes as the kids and teams become more competitive. A fellow mom recently told me that, while her older son was playing a team across town, the home team parents were encouraging unethical plays and hurling slurs about the visiting kids being rich and snooty. After the game, which "our" team won, an upset woman stormed up to the coach and screamed, "I hope you all die on the ride home."

Wow. Lighten up, Francis. And, uh, nice role modeling.

With that said, I'll take a goofy remark any day.

"Pitch it over the plate son."

Same as it ever was . . .

I just took the online "Sleep Profile Quiz" from Ambien CR. I scored a 3 out of 10 which means that, according to them, I don't have a sleeping problem. I guess I need to have had a major life crisis recently and be supplementing my sleep already with melatonin in order to qualify. Just the sheer fact that I can no longer fall asleep or stay asleep, night after night, isn't enough.

It's a vicious cycle. I can't sleep and I lie in bed worrying about work. But when I get to work, I can barely think because I'm working on no sleep. So I can't get enough done. Then I go to bed, even more freaked out than the night before . . .

All of this is turning me into an evil bitch. Last week, as I was driving to work I passed some women in my neighborhood who were out jogging together. I said aloud (in my car, of course), "Fuck you." And then I said it about a hundred times more over the next couple of days. When the street light would turn red right in front of me. When someone would cut me off. Whatever the minor infraction, it didn't matter. I was feeling really let down by the universe. Why do I have to work my ass off for years and years with nothing to show for it? What's the f*ing point? What would happen if I just drove off a cliff today?

"And you may tell yourself, this is not my beautiful house. And you may tell yourself, this is not my beautiful wife."

In the midst of this maniacal behavior, my oldest brother sent me another research study pointing to how liberals are less satisfied than conservatives -- not because of rising inequality (which is often erroneously blamed) -- but rather because they do not see the opportunity at hand as clearly as their happy-go-lucky, conservative friends. I realized that my definition of the "haves vs. have nots" in my community is what's making me miserable specifically in light of my personal lack of upward mobility.

I leave for work before my neighbors and come home later. Yet, my house is in disarray and I have little to no money put aside for my retirement and my kids' education. I am jealous that one good friend's major stress in life involves a new puppy. As much as I know she's really frantic, I think, "How hard can it f*ing be?" and then I feel guilty for minimizing her angst. I am jealous that another friend's husband is uber-successful and whisking her off to London at a moment's notice. As a stay-at-home mom with beautifully manicured fingernails and no time at all to call me and check in to see how I'm doing, my jealously is compounded. Then I think, what kind of so-called friend am I that I cannot be happy for her? The truth is, I am happy for her. I'm just feeling sorry for myself. Self-pity is a horrible place to live.

Then I hear about a couple who lost their eight-year-old son in a bicycle accident years ago and I count my blessings. I hear about a woman roughly my age who was born with hydrocephalus, who cannot see, sit up, speak, use her arms/legs, etc. yet has been lovingly taken care of for years to ensure her life is not further compromised. And I know, I know, I know that I have a fabulous life. I don't live in Darfur, I have never been a victim of genocide, I have perfect health (when I'm sleeping well), I have two gorgeous, loving sons. What the f* is wrong with me?

So, instead of praying for greater mobility, a new job, more money, a rich husband (sorry hon) and a cleaning lady, I need to begin praying in earnest for non-attachment. I need to be okay with who I am, right here and right now: a latent Buddhist apparently. Or an expletive-laden Christian. I'm just glad that God provides compassion and forgiveness. If this f* you phase continues much longer, I'm going to need 'em.

So Cool

This is such a trip for me. A first. To write a blog that absolutely no one may ever read. For absolutely no reason at all. It feels both liberating and ridiculous at the same time.

I stayed home for a while this a.m. and actually put my first grader on the bus for the first time in months (since perhaps the first day of school). It felt great to be out with the other moms if even for a minute.

I came back in to a message from my boss and felt like I had been caught in the act. When I returned the call, she called me to task and outlined her expectations of me for the day and week in a "you need to close your office door and . . . " manner.

Which made me begin ruminating about all of the gorgeous, McMansion new builds v. my 1960's tract house with chipping paint and loose bricks. Is it possible that there is more money out there than I have allowed myself to believe in? How can I tap into it? Are these parents as stressed as I am? Do the housewives I see in yoga in the early morning realize how lucky they are? And so on. I began feeling really sorry for myself, coupled with anger at my boss, until my kindergartner walked over and gave me a big hug.

It was like a reminder from God. I have exactly what I need.