I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again – I’m sorry that I’ve been MIA. I had every intention of returning to blogging after a short break, but you know what they say about good intentions…..
I had no idea that my “short break” was going to last 9 months. Mrs. Kingsliegh may believe that “Time is a thief and a villain” but I cannot blame him.
I would like to blame:
A. Writer’s block (or, in my case, writer’s ginormous boulder).
B. Grief (seriously Death, stop taking people I love – I have a whole list of people you can take instead).
C. Illness and/or death (not my own, so not really a valid excuse).
But the answer is
D. Adjusting to new jobs. Yes, “jobs” (not a typo). In the past 9 months I’ve been promoted twice. I’m not trying to brag (okay, maybe a little). After 12 years as a grunt I was moved to lead and then supervisor. I went from peon to peer (pee-er?) because someone thought that putting me in charge of people was a good idea. It was weird and it threw me off my game. Of course, that’s assuming I had a game to being with – and we all know what happens when you make an assumption.*
But I’m back, and while I can’t promise that I’ll write on a regular basis, I can promise that I will try. I’ve always told my daughter that effort is more important than results, so the fact that I’m trying is good enough for me. Wait – that’s a lie (for those of you who are new to the page I lie a lot). “Trying” is not good enough for this perfectionist, but I’m trying to let it be enough for today. We’ll see what tomorrow brings.
I’d like to leave you with my favorite New Year’s wish:
“May the best of your yesterdays be the worst of your tomorrows”
-Jay-Z
*Mitch Hennessey breaks it down for those of you who haven’t see The Long Kiss Goodnight
I realize it’s been a minute since my last post (Okay, more than a minute – I lied. Do I need to remind you that I lie a lot?). I said I would write on a more consistent basis – evidently I lied about that too. No, wait – I said I would try. I AM trying – just ask my family 😉
It’s been a bumpy couple of weeks. No reason to go into details, and nothing that requires “thoughts and prayers” – just life living up to its name. There’s a reason Life is a four-letter word.
But I’m still standing. That’s a lie (yes, another one. Did you think I was lying about lying?). I am sitting in the corner, and not just because my husband put me on a time-out for swearing at work. The good news about WFH is that my coworkers can’t hear me swear. The bad news is that my husband works nights, which means that he can.
ANYWAY
I have exciting news. I’ve developed superpowers.
I know what you’re thinking, and not just because I’m psychic (or psychotic. I can’t remember which, but you might want to hide the sharp objects). You’re thinking that having superpowers would be cool. I used to think so. I always wanted to be able to fly like Superman or manipulate time like Dr. Strange or even have have super-stretchy limbs like Mr. Fantastic (it would be really helpful now that I’m too old to put on my shoes while standing). Instead I’ve become Sue Storm, aka “Invisible Girl.”
I can see my reflection in the mirror, but it seems that other people can’t see me. I don’t remember being exposed to a cosmic storm, so I reached out to childhood friends for answers. Evidently it’s contagious, because it’s happened to them too. One of my friends shared that she was standing directly in front of a server who looked through her and shouted “Next!” Turns out there’s a simple explanation.
According to the New Yorker, part of the problem is that “the young can’t grasp that most older people don’t feel so different from their youthful selves.” I would have to agree – my husband and I recently celebrated 38 years together, which is weird, since I swear that I’m only 39.
I came across Pisana Ferrari’s 2021 article for cApStAn in which she covered a report on ageism and age discrimination adopted by the UN Human Rights Council in September 2021 “ageism may be to a large extent unconscious but is indeed socially accepted and pervasive” and that “one in two people globally have ageist attitudes about older people” (which begs the question – “older than what”?). She goes on to say that ageism seems to be the last “acceptable” bias:
“The past few years have seen increased attention drawn to issues of systemic discrimination. Racism, sexism, ableism, classism, homophobia, transphobia … are all being called out as socially, ethically, and politically unacceptable. ‘But in what appears to also be a recent development, we’re seeing the exact opposite happening with regard to age’, says Mat Whalstrom, a community activist based in San Diego. Usually only referenced in connection with employment law, he adds, age discrimination as a social phenomenon is being treated as innocuous, with replies of ‘Ok, Boomer‘ not only allowed to go unchallenged but treated as acceptable.”
The most ironic part of the casual prejudice and dismissiveness in the phrase used by Millennials and Gen Z is that they are also victims of ageism. Pisana Ferrari’s mentions that “there is growing evidence of ageism directed against younger adults from population-based studies, which suggest that in Europe it may be more prevalent than ageism against older people.”
Karma? Perhaps, but I believe we need to speak out against prejudice in all forms. Instead of growling “Kids today!” or “Ok Boomer!” we should learn to listen to and learn from each other. Without my twentysomething daughter, I would never have learned how to insert a gif. Without me, she would never have learned to work a manual transmission (full disclosure – she still can’t drive a stick, but neither can my husband).
Realizing that I’m invisible has been disconcerting and disheartening, but it takes a while to understand and embrace your life as a superhero. Just ask Peter Parker.
I know what you’re thinking. For someone who is decidedly non-Catholic, I spend an awful lot of time confessing. Maybe I should convert. Do you know the difference between Jewish guilt and Catholic guilt?*
ANYWAY
Confession time – I am a worrywart.
I could blame my daughter (hey, she’s not here and she probably won’t see this post). There are so many things to worry about once you become a parent. Kim Bongiorno read my mind:
Once you have a few years under your belt as a mom, the constant barrage of new-mom worries usually fades a little. If it didn’t, all of our heads would eventually get so full of question marks that they’d explode, and there’d be no one to remember to take the damn recycling out every other Tuesday morning. That being said, it’s not like we never worry at all anymore. They still slip through on a regular basis, but now lean more towards being wildly specific concerns you never thought you’d fret over. Here are common worries a typical mother might have on any given day:
1. Is it medically possible for a LEGO get permanently embedded in my foot? (maybe not, but the scars last forever!)
2. Why are my kids growing up so fast? What will I do when they leave to go have their own families? WHAT WILL I DO IF THEY DON’T EVER LEAVE TO GO HAVE THEIR OWN FAMILIES?
3. Are my kids doomed to failure if I don’t learn the new math? Because there is NO FRICKIN’ WAY I am going to try to learn math all over again!
It’s nice to know that Mom Worries are a “thing”, but although I’d like to blame the girl, I don’t want to lie (look, I don’t know what’s happening, but it appears that I no longer lie all the time. Should I be worried? Next thing you know I’ll give up swearing and beer).
I have been a worrier for as long as I can remember. Fortunately, thanks to menopause fog/Swiss cheese brain, I can’t remember back very far (memories of the hellish days of high school have faded away).
My not-quite-New-Year’s Resolution is to break the worry habit. Bad habits are hard to break, but I have found several things that have helped me so far, as well as two others I want to try.
I stopped labeling the habit. Calling a habit “bad” means that you are doing something bad, and therefore are a bad person (it’s the transitive property: if a=b and b=c, a=c).
Yoga and meditation. I am well aware of the “woo woo”/hippy-dippy stigma attached to both of them. I worried that I was turning into a stereotypical Southern California suburbanite. As it turns out “just breathe” is an excellent way to put the brakes on the downward mental spiral.
Exercise. I still think “exercise” is a four-letter word, but that’s okay – I love four-letter words. It will never be my favorite, but I can’t argue with the power of the endorphin rush or the calming nature of birdsong and puppies on the trail.
Going outside. Didn’t you hear me say that birdsong and puppies are calming? So is the feel of grass (or sand) on bare feet – just don’t step where the puppies have been.
Worry keeps you in your head rather than feeling emotions in your body. So, when you find yourself worrying, pause and refocus attention on your sensations. Look for the usual signs — heart beating faster; weakness; warmth; stiffness; a dry, constricted throat; rapid breathing; or butterflies in the stomach. Explore them. Maybe move your body to see if that changes how you feel. Stretch. Sit up straight. Breathe. Practice riding the wave of your feelings. They will rise and fall, even without you doing anything.
Make worry concrete and contained
Next, tune into your worried thoughts. Treat yourself like a friend who needs you to lend an ear. If you have a jumble of thoughts, what’s the one that rises to the surface? You can also schedule worry time: Pick a specific period of time to worry (for example, 15 minutes). Write down all the worries that pop into your head and describe them clearly and concretely. Consider the negative outcomes, as well as the positive possibilities. Only worry during worry time. It might surprise you to find that during worry time, you become bored of worrying and stop early.
I worry less knowing that I am not alone. According to this recent article form the Los Angeles time, worry and anxiety are on the rise – ok, anxiety and depression. Whatever – I guess I lied (so much for giving up that bad habit). There is discussion as to whether mental health issues or on the rise, or if they just appear to be because there is a greater awareness of and willing to talk about them. Personally, I blame all the bad and sad blasted by the news outlets 24/7. Which reminds me of the thing that has helped me the most:
5. Turning off the television/radio/phone. Limiting screen time isn’t only important for children. Decreasing the amount of time we spend listening to/watching stories of disasters/violence/hatred is vital to our mental health. I’m not suggesting you bury your head in the sand (and not just because the sand will get into your eyes and nose and make breathing difficult) – I’m saying that we don’t have to listen to the same story 10+ times in a 24-hour period. Seriously. Where’s John Krasinski’s Some Good News when you need him?
Lastly, don’t forget the wise words of Mark Twain (or George Washington or Will Rogers or any of the other wise worriers from our past).
Our daughter came home from college last week for a quick visit (and to get new tires). She had to work this morning and it was still dark when I met her in the living room.
“Why are you awake?”
“I wanted to give you a hug good-bye.”
I’m pretty sure I heard her eyes roll, but she hugged me. I didn’t want to let go.
I’ve said it before, and I have no doubt that I will say it again (and not just because stress and age have turned my brain into Swiss cheese) – I never wanted to be a mother. I was perfectly content being a DINK (Dual Income No Kids) and was looking forward to living my life as Fun Aunt.
Contrary to popular belief, people who are childless by choice don’t hate children. That’s a lie (I told you; I lie a lot) – some of them do. I did not. I loved being an aunt to my brother’s kids and “auntie” to my friends’ children. It was perfect – I could hold the baby until it cried or needed a change and then hand it back to mama! Trust me, there is nothing better than being able to walk run away from a toddler tantrum. Well, that’s a lie (yes, another one). There is nothing better than spending the day getting the kids hopped up on sugar and caffeine and then dropping them off at home with a noisy toy or two. I may not have been a good aunt – but I was fun!
And then the rabbit died.
I became an accidental mother in the days when women had bodily autonomy, and my husband and I spent time discussing our options. We decided that we didn’t have any. We had watched our friends raising kids and decided that we’d give it a shot. After all, we thought, how hard could it be?
<pauses to let the parents finish laughing>
For those of you who aren’t parents – well….I don’t want to scare you, but I don’t want to lie (which is unusual for me, I know). It’s hard. Think of the hardest thing you’ve ever done and multiply the level of difficulty by ten thousand.
What’s so hard about parenting? Let me count the ways:
There are too many decisions to be made before the baby comes. You have to figure out what to name the baby (I am still waiting for someone to name their son Justin Case or Justin Tyme), how to decorate the baby’s room and how to HAVE the baby. You can have a duola, a doctor or a midwife. You can have the baby at home, in the hospital or in a bathtub. You can have a C-section or an epidural or choose to have a “natural” childbirth (is there anything natural about passing a watermelon through a small opening? Men should try pooping out a cantaloupe before telling women it’s no big deal).
They’re with youall the time. Unless you live like a celebrity and can afford a nanny or four (or have family members who live close enough to help) you are legally responsible for your child 24/7 until they are 18 and emotionally tied to them until the end of time.
Your schedule is not your own. Oh, there are people who claim that they had their baby sleeping and eating on a strict schedule the moment they brought them home. THEY LIE. Need a nap? Pray that your baby is tired. Need to take care of “bodily functions”? Learn to evacuate quickly or start wearing Depends (TBH, you won’t have time to eat, so this may not be a problem).
Babies don’t come with an instruction manual. Yes, there are parenting books and plenty of online resources – all of which conflict with each other. For every book that says letting a baby cry themselves to sleep sets boundaries and establishes a sleep cycle, there are 3 that insist it creates attachment issues. Here’s the thing: every baby is different. Even babies within the same family may require different parenting styles. Find what works for you, and then tell those who are ‘just trying to help” to STFU. Seriously. Look Aunt Agnes in the eyes and tell her to go F herself. She may clutch her pearls and leave in a huff. It’s okay. You can blame post-pregnancy blues – and if she doesn’t come back, that’s okay too.
You hurt for your children. When they fall off their bike, you second-guess taking off the training wheels. When they fall and break their arm, your bones ache for them. When they get bullied, and battered and heartbroken, it crushes your soul.
You question every decision you make. Nobody wants to screw up their kid. What’s the first thing a new mother says (after “OMFG that hurt, you’re never touching me again”)? “I’m not going to make the same mistakes my parents made.” Instead, you make brand new ones, and you regret them until the end of time.
You turn into your mother. It’s inevitable. Hopefully it will help you realize that your mother did the best she could with the information she had at the time.
I didn’t want to be a mother, but I’m very glad I am. My biggest regret is that I didn’t know how hard it was until after my mom was gone. It’s okay – I know what she’d say. Karma, after all, is a bitch.
So tell me, what are some of your best parenting tips and tricks?
That’s a lie. If you’ve been here for a while, you already know that I lie and swear more often than some, not as much as others. If you’re new here – Welcome to my circus (my circus, my monkeys). I lie and swear, and I apologize more often than I should. According to this article from psych central, “over-apologizing is motivated by trying to manage the other person’s emotions and make them feel better,” explains Hamsher. “Even if you weren’t the one to cause harm because you’re uncomfortable when other people aren’t happy.”
The article goes on to say that
Excessive apologizing could be tied to mental health conditions like:
That’s me – a people-pleasing procrastinator and recovering perfectionist who struggles with depression, social anxiety and ADHD aka
I’ve talked before about my struggles with the black dog. I love dogs, but this one bites. He may not carry rabies, but his toxin kills creativity. I’ve spent the past two weeks binge-watching shows on Netflix and playing on my phone. On second thought, maybe I’m not depressed, I’m a teenager (it tracks – definitely dealing with hormone shifts and frustrations with the ‘rents).
The good news is that it’s been a long time since he showed up. So long, in fact, that when I realized I was spiraling my personalities started singing to me.
The song made me laugh, which stopped the downward spiral. That’s a lie (WTF? Two in one post? Someone needs a time out). It slowed the spiral. It’s still a little grey, but I can see the light at the end of the tunnel. Fingers crossed it’s not from an oncoming train.
On this Mental Health Monday I wanted to remind you that if you’re struggling with mental health issues, you are not alone. Anxiety and depression will keep you isolated and tell you that nobody cares about you or your life. They lie more than I do.
Who cares if you’re hurting? I do, and so do the people who love you. Reach out when the skies turn grey. Asking for and accepting help does not make you weak. It’s one of the bravest things you can do.
Most importantly – if you or someone you love is having a mental health emergency, dial 988 or text HOME to 741741.
I have to make a confession, which is difficult, since I’m not Catholic. I don’t have anything against Catholicism, but I have enough guilt already thankyouverymuch (and don’t get me started on the whole 40 days of penance thing. I can give up anything for a day, but 40?)
But I diGreg (if you’re not following Greg Kata on all the social media platforms, you’re missing out)
I hate stupid people. Wait. Hate is a very strong word.
I have an intense dislike for stupid people. Nope. that’s not much better.
I don’t have any tolerance for stupidity. There That’s better.
I’m not talking about people with a learning disability, and don’t get me started on our current education system; hiring teachers without degrees, paying teachers slave wages, teaching to the test and promoting students because we don’t want to cause psychological harm (evidently being illiterate is less damaging to the psyche).
I’m talking about lack of common sense. Common sense isn’t (common, that is).
I think the blame lies equally with warning labels and society/overprotective parents.
I grew up in the dark ages, when televsions had rabbit ears and phones were hard-wired into the wall. My childhood was fraught with danger – cars without seatbelts and dangerous toys (lawn darts and skates with metal wheels that didn’t turn and weird shoes with springs on the bottom) and death-defying playgrounds (steel slides and weird metal merry-go-rounds that flung you off onto the pavement). We managed to make even the safest playground equipment dangerous with death drops from the bars and leaps from the swings at the top of their arc. We were locked out of our houses on weekends and summers – forced to run in packs and drink from hoses from dawn until dusk.
death skates
death shoes
death spin
mom’s lifeline
static machine
death toy
If you got hurt, you were supposed to go to the nearest “block parent’s” house.
Block parents had a card in the window saying they were a “safe house.” HA! Nobody’s house was safe. Our houses had open electrical outlets that begged for insertion of pennies, bookcases that wobbled dangerously when you passed by and cleaning products that were left on the counter. Oh! Let’s not forget to mention medication without those child-proof safety locks that only a child can open.
I grew up at a time where only the fastest, strongest and most quick-witted survived, which was perfect preparation for the coming zombie apocalypse.
Kids nowadays (I am both frightened and excited by my willingness to use that phrase) may not have it easy (they don’t) – but their lives are much safer now that everything comes with a warning label. Some of them are necessary (who else thinks silica gel packets look like Chicklets?). Some of them are funny (the National Park Service recently posted warnings to toad lickers). Most of them are mind-boggling:
Warning on a blow dryer: Do not use while sleeping (?? I’ve heard of sleepwalking and sleep-eating, but never sleep-styling).
Warning on a shirt: Do not iron while wearing (this seems obvious to me).
Warning on a jet ski: Never use a lit match or open flame to check fuel level (someone needed to be warned against this?)
My favorite warning label comes from this 2011 Forbes article on dumb warning labels:
Because “Flinging it Frisbee-style at your little brother could cause some damage. Then there’s that whole drowning-in-the milk thing. Breakfast is dangerous!”
Sigh. We have “warning labeled” our world away from Darwin’s survival of the fittest.
But you know what we call those people who have been saved by warning labels?
Zombie fodder
So tell me – what warning label has made you laugh the hardest?
Have a great day, a fantastic weekend and, as always, see you in the not-so-distant future
Love,
Me
My mom’s connection to the outside world
*I confess – I really DO hate stupid people, but I love perpetual kid’s finger puppet confessional. You can find their products here
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What’s the answer to life, the universe and everything? (42)
Why is the sky blue? (because purple is for the mountains majesty)
Why couldn’t I sleep last night? (because I just got invited to be part of a rotating line-up at a comedy show…and mid-life insomnia, but mostly the comedy thing)
Those are just a few of the questions that are racing through my ADHD addled brain this morning, but I promised that I would answer the Minnie Questions with Minnie Driver. Thank you Ally Bean for introducing me to her podcast.
• When and where were you happiest? I have been blessed with many equally happy moments, so it’s hard to choose. The first thing that comes to mind is the day I married my best friend – the man who helped me find myself and has supported all of my wildest endeavors and craziest dreams. Maybe it’s the first time I had a really good set at an open mic night. Or it could be the day I delivered our daughter (after the labor pains were through, natch). I might be an accidental mother, but holding her was like holding my heart outside my body (sappy and trite, but true). If I had to choose one point in time, I think it was working at the Renaissance Faire when I was in college. That’s where I felt like I finally fit in and discovered my family of heart.
• What quality do you like least about yourself? I have been cursed with an EIC who likes nothing better than to point out all my flaws and remind me of my failures. I hate that I listen to him. I’m also a recovering perfectionist with procrastinating tendencies (not fond of those either).
• What relationship — real or fictionalized — defines love for you? I really wanted to say Westley and Buttercup from The Princess Bride, because the idea that “death cannot stop true love” is amazing. I wanted to – but the fact that he was pissed that she moved on after he died pissed me off. My aunt and uncle had a storybook romance – really and truly, the kind of love you only see in the movies. If you look up “soulmates” in the encyclopedia, their picture is there. They took equal partnership in raising their children and maintaining their home (some days he did more than his share, other days she did). They loved doing things together, but respected and trusted each other enough to spend time apart exploring individual interests (trust me, your husband/boyfriend/SO does not want to see “A Walk Through the Clouds again).
• What would be your last meal? My husband makes the best baby back ribs. I craved them even when I was pregnant and couldn’t stand the smell of them cooking. I mean, if it was my last meal, I don’t know that I’d want him to waste time cooking. I’m going to go with beer. Beer is food.
• What person, place or experience has most altered your life? Losing my mother. I mean, I didn’t “lose” her. She’s not a sock or a set of keys. She’s on the hill, under the jacaranda tree, where she said she’d be. It’s been 28 years, and it’s gotten easier, but the bad days are still really bad. I wish she could have met her granddaughter.(side note – when our daughter was a baby/toddler, she used to have long conversations with the corner of our living room – so it’s entirely possible that they have met).
• What question would you most like answered? Why can’t we all just get along? Seriously people. We teach our children the importance of sharing, that everyone gets a turn, and that “we don’t hit.” When did we forget those lessons?
• What in your life has grown out of a personal disaster? Two things. First, I became an accidental mother when I was rear-ended on my way to work. My car was towed away with my birth control pills. More of an “unexpected detour” than “personal disaster” but my life has grown and changed in so many ways since bringing home the child I didn’t know I needed. Next, my husband lost his job 12 years ago. Okay, he didn’t “lose” it (it’s still there, being done by someone else). 25 years with a company that let him go over a simple mistake. It was the best thing for him. He was unhappy and stressed and had become morbidly obese and was always angry. I was well on my way to being either a widow or a divorcee and had started digging a 6′ hole in my backyard. He’s lost over 200 pounds and has found a good fit with a company that values him as a person and employee. I have stopped digging the hole in the backyard.
So there you go – questions asked and answered.
Do you have any questions?
What do you think of my answers?
What are your answers to the questions?
Why can’t I stop asking questions? (I must be re-living my toddler years)
I know, I know, I said I was going to post MWS morning. I lied. For those of you who are new here, I do that a lot. I swear a lot too. I am a lying swearing mother f-er (No, wait, that was Oedipus).
I planned on writing something yesterday and scheduling the post for this morning, but I got distracted by the playoffs (fly Eagles fly!) and then I met a friend for happy hour (yes, on a Sunday!). I would have written after HH, but I got kicked in the head by a (moscow) mule.
TBH My attempt to come up with pieces ahead of time and schedule them for future posts is not working out. It would probably work better if I wasn’t a recovering perfectionist with procrastinating tendencies and ADHD.
So I’m late again.* I’m a day late and a dollar short, and struggling to find something witty or wise to say. Preferably something other than idioms like “a day late and a dollar short.”
I have reached that age. The age where I am supposed to share tips and tricks to surviving life with sanity mostly intact. Which takes me back to my initial reason for blogging (no, not just because all the cool kids were doing it) – I wanted to provide humorous tips and tricks on how to survive surburbia with sanity somewhat intact. I wanted to help new parents navigate parenthood without losing all their marbles (FYI the kids have usually rolled them under the fridge/hidden them in the sofa cushions. Or, in my daughter’s case, dropped them into the toilet). I wanted to be the next Erma Bombeck. Or Tracy Beckerman. Or Glennon Doyle. Or any of the other cool kids.
But I’m not. Cool or a kid. I am, however, a “woman of experience” (some of them quite hair raising – I did, after all, give my mother shingles) and I think it’s time I share a few. I hope they make you laugh, I hope they sound familiar (“me too” doesn’t have to just be a movement), and I hope you learn something from them.
First life lesson – don’t drive through a hurricane. I’ve done it. Trust me, it’s not worth the risk.
Okay, we don’t ACTUALLY get hurricanes in Southern California, but we’ve had some pretty significant storms. I drove to San Diego during one of them my senior year of high school. The drive usually took 2 hours. It took me at least 5, and the winds were so bad (gusts up to 100mph) that I had to stop twice for gas. The rain was so hard it managed to fill my doors with water! The storm is documented by the U. S. Geological Survey here. Pretty crazy to see it in print.
The best part of the story? The next day was gorgeous. If I had waited, I could have saved myself a tank of gas and prevented my mother’s shingles.
Ah well, hindsight is 20/20.
Oh look. I’ve stopped using idioms and have moved on to proverbs.
I am old.
I may be old, but I still have a lot to learn.
So tell me – what’s a life lesson you’d like to share?
See you in the not-so-distant future
Love,
me
(still not me – just proof that parenting ages you)
You know what they say – better late than pregnant!
I’d like to start with an apology – I’m sorry that I’ve been MIA. I could blame grief, writer’s block and that big black dog, but I didn’t want to lie. Which is weird. If you’ve been here before, you know that I lie all the time.
Today feels different, and not just because it’s night. I’m scheduling tonight’s post for tomorrow morning, which means that today is tomorrow and that old me is talking to future you. What’s it like in the future? Do you have flying cars and robot maids?
It’s been a while since last I wrote, but I can’t say why. Well, I CAN, but (as I have recently learned) the why is not important.
I have spent the past 6 months trying to be more Zen and less chaotic evil (and, to be be perfectly honest, dealing with grief, writer’s block and that damned black dog). My search for my life’s purpose has been…interesting. I still don’t know what I want to be when I grow up, but I’ve come to the realization that I need to figure it out “soon.” I’m not saying that I’m old, but AARP and Medicare seem to feel otherwise.
The most interesting thing about my search for meaning (other than realizing that I forget to breathe when I meditate and that my arms are too short for yoga) is finding out that most of my traits are simply coping mechanisms. That’s right – all the things that make me “me” (perfectionism, empathy, attention to detail, anxiety, hypervigilance…) are nothing more than a response to trauma.
So I have to ask – what happens when I’m done with all the navel-gazing? When I heal from my past trauma, who will I be? If I become someone else, will I need to find yet another purpose?
Uggghhhhhhhh…..This whole “New Year New Me” is not for the weak. I think I’ll just embrace the new year and go back to being the old me. I may not know who I am, but I’ve lived with myself for a long time and I’ve gotten used to all my quirks. It’s Tuesday, so I think I’ll take myself out for tacos and a margarita (or two). We can talk about our trauma and debate the benefits of hot yoga.
I know we’re two weeks in, but I’d like to close with my favorite New Year’s wish:
It’s not that I hate math. I mean, I don’t love it, but I’m good at it. Numbers make sense to me, and, unlike most people (including me) they never lie – and I looooove word problems. I know, I’m weird – but hearing “two trains leave the station…” gets my blood pumping. Word problems are multi-step puzzles without missing pieces.
But statistics?
image courtesty of getty/metro.co.uk
I know that I’m not alone – a quick Google search of that phrase comes back with “about 221,000,000 results” in .61 seconds. There’s even an “I hate statistics” website.
So imagine my dismay at discovering I’ve become one – and not a fun statistic, like being one of the 1 in 42 million who win the California super lotto.
I am a victim of identity theft. Again, I’m not alone. As per this 2022 article from Fortunly, 33% of US citizens have been victims of identity theft, with over 49 million victims in 2020.
I am “lucky” in that he/she/they/the motherf-er “only” used my information to file an unemployment claim. It seems counterintuitive to do so little with my information (not that I’m not grateful) but, per my conversation with the EDD, it’s increasingly common. Criminals buy data in bulk when there’s a breach, and file thousands of claims. I don’t know about you, but filing thousands of unemployment claims seems like a lot of work.
I don’t want you to join me. Nerdwallet has great tips for preventing identity theft, including:
Be alert to to phishing and spoofing. Scammers can make phone calls appear to come from government entities or businesses, and emails that appear to be legitimate may be attempts to seal your information. Initiate a callback or return email yourself, working from a known entity such as the official website, rather than responding to a call or email. And be wary of attachments-many contain malware.
Watch your mailbox. Stolen mail is one of the easiest paths to a stolen identity. Have your mail held if you’re out of town. Consider a U.S. Postal Service-approved lockable mailbox. You can also sign up for Informed Delivery though the USPS, which gives you a preview of your mail so you can tell if anything is missing.
Shred, shred, shred.
Lastly, stop answering questions on Facebook. “I bet you don’t remember your third grade teacher” or “What’s your childhood phone number” may seem innocuous, but hackers use the answers to collect your security questions! While you’re at it, don’t play those games either. You know the ones – “Which Disney princess do you look like?” I love them, but a security expert warned me against them last year. No, I don’t remember why (thanks swiss cheese brain!).
If, like me, you do all the right things but still find yourself a victim, there are several steps you should take.
1. Scream, cry and throw things. It’s not helpful, but it is cathartic.
2a. Check your credit report. By law, everyone is entitled to one free credit report/year, but, thanks to COVID, you check your credit report once/week (which is the only good thing about the pandemic. Well, that, and the fact that I finally get to work from home).
2b. Place a fraud alert or security freeze on your credit report. The nice thing about a fraud alert is that you only have to notify one of the three credit reporting companies (they alert the others) AND it halts all those pre-screened credit card applications for 6 months.
3. File an identity theft report with the FTC. Their site leads you step-by-step through the necessary actions. Hmmmm. Maybe that should be the first step?
As my daughter reminded me, in the grand scheme of things, this is a minor bump – it’s fixable, nobody lost a limb or became “unalive” and we’ve dealt with a worse in our rollercoaster decade.
She’s right. Life’s a rollercoaster, and 49% of people like rollercoasters (now that’s a statistic I can understand). So get in, sit down, buckle up and don’t forget to throw your hands in the air – it makes the ride so much more fun.
I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again – I’m sorry that I’ve been MIA. I had every intention of returning to blogging after a short break, but you know what they say about good intentions…..
![1000139_1[1]](https://twistingsuburbia.wordpress.com/wp-content/uploads/2019/01/1000139_11.jpg)
I realize it’s been a minute since my last post (Okay, more than a minute – I lied. Do I need to remind you that I lie a lot?). I said I would write on a more consistent basis – evidently I lied about that too. No, wait – I said I would try. I AM trying – just ask my family 😉
Our daughter came home from college last week for a quick visit (and to get new tires). She had to work this morning and it was still dark when I met her in the living room. 
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I have so many questions this morning –![11460_1167528866116_7109996_n[1]](https://twistingsuburbia.wordpress.com/wp-content/uploads/2019/01/11460_1167528866116_7109996_n1.jpg)
I know, I know, I said I was going to post MWS morning. I lied. For those of you who are new here, I do that a lot. I swear a lot too. I am a lying swearing mother f-er (No, wait, that was Oedipus).
![10418450_10205358163211283_8291370969382353911_n[1]](https://i0.wp.com/twistingsuburbia.wordpress.com/wp-content/uploads/2015/07/10418450_10205358163211283_8291370969382353911_n1.jpg?w=416&h=416&crop=1&ssl=1 "10418450_10205358163211283_8291370969382353911_n[1]")
![10306472_10202700817139292_9117299692987768535_n[1]](https://i0.wp.com/twistingsuburbia.wordpress.com/wp-content/uploads/2015/07/10306472_10202700817139292_9117299692987768535_n1.jpg?w=416&h=416&crop=1&ssl=1 "10306472_10202700817139292_9117299692987768535_n[1]")
Twisting Suburbia 