Christmas In July

I promised myself when I started this blog that I wouldn't post stupid stuff. So this post -- which really isn't so bad -- got put off for seven months.

Dear Santa,

I'm supposed to be making a Christmas list. My mother-in-law has asked for one at least twice, and my mom has asked, too. And my sister has complained about the specificity of my lists, while everyone else loves it. But you never demanded or eschewed hyperlinks (honestly, I don't think we really did much with hyperlinks when I was writing you regular letters), and you hold the any-gift-is-possible magical intrigue that our mothers and sisters do not. So I'm writing you instead.

I'm sure you've noticed that grown-up lists are way different from children's lists. Christmas lists were so much easier when they were specific things with reasonable (or at least finite) prices. And you really had some slam dunks:

The Easy Bake Oven was one of those gifts I didn't even know I wanted. I loved that thing to death, force-feeding my family what we very generously called "cakes" made of glorified hot chocolate cooked into a solid. Photo from someone selling their circa-1995 model on Craigslist. Although, doing research right now, sorry Craigslist seller, but I would totally go for the cool new models.

The Magna Doodle and Fisher Price play kitchen were pretty big hits too. Look how proud Momma looks, thinking she has two budding kitchen queens. At least she got one. A quick visit to an old post is all the proof you need that these cooking toys did me NO good. I'm resisting calling myself a hopeless case in the kitchen.

But your biggest hit was, hands down, the Magic Key Mansion. I think it was the only brand I really latched onto, and no other would do. When I think about playing in my room as a kid, I think about (a) my water babies and (b) the Magic Key Mansion.

My mom gave mine to Goodwill when I was in college. I cried. No lie.

Now, though, my list is definitely unreasonable and practically impossible to fulfill. So here it is:

A MED SCHOOL ACCEPTANCE LETTER FOR MY HUSBAND: He finally figured out what he wanted to do with his life, and I don't want med school administrators to kill it for him. He needs a win. Since college, he's worked in retail, worked in customer service, gotten married, and now, he's in nursing school and working part-time. Med school would be so great for him.

A BETTER-MANNERED CAT (preferably better manners in my cat because I do love him): No furniture-scratching, no biting, no destroying things to get attention.

THE ABILITY TO WARP TIME: Yeah, I'm serious. I want to expand hours that I'm sleeping and condense hours that I'm in doctor's office waiting rooms. I also want to stop time while I speed on down the interstate when I'm running late for work.

THE NEXT FIVE YEARS OF MY LIFE PLANNED OUT: Will we go to med school? Will I go to grad school? Will we have children? Ever? Not a clue.

MY BODY FROM 2002 ... But I don't really want to work for it. See what you can do about that, Santa.

ENDLESS SUPPLIES OF ENERGY for things like cooking and cleaning and exercising. Or, better yet...

A SLEEP-TILL-I-WAKE-UP DAY without the accompanying guilt for not being productive.

QUARTERLY VACATIONS like we had in school. I swear it's better for mental health.

... And now I'll go make the actually-a-possibility list.

 My husband did not get into med school, but he did finish nursing school. The cat is slightly better behaved. No luck on quarterly vacations, 2002 body, or time warping. I never made a real Christmas list, but it was a lovely day.

Sick Days

Just an advance apology and disclaimer: Most of my posts won't suck this much. Hopefully. I just needed to write the first "real" post and convince myself that it in no way defines the direction of my blog or whatever. I also will try not to whine as much as I'm about to. Key words there: will try. But you have that nice little X that you're always welcome to click if I bore or annoy you. I use it very frequently re-reading old posts.

I've had the most obnoxious cold ever for about a week. (I think it's almost gone -- fingers crossed.)

I woke up last Wednesday with a sore throat, which is usually my first clue that I'm getting sick.

My colds usually follow a very clear progression and get better and worse in stages somewhat akin to this:

Day 1: Sore throat. Immediate denial of illness followed by orange juice, rest, and steamy showers for good measure. Belief that I have staved off illness by taking such good care of myself. Ridiculous amount of congratulating myself for staving off illness.

Day 2: Stuffy nose, sore throat, headache, cough. Irritation with cold for refusing to be staved. Empty Kleenex box mocking failed attempts at staving off illness. Continued denial that illness will last and resolution to power through. (Which means I go to work.)

Day 3: Yuckiness all around. Eye-rolling at "power-through" crap of Day 2. Overwhelming desire to stay in bed forever coupled with irrational irritation with bed for being too warm, too boring, too not what I'm supposed to be doing, etc. (Which usually means I call in. Fortunately, the last two times I've been sick -- not including this one -- Day 3 has fallen on a Tuesday.)

Day 4: Massive improvement in -- but not elimination of -- all symptoms. Resolution to power through yuckiness and make up for lost day. Smugness at feeling better than yesterday.

Day 5: Disappointing decline in energy levels. Irritation with self for overdoing it yesterday. Irritation with self for not learning that this is what I do every time I get a cold and just taking Day 4 off. Resolution (though waning) to power through because I said I was better yesterday, so I have to still be better today. Complete exhaustion at end of day.

Day 6 and so on: Gradual improvement.

(The average cold lasts five to seven days, according to some "How much do you know?" quiz about differences between cold and flu symptoms.)

So last Wednesday, Day 1, I took the day easy (I have Tuesdays and Wednesdays off) and went into work Thursday and Friday.

I felt terrible on Thursday, Day 2, but I've felt worse, so I didn't call in. By the time I got home, my nose was completely stopped up, and my head was pounding.

On Friday, Day 3, I felt a lot better -- so much better that when one of my coworkers asked if I was going to go out with a group of them after work on Saturday, I said maybe.

That night, I slept maybe four hours because I couldn't breathe at all.
So on Saturday, Day 4, I called in. And felt like the biggest jerk ever.

I work in news, and I work nights, so as you might imagine, someone calling in on a Saturday really sucks. It means either everyone else takes on more work (and you get used to working on Saturdays, but you never get so used to it that you don't miss them, so more work on a Saturday can be frustrating) or someone who's usually off gets called in. Either way, it's bad for coworkers. News doesn't stop for you to get sick, so most people work through minor colds. This was no minor cold. But I didn't know that then. I just thought I needed a day of rest. Also, that's the day with the biggest work load.

And because I was feeling better, I hadn't whined to anyone, so no one really knew I wasn't feeling well. And then, BAM. I'm not coming to work, guys. SURPRISE! Happy Saturday and Football Conference Championship Across the Country Day, suckers! I don't work in sports, but I had talked to a couple of people who do and was planning to help them that night.

Anyway, I started feeling better physically toward the end of the night. Which made me feel even more like a jerk.

So Sunday, Day 5, I got up and thought, "OK. Today will be better."

But I felt terrible. I did feel a little better once I got moving, but not as much as I'd expected.

Monday, Day 6, I woke up determined not to have any expectations ... but hoping ...

And my body was like, "Nope. Now you have a cough."

Throughout the whole thing, I never felt like I'd hit the floor of the cold -- that point where you know it's not going to get any worse, and I felt better and then worse constantly. It made no sense, and it completely ignored the (I thought) agreed-upon progression.

(My expectations are this irrationally high with everything. It's a problem. I'm working on it, but these things don't change overnight, and they tend to intensify when you're sick, so I just don't see myself being reasonable about illness anytime soon.)

So finally, after two completely unproductive days on the couch under blankets, a whole box of Dayquil, and two Wednesdays on which I did not get a Christmas tree as previously planned, it's looking like I'm going to be able to sleep through the night of Day 8 breathing through my nose.

I am so excited.

Let's hope Day 9 is continued improvement. I'm not sure I can handle another descent.

Wednesdays

I have a new blog because I'm not dusting myself off anymore.


I got up and tried again, and now, I've been at the new job longer than I had been at the one that laid me off -- from which I needed to dust myself off and try again. Also, the name of that blog puts a really annoying song in my head. (Sorry, Aaliyah.)

So for months now, I've been trying to figure out how I should create a blog that will fit me in all the different shapes I may take in the next few years. I didn't want to define myself solely by my job or my husband, and when I have children, I don't want them to define me completely. I'll be more than "just a mom," just like I'm more than "just a wife" or "just a designer" now. I tried to find something that would stay the same throughout my life.

I'll always be Rebekah, but my last name has changed.

I probably won't always design. I have no idea when I'm going back to school -- or what I'll do when I get there. And I tend to scoff at women who have no more to say about themselves than who their husbands are.

My first idea was Things I Learned the Hard Way.

And I'm sure there will be a lot of that here.

But fortunately, I don't insist on learning everything the hard way. So that didn't fit.

Tonight at work (for people with normal circadian rhythms, that would be yesterday), I created some content in the list of events in the upcoming week. The editor hadn't found anything for Thursday, so I typed into Google "things that happen on Thursdays," hoping for DVD releases (that happens on Tuesdays) or something like that.

I didn't find anything with that search, but I did think, "That would be a great name for a book."

Or a blog.

Someone else thought of the URL I wanted to go with it, though. So I went through the days of the week, playing with combinations on the mundane, everyday days: Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday.

While I don't know who or what I'll turn out to be or how I'll define myself, I do know that there are a lot of mundane days in my future. Hilarious anecdotes come from mundane days. And brilliant ideas sometimes penetrate the thoughtlessness of the everyday grind.

Sometimes, the very best stories and ideas come from the everyday things that happened on a Wednesday.