Happy Birthday, Beena!

I was in labor for approximately seven hours. I was a little worried the whole time because my doctor had a reputation for being a “cutter.” The last thing I wanted was a C-Section. My mom told me I had nothing to worry about- these hips were MADE for having babies!

So at 4:37 p.m., with no drugs, minimal episiotomy and MUCHO pushing, a nine pound 21-1/2 inch BEENA was brought into this world. This kid had long hair and really long fingernails. I guess that’s what happens when you’re 10 days late. And I guess that’s why I had so much heartburn- the hair “tickled” me. Gotta love the old-wives tales…

So. Here we are 21 years later. And I’ve got something to say to my eldest daughter.

Beena–

You were our Beanie Baby before they were even invented. When you were born, you scared the crap out of me- I was a new mom, inexperienced with babies of any kind. Thank goodness for your Grandma and Pop-pop. They helped us out caring for you and helped fix up your beautiful little room. The day after you were born (Halloween) the nurses in the hospital spiked your hair up so you looked like a little punk rocker. Nothing could have been furthest from the truth. You were a princess from Day One. No wonder you love Disney!

You always had a quick smile, one that would crinkle up your eyes. You were silly and carefree as a child. Until we took away your Binkie. Then we saw the devil in you. But it was okay- you were still adorable.

You went through so much. Your migraines, your medication, your braces, your expanders, your patches, your glasses. I don’t remember you ever breaking down and making too much of a fuss. You took it all pretty much in stride. Even the divorce- you seemed like you accepted being shuttled from one house (ours) to another (Grandma’s and Pop-Pop’s) to another (your dad’s.) You were my calm in my storm. With a great personality to match. Right? Right. Begub. Begub. Begub.

In school you always did well, and was always responsible. Do you remember me marching you around the house to your spelling words? Teachers never had one complaint about you and you were always willing to help out. You even followed in my footsteps and started teaching Sunday School at 16. Is that where you learned to love teaching and children?

You were my right hand at the party place. You were only 14, but you were running the business as if it were your own. The kids loved you. If it weren’t for you, there would be no dancing and games at the parties. I was front end, you were back end. I felt terrible being so disorganized- it put you at a disadvantage. I only hope my poor business sense didn’t rub off on you. You were truly amazing and I wanted nothing more than to leave that business to you.

Your relationship with Zombiegirl is amazing. I am truly blessed that you two get along so well. She looks up to you and takes in everything you say. Now that she is maturing, she has her own opinions, and her opinion of you is VERY high. She loves hanging with her big sis. And I love you for taking care of your little sis.

You’ve grown so much the last few years. You’ve matured and grown into a woman I am proud to call my daughter. Who else would get a tattoo with their mom? Mandee’s is lucky to have you. Adelphi is lucky to have you. John is lucky to have you. And we- your Dad, Kelsey and I are lucky to have you.

Happy Birthday, Kristina. I love you and am SO proud of you!

I Remember it Like it was Yesterday

I remember exactly what I was doing 21 years ago today. I was out on Maternity Leave from my first architectural job, patiently waiting for my first-born to show up. It’s about ten days late at this point. No matter, though. I’m busy. I have lots to do.

I was the Superintendent of Sunday School for my church, St. Barnabas Lutheran. I had no kids in Sunday School, but I had been a teacher since I was 16, so it was only natural that when the previous Super “retired” I would step in and take her place. I say “retired” because really, can one retire from a volunteer job? And if memory serves correctly, we kind of forced her out- she wasn’t really on the ball when it came to running the Sunday School. Big deal, you say? It’s once a week on Sunday, learning about Jesus. Yes, but it was a very large Sunday School and she wasn’t ordering the materials or doing any of the admin work required. So I usurped her and ended up doing fun stuff like holding a carnival.

On October 30th we were going to have the first Carnival! Since it would be the day before Halloween, all the kids were invited to wear their costumes and come and play games of chance and try for this ENORMOUS teddy bear we were raffling off. Kathy (my best friend at the time and Assistant Superintendent) and I made all the games- bean bag toss, fishing, knock ’em down- about 12 games in all. It was going to be held in the basement of the church. I spent all day today, 21 years ago, up on a ladder hanging streamers and crawling around on the floor placing tape for the games. Kathy realized we didn’t have tickets so we went shopping after dinner to Green Acres- Dennison’s- and bought tickets and some more prizes.

The basement looked awesome! It was colorful and happy. Our friends were going to run the booths. We had bought the prizes in a wholesale warehouse out in Babylon-stuffed animals, penny prizes, a whole bag of them. I really think this was start of my love of party planning- and I didn’t even have kids yet!

I was exhausted by the time we got home. It was really late. My feet hurt from carrying around that extra 25 pounds of baby weight. My back was sore. I didn’t mind though- I was 25 years old, in good shape and totally excited for the next day. I went to bed drained, but happy.

At around 3:00 am, I woke up with really bad back pains. They would come and go sporadically. They weren’t steady; if they were I would have suspected labor pains. But I didn’t think I was in labor- I had things to do!

By 8:00 am they started coming faster and harder. My then-husband called the doctor and it was suggested that I go to the hospital, which was in Syosset, about 45 minutes away. I called Kathy and broke the news to her that I wouldn’t be at the carnival and she would have to run it herself. Later I found out how annoyed she was.

To be continued tomorrow…

Zombiegirl in Zombieland

It’s no surprise to any of our friends that our daughter, affectionately named Zombiegirl, is a little bit of a freak. I owe all her freakiness to my husband, MR. He’s been spoon feeding her horror flicks since she was in Kindergarten. She loves zombies, vampires, aliens, blood, guts, gore, freakishly large creatures and all things Tim Burton. The Chiller channel and the SyFy channel are favorites in my house. According to her, she’s never been a “princess kind of girl.”

She’s a great kid. She does really well in school. She’s well liked by both boys and girls. Adults adore her. She cracks us up.

But she’s a freak.

Last year, she was Sweeney Todd for Halloween. The year before, she was a Punk-a-Zombith (her words.) Before that, she was a Pirate (yes, you’ve noticed the Johnny Depp theme, have you?) This year she’s going to be Coraline- yellow coat, yellow (somewhat) boots and blue hair. If you haven’t seen Coraline, make a point to. It’s an awesome, dark, fantastically animated movie.

So last weekend we took her to her second “R” rated movie- Zombieland. Now this kid LOVES Dawn of the Dead (new and old), Shaun of the Dead, Night of the Living Dead, District 9, 28 Days Later and 30 Days of Night. We heard Zombieland was a comedy and not too gory. Gory enough, I was sure, for a 10-year-old but she’s not your ordinary 10-year-old…

The “R” rating was mostly for language and gore. I know she doesn’t drop the F-bomb herself and gets very indignant when someone around her does. But she’s not naive- she knows people use it and that movies are full of cursing so I didn’t have much of a problem with her hearing it. It’s the sexual innuendos that I try to shelter her from. And this movie didn’t seem to have much of that going on.

If you liked Shaun of the Dead, you’ll like Zombieland. If you didn’t see Shaun of the Dead, make a point to see that one, too.

Zombieland stars Jesse Eisenberg (The Squid and the Whale), Woody Harrelson, Emma Stone (The House Bunny) and Abigail Breslin with a cameo by Bill Murray. It’s a fun, fast-paced movie without a lot of in-your-face-blood and guts. The parts I liked were the credits and the “Rules for Zombie Survival”. The credits seemed like part of the movie- for example- when a zombie ran through them, they crashed/broke/disintegrated. I like that kind detail in movies. The “Rules for Zombie Survival” showed up-literally- in the movies as they applied. Never, never forget #4- Doubletap!

The funniest part of the movie came not from the movie itself, but from Zombiegirl. When she saw Emma Stone, she turned to me and whispered, “Do you know who that is?” Who, I replied. “It’s NATALIE” she says, in a VERY deep voice. I knew EXACTLY who she was talking about since we had just seen The House Bunny and that’s how Anna Farris’ character remembers names! In those two words she let me know the movie and the character! And she did the voice perfectly.

Anyway, back to Zombieland…great plot, awesome one-liners (“When the zombie outbreak first hit, the first to go…were the fatties” and “You just can’t trust anyone. The first girl I let into my life and she tries to eat me.”) actors that play off of each other, and the quest for a Twinkie…you can’t go wrong for a fun-filled time at the movies.

And don’t forget Rule #31- Check the back seat…

It’s time to nut up or shut up.

It Was A Very Odd Day…

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I wanted to post this yesterday but I was mentally exhausted. Physically, too, since I was up really early in the morning. I zoned out watching The Next Iron Chef America and couldn’t muster enough energy to tell you about my day.

I had a knot in my stomach all morning getting ready to go to church. I was a little nervous going back to the church I grew up in since I haven’t been there for eight years. I left a few friends and a few un-friends behind. I was a little nervous seeing Dad- how he’s going to react to all this- it is his 50th Anniversary, after all. I was a little nervous at how the family and I would react letting mom go…

Church was fine- nothing changed. Mrs. Daniellson got me all choked up when she came over and gave me a big hug. She was the sweet lady who made Zombiegirl’s beautiful baby blanket 10 years ago. Laura hasn’t changed- still talking up a storm. Everyone asked how old the girls were, and some asked where Obdurate Daughter was. Instead of going into detail, MR told everyone she was a Buddist, and doesn’t attend Lutheran churches anymore.

We didn’t stay for the coffee hour afterwards. Dad’s not much for socializing. We went back to his house to wait for Pastor Baum. A few sips of coffee, Pastor’s here, we’re ready to go.

Okay. Let’s do this.

We walked over to the park which is basically across the street. It was an absolutely gorgeous day. The sun was out, the bay was a sparkling blue. We went down to the water’s edge- standing on a little ridge of sand. Ducks swam by quacking, but stopped when we approached.

Pastor read from Psalms, then after we let the plane from Kennedy airport fly overhead, we said the Lord’s Prayer. The ducks joined in quacking louder as we prayed. Pastor took the urn from Dad, and flung the ashes out over the water. Some landed in the water, some landed on the sand. The water, which had been calm, washed over the little ridge twice to take the rest of the ashes out to sea. We had to step back so the waves wouldn’t wash over our feet. Once all the ashes were gone, the waves stopped. We all commented on that.

It was sadly beautiful and very touching. Mom would have loved it.

After thanking Pastor, we went to the diner for brunch. Subdued and quiet (amid the diner’s constant chatter) we had our omelettes (shrimp cocktail for Z-girl) and we went back to Dad’s. I think he held up pretty well. It helped that it was a nice day So we have tomorrow to get through and the closure is complete.

Happy Anniversary, Mom and Dad. It was the first one you were apart in 50 years.

Back to the Earth

Pssst. Wake up. I can’t sleep. It’s 4:00 in the morning, I’ve been tossing and turning for an hour. It’s fruitless to stay in bed, so here I am. Watching “Milk’ with Sean Penn and telling you about the strange, sad day I have ahead of me.

I’m letting go of my mother today.

We’re scattering some of Mom’s ashes into the Bay today.

We’re celebrating what would have been Mom and Dad’s golden Anniversary today.

I’m going back to my roots today.

My mom passed away eight months ago from synovial sarcoma. She suffered for two years with debilitating tumors in her neck and face. Surgery and radiation didn’t slow this cancer down- it caught up with her, wasted her away and killed her.

At the end, she couldn’t talk, so she would write notes to Dad. I would go over and she’d have notes waiting for me. One of these notes was her last wish for her funeral- she wanted to be cremated so no one could see what she looked like, then she wanted her ashes scattered into Jamaica Bay. She wanted her final resting place to be the place where she grew up. Where she lived as a young bride. Where she raised her children. Where she died.

Her wake was lovely. Her ashes were in a pretty blue urn, surrounded by yellow roses from Dad. We had a picture of her next to the urn, and a Star Trek pin pinned to the vestment covering the stand the urn was on. Picture boards of her and Dad on their trip across country in the “Marshmallow” and to Hawaii were standing next to the flowers from her family and friends. Bowls over her favorite candy- Jelly Beans- were set up around the room.

The funeral home had never done anything like this before. Usually the body is cremated after the wake in a coffin that costs close to $1,000. My Nana Frances was cremated before the funeral, and Mom liked that idea. I plan to follow in their footsteps. It was so tastefully done. No badly made up bodies for the masses to gawk at. No coffin to purchase. I know a dozen people who don’t go up to the body at a funeral. Face it, it’s uncomfortable! I want to go one further and not even involve a funeral home. I’d like a memorial service at my church then a party. Not that I have anything against funeral homes and morticians. I just think they take advantage of the bereaved. People think they have no other options except to mourn the recently deceased for three days and nights at a funeral home stuffed with flowers that are thrown away after the funeral. Don’t buy me flowers. Buy a 6-pack of beer, drink up and remember my life!

Mom changed her mind in a note a few days later. She said she wanted some of her ashes let go into the bay and the rest interred into the niche they purchased next to my brother in Pinelawn Cemetary. So on Tuesday, we’re putting the rest of Mom to rest behind a pink marble wall next to her son she said good-bye to 20 years ago.

I gonna need my hankie.

Dad’s been keeping the ashes at home. He mentioned a few months ago that he wanted to scatter the ashes soon. I knew their 50th Anniversary was coming up, so I suggested we do it on that day. He’s going to be sad anyway- we should celebrate and do something special. So today, we’re all going to St. Barnabas for the service this morning, then we’re meeting Pastor Baum at the beach in Charles Park. Mom had asked Beena if she would read a specific poem, but we’re saving that for Tuesday. We’ll say a prayer, then set Mom free. I was planning on throwing them a huge 50’s dance for their Anniversary. Instead we’ll go out for a quiet lunch. And prepare for another sad, strange day.

“By the sweat of your brow you will eat your food until you return to the ground, since from it you were taken; for dust you are and to dust you will return.” Genesis 3:19

Dreamscape #2

It may have been the fall off the stairs and the bruised foot and toes I suffered, but last night’s dream was very strange. I’m sure I didn’t hit my head…

The emergency warning alarm pierced the air and blared every five seconds. My mother (deceased) came onto the porch (house I grew up in) and asked me if I knew what the emergency was. No sooner did she ask that question when emergency vehicles driving up and down the street blared out of their bullhorns “Everyone is required to evacuate the neighborhood. Proceed in an orderly manner to the designated safe area. We are anticipating heavy electrical storms and rogue lightning. Pets are welcome. Please do not bring excessive personal belongings.” This message repeated over and over until Nana (also deceased) came out to the porch also inquiring what was going on. (She was deaf in real life.) We got Zombiegirl (much younger) into a stroller and leashed Lola and Spencer and stepped out of the house into a beautiful day. The sun was shining on the bay across the street- it was a really pretty day. But quiet- no birds chirping, no kids playing- just the sound of the warning alarm and the emergency message blaring from the trucks. I looked to the sky toward the city and the biggest, blackest rain cloud I ever saw was looming about 10 miles away. It was somewhere over north Queens and heading our way.

We walked up the street toward this ominous cloud since that’s where the safe house was- a huge catering hall over the county line in Brooklyn. We walked for about an hour, Mom, Nana Ethel, Z-girl and the two dogs, along with everyone else in Howard Beach. It was calm, though- we all were chatting as if it were a block party or something.

As we approached the catering hall, all hell broke loose. The cloud hung over the neighborhood as small lightning bolts crashed behind us. We ran for the doors and just got inside when a bolt of lightning hit the street where we were standing and disintegrated it. All the power went off in the catering hall, as well as the rest of the city.

Emergency power brought lights on in the cavernous hall where circular tables were set up and people were camped out around the tables. I found a few spots at a table that included three of my high school friends (found on Facebook) and my husband. I sat next to him, he kissed my cheek and gave Z-girl a hug. We all sat quietly listening to the sound of what might have been hail on the roof of the hall.

The doors then crashed open and my old friend and Maid of Honor for both my weddings came in dressed in a theatrical gown and hat. She made her way to our table while people scrambled to shut the door to the mayhem outside. She stopped to give air kisses to my three friends, then stood behind me. I looked up and backwards at her- her face was grotesque upside-down- and she asked me if I noticed her implants, and did I want to feel how real they were. (There was never anything sexual between us…we were best friends.) My husband volunteered, and they went off to a dark corner. I looked at my Mom, and she gave me a wry smile. I got up angry and went to the front doors of the catering hall and peeked out. There was nothing but blue skies. Literally. Everything had been destroyed and what took the place of the rain cloud was a gigantic space ship (one that I’ve had recurring nightmares about before.) I screamed and…woke up.

It was good to see Mom and Nana again.

Blood, sweat and….

Warning to all the men who sometimes visit my blog: you might want to skip this posting and go here instead…look at the funny cat pictures.

Did I look forward to my period this month? I did because I wanted to try out the Diva Cup again but I didn’t because I knew it was going to be a bad one based on my wicked moodiness and inability to see the good in ANYTHING.

And I was right. It was a bad one. I used the Diva Cup in preparation for the Big Bleed- you can do that and not worry too much about Toxic Shock Syndrome like you have to with tampons. I was wearing it when it started and I didn’t leak, so I was psyched.

I should have known better.

The next day I wore it to the gym in the morning and still didn’t leak. Wonderful! I finally mastered this thing! When I got home I took a shower and re-inserted it for the maximum 12 hour usage potential and left for work.

I felt like what amounted to a little leakage by the time I got to work, but I was confident because I learned from the last time to wear pantyliners. Being that it was THE busiest day in the fourth quarter, I stayed at my desk on the computer most of the morning. When I got up to get something at the printer, I felt it. Whoosh. Like the Uterus decided it didn’t want to be inside anymore and was ready to take a vacation. I bypassed the printer and went to the ladies room. And it was like they filmed Friday the 213th in my pants. And they were beige.

I cleaned myself and my pants up the best I could, and re-re-inserted the Diva Cup. I went back to my desk wet, miserable and mad.

The rest of the day was a total Cup failure. I couldn’t remove it because I had nothing to put it in and I was NOT washing it out in the public sink. I just had to keep shifting it and hoping for the best. The best never came that day. By the time I got home I wanted to take the old Uterus out myself and send it to an institution. Plus I was pissed about all the other crap going on at work.

The next day I bucked up and tried it again. I inserted it while in the shower and got dressed and went to work. This time it felt like it was riding “low”. It wasn’t actually uncomfortable but I could feel it. The day before I felt nothing. All day I was prepared for that “whoosh” but it never came. I did feel like I was leaking, but every time I went to check, I wasn’t. It worked beautifully all day. My conclusion is this:

• If you feel it, you’ve put it in correctly.
• When inserting it, you need to insert horizontally towards the back, not up and in.
• If you’ve inserted correctly, you’ll feel the blood going down- it’ll feel like you’re leaking, but you aren’t. The Cup is catching it before it spills out.

At the end of the day I made it home commuting with no leakage. As soon as I got home I went to the bathroom and started to take the cup out. All of a sudden I felt a warm rush of liquid on my hand. Crap! I spilled the cup again! But…noooo…the cup wasn’t out yet.

I was peeing on my hand.

I forgot I had to pee in my rush to take the Cup out and the action of pulling stimulated my pee muscles and I let loose. Two hours of commuting pee poured into my hand since I couldn’t move it away or I would drop the Cup that was halfway out. Wonderful. At that point I wanted to rip my Plumbing out too and send it packing with the Uterus. I want a penis! And balls! Anything but these girly parts that were driving me insane.

And men wonder why we get PMS. It’s in anticipation of the insanity that is our period.

Blood, sweat and…pee. Lovely.

The Whore of Babylon

Okay, maybe not Babylon. I’m not THAT far out on Long Island. But today, I definitely felt like a whore. Or maybe a bitch. Yeah- today, I was everybody’s bitch.

I decided to become an architect early on in life. You see, I was a Brady Bunch fan. I loved Greg, was jealous of Marsha and wanted to slap Cindy around. And before I knew he was gay, I loved Mike Brady. I waited anxiously for him to come home from the office with a roll of plans, or catch him in his office at his drafting table- damn those kids for always interrupting his creativity! And Mrs. Brady. How many times I seethed when she draped herself around him while he was trying to work. Yes, I loved and admired Mike. Whenever anyone asked me what I wanted to be, I would say (after my customs-inspector stage) an Architect. If Mike could support six kids, a trendy wife, a live-in housekeeper, huge house and awesome vacations to Hawaii then architect looked pretty good to me. Plus I could draw and was pretty creative. I knew I wouldn’t make any money being an artist, so it seemed like the perfect job.

Um. Yeah.

Fast forward to college. I was at an immediate disadvantage my first year at NYIT. I didn’t know how to draft, I had no tools and had no idea how to use them once I bought them. Drafting was NOT taught in college- most of my classmates had taken drafting in high school. Add the construction classes to my confusion. Again, a lot of my male classmates worked construction after school or during the summer. I didn’t know a stud from a beam.

Throw into that mixture of college angst a fiance and a wedding and cook up a recipe for disaster.

Fast forward my first architectural job. A small architectural firm in Queens. My mom put in a good word for me there (she had dated one of the partners and the other partner lived a block away from them.) I learned how to make blueprints the ammonia way, stand in line at the building department (several hundred times pregnant) and how to produce a set of construction drawings that eventually didn’t look like they were bleeding after the partners got through marking it up with the red pen. I was happy there (except for the time the guy came in with the gun- but that’s another blog post) but the pay was paltry. I was basically there just to serve the apprenticeship before I took the exam to become a registered architect. I was married with a baby and both salaries weren’t cutting it, however. And it was here I learned that architects are whores.

Philip Johnson, one of the greatest architects of the 20th Century said it best- “Architects are pretty much high-class whores. We can turn down projects the way they can turn down some clients, but we’ve both got to say yes to someone if we want to stay in business. ” So right. And you can be the cleverest, most innovative, artistic architect in the world- if the client doesn’t like that color because it’s too “mustardy” then you have to change it.

Fast forward to my second architectural job. Regretfully, I left the first job for double the salary working for New York City Housing and Preservation and Development. Earning my halo renovating abandoned crack houses for low and middle class housing. Learned Autocad. Worked my way up to supervising 10 other architects. Lived through the drama of a morally corrupt set of bosses. Got pregnant with Obdurate Daughter. Divorced Ex-Asshole. Met my hubby-to-be. Was tenth in line to become a Permanent employee. Got passed over in favor of all “the good ole boys”. Filed a EEO complaint. Answered an ad in the Times (thanks, Frank) for my current job.

Sidestep, please, to the Registered Architect Exam. In order to take responsibility for your drawings and project, one must be registered with the State of New York as an architect. In order to become registered, one must pass an exam.

The Mother of All Exams.

Harder than the Bar Exam.

Harder than the Medical Exam.

This test (in my day) was four days long, composed of nine parts- Structures, Planning, Design, Plumbing/HVAC, Site Design, etc. The LAST day was a 12 hour long exam where you plan a building within the guidelines and produce a full set of drawings. I know people who have thrown up before this test, have taken this test nine times and who have had nervous breakdowns because of this last exam. I’ve taken it three times, as had MR. All in all, he’s passed five parts of this torture test, I’ve passed two. Is it something I wish I’ve accomplished? Yes. Do I need it for my current job? No. It would have been nice to be registered, but then again, think of the liability insurance…

Fast forward to my next job, the present job. I started in my current job as Chief Architect. I was responsible for plans and fit-studies of the home office of a major Financial Institution. I designed trading floors. I spoke with heads of departments. I instituted Archibus (a facilities database) to help with cost allocation. I was one of a kind in my little world of Facilities. I was newly married to MR.

Fast forward through one merger and one layoff then 12 years later. I no longer do design. I no longer do planning. I do mostly data input. I have a deadline one week out of every quarter. And it seems that everyone wants a piece of my ass during that week. And I usually get my period around that time, so it makes the idiocy that I deal with all the more idiotic. But isn’t this your job, you may ask? Don’t people need the reports that you produce? Yes they do, and I do support management with my reports. It’s all the “extra” crap that’s not really in my job description that people ask me to do because they know it will be right, and they’ll get it quickly if I do it.

I won’t go into specifics about who and what pisses me off. I don’t want to be “Dooced“. But today I should have just laid down on my back and let them have at me. They did anyway. And they didn’t even offer me a smoke.

Curse you, Mike Brady.

My Grain

It feels like a ball peen hammer thudding directly on my brain.

It feels like my eyes are being pulled and stretched from the inside.

It feels like a giant hand pressing down on the top of my head, pushing to my stomach, making me sick.

It feels like a migraine.

Those of you who know me know I’ve been getting migraines since Beena was born, so that’s going on 21 years. Debilitating migraines. Stay at home for three days migraines. Throw up until I pass out migraines. I’ve tried different prescriptions and they would work until I got used to them- then I’d have to change. My doctor prescribed an anti-depressant to prevent them, but they made my life foggy, like I was walking through pea soup, so I stopped taking them. I learned to avoid my “triggers” – those things that will cause a migraine- like red wine, phosphates, hard cheese, too much caffeine and too much stress. But I noticed a few years ago that even if I avoided my triggers, I would still get two or three migraines a week, usually in the spring and the fall. Clicking around the interwebs, I found a trigger I never would have guessed- a change in the barometric pressure.

Barometric pressure, or air pressure is the pressure exerted by the weight of air over an area of Earth’s surface. This value factors in how many molecules of air there are in a specific area, how fast those molecules are moving and how often they collide. At sea level, gravity is strongest and attracts the greatest number of molecules, so air pressure is greatest. Because gravity weakens as you go up, air pressure is lower at higher altitudes.

Air pressure changes are caused by storms, which are areas of low pressure moving across the country. Clear skies are areas of high pressure. When a front- or boundary between warm and cold air- comes by, the air pressure can drop and rise rapidly. It seems that changes in air pressure can cause migraines and sinus headaches. They don’t know why, but that’s okay. I at least figured out why during these seasons I continue to get migraines.

Mom bought me a glass barometer for my birthday a few years ago. Zombiegirl used to watch it then run in and tell me that I’m going to get a migraine. Whenever the water rose in the spout the air pressure was decreasing- a storm was coming. I usually got hit with the migraine when the spout water was going down. Note to self: clean out the stupid thing and fill it properly so it will work! I pretty much stopped using the barometer when I started going to the chiropractor specifically to treat the migraines.

Having an adjustment on a weekly basis seemed to lessen the migraines down to once every three weeks in my peak seasons. Times of stress usually brought them on more, but they weren’t as debilitating as usual. Did I keep up with my adjustments? Of course not. I missed spring and summer and come this fall, they came back with a vengeance.

My migraines usually start with an “aura”. A spectral vision of zig-zag lines that start in the center of my vision then gradually grow outward to hinder my peripheral vision. It was hard to describe this aura to my family and friends until I found this flash animation on this post that nails my aura right on the head. Scroll down for the animation. Mine is reversed, though. It starts on the upper left side…

If I take medication (right now I’m relying on Excedrin for Migraine) while I have the aura the migraine usually won’t “take” and I can function like a normal human. What’s been happening to me recently is I’ll wake up in the middle of the night, or the morning already in the full throes of a migraine. How the hell to I combat that? I woke up with one this morning at 2:30 am, and yesterday when I got up at 5:00 am. I’m going to continue see Dr. Evelyn for adjustments every week and I’m going to limit my coffee intake. It HAS been a stressful week, though. Maybe that’s it.

If you suffer from migraines please let me know what you do to fight them. Any suggestions?

In the meantime, I’m just going to put my head down on my desk for awhile…

Results Not Typical

It’s Tuesday again, so it must be workout day. I REALLY need to go more than twice a week…

I start with six minutes on the treadmill at 3.9. This works out to be around 15 mph. Don’t ask me how… Mike comes over and takes me to the free weight area and puts a half bouncy ball upside down on the floor. I do 3 sets of 12 push ups with my hands on the bouncy ball bottom. This is hard because I have to balance as well as do the push ups.

Next, he flips the ball things over and makes me sit on the top with my hands under my ass. He tells me to bring my knees to my chest and then straighten them out. All while balanced on the ball. Riiiight. I do two very shaky sets of 12.

Still on the ball, leaning back, I do two sets of 15 crunches.

Next to the machines I’ve been looking forward to- the Adductor and the Abductor. Three sets of 12 with 70lbs. on each of these inner and outer thigh machines. Ouch. This is why I can’t get up from my office chair easily.

Over to the tall machine that can do 1,000 different exercises with straps, bars and handles. He has me doing three sets of 12 downward triceps curls with (I think) 40lbs. Then he switches the bar for two handles and has me in a lunge stance doing two sets of 12 chest presses with (I think) 20 lbs on each side.

I have nine more sessions, then I’m on my own. Sniff!