Family MVP

Our current rental house looked so promising at first: yoga room, brew room off the garage, dining room, large kitchen with ample storage, fireplace, two baths, and a fenced-in yard, the cherry on top for our sweet pup. In many ways, all of these allegedly awesome things have been awesome, but with a house this big, I’ve found us accumulating stuff, and it’s expensive to rent and to heat and cool. These are obviously minor problems and within our control (buy less stuff! turn down the heat and grab a blanket!), but it’s the out of our control things that have been more problematic.

Getting the management company to clean up broken glass from the previous tenant in the yard–something they said they would do when we moved in almost a year ago–was a nine month battle that we gave up on and just cleaned the glass ourselves. On Sunday, an outlet that had a small piece of something permanently broken off in one of the plugs spontaneously caught fire. Hubs was there and turned off the breaker before the fire went anywhere beyond the outlet itself, but if he hadn’t been, who knows how far it would have spread. But the most special part of living in this house has been the mice, which brings me to today’s story.

Shortly after moving in, I noticed that there were mouse droppings and one chewed food package in one of the kitchen cabinets. I was obviously totally grossed out, so I pulled everything out of the cabinet in question and its neighboring cabinet, found more evidence of mice, threw a bunch of stuff away and cleaned a bunch of other stuff, including the cabinets themselves and my arms up to the elbows multiple times. Then did my best to block the entrance to the cabinet from the gaps around the stove hood exhaust that go up to the attic, where it looked like they were coming in. After showering extra-thoroughly, I felt that my job was done.

That night, Hubs and I were sitting in the living room watching a show, and Zeda came walking in. I tend to praise the cats for carrying around their toys, which likely sounds ridiculous to anyone not as into cats as I am, but so be it. So when I saw she had something in her mouth, I said, “Goooood kitty, do you have your–SHE HAS A LIVE MOUSE!”

Hubs grabbed her–with the mouse still in her mouth–and ran for the front door to carry her out. I asked him to stop so that I could take a photo of Z with the mouse and OF COURSE she dropped it. In the yoga room. What ensued looked like Zeda hunting the mouse, while Duncan sort of herded it, and Tonks enthusiastically, albeit unhelpfully, sort of jumped around and thought that Dunc and Z were playing with her (bless). Eventually Z recaptured it and then Hubs actually got her outside and made her drop it. A week later, Z also caught a bird that ended up inside. She is, without a doubt, the family MVP.

Family MVP

No sugar wrap-up

Monday was the last day of my six week sugar fast, and I went a little crazy. That morning we had a work birthday party, and I ate a chocolate chip cookie, a mini cupcake, and a piece of coffee cake. I felt terrible. I didn’t feel hungry for real food ’til about 3 that afternoon, and my digestive system was a mess. Not eating sweets for six weeks has helped me be more mindful of my eating overall, which was the goal, and has changed my response to my cravings for sweets. My body also feels stronger in my yoga practice and less puffy, and I even got a sweet compliment from a yogi whom I hadn’t seen in a while. My sugar abstention also seems to have generated much more sensitivity in my body (or maybe actually in my brain, where I’m MOST sensitive) to large amounts of sugar.

Over the entire six weeks, I ate one doughnut and one blonde brownie. I mindfully chose to eat each of them, and I didn’t feel bad physically or emotionally afterwards. But both of them tasted so so sweet to me that I didn’t want any more sugar for a while, and in the case of the brownie especially, I didn’t even enjoy it that much.

Moving forward, I’m sure that I could work back up to eating the levels of sugar that I was before, but I think a low sugar existence is going to work best for me. I like the idea of enjoying treats sporadically, when they’re really special. Last Thanksgiving I made pumpkin crème brûlée, which was totally incredible, and not too sweet, so I’m looking forward to that again.

Emotional move

In May, my friend Jen wrote a blog post in which she poignantly differentiated between a physical move and an emotional move. What she wrote–and what I have also found to be true–is that the physical move happens and then the emotional move keeps happening. We moved to NC 13 months ago and for the first six months, I felt pretty much uniformly bummed, lonely, and pissed.

Being in a new physical place is hard because the comforts of knowing your physical geography well are absent. It is just unsettling to not know where things are, to get lost going to Target, and to get stuck in traffic and not know any better. It’s also hard because you don’t run into people you know, you’ve left behind an entire community available for spontaneous social interaction, and even if there are people you know in your new location, they have their own social rhythms established. Sometimes they want to incorporate you into them and welcome you to everything (in these cases their kindness overwhelms you to the point of tears) and sometimes they don’t. The emotional move is less financially expensive and physically taxing, but it lasts much longer.

But it does get better. At 13 months out, North Carolina feels like home. Our animals are settled and happy. We have art hanging on the walls. Communities around yoga, work, the gym, and our town have emerged. In some ways, we still really miss Nashville, especially the food and our family and family of friends, but our life here is rich and, for the most part, lovely.

Dry laundry for free

Clothesline | InvitingJoy.net

When we moved into the house we’re in now—a rambling, 1970s rental ranch-style home, complete with dark wood paneling and the occasional mouse—one of the features that sold us was the amazing yard. It is a long rectangular lot, but it is completely fenced, which is perfect for the doggie, and it also came complete with clothesline poles.

Eager to start drying clothes, I chose a bad type of cable that started to fray, which we replaced with just regular clothesline (duh! should have done that from the start). Then, one of the poles started to lean due to a mud patch made by the constant condensation from our house’s ancient heat pump as it struggled to cool the house this summer, so we moved the poles to a different and better-suited part of the yard. After a visit from my dad, who led an expert concrete mixing and hole-filling operation, it seems like we’re done messing with it. In spite of the various clothesline iterations, we’ve been drying clothes out there since the late spring, and I am thrilled with the double savings that come with neither using the dryer nor running the AC to combat the heat the dryer makes. Plus, our laundry smells delightful.

Bus miracle

This morning I left my university ID card, bus pass, and office key (all of which were on a lanyard together) on the bus. I’m not quite sure how it happened because I was not paying any kind of attention (actually this inattention is probably why it happened). Anyway, I got to my office door with no key, and immediately started saying swears, breathing quickly, and crying a little. I walked back out into the misty morning and retraced my steps without finding the lanyard. Then I walked back to the office and camped out in the lobby, where I looked up when the next bus was coming, realized it was coming in five minutes and ran back out into what was by then a light rain.

From the stop, I called the transit lost and found, where nobody answered, and then struck up a conversation with a man waiting there. I told him the story, and he said I should call the transit office instead. It was a great idea, and the woman I spoke to told me that the bus coming to the stop was not the same bus as before, and that she would contact the bus I’d been on earlier, but that there were no guarantees that anyone would be able to find my stuff. We hung up, but she called me back almost immediately, and let me know that the bus driver must really like me (!) because she would bring my things back when her route went back by the intersection near my office.

An hour later, I had my key and cards in hand. Five hours later, I’m still amazed at how well it all worked out. Infinite gratitude to Tamika, my amazing 6:50 am bus driver.

Sugar free?

Yesterday I started 6 weeks without added sugar. Part of my inspiration comes from my friend Sarah, who gave up sugar during her first pregnancy, and the other part comes from a group of yogis that I’ve been hanging with as part of my yoga teacher training, which started in March and will finish this coming February. One of these YTT classmates is in social work school, and as part of a unit on addiction, her prof asked the students to give up an addiction. Sugar was one of the closest things to an addiction for her, and it is for me as well.

In emotional crisis, I regularly turn to food, particularly sweets. If something stressful is happening, I realize rationally that eating something won’t solve the problem, but I don’t usually care. It feels really good in the moment to get the shot of dopamine that comes from a donut or pint of ice cream, and while I have absolutely no problem with any foods inherently, I seem to have lost the ability to moderate donut and ice cream consumption. I am hoping that this six weeks will serve as a reset period, and when I start eating added sugar again, which I absolutely plan to do, I will be able to be more mindful of when and especially why I have it.

Of course, if this experiment is going to work, then I have to figure out a better way to cope than eating a bag of chips for supper and buying a new scarf (both happened last night). I guess I’ll just see how it goes.

Bus-related giggles

Last Friday morning, as I got off my first bus and prepared to cross the street to catch my second bus, I had to pause for a second because my audiobook was interrupted by LOUD music. The first bus lets me off right next to the frat houses at the local university, but at 6:30 am, I am used to things being a little bit quieter. It appears that the gentlemen of one fraternity partied through the night, for no apparent reason. Except perhaps to be awake to serenade fellow riders and me with their rendition of “Tiny Dancer,” as we waited for our bus and marveled at the stamina of youth.