Shut Up, Brain!

I was just lying down with Olivia a few minutes ago, so that she would go to sleep during her nap, which is a rarity anymore. But tonight is gymnastics, which keeps her up 90 minutes past her normal bedtime, and we have learned the hard way that if she doesn't take a nap, gymnastics is a complete nightmare. June is a great napper. She naps every day for 2 or 3 hours. I put them both down at the same time, and I thought lying down with Olivia would be a good opportunity for me to nap, too, since I haven't slept well lately. But I couldn't shut my brain down enough to even remotely approach sleep.

I often wonder what goes through other people's minds--specifically, if there is as much mental traffic in their heads as there is in mine. It seems like I constantly have a million things swirling around in my tiny little brain, and more often than not, I can't shut my brain down to, say, sleep. Or relax. Or enjoy what I'm doing at the time.

Here's a snapshot of what I was pondering as I lay there, listening to Olivia's thumb-sucking sounds slow as she drifted off:

* I'm too hard on Olivia. She is a delightful little girl, and other people frequently comment on how well-behaved she is. But she's three years old, and I have really been struggling with the Terrible Threes. She's a constant attention-monger, her little sister makes her insanely jealous, she constantly clings to the Mrs. like Saran Wrap, she constantly interrupts conversations with meaningless chatter just so we pay attention to her, she sasses us, she purposely does the exact opposite of what we tell her to, she throws ridiculously theatrical tantrums about every 10 minutes, and she has all kinds of foibles that annoy me to the core. I love her dearly, and I'm acutely aware of the fact that she is a first-born (as am I) and that I'm being harder on her than I am on June. My brain knows that she's only three, this is probably normal behavior for a 3-year-old, and it will eventually pass. But in the meantime, she really knows how to push my buttons, and I hate the kind of interactions we often have. Olivia and I always end the day in peace, though. If we've had a rough one, we'll talk about it at bedtime and promise each other that we'll try harder to get along tomorrow. And I do see her trying. This is something I really need to work on, though, although patience has never been one of my virtues.

* I wonder when we should start working on June's potty-training. She just turned two, and I don't remember when we started working with Olivia, but it seems like right about this time. June hasn't shown much interest in the potty yet, although she's starting to hang out in the bathroom with Olivia, so maybe the time is nearing. It sure would be nice not to have to buy diapers anymore.

* Work is aggravating me on a number of levels. I'll spare you the boring details, but I'm starting to question my desire to continue in this line of work. Burnout is a serious concern in my profession, and I've seen it in countless coworkers over the years. I've been at it for 13 years now, including 5 years as a supervisor, and what I never thought would happen to me is starting to happen. I'm feeling a little burnt around the edges. Unfortunately, I don't know what else I would want to do for a career. It's not like I dabble in real estate on the side or something and would like to focus on that full-time. I don't have any hidden skills that I want to develop. I can't sing. I can't draw. I can't make music. I can't paint. I can't build things. Being a Mr. Mom would send me to the looney bin in about a week. I've always been good at understanding and predicting human behavior. But now I find myself quite soured on humanity as a whole, and I find it extremely frustrating to be seemingly incapable of sparking any sort of meaningful change in people. But I don't know what kind of career would make me happy. It's not like it's an optimal time for a career change, anyway, in today's economy. And truth be told, being a government employee involved in the criminal justice system is about as secure of a job as you can have right now. I'm hoping this may just be a temporary rut, and that things will improve. Maybe someone, somewhere will demonstrate to me soon that something I've done has actually made a difference. Since I got into this line of work, I've never been able to envision myself doing anything else. But I've also always said--and meant it--that a burned out probation officer (or supervisor) needs to find something else to do for a living because s/he is, at best, doing no one any good, and at worst, doing damage. I'm just not sure how long I should wait to see if this is temporary or not.

* I worry about money. I imagine most everyone does nowadays. But I worry about providing for my family in the present and the future. I worry about paying all the bills each month, and I worry about saving for emergencies, for my kids' college, and for our retirement. And it seems that when money is tight, that's when everything starts breaking. The mother of all repairs was on our van recently after road debris crushed a coolant line, allowing all the coolant to leak out, and the engine to overheat and stop running. The tow bill and the repair was close to $700 (although we count our lucky stars that there was no engine damage). That's after we just put a $1000 down payment on it a couple months ago and had two car payments for two months. Then I broke the lawn mower. $30.00 later, I think I finally have the right replacement drive belt, although I haven't pestered Chuck yet to put it on to see if I have self-propulsion again. We just spent money on a steam cleaner to clean carpet and furniture abused by animals and kids over the years, only to have the dog barf on it FOUR TIMES less than 48 hours later. Speaking of the dog, I just dropped another $50.00 on him today, getting him groomed. He also requires $80.00/month medication for his bum hips, on top of glucosamine powder to help his joints to the tune $50.00 every three months. Oh, and the vet just sent a notice that his booster shots are due. I don't even like this dog. So buying a $20.00 pooper scooper today to replace the one I just broke really irritated me. Then there's the girls' gymnastics, Olivia's swim lessons, daycare, food, clothing, utilities, gasoline, etc. etc. etc. They're all the bills that everyone else has. We're not special or anything. And we could be a whole lot worse off than we are. But it's still stressful. And I haven't even dared to look at my retirement or college fund statements in the past year.

* My parents are in the process of downsizing their living arrangements. On one hand, I share their excitement, but on the other hand, it's a little unnerving. They're both in very good health, but it's unsettling to watch them age. Parents are supposed to be here forever, right? My dad intends to retire in a handful of years, and that's a strange thought, too. Next to "workaholic" in the dictionary is a picture of my dad. I'm a little worried about what's going to happen after he retires. I hope he finds a hobby that actively engages his unbelievably brilliant mind as much as his work does.

* I wish I could give Chuck's son a little bit of confidence. He's almost 12 years old, and I remember those years, so I know a lot of it is inevitable. But he seems to focus on his failures more than his successes. He's on the local Little League All-Star team (there's a success!), and I've watched him play baseball (and football) for the past four or five years now, so I know he has a lot of athletic talent. I think pitching is his first love, and he's quite good at it, but he also patrols the infield at any given position with authority. On this All-Star team, though, he's one of the youngest kids on the squad, so he doesn't always get his choice of playing time or position on the field, and that seems to really bring him down. Last night, his team played against another team from a very large school district. The visitors were expected to crush our team, and they did. Chuck's son entered the game in an 0-for-3 batting "slump" that had him flustered, despite my repeated reminders to him that professional baseball players go 0-for-3 in games all the time, and they suffer slumps much greater than anything he has endured. But his spirits were lifted last night when the coach told him he'd be the starting pitcher. I thought he pitched well, even though he gave up a couple runs. As it turned out, he'd be the best pitcher that we put on the mound against the far superior visiting team. But for whatever reasons, the coach pulled him before he even finished the first inning. No one but the coach knows why Chuck's son was pulled (maybe he's saving him for games later this week, since they have a strict pitch-count at this level), but it took all the wind out of his sails. Out to right field he was sent. Right field. Somehow deemed the spot on the field for the worst player (despite the fact that several amazing pro ball players play right field). His head hung low, he shuffled out to his Spot of Shame in the outfield, and it broke my heart. Several of us tried shouting encouragement to him to help alleviate the sting, but to no avail. Finally, the other team sent a left-handed batter to the plate. Lefties often pull the ball into right field. So a half dozen of us in the stands were shouting a half dozen different sets of instructions to him about where he should stand, where he should look, etc. Because, you know, we're all far better coaches than the actual coach, right? On the first pitch, the batter dribbled some little foul tip along the third base line, on the complete opposite side of the field from Chuck's son. So I jokingly yelled to him, "HEY! Where was the effort on that one?!" Chuck quickly chimed in that his son should have dived for it. Other parents yelled that they wanted to see more hustle from him. And finally, the ridiculousness of it all cracked a smile on his face. The head came up. The shoulders popped back up. There was a spring in his step. He looked like a ballplayer again. Turns out, the batter ripped one in between first and second base. Chuck's son charged it, scooped it up, and threw a LASER to third base, saving a run and stopping all baserunners in their tracks. Everyone in the crowd gasped in amazement of his throw. He made a couple other nice plays in the field as the game progressed. He also broke out of his batting slump. He didn't hit it as hard as he probably wanted to, but he turned on the afterburners on his way to first base, never giving up or slowing down, and he beat the throw. I was so darned proud of him for not giving up on the play, I thought my chest was going to explode. And he's not even my kid. At his next at-bat, he showed great plate discipline, not chasing any bad pitches, and walking with the bases loaded to bring in his team's first run (and one of only two) of the night. Even though his team took one on the chin, Chuck's son played a very good game. I just wish I could spare him the anguish of being so hard on himself. I wish he could just relax, have fun playing the game, and let everything else work itself out. I suppose it's one of life's lessons that he needs to learn for himself, though.

* I'm terribly delinquent on a lot of correspondence, and I need to remedy that. I just find myself with limited free time, and then I always seem to wind up doing something other than returning correspondence. I'm sure there are a lot of people who are irritated with me.

* I sprayed my lawn, which is about 70% clover, a couple nights ago to get rid of the freakin' clover. It looks ugly, and it attracts bees. Not exactly what I want to send my daughters out to play in. So I sprayed it with some chemical specifically designed, it said, for broadleaf weeds, including clover. I even read and followed the instructions on the bottle. Two days later, I think the clover looks even healthier than it did before I sprayed it. Dammit. I think it's some sort of clover conspiracy. They somehow got clover FOOD into that bottle labeled poison!

* I play in a dynasty fantasy football league, where we keep half our rosters each year. I have to declare who I'm going to keep in a week. I can only keep 10 players. I have about 15 that I want to keep. It's a nice problem to have (for example, on one of my buddy's teams, I only see about 3 guys that I would keep if I was him), but still.

* I don't look or feel good. I need to lose some weight. My joints perpetually hurt, and I'm tired of looking like the Pillsbury Doughboy. Plus, I'm sure I don't exactly thrill the Mrs. anymore. I also conceived my kids later in life than many people do, so I'm always a little concerned about staying alive long enough to see them grow up (I haven't exactly been a pillar of health and fitness throughout my life). I couldn't have an easier solution at my fingertips. A good friend of mine owns a nearby gym, and he even gave me and the Mrs. a year's free membership there. It was under the pretense of me winning an NCAA basketball tournament bracket in a group he set up, but in truth, he's one of the most generous guys I know, and he's a fitness nut, so if he can promote fitness AND help a buddy out, it's a no-brainer for him. I've worked out with him in the past (pre-kids) and really enjoyed it, and of course I know all the benefits of exercising, including the benefits of the endorphins that exercise releases. My friend's gym even has an enclosed children's area full of toys and videos. I have no excuse for not going. I just don't make it there. But I need to.

* I wonder how Steve McNair allowed himself to get into the situation that ultimately killed him. It's weird to think that he's gone. I was never an especially big McNair or Tennessee Titans fan, but the Titans are a division rival of the Indianapolis Colts, so I watched him play a lot. I just wonder how a married father of four, of such fame and fortune and prestige in the community allowed himself to wind up with a 20-year-old mistress (or "girlfriend" as the media is spinning it) who, by all indications, planted two in his head and two in his chest, and then ate a bullet herself. How does someone as famous as Steve McNair waltz around Nashville for months with this "girlfriend" without anyone noticing? When his body was found, his wife said she hadn't heard from him in days. Is that normal for a famous person? Shoot, if the Mrs. didn't hear from me for days, I'm not sure if she'd call the police or just change the locks. Anyway, it certainly was self-inflicted (the situation, not his death), so I lose some empathy for him there, but it's still sad. He was only 36 years old. And of course, his wife is now a (humiliated) widow, and his kids are without a father.

* I've been having a really good day with Olivia and June so far today. We're all getting along. We went out and ran some errands and got some lunch and went to the park, and everyone behaved very well. I wish we could have more days like this.

* I'm two episodes away from completing the first season of "Heroes"--a new favorite TV show of mine. I'm watching the show for the first time on Netflix. I can't wait to see how they resolve the exploding man. (Don't spoil it for me!) Hiro is my favorite character, hands down. I kind of like Parkman, too. Peter Petrelli annoys the hell out of me. Sylar creeps me out. They couldn't have cast that character any better. I don't know what that actor's name is, but he certainly plays "psychopath" well. I also enjoy that the Mrs. has taken a liking to the show. We don't often enjoy the same shows, so it's nice to watch it with her.

* I wonder what I should make for dinner tonight.

* I'm kind of thirsty. And I have to pee.

Is it any wonder that I can't sleep?