THE PHILLIES WIN THE PENNANT!

Now that I have your attention...

THE PHILLIES WON!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!  Oh my-lanta!  This is so super exciting I can't stand it!!!  We're going to the World Series and this is amazing.  Philly sports is phenomenal right now (except for the Sixers, which is fine since I'm not a basketball fan).  Sports in Philly is more unifying than any other subject. We could all agree on things political, musical, and ecumenical, but nothing binds this town like our teams. The city needs to stop wasting its grease on the poles because nothing is going to stop us when our teams are on fire. 

 

I still love my job, although I've gone from supervising children to supervising adults. It's more difficult than I thought it would be. I'd like to take this opportunity to offer some words of advice.

For the love of all that is holy, UPDATE YOUR PERSONAL INFORMATION on your child's file. The amount of incorrect phone numbers and email addresses that I've encountered so far this year is unbelievable. That makes my job quite difficult and will ultimately lead to me showing up at your house with paperwork and a pen. If I have to go out of my way to do this, you better offer me some good snacks. 

Also, if the school asks you to call them back, CALL THEM BACK. You can't tell me you don't have 2.5 minutes to verify something. Again, this may lead to someone showing up at your door requesting your signature and a snack. What if there were a true emergency?!?!?!?!?!? You'd be SOL.

Speaking of work, this is what happens when you let a Millennial and a GenX work together:

                  

Millennial: I want to decorate!
GenX: I'm up for whatever. 

This month's health break is brought to you by the letter C. Not only is C for Cookie, but it's also for Chiropractor. I feel relaxed, taller, and happy when I leave my chiropractor. It's a wonderful way to get yourself back on track. It's not weird, crazy hippie magic like some people believe. Although it kinda is, and I'm down for that. Look how complicated we are under our skin. I highly recommend Dr. Philip Demond in Delaware to help you out. 

So to sum up: Find a good chiropractor, do some holiday crafting, update your child's information, bake me some Toll House cookies, and I'll meet you at Frankford and Cottman when we win the World Series. We'll go to Mayfair Diner afterward for breakfast. 

Going Home

~How jumping to conclusions led to healing~ 

I have many friends. Some I’ve known only on social media, some I’m related to, some I’ve known for years. However, I’ve only ever had three close friends, all of them I met at specific points in my life: grade school, high school, and college. I lost my high school BFF, Eileen, ten years ago. Last Monday, her siblings lost their mother.   

Mrs. O’Meara was a sports-loving, no-holds-barred, funny, funny woman. She will be missed by everyone that knew her.  

I was hell-bent on going to her services to pay my respects, since I was unable to go to her daughter’s. Eileen also passed in the month of December, but that year we had a blizzard two days before her funeral. Living over an hour away, it was unwise to make the drive. I was determined to go anyway, to absolutely be there for my friend that I just recently reconnected with. Eventually I gave in and stayed home, completely crushed and furious that I couldn’t do something as simple as be there.  

⸫⸪⸫⸪⸫⸪⸫⸪⸫⸪⸫⸪⸫⸪⸫⸪⸫⸪⸫⸪⸫⸪⸫⸪⸫⸪⸫⸪⸫⸪⸫⸪⸫⸪

So I left for Philly early this past Saturday, happy to be going ‘home’, even for a bit. The service was set at a funeral home in the neighborhood where I grew up. There was also a chance I'd see friends that time and distance had kept me from seeing other than in FB posts. I’ve always loved where I grew up. I’m a Philly girl, through and through.  

On the drive up I had the smack-in-the-face realization of the tremendous weight of guilt I’d been carrying over missing Eileen’s funeral, and I know I’m going to Philly not just for her mom, but to finally pay my respects to my friend. Cue the ugly crying. Miles and miles of ugly crying. I didn’t know how much anger and guilt I’d been carrying with me all this time. Missing her funeral is one of my biggest regrets. I had to get all this emotion out before the service or people would think I was insane. Too late.

Exiting off 95, I drove up Harbison Ave to Frankford Ave, noticing changes and recalling what used to be where. The 7-11 where we bought candy and Teen Beat magazines is now closed. The Devon movie theater is now some sort of church (do they know what used to go on there?). The Red Robin diner is still open.  

I pulled into the parking lot of the ShopRite that sits next to McCafferty Funeral Home, parked the Jeep (totally ignoring the “Parking for ShopRite customers, only” sign) where my family once shopped, and where my sister and I played Ms. Pac-Man and Tron, and walked around to the side door of the funeral home to pay my respects. There was no one there. Nobody. At all.  

I quickly checked the obituary and groaned. The funeral was not this Saturday. Face-palming, I realized what I did. I got it wrong by jumping to conclusions. 

My paraprofessional had taken off on Friday, and I worried that, with my luck, the services would be on that day and I'd miss another funeral. After the week my students had, I couldn’t image taking off as well. I couldn’t leave two substitutes with them. I was hyper-focused on the day of the week only, and not the date. Duh. By the way, the actual date of the funeral is December 21. Ten years to the day Eileen was laid to rest. Again with the tears.  

Back in the car I drove down Frankford Ave to Philly Pretzel Factory (only I could come home from a funeral with a souvenir) and parked a bit away so I could walk, like we do in the city, wishing I had company to eat breakfast with me at Mayfair Diner.  

Deciding to drive through the neighborhoods, I headed down Cottman Ave, recalling the time Eileen and I raced a couple of guys we met at a club (Mardi Gras, I think) on New Year’s night all the way from Castor to Torresdale (when did lower Cottman become two way?).  I shoved a pretzel in my mouth as I passed by the Torresdale library and the McDonald’s my sister and I occasionally walked to in the summer. I then turned right and drove up Levick St, expecting not to recognize anything, but honestly nothing changed. Everything looked the same, including the gigantic air conditioner in the front window of our home that I think has been there since before I was born.  

I turned down a side street shedding a few more tears as I passed Barnett St, home of my first dance school, and at one time, Eileen. Lastly, I drove past my oldest (longest) friend’s house then headed for home. The neighborhoods all felt and looked so small and closed in and crowded. I was surprised at how on top of each other everything seemed.  

It sounds so weepy and bizarre and insane, but that 3-hour round trip healed me of something I wasn’t aware I was harboring.  

I'll leave you with this: Do yourself a favor. Let go of whatever it is you're hanging on to. Let go of the hate, or anger, or shame, or guilt, or regret, or condemnation, or whatever it is that is weighing you down. I didn't know how much this was weighing on me until after I did this. Don't go into the new year/new decade with this crap. Give yourself the gift of moving forward with a new you. It's not doing you any good festering in your soul.  

Anyway, I won’t be going to the actual services. I’m celebrating Christmas with my parents that weekend. So will Eileen(!), and that makes me very happy.

Side note: Has there ever been a time where 95 wasn’t under construction?!  

Lovin' Spoonful

I had originally planned to write about the sadness and irritation I felt on Monday, October 8 as Phil Collins' last concert tour rolled through Philly without me.  I intended 100% to purchase tickets to this event as Phil Collins, to me, is god-like.  I just love him.  Love Genesis.  Love Peter Gabriel.  You get it. I didn't buy those tix because the day they went on sale was the day I was told I was being recommended for termination.  Termination from a job I'd had for 17 years.  I'd not felt the need to buy those tix as I was in full panic mode then subsequently experienced the multiple stages of grief; the anger and depression stages hitting me the hardest.

I put off this week's blog because honestly I'd forgotten to do it Tuesday and then Wednesday all hell broke lose at work and I was so pissed I couldn't think that night.  Thursday night the Eagles were on and I can't watch the game and think coherently at the same time, so now here we are...Friday afternoon...with three minutes of teacher planning left.  I should probably pee while I have the chance.

And now it's Monday night. Where does the time go?

I was then going to write this post about what a crappy day this past Wednesday was.  Actually, I did.  I spent a good chunk of time on it and when I went to hit Publish, it was gone.  Poof.  Maybe I wasn't meant to bitch and complain about how nobody seems to be doing their job, and how that is making it difficult for my husband and I.  But I digress.

Instead I've decided to write a post about something that has nothing to do with school.  I'd like to take a minute (or 5) to talk about Spoonies.  Spoonies are not things you eat soupies with, BTW.

Spoon Theory was coined by Christine Miserandino to describe the difficulties of living every day with a debilitating illness.  Please take the time to read this article.  It'll take just two minutes.  I'll wait.

OK.  So being a spoonie is tough.  It sucks because it stems from one of those invisible illnesses.  For spoonies, the phrase "but you don't look sick" is debilitating in itself.  Stop saying that to people.

Our spoonie brethren are exhausted, hurting, lonely, angry, depressed, anxious, guilt-ridden, sad, and generally overwhelmed.  They feel like no one understands.  They feel like their concerns are being ignored because others can't see what's wrong with them.  If there's no outward indications that a problem is occurring, then there's nothing wrong.  Right? 

If they're lucky to have someone, spoonies can count on relatives and friends to help them out.  The caregiver is there for physical and emotional support, running errands, providing a listening ear, offering suggestions/solutions, completing chores, giving reassurances, etc. That said, being a spoonie caregiver can be difficult as well.  As with any illness, whether it be cancer, fibromyalgia, MS, or any number of diseases, the caregiver is responsible for many additional duties.  Often this is done out of love; sometimes it's done out of necessity.

Sometimes, the caregivers get to a point that they need help themselves.  They need a break from the day-to-day caring for their loved one.  Quite often, they're in it alone.  Others think, "Oh him?  He looks fine. He's just milking it so she'll wait on him."  "There's nothing wrong with her.  She was at the mall last week walking around for an hour."  This leads to little to no offers to help out, and no one for the caregiver to turn to when in need.

I live with a spoonie.  Luckily, it's not drastic and most days are good.  I know others have it way worse than I have it. There are days, however, when I never see him because he's in bed...still...when I've been at work all day...and the dishes aren't done...and I have work I brought home to do...and the trash has to go out...and the cat threw up on the carpet...I should stop now.  I've spent a lot of time alone.  I've gone to family functions (including Thanksgiving at his sister's house) without him.  I've missed parties, concerts, games.  We can't make plans for anything because he never knows how he's going to feel.  There are chores around the house that either don't get done, or get put off for weeks, months, and years.   We don't go on vacation. Spoonies and their caregivers learn to live with all this.  But man, sometimes it makes me want to scream. 

But I don't.

I can't scream for several reasons.  1. He can't take loud noises.  2. It's not fair to him~he already feels guilty enough for something he has no control over.  3. I'm too tired to scream.  4. It's easier to suck it up and move on.  5. No one other than another spoonie caregiver could understand.  I went looking for spoonie support groups.  Couldn't find one.  Edit: I couldn't find one that met my needs.  So I'm starting my own.

I've never created a Facebook group, or any group for that matter. Neither am I one to talk about, or display, my emotions.  Ask my mother.  "Everything's fine."   I thought, though, multiple people could use this as an outlet and maybe connect with others in the same situation.  Remember, there's strength in numbers.

Here's the deal. This is going to be a group where spoonie caregivers can share, commiserate, bitch, moan, and complain.  We need to be able to support each other in a non-judgemental setting.  It's OK if you feel overwhelmed. Tell us.  It's OK if you have questions about where to go for specific illnesses, treatments others have tried, or websites to research.  Ask us.  It's OK if you woke up at 2:00 in the morning on a random Tuesday crying because you just want to scream your head off in frustration.  Put that caps lock on and let loose.  Judgement-free zone.  

Here's the page:  Spoonie Significant Others https://www.facebook.com/groups/998290870355530/

Come check it out.  It just went live.  Thank you.  😁