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Funny how I only feel like life has a scorecard when I feel like I’m failing at it.

Credits:
Went to tax appointment. All seems good. I’m apparently still competent at bookkeeping. I just need to turn in one additional piece of information then wait for them to be done.

I drove kids home from school, to two different social activities, and retrieved them from the activities without forgetting any of them.

I hugged my girl when she was sad, even though I couldn’t make the sadness measurably better in any other way.

The cat sat next to me and purred, so I must have done something right.

Demerits:
There were long stretches of quiet time when I could have gotten piles of work done, but didn’t. This sums it up really. Everything else is a enumerated list of specific things I ought to have done.

I’m not sure how exactly the day slipped away from me. I probably should have given up and taken a nap this morning. Then perhaps I could have been awake and motivated for the rest of the day. Or maybe not. Sometimes low energy days just happen.

I did not quite realize when I decided to have children that I was signing up for a crash course in first aid and preliminary diagnosis. Yet from day one I had to monitor my child and decide whether or not the symptoms merited medical attention and how urgently that attention was needed. At first all of the ailments were new. I learned the signs of ear infections and childhood diseases. I became an expert in the interpretation of rashes. I tended kids through croup, chicken pox, asthma, a kidney infection, RSV, adenoid removal, nearly broken bones, scrapes, cuts, stitches, objects up noses, objects swallowed, and several dozen varieties of flu, stomach flu, and colds. Somewhere in the middle of all of that I changed from a mom who called others to have them look at baby’s rash into the person whom others called with rash questions. You’d think by now I’d have seen it all, yet I’m still scratching my head, consulting google, and trying to decide whether to see a doctor about all sorts of things. This past year we’ve had heartburn trouble, ingrown toenails, strained abdominal muscles, a scratched cornea, and –just tonight– a case of systemic hives triggered by we know not what. I never wanted to be a doctor and yet I’m regularly called on as a first responder and triage nurse.

And this is the point when I should be able to bring all of these thoughts around to say something useful or profound about it all. Mostly though I’m thinking about how unpleasant hives are and how much I don’t want to have to play “figure out what caused the systemic reaction.” Time for bed.

It feels like getting sick this winter is inevitable. I don’t particularly want it, but it has been years since I was mowed flat by a flu variant and some part of my brain thinks I am due. My kids have been sick, some of them more than once. We’ve had coughs and fevers, sore throats and headaches, all in various combinations. The worst I have felt was the edges of a sore throat or a headache. I am glad, of course. I don’t really want to be sick. Yet since it feels inevitable I find myself staring at the calendar and marking the days when I really can’t be sick because there are things I would cry if I missed and which could not be rescheduled. The Orem Writes event last Wednesday was one of them as was last night’s Ballroom With a Twist concert. I’ve now entered one of the “okay to be sick” zones during which events can be rescheduled if I need to. If I’m going to be sick, I should do it now so that I can be done before LTUE in a week and a half. Of course sickness does not cooperate with attempts to schedule. And perhaps I’ll escape without getting sick at all. I would not complain.

In other news, my sister’s family came to spend the night. A furby came with them. It is a blue fuzzy furby with no off switch. The only way to get it to be quiet is to leave it alone in the dark for ten minutes. My five year old niece loves the thing. She talks to it in Furbish, which is the completely invented furby language. She also pretends to be a furby and was chattering away in Furbish, using it to ask for drinks of water. We waited until she asked in English before supplying them. As I listened to this child be obviously bilingual English/Furbish I thought what a sad missed opportunity furbies represent. Why on earth do the furbies not speak Spanish, or French, or any language that is actually spoken by human beings? I know that playing with a computerized fuzzy toy will not teach a child a full language, but it could be a very useful beginners tool. As it is, I will be very happy to bid farewell to the thing tomorrow.

And now I’m off to bed so that I can stay not-sick.

If given the choice I would have liked today to be full of cheerful energy, the kind of day when long term plans feel possible and I’m excited to reach for them. Instead I had a day which was pretty much opposite to that. It was a chop wood, carry water day, when I focus only on the small task in front of me. I only consider what comes next when each task is completed. This is kind of sad, because some of the tasks were things which would make me happy on an ordinary day. On a day like this it is important to note the small beautiful things. The clear view all the way across the valley to the western mountains, a huge improvement over the inversion smog. Bright blue sky. A lit candle dripping wax in interesting ways.

Tomorrow will be a different day. Hopefully it will be a day closer to what I would have liked for today.

The fog was thick enough that billboards seemed to appear out of it as brightly lit screens only to evaporate again after we’d moved onward through the whiteness. Kiki and I kept exclaiming at the visual effects of the fog, much to Howard’s annoyance because he was driving and for a split second those exclamations seemed to be cries of alarm. “Stop doing that.” he told us firmly. So I bit my tongue and watched the world turned strange and magical by the miracle of water vapor in the air.

Fog is not a common occurrence in Utah, but then neither is the freezing rain we had yesterday morning that coated every surface with ice so that college students were skating their way to class and the emergency rooms were full of accident victims. “Please just stay home. The ER is full.” tweeted a nurse. The police department made a similar plea asking people to please, please slow down. All that icy rain landed on top of a thick layer of snow which has lingered for weeks with no chance to melt. Then today the world thawed. Snow turned to slush. Ice turned to water. But the ground was too frozen to absorb it and all of the drainage routes were blocked by slush. The water pooled and evaporated filling the air with moisture. With nightfall it became fog.

I grew up in the California Bay Area. We got fog so thick you couldn’t see across the street. Fog always makes me think of San Francisco and the Altamont Pass with all of it’s windmills turned ghostly by fog. I remember sitting in the back seat while my dad tried to navigate home through a fog which only revealed a few feet in front of our van. All of us kids watched the road as hard as Dad did, as if the extra eyes could make more things clear. I stretched high in my seat to see, at the very limit of my seatbelt. searching as hard as I could to keep track of those white dotted lines which indicated that we were still on the road. Signs ghosted by us and we read those too, watching for our exit. It was a long time in coming, that exit.

Sometimes in my life I can see far ahead and I trundle along happily confident in my trip. Other times life is foggy. Lately some things are foggy while others are clear. It is a sort of swirling mist which obscures and clears at random. When things are clear I pick a path, when they are not, I keep going on that path until I find enough clarity to pick again. I wish life fog felt as mysterious and beautiful as weather fog.

We arrived home safely and retreated indoors, only occasionally peering out at the fog from behind glass. The air dropped below freezing, we’ll have frost sculptures for trees in the morning. I’ll have to remember to take my camera out and capture them. Soon the fog will be gone.

Fifteen years ago we moved into this house and I picked a family practice doctor near us. All was well. The doctor was good and his PA was fantastic. We went there for many years. Three years ago the fantastic PA died of pancreatic cancer and our family mourned for his loss, but we still continued to go to the same doctor’s office. Two years ago I called to schedule an appointment for one of my kids and was told I’d have to pay cash because they had a paperwork snafu with the insurance providers. It didn’t cost that much more, I was in a hurry, and finding another doctor for a single appointment seemed like lots of extra work. Then I arrived and was seen by the new PA. The doctor was nowhere around. When I asked, the receptionist said that he was away for a couple of months on a doctors without borders thing. Something didn’t feel right. I wondered about the legality of the PA seeing patients without a doctor in the office. I also wondered what sort of “paperwork snafu” would cause all the insurance providers to drop a doctor at once. When another appointment was necessary two months later, I called. They were still mid-snafu and the doctor was still out. I hung up and picked a different doctor. My new doctor is great. There are several doctors in the same office and I like all of them. So onward we went, though I did feel some sadness for abandoning the family doctor we’d had since my kids were babies.

Today I learned from a neighbor (who also went to that same doctor) exactly what happened. Two years ago his license was suspended because of an inappropriate relationship with a female patient. He wasn’t on a trip for doctors without borders, he was at in-patient facility to treat pornography addiction. When I google his name I can read the public record notes of his disciplinary hearings. He had another doctor checking his work, he had to have chaperons when he met with female patients, he was questioned about how he prescribed some strong pain medications. There was even discussion of how he should handle “flirty” female patients. The conclusion I’ve come to is that my family was never at risk. He really was a good doctor for many years, but then his friend and business partner died. Things changed and for awhile he was not behaving as doctors should. I was right to trust my instincts and jump ship. The disciplinary hearing notes show that he’s putting things back together and trying to learn from the experience. I wish him well. I hope he succeeds. But I’m going to keep going to the new doctors, Thanks.

In my googling I found this resource: It is a list of Utah doctors who have had disciplinary action taken against them. My former doctor is on this list.

“Mr. P says that in ten years of teaching Science Fiction, this is the first time he’s had a class with more girls than boys.” Kiki told me as I drove her home from school. I had been startled to learn that a high school had a Science Fiction Literature class at all, but it does, and Kiki signed up for it. Apparently so did many other girls. Kiki has geeky girl friends who will agonize with her over Avatar The Last Airbender or the latest video game story. I had male friends who would talk these things, but no girls. None of the girls I knew really got it. Or at least they didn’t seem to.

In high school I was in full geek girl stealth mode. I borrowed Esprit sweatshirts from my friends, had slumber parties, went to dances. I enjoyed all of this things, but there was a whole list of things that I also enjoyed only at home. I watched Star Trek and Doctor Who. I played Dungeons and Dragons with my siblings. I read fantasy books. I wonder now how many other geek girls there were out there, also stealthed.

My daughter’s geek girl experience has been different. She and her friends have video game parties. She wears a Halo hat to school. She carried a bag embroidered with dice and the words “Bag of Holding” and got compliments for it instead of ridicule. She has never been teased for any of these things. She never felt like she had to hide these things in order to successfully navigate the social scene at school. It is possible that she is braver than I was, more geeky. However I also think there has been a significant social shift which makes it okay for girls to like these things. This shift is evidenced by the Sci Fi Lit class which now has more girls than boys when ten years ago it was exclusively male.

I’m glad for my daughters that this is so.

I went to bed exhausted last night and woke up cranky this morning. I’ve tried to keep it under wraps, not spit it randomly at the other people in my house, but I have not always succeeded. Things got done, but without focus or a feeling of accomplishment. The evidence I have of competence is the fact that I made dinner, the kids did some chores, the stack of pages ready for editing when I have brain enough, and a patch of “Castle Stone” colored paint in the middle of a dirty white wall. I’ve now passed the point where calling off the project is just as complicated as completing it. So painting is in my future. But hopefully on a day when I can feel less cranky.

Farewell to 2012, you were too complicated to adequately summarize. Though I can’t complain, because while traveling through 2012 was often unpleasant, I like where I am now in comparison to where I was a year ago. The same is true for Howard and the kids. Hard is not necessarily bad. And there is no denying that 2012 had many good things too.

I have no plans for major resolutions or course corrections. I have enough goals in progress that I don’t need to add any more. Instead I’ll just leave with this last sunset of 2012 while snow falls quietly at my house.

Some times I get up early in the morning after having trouble sleeping. Then I do all the laundry, assemble a dozen packages, drive them to the post office, go to the gym, go to the bank, do the accounting, drive my daughter to two different craft stores in search of the perfect mosaic beads, and go to the bank again. After all that I sit down to write, but the words I can think of sound tiresome. So instead I sit down to re-watch episodes of Community.

Today was a day like that.