I finished the FAFSA! I finished the FAFSA! Dinner was an hour late because I made Rob sit down with me as soon as he got home and get the parts we had to do together done RIGHT THAT MINUTE, but now it is DONE! I’m glad that the school warned us repeatedly ahead of time that the Expected Family Contribution number would be More Than You Can Possibly Imagine Paying Without Selling Everything You Own. One counselor made little fluttery motions with her hands and referred to it as The Magical Fairyland Number. Another called it a “fake number.”

I read a book recently that I want to recommend:

(image from Amazon.com)

Crosstalk, by Connie Willis. I wish I had made a note of how many pages I suffered through at the beginning, persevering only because Paul had recommended the book to me and I wanted to give it a fair shot. The first section is just a woman being CONSTANTLY PESTERED AND INTERRUPTED, by people and by texts and by phone calls, and it made me feel squirmy and as if I couldn’t breathe. Then there was a plot shift and I was suddenly ALL IN, and STAYED all in even though that interruptive style persists to some extent throughout the book. It was the sort of book I kept being very eager to get back to reading, and I find those are fairly rare. I suggest reading it without reading the flap or finding out anything about it first, to increase the fun of it.

Oh, do you remember the exciting story of our stolen credit card number, the packages arriving at my house but with someone else’s name on them, and then The Mysterious Car Suddenly Parked Across the Street? And how our theory was that the person who took our credit card number might be LOCAL (the name on the package is unusual, and is listed in the phone book with an address just 25 minutes away) (though it would be pretty dim to use one’s own actual name), like maybe a local clerk or someone who put a skimmer on a local gas station pump or whatever? And that although the packages had to be shipped to the address on the credit card, he’d been able to use his own email address, and so had access to tracking info from UPS, and so knew when to sit outside our house to snag the packages? And so then we were KICKING ourselves for not taking down the license plate number?

WELL! Yesterday, THE CAR WAS BACK. I sprang into the action I’d planned while lying awake kicking myself: I sneaked out the side door (not visible from where the car was parked), stealthily crept around the back of my house and up the OTHER side of the house, so that I had a good view of the back of the car but they would not necessarily see ME, depending on how intensive a stake-out they were doing (but I suspected they were keeping an eye out only for the UPS truck). I used the zoom lens and took several clear pictures of the license plate as well as of the entire car. Like a SECRET AGENT! And then I skittered back around the house and safely inside, locking the door immediately and then trembling mightily for like an hour while wondering if I’d be more of a FEDORA-wearing agent or more of a WIG-wearing agent.

Meanwhile I commenced A STAKE-OUT OF MY OWN. Here was my plan. STEP ONE! I would keep an eye out for UPS. STEP TWO! When UPS delivered the packages, I would NOT go out and get them! STEP THREE! When the perp crept snakelike from his car and walked snakelike up the driveway to collect the packages, I would PHOTOGRAPH HIM through the window! STEP FOUR! I would take, like, three powerful tranquilizers and drive to the police station and report the whole thing! It was scary, but I was ON THE CASE!

So then I waited for hours. Every time I had to pee, I was worried I would miss the whole thing. Then Paul came home, and he walked like an ACTUAL secret agent right up to the car and looked inside, and there was no one in there. “A car seat, and a bunch of crumbs,” he reported, agent-style.

Shortly after that, a woman came walking up the street, walked to the car, got in and drove away. So. Er. Evidently I spent all afternoon spying on and photographing a car that had absolutely nothing to do with our credit card. And UPS never came. We don’t know why she was parked there for five hours. Perhaps SHE HERSELF is a secret agent!

This last week before the election is really hard. I’m going with my Temporary High Stress Coping Plan, which is basically this:

1. Eating lots of things that just SMACK of holy nutrition, such as broccoli and carrots and eggs and bananas and smoothies and yogurt and blueberries and salmon. Making sure I get plenty of protein, because that seems to help. Making sure I eat nice big quantities, because a full stomach is comforting: I think it triggers a biological “everything is okay” feeling. Hunger causes stress, as it ought to for survival purposes.

2. Having on hand any edibles/drinkables that are happy and supportive. Cookies. Vodka. Chocolate bars. Cheese popcorn. Bailey’s Irish Cream. Good dips. Potato chips. Drambuie. Smoked almonds. Get it, gurl.

3. Exercising. It’s good for reducing stress. But it’s hard to do while stress-nauseated and existentially discouraged. So I don’t beat myself up if I can’t make myself do it; I do remind myself that it has been helpful in the past. Sometimes I say to myself, “Listen, just set the treadmill to, like, 1.3 mph and let your feet drag resentfully for five minutes.” Then once I’m ON the treadmill, I start to feel a little better and that makes me crank up the speed. I tell myself I can stop anytime, so that I don’t feel as inclined to rebel.

4. “Everything is going to be all right” music sometimes helps, but I’m not finding it very helpful right now. It feels like a promise no one has the ability to make at this point. I’m leaving it on the list because maybe you are reading this list much later, and applying it to a different sort of stress. In which case I recommend Odds Are by The Barenaked Ladies. Trudee mentioned it in the comments section awhile back, and I’ve been using it as therapy ever since. Also Tonight, Tonight by Hot Chelle Rae: La la la, whatever; la la la, it doesn’t matter; la la la, oh well; it’s all right.

5. Thinking of this as a literal physical illness that will pass. I’ve used this in the past when there’s been a confrontation or stressful situation I can’t stop thinking about, and I’m queasy with adrenaline: I think of it as being sick, and I remember how on other occasions I have felt this way and then recovered. I have to suffer through it for awhile, but it’s not permanent. This is not helping as much right now, when I don’t know on which approximate date to pin my hopes of relief. Election Day? Inauguration Day? A few months after that? Eight years after that? NEVER EVER???? I do think there will be some level of relief when the election is over, even though I am also concerned about the potential aftermath. Just having that day over with may help. If nothing else, it should bring a halt to the RELENTLESS CAMPAIGN ADS.

6. Finding distractions, when possible. Exciting books. Riveting TV series. Good phone games. I downloaded AlphaBetty Saga, which is sort of like Candy Crush and sort of like Scrabble. I’m watching Love, which I’m finding mesmerizing and uncomfortable in a very distracting way. I don’t know yet if I’d recommend it. There’s a lot of crude/naked/awkward.

7. Finding happy evidence of Good Humans, when possible. Museums. Trick-or-treating. Playgrounds. Animal shelters.

8. Finding things to look forward to. I like to think about Thanksgiving recipes, and I’ve deliberately decided not to think about them until November 9th, so that I have something to look forward to. I ordered See’s Candies, which are coming November 8th-11th. If you have the budget room, I suggest ordering/buying a few fun things (a book you’re on the waiting list for at the library; new pjs; sequined shoes) and not letting yourself open/have them until November 9th. Post-election presents, as a reward for surviving.

9. Doing practical things, if any. Sometimes there aren’t any. This time I found it comforting and helpful to do some emergency preparation, which we’re supposed to do anyway. We have a lot of water and canned goods and peanut butter and toilet paper and cat food now. I’ve been trying to keep up on laundry and groceries, as if preparing for a storm that might knock out the power. I also donated money to PlanUSA.org, the local library, and my preferred political candidate. And we can vote. It’s a drop in the bucket, but it IS a drop, and it’s IN THE BUCKET.

I can’t think of a better time for See’s Candies to do their flat-rate-or-free shipping deal than right before next week’s election. It’s not quiiiiiite what I’d call “flat-rate” since it does in fact vary—but it’s $6.95 for orders $30 and under, $5 for orders between $30 and $65, and free over $65. It used to be you could pick your exact delivery date, but now you can pick a range—and when I placed my order this morning, the earliest range is November 8th-11th. Wouldn’t it be PERFECT for it to arrive ON Election Day??? But arriving for the aftermath is good, too.

We have had our credit card number stolen AGAIN. I get so frustrated with this. This time we found out because packages addressed to someone else started arriving to our house, four packages so far. At first we thought it was just a shipping error, but then Paul remembered that some places will only ship to the address connected to the credit card, so we checked and sure enough: $600 to a MILITARY TACTICAL SUPPLIES site. OH GOOD. Then Paul was like, “But how did he think he could GET these packages?”—and then we both remembered the car that’s been parked across the street from our house several days this week, in a place there is never a car parked, so that we’d both noticed and commented on it. So thaaaaaaat’s great. I have a feeling we will be dealing with this mess for awhile. Today I keep hoping to see that car out there again; we’re both kicking ourselves for not jotting down the plate number. And now we’re waiting 5 days for the new cards to arrive. I hope they will actually arrive in more like 2 days; usually it’s more like 2 days. I hate that this has happened often enough for there to be a usually.

I am ALMOST DONE filling out the FAFSA (college financial aid form). There was a big pause in there because the FAFSA asked for our checking/savings account balances, but I knew we had an orthodontist evaluation and a window-replacement appointment in the near future, so I didn’t want to put in the numbers for financial aid and THEN take out thousands. But now I am back on track. I just have to wait for Rob to get home so we can sign it and submit it.

I took the two littler boys trick-or-treating last night (older three kids were either at home or with friends) and really enjoyed it. I used to haaaaaate it: I felt so sure we were going to lose a little kid in the dark, and I was nervous about traffic, and I was trying to keep everyone from stepping in dog poop, and I was frazzled from having to get everyone fed and into a costume before 6:00, and the whole thing was an ordeal. But now everyone can for the most part get into their own costumes, and everyone can walk independently with just a periodic reminder to “Are you kidding me?? Get out of the ROAD,” and everyone remembers to say thank you, and I’ve found that sturdy little apple/cranberry juice bottles (like these or these) make PERFECT pocket flasks, so I would now say it isn’t even slightly an ordeal and I find it fairly fun.

Furthermore, I’m sure I’ve written about this before, but I get so sentimental and weepy at the whole Halloween THING. Look at all the expense and trouble people in a community go to, just to make a fun event for other people’s little children. And many of them are so FRIENDLY and CHEERY about it: “Oh, look at you! What a great costume! Here, you can take THREE things! Happy Halloween! Have fun, be safe!” *SOB* There were tears leaking out of my eyes pretty much the whole time, so good thing it was dark.

Today was not a great day, parenting-wise. I did the “I REALLY don’t want to take you to something you want to go to, so I will take you to it, but I will be so grumpy and sullen and martyrish about it, and so unable to break out of that mood even as I OBSERVE the mood and know I MUST break out of it, that I threaten to suck the joy out of everything; and also I will say regrettable things indicating my lack of enthusiasm, as if you couldn’t already FULLY COMPREHEND my lack of enthusiasm from THE LOOMING DARK CLOUD OF MY WHOLE BEING.” Then I did the “Pointing out that I TOLD YOU it would not be fun, but you WOULD NOT BELIEVE ME, and now I have set it up so that it is IMPOSSIBLE FOR YOU TO ADMIT IT, and in this way I CONTINUE TO SUCK OUT ANY POTENTIAL HAPPINESS, now or in the future when you might want to do something else you think might be fun.”

It wasn’t good. Why did I even BECOME a parent? What a terrible idea. My poor children. Etc.

Oh! Do you need an infusion of “humankind is generally-speaking okay after all,” as I do after repeatedly accidentally looking at comments on political posts, and also after repeatedly accidentally deliberately looking at the Facebook profiles of family members I’ve had to hide for their nauseating-to-me political views? I suggest a trip to a museum. Paul and I went to an art museum today, and I kept getting teary-eyed at all the WORK and EFFORT it takes for some people to make art, and for other people to carefully preserve and protect and display it, and to create special exhibitions around a theme, and to take time to choose what to write on the little plaques, and to CARE that people come visit. There were items from, like, 1263. That’s a YEAR: 1263 doesn’t even LOOK LIKE a year, but it WAS. And those items were in a museum because not just one somebody but a whole LINE of somebodies care so much about keeping it. People spend THEIR WHOLE LIVES preserving ART for people to see long after they themselves have died. Something is beautiful and/or meaningful and/or important and so they carefully protect it and…*SOB* PEOPLE CAN BE SO LOVELY

I ordered Elizabeth some new shirts from The Children’s Place, and also bought her some at Target. Here is a picture of one of the shirts she outgrew in TCP large (green, top), one of her new TCP extra-large shirts (pale blue, middle), and one of her Cat & Jack (Target) shirts in extra-large (white with pattern, bottom):

I can see how a parent might go either way, feelings-wise. If the child in question was jussssst out of the TCP L, or had gotten wider without getting much taller, the jump to Cat & Jack XL might give a parent the feeling that there was NO SIZE THAT FIT. But in Elizabeth’s case, where she suddenly grew a whole bunch taller and not much wider, the new TCP XL shirts already look short and boxy and as if she’s about to outgrow them: they’re only an inch longer than the old size. The Cat & Jack XL shirts are perfect for what I’m looking for: they have room to grow, so I don’t feel like I already have to start shopping for the next size up, but they don’t look enormous on her.

Speaking of Elizabeth, she would like to be Holtzmann for Halloween, and that is a request I’d like to honor because Holtzmann is awesome.

(image from third-bit.com)

But I am very, very, very low-end of the spectrum as to what I want to spend on a Halloween costume. I looked up “homemade Holtzmann costume” and found instructions that included purchasing a $40 jumpsuit and $15 goggles to be worn one single time, and I am not on board with that plan.

Our tentative plan right now is to go with this inspiration from Paul Feig, producer of Ghostbusters: “You imagine her room is just this enormous pile of clothes she’s found in dumpsters and Goodwill and bought at garage sales.” We’ll color a pair of cheap safety goggles yellow, figure out how to do crazy hair, and layer on the rest of her look from assorted household clothing and disabled electrical tools. We’ll do Holtzmann’s everyday look, rather than her professional ghost-hunting uniform.

My main earlobe piercings got a little irritated, so this morning I dipped the earring studs in antibiotic ointment before putting them into my ears. This is a tip my Aunt Barb mentioned to me when I was a pre-teen. My mom didn’t have pierced ears, and so neither of us knew this idea. (I have heard about NOT doing it for cartilage piercings, in case you are suddenly feeling anxious.)

I was thinking about all the other beauty/care tips that get handed down and around. My mom’s friend Carol is the one who mentioned you have to use some sort of shaving cream or lotion or soap when you shave your legs with a disposable razor: my mom used my dad’s electric razor, so I’d thought disposable razors worked on the same “dry legs, no added substances” principle and gave myself a nasty razor burn.

Carol is also the one who told me you could water down an overly-intense lipstick by putting on lip balm/gloss first, then dabbing on the lipstick lightly, then rubbing your lips together to mix.

My friend Melanie’s mom is the one who taught us to wash our faces: first, run the washcloth under hot water and hold it against your face for a little while to open the pores; then put soap on the washcloth and wash and rinse your face; then, run the washcloth under cold water and hold it against your face for a little while to close the pores. I don’t even do it this way, yet I think of it as The Way To Wash Your Face.

My brother’s friend Robin had a much older sister who taught us to put a little bit of conditioner in our hair after towel-drying it but before blow-drying it. This was in the era of perming, blow-drying, and using a curling iron, so we were all looking for ways to turn straw back into hair.

I wish I could remember and thank whoever was so persuasive about face lotion that I started using it every day from age 12 onward. It might have been one of the teen magazines I read, or maybe Cosmo. Well worth the price of the subscription, if so. I bought Oil of Olay with my $1.25/hour babysitting money.

Amy, a girl in my youth group who was 16 when I was 12, is the one who mentioned that sometimes you need to shave armpits in more than one direction. She’s also the one who taught me how to feather my hair. And to match all my eye make-up to my eye-color, which I no longer do, but it was fun at the time.

My grandmother demonstrated how to spray perfume on a wrist, then touch the wrists together lightly, then touch the wrists lightly to the sides of the neck.

My mom taught me how to put wet hair into a towel turban. I think often of something I saw a long time ago (surely one of you will know what this was) where Elaine from Seinfeld tosses a pile of towels to a line of towel-clad women (could one of the women have been Elliot from Scrubs? but if so, WHY?), and we look away, and there’s a fwip-fwip-fwip sound, and when we look back all of them have towel-turbaned heads, and Elaine says “I love how we all know how to do that.” What IS this from? It’s in my memory like it’s a commercial.

I’m trying to remember other tips and who told them to me. In the meantime, who taught what to you?