As much as I love to cling to the Gen X side of my generational cusp-iness, truth be told I am a child of the 90s. That is when I was a teenager. That is when I have the clearest memories of growing up. That is when I fell in love with alternative rock.
The discontent communicated through lyrics accompanied by the energizing noise of guitars and melodic screaming gave a soundtrack to the things I felt and thought but never shared. It was amazing how such music seemed to capture all the things that made me mad that I couldn't put words especially when being angry was not an emotion I was allowed to have.* In 2000 a new band arrived with a sound that amped up everything to another level for me:
I couldn't get enough. I played that alarmingly red-ish CD all the time. Then Meteora came out and solidified their place as one of my favorite bands forever. (Seriously - beginning to end I never get tired of it. "Numb" is one of my favorite songs to this day.)
At this time, I also fell in love with a band out of Houston called Blue October which helped me connect to a lot of feelings I still struggled with. This led down a path to other alternative groups throughout the early aughts into my late 20s. Then something interesting happened: I got married and had kids. Now, that didn't mean the alt music faded away completely. The hidden track on Blue October's History for Sale was the song I danced to at my wedding with my husband. However, I wanted to be the best wife and mother I could be (hello - Enneagram One here), and that meant knowing myself better. Once I started to understand myself and why I had been so angry, I didn't need the catharsis of alt music like I had before.**
Years passed and I mostly listened to Kids Place Live (excellent station on Sirius XM - absolutely recommend if you subscribe and have small children) and talk radio (how is that for being a grown up). However, bands like Bastille entered my life while listening to Alt Nation when my kids weren't in the car or talk radio got monotonous. It seemed that I still felt that tug towards a genre that often is now more alt pop than rock but able to hit me in just the right way sending me back to the days where I blasted angsty and angry music while making the drive to and from SFASU.
Why the sudden trip down a musical memory lane? Recently, a radio station I enjoyed was canceled leaving me with the opportunity to see what else life had to offer on the ole dial. It turns out that locally 103.7 KVIL is the current alt rock station which cracks me up because I grew up on KVIL when Ron Chapman and Jody Dean were on air playing greats like Sir Elton John and Billy Joel. It was dubbed "lite rock." What a change indeed. Anyway, I put on 103.7 on my drive into work the other day and was met with artists like Linkin Park, Red Hot Chili Peppers, Foo Fighters, The Offspring, and other bands that had defined my late 90s/early aughts life. I was in the best mood when I got to work.
Yes, I started listening to many of these bands because I didn't know how to be angry out loud. I realized after that drive into work that they are excellent reminders of how far I've come in understanding my anger and how to communicate that so I don't need the music to do it for me. I will continue to listen to this station because that music matters so much to me, and well, because it flippin' rocks.
*Mostly this with all of society.
** Also this which is from 2018 but still relevant which is even more infuriating.
NOTE: This post will discuss biological processes and hormonal changes of my 43-year-old female body. If that makes you uncomfortable, skip this one and come back for my next post about my love for alt rock.
I knew one thing for certain about menopause: I would eventually hit it when I was "old." Beyond that, my references for symptoms and signs of menopause came from two things: the "End of the Curse" episode of the Golden Girls where Blanche enters menopause and struggles with what that means for her womanhood and a tearful scene from Kathy Bates in Fried Green Tomatoes.
What I learned from the Golden Girls episode:
Menopause happens when you are older (60+)
Menopause means no more cycle!
Menopause means hot flashes and a beard
Not from that episode but it's a GIF of Sophia who shared the bit about a beard.
The scene from Fried Green Tomatoes:
Where I learned that hormones are the magical answer and they inspire a vengeful rampage on anyone who wrongs you.
Okay, so there were clear gaps in my knowledge on menopause. How was I supposed to know?! We (society) don't talk about this kind of stuff enough. Actually, my experience has been that discussing anything to do with my reproductive organs and cycles should be done in hushed voices or accompanied by some kind of embarrassment or shame. Think about having to purchase pads or tampons. How do we make people comfortable with that? Spoiler: we don't. And why not? I bet even using the words "pads" and "tampons" instead of "feminine hygiene products" makes some people uncomfortable. There is nothing to be ashamed of. It is a part of life.
Unfortunately, approaching life in this manner meant I was caught by surprise with perimenopause. I had never heard of perimenopause...until I started feeling like I was losing my mind. I knew something was "wrong" with me but what? I would wake up soaking wet having to change my pajamas. My cycles started becoming unpredictable, and I started breaking out with acne like I was 12! I would cry over trivial matters and be annoyed with silly things like other people breathing near me. I would be working comfortably when suddenly I was so hot I knew I was about to spontaneously combust. I would be exhausted beyond the usual mom stuff. However, I couldn't sleep through the night to save my life. I couldn't remember things correctly. I started gaining weight that "eating right and exercising regularly" wasn't taking care of. I didn't feel like myself.
I knew some of these things sounded like symptoms of menopause, but I am 43! I'm not an older (60+) woman. Thank God I have a great OBGYN who patiently listened to me as I panicked thinking something about me was broken. She explained what perimenopause meant, that I was a textbook case, and the ways we could handle the symptoms until menopause happens. Things I learned:
Perimenopause can start as early as age 35
Perimenopause is how my body is preparing itself for menopause
Symptoms include many of the things I was (am) experiencing: irregular periods, sleep issues, mood swings, unstoppable weight gain, cholesterol changes, and more
There are both hormone and non-hormone treatments for symptoms (and new research shows that hormone therapy isn't as dangerous as we once thought)
Perimenopause will last until menopause which is actually the stopping of my cycle (which can take up to 10 years or so - boo)
I cannot tell you the relief I felt of finding out I was not, in fact, crazy but simply entering a completely normal stage in my life. Now I know how to put what is happening to me in perspective. I have avenues of relief for the symptoms.
Why share all of this? I want us talking about this. I want our sisters and daughters and nieces and whomever to learn about this. I want them comfortable with what is happening to their bodies and not feel like they are wrong or broken because no one told them things like this would happen. I would love for health care companies to invest in making the transition through perimenopause to menopause such a priority that it is okay to speak about these things openly. For once it would be great to hear/see a commercial about low estrogen and what that could mean rather than concern over a shortage of testosterone and the magic blue pill to fix it all.
And if people won't listen to reason, there's always...
Let me start with the fact all my organs are intact and still inside my body. However, you are welcome to make guesses at what was wrong with me as you read.
I need to back up to yesterday morning because it was Oscars Sunday, and for the first time in roughly 20 years I actually planned to watch the whole thing. I've watched bits and pieces over the years, but I pictured myself camped out on the couch under blankets snacking on popcorn and enjoying the show. I was excited for all the nominations and couldn't wait to see Ryan Gosling perform "I'm Just Ken."
Around 1:30 PM I hit the floor of my closet with an unrelenting pain right at the top of my rib cage running down to my stomach. Now, I suffer from stressed induced reflux, so I am very familiar with a flare up or when I have uncomfortably trapped gas. I even have experienced my fair share of stomach bugs with the cramping and aching. All of these I have methods for dealing with.
I managed to get the pain to subside long enough to walk around a bit and even ran by Sam's for some items we needed. However, the moment I got home I had another attack and writhed around in my bed begging for it to go away. I still thought it was one of the usual suspects being particularly cruel since I had been able to run an errand. I even tried to vomit out a possible stomach virus to no avail. Nothing was working. Then it calmed a bit again.
At this point I was very hungry and very exhausted. It was hurting to breathe, and I couldn't really drink much water. With the Oscars minutes from air, I determinedly curled up on the couch and prayed the pain wouldn't come back. I made it to RDJs award acceptance when I hit the ground again in excruciating pain. Enough was enough. Chris took me to the ER.
Hunched over, I shuffled my way through Check In. The moment I sat down in triage, I started to cry and rock back and forth from the pain. The ER doctor came in and was fantastic. He ordered blood tests and wanted to get a look at my appendix, pancreas, and colon. An IV drip with some morphine and zofran did the trick, and while waiting for results I remembered the episode of the Golden Girls where Sophia has an attack of the gall bladder. She remarks that she has a "bubble" in exactly the same place I first felt my pain. Then she is in so much pain she believes she is dying. I was convinced my gall bladder would be a goner! (Hey, I was medicated okay?)
The verdict: Fatty Liver. It's a thing. What caused it is the big question. I am not a heavy drinker. While I may be overweight, I wouldn't say I'm obese. I am definitely not pregnant. In terms of lifestyle, we eat ground turkey instead of ground beef (rarely eat beef actually). We use chick pea pasta. We get whole wheat breads. I drink nonfat, lactose free milk. I use the Skinny Chai mix. I love me some Body Pump and started bicycling with my youngest boy. Basically, I had no idea what would cause a Fatty Liver issue. My best guess is that it is related to my hypertension, hormones, and reflux.
All my other organs were fine, blood tests were good, and the EKG showed no heart attack. The "cure:" bland food for a few days and some medication for the stomach cramping. I was discharged, walked without pain to the car, and was home in bed by 11:00 PM.
Not how I planned to start my Spring Break but incredibly grateful for an efficient ER experience, modern medicine, loving husband, and YouTube so I could go back and watch this:
I rode a bike today. First time in about 30ish years. For a brief moment while rolling the bike out of the back room and down to the alley, this scene flashed through my mind:
As much as I would love to have Jamie Tartt by my side as I got comfortable on a bike again, I sought support from a different place.
My sweet, funny, wonderful 11 year old rocked it as my moral support. He shared tips to keep my balance and reminded me when to lean in to turn. Additionally, he explained the best times to adjust my speed or use my handbrakes. That's right. The last time I rode a bike I applied the brakes by pedaling backwards. No handbrakes.
It wasn't terrible. I enjoyed the feel of the wind on my face. I sped up and coasted. I stood up on my feet to pedal a couple of times (felt pretty cool). I made a ridiculously wide turn the first time. I even earned my first ever exercise award for an outdoor cycle!
The biggest success was working through the initial anxiety of getting back on a bike after so long. Rather than worry that I would look foolish in front of my youngest son, I decided to ask for his help. It worked out so well. He rode along side me and was the best bike buddy.
I only biked for 20 minutes at the end of my street. It was more than enough. My legs could feel it. I was sweating which isn't my favorite thing to do. (80 degree weather - what are you gonna do?) My 11 year old was ready for me to go up and down the absurd incline that is our street. While it felt great to be back on a bike, I think I will have to work up to that. Eventually, we'll hit some of the trails around our neighborhood; and perhaps someday I'll tackle White Rock Lake.
In the meantime, I am happy knowing I didn't forget how to ride a bike. Now to get some sparkly tassels...
January is such an fresh start for so many. If resolutions work for you, that is awesome! Keep on keepin' on. For me, resolutions can feel like "one more thing," and I beat myself up if I don't hold to them all year. If you are like me, I would like to offer you some alternatives that seem to work better for my brain and lifestyle.
A few years ago, a friend introduced me to the concept of the One Word Theme for the year. I liked this. I found a word to return to throughout the year much easier to manage and keep up with. Past words include:
This year I met with a group of friends to discuss how we all were approaching the new year. That is how I learned about Gretchen Rubin's Happiness Trifecta. Every year she sets a One Word Theme, creates a list of things to accomplish (24 for 24 - last year was 23 for 23), and a daily challenge that plays with the numbers in the year. I highly recommend listening to these because each one feels more attainable that big, broad resolutions that can fizzle out by March:
I definitely am continuing my One Word Theme selection, and this year I created a 24 for 24 List that I carry with me. (Fave tip about 24 for 24 - set a regular date to check in on the list like the 24th of each month.) Perhaps next year I'll complete the trifecta.
This year's One Word is:
It took me a while to get here. Thanks to my friends offering suggestions like: pace, step, embrace, transition when I described where I wanted to focus; I was able to make it to RHYTHM. There is a rhythm to everything in life, and I need to embrace those rhythms rather than try to fight and/or control them. Additionally, if I sense a rhythm is leaning more chaotic than I like, I can take a break and breathe until I regulate the rhythm of my body/heart back to a manageable beat. Finally, there is the idea that I will get into the rhythm of habits that help me be better throughout the year that I can carry into the rest of my life. The image of the mixtape will be my reminder of my word. I love a good mixtape because it represents thematic collections of rhythms that I can enjoy.
The second time I knew that "rhythm" was the right choice happened during a meeting when I was introduced to an online platform called...wait for it...Rhythm. It doesn't really matter what the platform does. It was more about seeing my selected word like a spot on a map letting me know I am on the right path.
Good luck to everyone out there setting resolutions, goals, etc. I find One Word Themes a more realistic way for me to focus on how I approach the new year. I'll let you know how my 24 for 24 List works out.
With the Christmas season coming to an end, I scrolled through holiday photos on my phone reflecting on the holidays. I came across one from Christmas day and decided to share. Enjoy my Tale of Two Turkeys.
If you don't recognize this GIF, go watch Christmas Vacation and thank me later.
I mean, this is my nightmare when it comes to preparing the turkey for Thanksgiving. Since inheriting the job of roasting a turkey for the family, I've taken all precautions to avoid this very scenario. And roughly seven years in, I managed to perfect my recipe which culminated in quite a delicious bird for Thanksgiving this year:
It fell off the bone beautifully when I went to carve it.
This year I also roasted one for Christmas. Feeling rather confident in my abilities to produce a perfect turkey, I decided to take a wee nap while it roasted in the oven. (Can you blame me? I was up till almost 2 AM Christmas Eve to Christmas morning.) Two hours into what I assumed would be a three hour bake, my youngest son woke me up to tell me something was burning in the oven. I believe "plastic bacon-y smell" was used.
Y'all, the horror...
It was vacuum packed and not in a good way.
I could feel my BP rise. I got a sick feeling in my stomach. I knew the plastic smell would be in my nose the rest of the day. How could this happen? It was fine when I basted right before I napped! I pulled it out immediately, cursed the oven (because clearly it was broken), and declared Christmas ruined.
Fortunately, my mother freaks out a little less and has a lot more life experience. Ha ha. She noted that the roasting bag probably puffed up just enough to hit the elements on the top of my oven. (Note: I do cut slits in the roasting bag to keep this from happening.) Once the plastic melted, it exposed the turkey which cooked much faster than anticipated. My son waking me up actually saved the bird!
In the end, the turkey was perfectly fine. The plastic didn't melt into the turkey. It kinda made more of shell on the turkey. Once removed, I was able to carve it up and serve it. Thank goodness.
Some people would make excellent professional students. They enjoy research and study and want to attend classes with others interested in the same things. My husband is one of those people. I am not. I always did fine in school. I didn't hate it or anything. I understood that to be a teacher I had to go to college, so I did all the right things and got my BA in English in 2003. However, and my undergraduate GPA can attest to this, I wasn't the best at being a student. My study skills kinda stunk. I was not great at making to every class. I had this paralyzing fear of speaking with my professors about anything. Therefore, I would need extrinsic motivators to sign up for any more schooling in the future. Turns out, the district I taught in required a Masters which motivated an MLA in 2010. Excellent. Done. Right?
Enter a brisk, Saturday morning in the fall of 2018 during a paraprofessional learning conference, I stood in the hallway between sessions chatting with my Director (Instructional Technology) when she casually drops the question: "Why don't you have your Doctorate?" The easy answer was I don't do student-ing very well, so I avoid the potential of failure like the plague. The more complicated answer (that I realize now) is that the Imposter Syndrome that taunts me daily, had me believing I was not the type of person who deserved a Dr. at the front of her name. That was for distinguished people. That was for highly intelligent people. That was for people who could contribute innovative ideas to the world.
Me in August of 2023:
Exactly 20 years after I graduated with my BA, I now have my EdD in Educational Leadership. The journey was awesome. I still wasn't the best student, but I found something I loved to focus on for my study. Even now, when I read through my study I am quite proud of what I accomplished. (A great way to shut up that Imposter Syndrome - BTW.) What it really took was someone, my Director, who saw me as the type of person who deserved that Dr. in front of her name. She believed that about me, and then I did too. (Actually, it turned out a LOT of people believed that about me. It is amazing how we can be harder on ourselves.)
I'm still not used to addressing myself as Dr. Croupe, and I've had people point out how jerky it can be to correct people who still call me Mrs. Croupe. However, neither of those will keep me from saying this: I look forward to the day the mail starts coming in addressed to Dr. and Mr. Croupe.
PS: If you've earned a Doctorate, be proud of that. I'll gladly call you Dr. I'll also correct others on your behalf if they don't.
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