A new sports bra can change your outlook on damn near everything. I have big boobs. Big ‘uns. I had a breast reduction over 13 years ago, and since then have gained and lost weight, and had two children in the space of three years. So while they’re smaller than they were when I was a teenager, they’re still big.

And running with big boobs that aren’t properly restrained is like trying to keep yourself upright while someone performs CPR on your chest with a backhoe. It’s difficult.

The new sports bra is a revelation. Not only does it do a majestic job of The Great Boob Squash, but those suddenly smaller boobs do not move. A-freakin-mazing.

I’d like to nominate for the Nobel Prize for science whomever invented Lycra and Spandex, because, wow, y’all. Nice job.

Hello Self:

This morning I read an entire magazine devoted to examining workplace health and happiness, and of course there was the obligatory, “Our jobs were stressful so we both up and quit and now we’re successful consultants with too much business and lots of time and money!” article. Blow me.

But the part that hit me right between my sleepy eyes was the section that talked about managing time (dedicate a time to answer your email so that your entire day doesn’t become auto-reply) and managing your balance (when you disconnect from work, disconnect ENTIRELY). This weekend we had friends over, and I was saying that in effect right now I have two jobs. Two nearly full-time jobs, all because in 4 or 5 years I want 1 part time job so I can be home at 2:30 when Freebird and Baba O’Riley get out of school. Really. All this work, all the writing and the development and the business plan? I don’t want to take over the world. I just want to earn enough that I can work from home on writing and speaking engagements and be home at 2:30. That’s my grand plan: home at 2:30. I know. Aim high? No. Aim for 2:30.

So while I’m running around in triage-mode trying to do everything, I’m neglecting the very things that I want to be home for at 2:30. That doesn’t make sense. So I need to come up with a better schedule and a better system to manage my time.

1. I need a set of times during which I will answer email and field questions.
2. I need to give myself a short task list at the end of each day so I can know what it is I need to do, and do it.
3. I need to prioritize the major projects and break them down into little steps.
4. I need to build a giant More Hours In The Day machine to build hours into my day (duh) enough that I can get more done and still do my other job(s).

Mostly, I need to keep breathing.

1. Best LOLcaption this week, possibly for whole Olympics.

2. I am tired. Bored now? Let’s move on.

3. Hubby said something wise last night while we grunted at each other over dinner (which was good, too. Hubby makes good burgers). Our whole life right now is triage. Deal with what’s most urgent, move on to next urgent thing, with many, many things piling up in the background. So, so fucking true like holy shit.

4. Freebird: “Baba is loooking at me! Stop looking at me!”
Morag: “It is way, way too early for that. No way.”

5. In a small matter of great personal triumph, I have managed to carve out 20 minutes for myself three times a week after work. I am so, so proud of myself for this. It’s ridiculous. But those 20 minutes I guard with the ferocity of a really cranky overtired overworked bear. With big teeth.

Once again, Hubby and I stayed up till 11pm watching SWIMMING until 11pm. WE WATCHED PEOPLE SWIM. Ordinarily, that’s one above “watching paint dry” and “watching someone vacuum” in terms of visual stimulation.

But Olympic Swimming? I love the Olympics. I love every strange event. I could watch table tennis with a side order of judo.

Only on mute, however. The insipid schmaltz of the announcers makes me want to pound my head with the DVR box. 

H: I just could not give less of a crap about gymnastics.
M: Yup.
H: And the floor exercise is particularly boring.
M: Yup. Especially the ones where they have the ribbon and the ball and the whatnot.
H: You mean Floor Exercises with Cat Toys?
M: *chokes*

Announcer: And then, by the power of Olympic gold, she was healed from her sorrow!
M: Oh, my God, if you don’t hit mute, I’ll commit a felony right now.
H: *HITS MUTE*
M: Thank God. Those people are awful.

Poolside interview to Kirsty Coventry: “How did you break the world record?”
M: “She swam that way really, really fast.”

I have the feeling that I have taken on too much. I can’t keep up with the silliest things, like email, and it’s frustrating. More than frustrating. I’m dumbfounded at myself. And it’s not because I’m slacking off. I just have too much to do, and I can’t always easily remind myself why I have all this stuff to do and what goal I’m working toward.

Sometimes I think about chucking it all and going back to the times when I could watch tv and not worry about anything else. Now my anything else needs more hours than I have in a day. 

I have my first real complaint with our day care, the first that I have to bring to the attention of the directors. It’s not a big deal, and I have no problem with the care that they give, but the idea that I have to raise a complaint makes me feel awful.

Since Freebird moved up to the preschool level, they’ve been watching movies. I have absolutely no problem with TV. Really, I couldn’t care less that they watch movies while they have snack. They turn down the lights, they sit in chairs and have cups of crackers, and they mellow out before the end of the day.

But a few nights this weekend, particularly two nights ago, Freebird has been waking up with massive, screaming, awful nightmares. They’re not night terrors; I read about them online (because the internet is for your own home psychiatry needs!) and Freebird can interact with us and have conversations, so it’s not night terrors. It’s straight up nightmares - but they’re awful. He dozes off, has another one, wakes up crying, and wants us to sit with him. At 2, 3, and 4 am? I want to sleep.

We couldn’t figure out what was scaring him so bad. We left the light on, we used a room air freshener spray as “anti-witch spray” because he’s been scared of witches for awhile. We added a nightlight, we used the dimmer on his room light, we gave him books to read so he could be quiet until he fell back asleep. None of it would work. He was scared shitless and wanted us in the room with him.

Yesterday afternoon, I asked him in the car if he remembered that he had bad dreams the night before.

“Yes.”

“Did you have dreams that scared you?”

“Yes.”

“What were you scared of?”

“The witch and the shark.”

Uh oh. I had a bad feeling about that one, because I bet I could guess the source.

“The witch and the shark?”

“Yes.”

“Where did you see a witch and a shark?”