Comparative Childhood

Regrets

2011-07-13T10:19:00.003-04:00

I regret a lot of things that I have done in my life. I've lied, cheated, been rude, and so much more.

Honestly, I feel like if I told anybody close to me that I feel like I'm a bad person, they would tell me I was a amazing person and not to feel bad. People may think this, but I know deep down inside that I am truly a bad person. I don't try to be such a bad person. It just kind of happens. And, honestly? It hurts deep down inside, so far down that sometimes I feel like I have a boulder pushing down on me. I feel like there is a lump of coal in my stomach that makes me so nausea.

You are probably wondering right now, "Why is this girl getting so down on herself?" Well, like I said, I've done some terrible things in the past, but nothing can match up to what I have done to persist me to write this. So, here it is…

I stole money. Not just from anyone, but from my own family. I stole a great deal of money over the past few months from my mom and step-dad. It all started around the third trimester of my school year. I was really down, because I didn't have much money, which meant I couldn't hang out with my friends much. So, one night, when I was down stairs alone, I got to thinking about how much I wanted to hang out with my friends. I got this idea, that I could steal money from both my mom and step-dad. I stole $20 each from them. I thought this would last for a while and that I would never do it again. But, then I didn't get caught and I got stuck in the same situation. So, I did it again. The same amount and the same way. I didn't get caught. I continued doing this, because I figured no one knew, and how much could it really hurt? A lot. It hurt a lot.

So, then summer rolled around. I was really excited and was going shopping like almost every week. My mom kept asking me, "Where's all this money coming from Grace?” Conveniently, my aunt, uncle and cousins (on my dad's side) were visiting from over seas. My aunt has always spoiled me in the past. So, I used that as an excuse. I would just tell her, "Oh! My aunt gave it to me." I lost track of how much I spent.

So, the other day my dad dropped me off after having dinner with him. When he came to the door, my mom asked me if she could have a few minutes to talk with him… alone. I didn't think anything of it. Then she came into the living room and asked me if she could speak to me. They, my mom and step-dad, had known the whole time of my horrible acts.

Do I regret? Hell yea. I would do anything in the world to take it back. I wish I could take back every moment of it. But, like when you squeeze too much toothpaste out of the container, you can't put it back. I've gotten myself into some serious shit. I don't even know why I thought it was a good idea. I don't even know why I kept doing it. God, I feel so stupid. I feel horrible. I have a continuous sick feeling in my stomach… and I don't like it.

Mom and Step-Dad, if you're reading this, I'm so sorry. I wouldn't be surprised if you never wanted to talk to me again. I wouldn't be surprised if you never wanted to even look to me again. I wouldn't even be surprised if you never wanted to hear from me again. Honestly, I wouldn't be surprised if you hated me forever. I don't blame you. I would probably do the same thing. I would defiantly feel the same way. You guys have always helped me succeed, encourage me, teach me, and showed me nothing but love. What did I give you? Distrust. Lies. I hurt you. I am sorry.

Cancer

2010-10-27T11:18:00.003-04:00

A few weeks back, I wrote about my relative callous towards breast cancer awareness at Midwest Parents. About how easy it was to look at pink stuff in the store and buy a pink piece of jewelry or a pink silicone mixing bowl and feel good about myself even though I hadn't done anything to really become more "aware" of breast cancer. Or to help people who are suffering. Or to stop and think at all.

My sister-in-law goes in for a second biopsy today. First biopsy showed breast cancer. I'm not even sure why they're doing a second instead of just starting treatment immediately. She's 45.

She's always been the one who worked like a horse, the one who took care of everyone else, the one who told her sisters they were whiners when they felt ill. She's the one who never gave up. From what I hear, she's scared for the first time in her life.

And I'm scared. It started when I was about 35 or so. My friends, my young friends, started getting cancer. Cervical, breast, colon, lung, you name it. In their thirties. What is going on? When did it become the case that everyone gets cancer? I used to think the question about getting married for life was whether the relationship would last; today I'm wondering what the chances are that neither person will battle cancer. And maybe lose.

I know I'm late to the game on this one. Bubblewench wrote last year about her husband getting testicular cancer. And suddenly she questioned whether they really were sure about never wanting kids. I'm sure there are others out there that I'm not even remembering right now. Even when I wrote that post a few weeks ago about not being touched by breast cancer, a flood of people started filling my mind:

- a cousin, 70, just lost his four-year battle the week before I wrote that post
- a good friend's husband, 38, just had surgery for colon cancer that metastasised to his lung. They have an 8-year-old daughter. Chemo starts again this week.
- Grace's grandmother, 60-something, had breast cancer when she was in her early 40s. So has every other woman in her family (her mother, three aunts, one niece). One didn't make it. Now she has stage 4 lung cancer that's metastasised to her brain.
- A distant family member, early 30s, just had a double mastectomy because her mother died of breast cancer and she learned she had the same marker on her DNA.
- Another distant family member (my sister's mother-in-law) has been on death's door for about a year due to some unusual strain of cancer attacking her vital organs.

And now my sister-in-law who I just stayed with for a month. The one who teased me because I was so sick and had to go to the ER.

I don't think it's that I'm unaware; it's that I'm desensitized.

Mind your own damn business

2010-09-01T13:17:00.003-04:00

Grace is a contributor to this blog. This blog is public. Sure, we don't advertise it to our friends and family, but it can be found. So I gotta be careful what I say and don't say.

Same goes for Facebook. Grace and I are friends on Facebook. Always have been, hope we always will be. She's never done anything to make me want to limit my profile to her, and I've respected her "space" in the social networking world.

(That being said, I'm thinking her honest comments on this matter would be priceless ;-) )

Moving on.

While I was growing up in my family, there was this curiosity about my romantic feelings that induced well-intentioned intrusion. My mother would question me about every boy I mentioned. And then she'd speculate about it with my grandmothers. Or my sisters. Or her friends at church. I hated it. It made me never want to date anyone. By the time I was in high school, I avoided discussing boys with my family at all costs. I had one boyfriend during all of high school (it lasted less than two months) and the rest of the time I hung out with gangs of friends. I remembered this feeling of resentment when I came time for me to parent my own adolescent daughter.

When Grace started high school, my advice to her was to have fun and not to get too serious with any one guy. Why? Because what's the point, really? You've got a lifetime to settle down with someone and commit a good bit of your time and resources to them. But you only have one chance to be a teen. One chance to make friends and hang out with them without too many time pressures. One chance to be carefree and find out who you are. In my opinion, the best shot a teen has at figuring out who they are is to do that independent of an attachment to a significant other. I told her that while she's a teen, she should look at romantic relationships and dating as like a best friend you happen to kiss sometimes. You don't start that relationship by someone walking up to you and saying, "let's get together this weekend." You don't have that friendship to the exclusion of others. And you don't hold on to that friendship if the other person isn't being a good friend.

Grace has been interested in boys on and off since she was in 7th grade. In these four years, there have been many episodes of fluttering feelings, heavy beating hearts, excitement and nerves, followed by cooling offs, mellowing outs, and resolutions to "just be friends." All in all, I'm fine with all of it. She seems to be able to identify the deadbeats and steer clear of them, regardless of how many times they hit on her. In the last month, she's been hanging out with one guy, trying to decide if he's someone she likes. Good, just as long as she keeps me up to speed on what's going on.

See, I figure she doesn't want me meddling in her life and getting off on the emotional volatility and possibilities of her romances. The best thing I can give her is a solid foundation to lean on when she needs me. She needs me to protect her, but not in a meddling way. I protect her because I love her, not because I find it exciting. I am not a matchmaker, an advice columnist, a gossip blogger, or a girlfriend. I am Grace's mother. I need to behave accordingly when she is a teenager in love.

Unfortunately, I'm not the only adult in Grace's life. There's lots of people who do get off on her possible romances. And meddle.

A year ago, Grace had her first real interest in a boy that she wanted to go on a date with. Nice kid. She mentioned it to her father. Who said he wanted to meet him. He told his sister. Who flew in to visit without Grace's knowledge. And at an orchestra concert where both Grace and the boy were performing, Grace's father waited to be introduced after the show. Grace's aunt pulled me to the side and said, "I hear Grace has a boyfriend! Was that him sitting to the right? With the brown hair? What do you think of him?" Ahem. Grace was 15 and the boy was 14. I think they are friends.

And then there's the times people meddle on facebook.

The last time Grace had a boyfriend, her father took the liberty posting on his facebook wall that he had just friended the boy as a way of keeping up with who he was. I think he was trying to say something witty about how technology today had completely changed his role as a responsible father. The romance was over a week later, in a quiet way. I don't know whether the boy retained his facebook connection with Grace's father.

Every time Grace puts up a picture on facebook of herself with a boy, my mother calls and asks who it is. Truth be told, most of her friends who are boys are gay. I never know what to tell my mother at that point. And I can never figure out why she asks me who the boys are and never who the girls are.

And then there's the latest event, the one that set my mind to blogging on this topic. A few days ago, Grace wrote on her facebook status that she went downtown with a boy. One of her aunts opened a facebook account less than a day ago. When she saw the status, she wrote, "Your aunt is asking who's [insert boy's name here]?" Subtle.

Is it any wonder teens avoid letting their parents see their facebook profiles? Grace happily accepts friend requests from all sorts of family and adult friends of the family. And she allows everyone to see her complete profile. Both her grandmothers, all her aunts and uncles and cousins, her parents and stepparents, and troves of friends of all these adults. All wanting to get a deeper look into the life of this teen. And comment on it. I give Grace a lot of credit; if I were her, I would have cut most of these people off a long time ago, what with their constant commentary on everything in her life.

Adults, remember what it was like to be a teenager. If a teenager allows you to take a peek into their real life, don't abuse that permission. Respect who they are and don't make embarrassing comments. If you do that, you only reenforce the teenager's desire to limit your access. And some of us parents are grateful that the teens trusts us with that peek.

Meddling, being honest, and how to keep friendships

2010-08-18T10:23:00.005-04:00

Grace was at music camp last week. Choir concert, Grace looked and sounded great, I loved seeing her enjoy herself. Last night she told me that there was some drama during her week away. You know, the kind where the girls all talk late at night in their cabin and one girl confesses her undying love for a boy? And then some of the girls decide to intervene, you know, to help the fledgling lovers out? 'Cause their communication is breaking down? Except that by intervening, the girls make things worse. By the end of the trip, the one girl who was in love asked Grace what she thought of her. Grace was more than blunt. She told her she was being bitchy.

Did I mention that Grace didn't know the girl a week earlier? That she's an incoming freshman?

I told Grace she might not want to be so brutally honest with the girl. And that she shouldn't meddle. I don't know whether Grace is going to take my advice.

The whole story threw me back to my own middle school and high school experiences. (I confess, getting an invite to my 20th high school reunion this week helped the speed of my total recall significantly.) Remember when it was so exciting to be "in the know"? To be the one who was the facilitator? The helper? The one who was just trying to make everyone happy? I do. I seem to also recall stirring up quite a bit on controversy. Which was also exciting.

The point is, being the girl who was meddling oftentimes meant I was the one who caused unpleasant situations to come about. In the midst of my conversation with Grace about the situation, I told her that there are precious few times in which it's worth telling someone what you really think of their romantic inclinations towards another person. As soon as the words came out of my mouth, I started challenging my own advice.

Is that true? As an adult, there are so many of my girlfriends who have gone through dating and marriage and divorce and cohabiting and reuniting...and on and on and on and on it goes. Most recently, one of my longest-term friends asked me to meet her boyfriend. Her idea was that I am one of her dearest friends, one of her closest and most intimate friends, and someone whose judgment she trusts. She wanted my opinion on the boyfriend. It's not the first time she's asked. Anyways, the end of the story is that I told her I thought he was great. Was that the truth? I ask you a more relevant question: Does it matter what my opinion of her boyfriend is?

Being honest with a close friend, especially about someone they are involved romantically with, is dangerous stuff. When you're in love, when you're physically close with someone, you really don't want to hear an objective opinion on what someone outside of the relationship thinks of your lover. Sure, you want to hear that your lover is great, fantastic, friendly, kind, smart, clever, funny, generous, thoughtful, or talented. That's the feedback you're looking for -- a confirmation that, in spite of your giggling and silliness and inability to see things objectively, you are being wise and smart and making good choices. But when you're in love, when your heart is spilling over with admiration and adoration of another human being, you don't wanna hear anything negative about him.

So here's my dilemma. When is it safe to be honest with a friend regarding a lover? There are clear times, like if he's abusive or extortive. But what if he's just a jerk? What if you question his ethics? What if he just rubs you the wrong way, over and over and over again? What if you just don't click with him? I find myself weighing the value of what I think is best for a friend versus what is really best for that friend. So what if I don't agree with someone's politics or ethics? Or if I find them a jerk? Does that outweigh a friend's potential for unlimited happiness? Isn't it a bit arrogant of myself to believe that my long lasting friendship with someone is more valuable than someone else's relationship with her?

Of course, there is the other side to this dilemma. Live and let live, que sera, sera, and such. It's so easy to stay out of someone's business. So much easier than speaking your mind and risking the backlash. Then the question of what is more important is between my comfort and a friend's well-being.

Where does the line lay? Is there any way to formulate a rule that works in every situation?

I would love to hear the stories out there. One friend has already given me her sad experience, the moral of the story being, NEVER tell someone what you think of their lover. EVER. And the story really was very, very sad. Another friend, one who was separated from her husband when he was exploring the kinky side of middle age, she just reunited with him after six full years of feuding. They are happy as ever. Unfortunately, I was brutally honest with her and way over-involved in their complications. Now I'm wondering if we'll ever get the intimacy of our friendship back.

I'm just trying to figure out what I should tell Grace, you know? 'Cause like every good parent, this really has nothing to do with me (wink, wink, nudge, nudge, say-no-more, say-no-more).

Some new posts & photos

2010-08-10T09:41:00.002-04:00

For the month of August, the bloggers at Midwest Parents are posting pictures of their summer adventures. Yesterday and today I posted a couple.

Hopefully I'll put up some more later this month. So far I've just been able to go through the literally hundreds of photographs we took while in Brazil. I still need to go through the literally hundreds of pictures we took on Stella's birthday and at her birthday party this past weekend.

Sometimes I think digital photography is a blessing, sometimes it's a curse. Remember when you used to spend time setting up your picture in the frame and worrying about whether the lighting was the best?

Our lousy house

2010-08-05T10:41:00.005-04:00

The mystery of my health prevails. I was still having some symptoms up until yesterday. But today I seem to be back to my normal self. Just in time for our next big adventure.

The cat.

My dear, sweet, terminally ill cat.

Who always lives inside and yet somehow contracted heartworms. Maybe. Or maybe she just developed the antibodies and the worms never got a chance to reproduce. The story goes that she has antibodies and the vet insists that we have to have the aforementioned feline cardiac ultrasound to confirm or deny that she has heartworms. (But if she has them, there's nothing we can do about it. So, what's the point of the ultrasound?)

Which leads me to my next big mystery. How our cat, who always stays inside and never is in contact with other animals, managed to contract LICE while we were away for a month to Brazil. She's in the house, with no other animals, and has someone coming to check on her each day. When we come home, there are clumps of cat fur and little, tiny, grain-of-salt-looking white balls on every horizontal surface. We noticed yesterday that if you give it a day, you also get some black stuff. And that the black stuff moves.

FUUUUUUCCCCCCCCCCKKKKKKKKKKK.

I've never had to deal with lice, whether the human or cat variety, before. Stella's birthday party is tomorrow afternoon. Children are coming to my house. And we can assume that there are little tiny bugs on every single textile in the house.

Let the de-lousing begin. Every bed, every couch, every sheet, every rug, every carpet, every surface, ugh. At least the house will be spanking clean for the party tomorrow, right?

Can someone out there please tell me whether I have to shampoo the cat? Because everything I've read seems to indicate that I do.

One of you out there will say, why don't you just take the cat to the vet and ask your questions there? Mostly because our vet costs a fortune. We take her there because she freaks out around other animals and this vet only treats cats. So we accept that it will be about $100 to walk in the door. But here's the ironic part: the only place I can think that the cat has been in contact with other animals in the last 2-3 months was at the vet's office! I wanna call them and tell them they need to pay for all my delousing paraphernalia plus give me our next visit free.

I think I'm never taking my cat to the vet again. All they do is tell me she's getting more ill and that I need to have really expensive tests done that we can't afford. And the trip to the office makes her freak out and that makes the heart condition worse. And now, she seems to have contracted lice at the office. What is the point?

Grace has to vacuum her room, sort all the laundry and then fold the clean laundry when it comes out of the dryer. Stella has to steer clear of lousy areas of the house. I have to go to the pet store and get lots of shampoo and powder and anything else I need to deal with this issue. And then keep sweeping, vacuuming, laundering, bleaching, and on and on. As for coping with this, I need to keep my head firmly attached to my shoulders. And I will visit my therapist this afternoon.

I'm not going to ask "what next?" ever again.

2010-07-24T07:00:00.002-04:00

I figured we needed some lightweight banter from Gracie before I jumped into what fresh hell has broken forth here in the wintery southern hemisphere this past week. Grace is a breath of fresh air, no?

Let's see, where to begin? First, a shout out to my good friend Little Miss Sunshine State. She and I are currently competing in a "who's on the worse run of bad luck" contest. If you'd like to enter, you'd better come up with something more exciting than what we've got. She's so much better than I am, though; she actually knows how to serve up fresh hot hell and make it sound pleasant and serene.

Roseola. That's what Stella's three-day fever of 103-104 was. It was followed by a nice, good, two days of rash. And then she was fine. My husband was just about over his week-long cold at that point, when it became clear that Grace and I had caught it. He went to the pharmacy and bought extra tissues and cold medicine. Then it got a little nutty.

Sunday was Stella's baptism. It was lots of fun, very nice. Hours of preparation and hours at the church. Lots of picture taking. Lots of smiles. Stella looked marvelous. But somewhere in the midst of my adrenalin, I knew something was not right. I felt tired, weak. By the afternoon, every time I ate or drank something, I felt nauseous.

(I know what you're thinking: she's pregnant again. Well, no, no such luck. That explanation would be oh, so simple.)

By Monday, I was thinking I should fast. Clearly something was up and I just needed to give my body a chance to purge itself and then start over. By Monday night, my body started involuntarily purging my digestive tract. On Tuesday morning, I decided not to eat anything and stuck with a few glasses of warm water. Some apple tea. Then about mid afternoon, a banana and cinnamon tea. Still, something was not quite right. I fell asleep.

Fast forward to that evening. I know something is very wrong. I'm having very bad abdominal cramping. No one is home with me and Stella, so I nurse her at 7p, lay her down in her crib, and pray she falls asleep. And she did. And then I lay on the couch, moaning, trying to visualize a focal object as I breathe through pain. Trying to imagine myself wrapped in a protective cocoon and relax my muscles. Trying to stop whatever is happening.

At 9p, Grace came home. I told her to be quiet so Stella wouldn't wake up. I couldn't stand up for more than a few seconds without feeling faint. My brother-in-law (who gave Grace a ride home) asked me if I wanted to go to the hospital. I said, no, there's no need. And really, at that point, I believed that.

Really.

The truth of the situation is, I have been trying to stay out of the hospital for twelve months straight. It's a modest goal, don't you think? It's been at least five years since I was able to do that. Every time I think things are wrapped up nicely and that I'm healthy and can go about my merry way, WHAM! Something hits me upside the head and there I am again.

This week, on Tuesday night, it was that around 10p I broke out in tiny little red bumps all over the top of my thighs. I took benadryl. It kept spreading, up my torso and around to my back. My sister-in-law came home (an RN no less), took one look at my legs and asked, "what is that?!?!" I guessed maybe allergies. My husband came home a few minutes later. The look on his face said it all. I took a second dose of benadryl and a shower. Then I laid down to rest. Still, stomach cramps, body rejecting everything in my GI tract, and hives spreading everywhere, from the tip of my head to the bottom of my feet.

By midnight, I told my husband to take me to emergency. By the time we got there, I couldn't walk anymore. By the time I had been triaged, I couldn't sit up anymore. It's the only time in my life I can remember thinking, 'Don't let me die right now.'

Three hours later, and lots of injections and blood tests later, the news came: I've got some infection.

The last time this happened to me was November 2009, while I was on antibiotics because there was some uterine infection of leftover placenta. After I saw my allergist, I was left with the same thing I had before: this isn't something from the outside that's causing this reaction, it's on the inside. My body has some infection and it doesn't know what to do, so it does everything it can to get rid of it. The problem is, it's killing me while it's trying to get rid of the infection.

But, what's the infection?

The last piece of evidence came by Wednesday morning. Those horrible stomach cramps? Period. Way too early. WAY too early. By this point I realized, I gotta call my reproductive endocrinologist and find out what's going on inside my body. The office scheduled an appointment for me the morning after we return home.

I'm hoping for the best. Next week Grace is having her wisdom teeth removed. I have to sort things out with the insurance adjuster as per our car accident of exactly four weeks ago. I need to plan Stella's first birthday party, taking place less than two weeks from today. I'd like to take some time to go to the pool with the girls, maybe trim boxwoods in the back and transplant some to the front yard.

But I've got a sick sinking feeling, somehow I've got to be ready to accept that I may have to schedule a surgery for myself in there.

My Addiction: McDonald's

2010-07-23T10:33:00.001-04:00

I'm just going to come out up front. I love McDonald's.... it's as simple as that. My mom, stepdad, sister, and me are all in Brazil. I have been training by myself for swim team. I hadn't eaten fast food in like 3 weeks!... that's a long time for me. The last I had gone to McDonald's was with my best friend on June 26. I go to McDonald's almost once a week... yeah, I know, it's bad.

The other day, my mom, one of my tias, and me were coming home after my swim training. There was a lot of traffic (it was Friday night) and the ride takes about 20 to 30 minutes. I was supposed to have gone to McDonald's that night after practice with my stepdad, but he stayed home with Stella, so I couldn't go. I was quite pissed off about this new change of plans. Anyways, we were driving home and I talked about McDonald's the entire ride. When I say "the entire ride", I mean the entire ride, from the time I got into the car to the time when I got out of the car.

My mom started to get really fed up with my persistent talking. We were about 100 yd from the house when my tia got out her cell phone to call my stepdad. She said she was going to ask if I could go get fast food. My hopes were high at first, but nobody answered the phone so I just dropped it.

The next day, Saturday, my stepdad, mom, sister, another one of my tias, and I went to the hospital. We gone for the entire day. I was getting tired and bored. My mom and tia started telling me that if I did a runway walk down the hospital hallway, that we could go get McDonald's. I said no... of course! I mean, it's a hospital not America's Next Top Model! I asked my mom later if we were going to McDonald's, and she told me that she gave me a chance but I refused! As you can imagine, I was pissed off. I had spent the entire day in a hospital with nothing to do and now I couldn't even have McDonald's!!!

We went home and I started taking off my jewelry and shoes, when my stepdad told me we were going out to eat. I asked where and he said.... FAST FOOD!!!!! O.Mi.Gawd! You should have seen my face! I went from neutral to pure over ecstasy. The best part was that, I could see all of this unfold because I was in front of a mirror.

We got to the food court at the mall, I saw the golden arches, and I swear I had a heart attack. Mom: I think Grace is going to pass out if she can see the golden arches but she can't taste them.

My stepdad wanted to look around at the other places and I started to get a desperate look on my face. Mom: Grace is getting a desperate look on her face like she might not be getting McDonald's. I think you need to reassure her.

I went up to the counter and ordered a number 1 meal. The price? About $8.50!!! That's proof of an addiction right there. I sat down with my meal while my stepdad, mom, and tia (yes, another one) were still deciding what to order. I said that I would wait to eat. I ate one fries, two fries, three fries... so on and so forth. I offered fries to my tia and she took a couple. That's when she said she was going to get Giraffas (a Brazilian fast food chain). By that time I had already eaten all my fries.

Baduh duh duh duhhhh I'm lovin' it

Sorting out the symptoms

2010-07-11T19:38:00.005-04:00

I called our US pediatrician on Thursday afternoon. They told me the following: we don't worry about a fever in an infant unless (a) it goes over 105 degrees F and/or (b) it lasts for over 24 hours and is not accompanied with other symptoms. If it goes over 105, go to emergency; if it lasts over 24 hours without breaking at all and there are no other symptoms, go see a doctor.

The fever started Wednesday night. After taking tylenol and ibuprofen nonstop, Stella still had not broken a fever under 103 by Saturday morning. We decided to take the baby to see a pediatrician at a local private hospital through their emergency services. After seeing that doctor, there were blood and urine tests ordered, an adjustment of dosing of medicine due to her weight, and a conclusion that she was fighting some infection, most likely roseola or a South American strain of rotavirus. Within 12 hours, she broke her fever and now she is mostly herself again.

Here's the part that made me unexpectedly reflective and calm.

Remember, exactly three years ago our family was in the same city and I was pregnant. Or not. Well, that I was miscarrying was confirmed during our visit. The visit was a whirlwind of doctor visits, exams, international phone calls to my ob/gyn, and a tragic loss of the pregnancy, and me feeling like I had left a dead child behind when we returned to the US. In the end, our little family had a common experience that brought us together; it gave us a way to understand each other differently...and better.

Yesterday as we were driving to the private hospital, I remembered that this was exactly the same place my husband and I went to when a doctor showed us clearly on a sonogram image that I was hemorrhaging. Before my husband could the bill, I quickly walked out of the office and spontaneously burst into tears in the hallway.

Yesterday, after our visit with the pediatrician, we went to the public hospital to have lab work done. I knew this hospital. It is where my sister-in-law works as a nurse. As we parked and walked in, my mind was flooded with the memories of the images of being there three years ago. I had an exam with a doctor who wanted to do a D&C immediately. I was numb. I came to Brazil with good news of a coming child and the three short weeks later, I was facing a surgical procedure due to a spontaneous abortion. Again, I left holding my husband's hand, filled with sadness.

And yet...

Where was Grace during all this?

At home, with her aunts and cousins, mostly being sheltered from the impending bad news. I don't have any idea what it would be like to be her in that situation. I would be remiss to not say that Grace is remarkably mature and flexible in unusual situations. Once she understands what is going on, she often surprises me in her ability to adjust and cope with difficulty. When she finally did find out what had happened that summer three years ago, she responded with sensitivity and empathy. And with her own way of coping with things.

Yesterday as we were all in the car driving to the hospital, when my husband and I were discussing whether or not this was the hospital we had visited when I was miscarrying, Grace was in the back seat talking with Stella in her car seat. I overheard her saying something like, we were all here this summer but it wasn't time yet for you to be born. We had to wait for you. And now you're here.

My heart melted with love. For both of my daughters. Instead of continuing my downward spiral of worry about how much more could go bad with Stella, I became grateful that I had her. And that I had Grace. And that we were all there. And that no one was dying. Because that's what happened the last time we were all there together.

What next?

2010-07-08T11:00:00.004-04:00

We've been in Brazil for 10 days now. It's a good break. We get to let go of connections and no one expects us to reply immediately. There's still this mystique associated with international travel (outside Europe, at least) that communication is difficult. In reality, it's an illusion we choose to uphold because it gives us a break from our regular life.

Stella turned 11 months old yesterday.

This morning, at 5a, she woke up crying. This is weird for Stella; she almost always sleeps through the night. As soon as we picked her up out of her crib, we realized she had a fever. We took off her pajamas and put her in a short-sleeved onesie. Then we gave her tylenol (don't worry, the generic kind; we know about the recall). Then I nursed her and hoped she went back to sleep. She slept for another two hours and then was up again. I tried to comfort myself by deciding that this readily apparent illness explained her lack of appetite yesterday.

It's almost lunchtime now and she's slept on and off, nursed on and off, and her fever hasn't broken yet. She still doesn't want to eat real food.

How worried would you be?

It's not so much worry that's getting to me; it's the seemingly never-ending string of inconvenient things happening. Three weeks ago, the baby had hand-foot-mouth disease. Not fun at all. She broke out in hives everywhere, including a lovely patch of red sores on the back of her throat. It was only once Stella was correctly diagnosed that we realized Grace had also had the virus a week earlier. Poor kid took Benadryl for days for no good reason.

Before that it was a bizarre episode of damage to the front door of our house because a candidate for state congress had left a slick, colored flyer in the door jamb over a weekend while we were gone out of town. One night and one rainstorm later, the flyer had nicely adhered to the door paint and upon removal, took the paint right off the door. The candidate, understandably, took measures to have the situation rectified. But the work is still not finished.

Before that it was a roller coaster ride about what to do with the cat while we were out of town. She's at high risk for congestive heart failure, as per her veterinarian visit in May. It wasn't until I found myself on the phone with a feline cardiologist that I realized, this is messed up. Our family is leaving for a month; what is the likelihood that the cat will not survive this length of time? No one could tell me without a feline cardiac ultrasound. The veterinarian finally told me I should put the cat in the care of someone who would be calm in case of an emergency. I calmly hung up the phone and cried a bit by myself.

And then just three days before we left on our trip to Brazil, 4:15p on a Friday, car accident. We were the middle car in a three-car rear-ending collision. It wouldn't have been bad except our car is a compact and the other two cars were a minivan and an SUV. Did I mention everyone was in the car? Including Stella in her car seat? Brand new car seat, now rendered worthless because it was in a car collision. So I found myself not just trying to find a body shop on Friday afternoon, but also a vendor where I could buy a new car seat asap. The body shop stayed open for us to drop the car off and told us it wouldn't be a problem to leave it there for a month. The insurance adjuster said he was sure it would all be fine. I keep having the sick feeling the car is totaled.

Lordy.

Back to the feverish sleepy baby. As a mom, I've always been a believer in letting the kid sweat it out. The fever is doing its work killing the bug. Provided it stays within normal limits, it's not hurting the kid at all. But now that it's happening to Stella for the first time, I'm having flashbacks to being with Grace in Russia when she was about the same age as Stella is now, when she first showed signs of motion sickness and abdominal migraines. I felt just a tad helpless. Granted, I'm in a much better situation now. I'm older and more experienced, I can actually communicate in the language of the country I'm in, and, oh yeah, my husband is a national of the country. Needless to say, the situation is better. But still, today I find myself not so confident in letting the fever run its natural course.

On the positive side, it's the middle of winter here and the highs are in the mid-70s. And everyone in our family got their flu vaccinations. I think I'm trying to find the balance in the whole thing. Life, that is.

It's a pity Freud and I never met.

2010-06-21T08:22:00.005-04:00

I didn't sleep well last night. It could have been due to the summer solstice and that I woke up much too early. It could be that I have WAY too much on my mind because we're leaving for Brazil in a week and won't be back until August. But after hearing me relate the narrative of my most memorable dream of last night, my husband thinks I didn't sleep well because I'm taking on the pains of my daughters.

I was in college again. It was parents' weekend and as usual, everything was in disarray. There was some amorphous something on my mind that I needed to do, like some assignment for a class, but I was obliged to visit with family. Then suddenly I found myself at the dentist for my scheduled appointment to have my wisdom teeth extracted. I could feel the dread in my stomach at the procedure. I confirmed for the staff that I hadn't eaten anything since the night before. Then they did anesthesia, and waited, and I waited, and they left the room, and I waited some more...

After a couple of hours, I asked them what the hold up was. They told me the dentist had decided not to removed the teeth. See, I had already had them extracted when I was 14 and I had 11 more sets of wisdom teeth. If they kept taking them out, new ones would only keep coming in. Rather than put me through all this, they told me it was better to just keep the current set of wisdom teeth and catch up with my parents for the end of the weekend festivities.

Which was having pulled pork at the dining hall and then kissing them goodbye as they left for the airport.

Back to real life.

Am I spending time thinking about Grace's future? Like, what she will do once she graduates from high school? Ya, ya, ya. Mostly emphatically, yes. I try to let go, but really it's on my mind a lot. Apparently. I'm sure she knows this and that makes it even worse because I'm sure she thinks about it anyhow and the idea that she knows that I think about it puts a little too much emphasis the whole situation. Get it?

Grace also has an appointment to meet with an oral surgeon in two days, on Wednesday morning. Her wisdom teeth have already broken through and her dentist said act on this now before pain sets in. So we scheduled a consult this week, we'll leave for Brazil for a month, and then as soon as we get back, she'll most likely have surgery.

Surgery? That's a big deal. It's bad enough when it's you, but your kid? She's never had surgery of any kind before. I'm not sure how to breathe through this experience.

And then there's Stella who's also breaking teeth. Since she cut her first bottom two teeth three months ago, they just keep erupting. Her typical routine goes something like: cry, rub, chew, bite, get medicated, fall asleep, repeat. She's got six teeth in now. And in one week we're facing our first air travel with her. Nine hours on a red-eye flight to Brazil. A week from today. Imagine how the other 200 passengers will cope with cry, rub, chew, bite, get medicated, fall asleep, repeat. Oh, I'm sure they will notice her big, beautiful eyes and her precious little smile. Really. Did I include the bit about how I'm sure she'll get excruciating ear pain during this flight as well?

This past week I've started noticing yoga centers in town. I think I need to spend some time doing deep breathing today. After I go to the bank to pick up new debit cards and to the mall to pay a credit card bill and to the library to drop Grace off.

Midwest Parents

2010-03-21T20:31:00.002-04:00

Hey all, I'm posting over at Midwest Parents this week. I know I haven't hardly posted anything here in ages, but I've been contributing there once in awhile. I've been trying to give my week's writings there themes, so this week? What's my theme this week? Sleep.

Seriously.

Don't you want to read a week's worth of posts about sleep?

On that note, my husband and I bought a new mattress set today. We've never done that before. We've been sleeping on hand-me-down mattresses or older ones that have been moved one-too-many-times. We're frugal like that, sleeping on too small of a bed with mismatched sheets and whatnot, while our baby has cutesy little coordinated outfits and Grace has themed birthday parties to die for. But we did it, we bought a new mattress set. Delivery is Wednesday. I'm buying a new comforter set online TOMORROW. And the new set matches the coffee-brown thermal black-out curtains we hung in the bedroom a month ago.

I'm hoping for very good nights of sleep after this whole thing comes together.

How blogging can save your grandmother's life: A true story

2010-03-19T11:36:00.006-04:00

The idea of traveling south to see family for Grace's mid-winter break didn't seem so out of the ordinary. We thought about it, tried on a few sample itineraries for size, and finally decided upon the vacation we had been waiting for. Our little family of four in our little Honda Civic, driving the over 1000 miles south to my grandma's house. The weather would be getting better the farther south we went. We really weren't looking to be entertained by some spectacular spectacle, just get a chance to get away from it all.

Little Miss Sunshine State and I are facebook friends. Since we're bloggy friends too, that makes us about as connected as two people who have never met each other could be. I mentioned the trip to her on facebook. She replied immediately, CAN WE MEET? THAT WOULD BE GREAT!!

She lives a mere 70 miles or so from our southernmost destination. I told her, I would love to meet up with her. It would be GREAT! Yeah, I had a little bit of that feeling of, 'what am I doing meeting up with someone I know only through the words on my electronic screen?' And then there's the whole anonymity of my blog, you know, the one my mother doesn't know about? My mother, who's facebook friends with me merely so she can cyberstalk me in order to speculate every single thing I'm up to? How would I do this? How could I meet up with Little Miss Sunshine State, with the girls, while visiting family, and make sure everything went off without a hitch?

My therapist told me not to worry about things so much, about how they would work out. My husband told me, 'we've got a lot going on during this trip. Are you sure you want to throw in one more person you want to see in 9 total days?' We already had five days of driving in the trips and four different stops. Indeed, it seemed busy. Ok, then. I told Little Miss Sunshine State, 'we'd see.'

Grandma broke her hip a couple weeks before our scheduled departure. After surgery to replace the broken hip, she spent 10 days in ICU. That gave us enough reason to cut out the Alabama leg of the trip to see extended family. It would have been a lot of run-around and, though we would have enjoyed visiting the homestead, it was a better idea to visit with grandma while she was (somewhat) immobile. Fine then, five days in Ocala visiting with Grandma and my parents, my parents who had come up 300 miles from Fort Lauderdale to be with her while she recovered. My little family would enjoy the break. The girls could visit with grandparents and great-grandma, Grace could indulge in long walks and sleeping in. My husband and I could do the same and my husband could even go to the public library for free time reading. All in all, it sounded like a perfect vacation.

In the back of my mind, Little Miss Sunshine State.

By the time we arrived, Grandma had been discharged from the hospital and entered into a nursing/rehab facility. She lives on her own, so she couldn't just go home and become more mobile. It turned out to be perfect. The girls wouldn't have been able to visit with her at all if she had been in the hospital, flu epidemic and all. At the rehab center, we could make ourselves at home while a nursing and therapy staff helped grandma with all her medical needs. Things seemed perfect.

Tuesday, Wednesday. Little Miss Sunshine State and I are exchanging messages while I'm pirating internet off some unsuspecting neighbor in my grandma's neighborhood. I've got her cell phone number but I haven't gotten up the nerve (due to emotions and logistics) to call her. Finally, I decide to just do it.

Voicemail. I leave her a message to call back.

And call back she does. It's like talking to an old friend! Well, an old friend if I had grown up in Cape Cod, that is. She's got vowels I can't even recognize, like Cape COAWD. That's one vowel, not two as a southerner would do it (Cape Caw-uhd!). And it just so happens that the day we talked on the phone was the day that killer whale at Sea World killed a trainer. That seemed like a crazy story to be happening right when we get to talk for the first time. I mean, killer whale killing someone at a water entertainment park? This led us to alligator shows in Florida and snake trainers sapping the venom out of their fangs in front of an audience.

While we're talking my mother comes in and asks, "Are you talking to someone I know?" Little Miss Sunshine State tells me, "Say you're talking to someone you've never met in your life who very well could be a serial killer." I realize this woman is a good, good, woman.

OK, but the point is, we decided to meet up. At the mall. In Ocala, Florida on Friday afternoon. Really. We met at the mall. (gah, I am lame.) I figured it would give us girls a break from the rest of the family and that my little family could visit Grandma that evening.

Friday morning comes and I get everyone ready. Everyone has their requisite serving of grits and eggs, along with orange juice and then I clean up the dishes with Grace's help. Grace reluctantly changes out out of a tank top with holes in it and puts on a purple top from American Eagle instead. She plays stupid with my mom on who we're going to meet. "Some friend of mom's, I'm not sure." Very good, my young child. I have taught you well. I pile the whole family in the car and drop my husband off at the library. He told me to have fun with my mystery friend. And then we girls cut back across town to the mall.

A little bit later, after guiding Little Miss Sunshine State to the mall via cell phone directions, she finds us at Kirkland's. Thank goodness, because Grace had just said it smelled awful in there from too many scented candles.

We visited, we talked, we walked, we ate, we laughed. I heard all about her new training at work. We talked about the kids. We even judged a few outfits Grace had picked out at a local Brazilian shop there. (btw, LMSS, not even in Brazil could she have gotten away with those picks!) And then, the time for us to part came too quickly. She needed to get home and we needed to visit my Grandma before the day got too late. We reluctantly parted with hugs and smiles and said we'd have to do it again before too much time passed.

Back to Grandma. We arrived expecting the time to pass too quickly. It was the last time we'd get to visit with her before beginning the long trek home the next morning. It was getting late, almost dinner time for her (5p), but we wanted to visit even if just for a few minutes. My parents hadn't been able to come over that day due to other details that had to be taken care of before they left two days later. The day before she had been a little tired because she had left the rehab center for an appointment with her surgeon. Good news, but she was exhausted. Before we arrived that Friday afternoon, we had heard she didn't do physical therapy that day at all. When we arrived, she was asleep in bed.

The rest of the family slipped quietly out so as not to disturb her. I sat with her a few minutes before she woke up. She was having difficulty breathing and very tired. She wanted to sit up in her wheelchair.

Within a few minutes, it was clear that something was not right. She told me so and asked me to call the nurse and get her to listen. It took some urging. One nurse didn't think there was any cause for alarm. Grace came back and stood next to grandma. She held her head next to her chest, supporting her. I quickly slipped out into the hallway and called my dad. He said he'd come up in about 10 minutes.

One nurse took two minutes finding her pulse. Her heart rate was slowing. She was having trouble staying awake.

The end of the story? About 7p, she was transported to the hospital via ambulance because her heart rate was dropping far too low. By midnight, she had been stabilized and was in ICU. Dangerous interaction between drugs, her cardiologist said. Through the night via phone calls from my parents at the hospital, it became clear: if we had not been at the rehab center when we were, she would not have made it to the hospital. Had she not made it to the hospital, she would not have survived the night.

Had I not visited with Little Miss Sunshine State on Friday midday, I would have never visited my Grandma so late in the evening.

Follow the logic?

Meeting fellow bloggers can save your grandmother's life. No lie.

Tune in here tomorrow for a fresh, new episode!

2010-03-18T19:28:00.001-04:00

I'm coming back tomorrow with a story that will knock your socks off. A trip to Florida, meeting another blogger face-to-face for the first time, and how the moment by moment decisions we make can make the biggest difference in the world.

Sorry I took such a long leave of absence. I hope you all have been well!

Contemplating with Myself

2010-01-27T20:18:00.010-05:00

Wow.... I haven't posted anything for a while. I feel like such a slacker ;)

The other day on facebook, I wrote on some friends' walls... note that I hadn't talked to these people in about two years... and (shocker!!!) they wrote back on mine. The problem is that I don't really want to talk to these people anymore... I mean I do and at the same time I don't. I mean they're still my friends and all, but it's awkward now, 'cause I hadn't talked to them in so long. I feel like some kind of facebook stalker.

So, I haven't wrote on their walls yet, 'cause I don't really know what to say. I mean at the time when I first wrote on their wall, I thought i was a great way to regain and restore a old and dying friendship... but in actuality I realized that I have like NOTHING in common with these people any more.

I feel kind of guilty though, 'cause I should write on their walls 'cause they wrote back on mine. But I don't really know them anymore...

Speaking of friends on facebook, my cousin friended me on facebook. So, I was like "yea. sure. He's my cousin and all." Note that he is only 14. He messaged me today and asked me how I was and stuff like that.

But then I realized that their are things that on my facebook that I don't think I really want my younger cousins seeing. I mean, I don't have like drunk pictures or like porn on my page... it's just that I'm the oldest cousin. There are pictures of me on facebook that are mildly inappropriate in a sly kind of way. For example:

This is a picture from summer camp '09.

I don't want to de-friend him though, 'cause he is my cousin and all and I want to keep in touch with him. I mean I am friends with my parents, grandparents, aunts, and uncles on facebook. If THEY hadn't said anything yet, I don't think I should go making a big deal out of it. I'll let it go and see what happens.

What? What happened to coffee hour?!??!!?

2010-01-21T14:26:00.002-05:00

I may have mentioned in the past that my husband is from Brazil, in South America, you know, where coffee beans come from? Where they speak Portuguese and the word meaning breakfast (café da manhã) literally translates to "morning coffee"? Yeah. Coffee is a big part of our life. Not in a get-the-biggest-vat-of-the-poison-you-can-and-chug-like-an-addict way, but more like a stop-and-make-time-for-each-other kind of way. I think it started back at our first date. I asked him to go to breakfast. He asked what time. I suggested 10a. He was trying to decide if that would work because he knew he couldn't wake up too early on Saturday, but he also knew that once he woke up he wouldn't be able to go very long without coffee. And he couldn't very well wake up, eat breakfast and have coffee, and then meet me for breakfast. The end of the story is that 10a worked perfectly, we parted ways about 4p and now here we are: married coffee people.

For us, coffee is essential at breakfast and in the afternoon. Sometimes we even have a third coffee after dinner with dessert.

Last week my husband had his teeth whitened by the dentist. They look great. But there's one big drawback: he can't have coffee anymore. It stains his teeth. And what's the point of having the dentist whiten your teeth if you're just going to stain them again?

No problem. He substituted warm milk and added a few tablespoons of coffee or cocoa. Cocoa beans also come from South America, afterall. And we carried on like nothing had changed.

Then we went to the pediatrician with Stella yesterday. She's having some strange symptoms with her digestion. You know, I really don't like reading about gross bodily functions when other people write it, so I'll spare you the details and trust that I've given you enough information. Anyways, we decide that the likely culprit is an infantile sensitivity to lactose. She's had nothing but breastmilk since she was born, though. There's no lactose in breastmilk, so where's the sensitivity coming into play? Oh, in my diet, that's where. It's possible that because I'm intaking milk-based products, that's causing her some trouble. The suggestion by the pediatrician was for me to cut all dairy out of my diet for a week and see what happens.

All dairy? ALL of it? Do you know what that covers? That's right: the milk I put in my several cups of coffee throughout the day. See, I'm really a latte kind of a girl. I don't drink coffee black. Ever. Nevertheless, it was give up the milk in the coffee, give up the coffee altogether, or let the kid continue to have her ever-so-pleasant symptoms. Alright then, black coffee it is.

This morning we sat down for coffee. Gone was the lovely milky white coffee in our cups. Also gone was our signature omelet (milk & cheese & butter). Instead we had coffee-like beverages and fried eggs. And toast. It was not the same. By the end of breakfast, I just looked at the remaining half cup of sweet black stuff in my bug and twisted my nose. Ick.

So the way I see it, we can substitute our coffee with mimosas and port wine (did you know that's from Portugal?) and hope for the best.

"Grace, there's a big chore you have to do."

2010-01-08T16:38:00.007-05:00

Grace just came in the door from school at about 3:30p. It's Friday afternoon and she's ready to kick off her shoes for the weekend and relax. Frankly, I think she's already bummed that she had to go to school today since I think she and all her classmates were hoping for more snow overnight. They didn't get enough for the district to call a snow day, but there was enough to make our already snow covered driveway unable to be traversed by our little Honda Civic. My husband left town yesterday (in the middle of the storm) and thus clearing said driveway is left to us women of the house.

As Grace was pulling off her newly acquired varsity letterman's jacket, I told her I guessed she realized there was a big chore to do before the sun went down. She said yeah, she would get right on it after she got a snack.

Wow, that was easy.

I told her to remember to clear the front and back walks, too.

Huh? she asked. What do you mean the front and back walks?

She thought the big chore was cleaning the cat litter. Oh my. Imagine her reaction to understanding that in addition to her regular afternoon chore of cleaning the cat litter, she would have to clear our driveway.

Nevertheless, after a bowl of popcorn, she pulled her boots and jacket right back on and went at it.

Here's the view from my bedroom window:

Just so you can get some perspective of how long the driveway really is, here's two views from the first floor. I include the picture of the school bus going by for the full effect.

I stayed safely inside the garage to take these pictures. I didn't even put on shoes, I just slipped on my slippers. I snapped the pictures quickly before my arms got too cold since I was only wearing a short-sleeved t-shirt.

Imagine the joyous reaction I got when I snapped this last one out the back door:

By the time she was finished and came in, she called to me, "I know you took more pictures of me." Thrilled, she was, I tell you.

God, I love that kid. She's the greatest.

Where I am this week

2010-01-05T13:15:00.004-05:00

Well, Happy New Year, all. I'm taking my good 'ole time getting back into it.

This week I'm posting every day at Midwest Parents. Yesterday I griped about post-holiday issues. Today I went on and on about how much I hate slumber parties. If you want more, keep coming every day. By Friday, you'll get my easiest recipe ever for baked apple. I promise.

So click on over to Midwest Parents and check out my writing. If you're jonesing for some of Grace's writing, I hear rumblings of a new post from her soon, too.

Almost Christmas

2009-12-23T17:11:00.005-05:00

I am notoriously difficult to buy gifts for. People are never sure what I need, what I will like, or what will be exactly the right present. My mother usually buys me a bunch of stuff that she thinks I need. (I'm starting to realize this gift-giving trend of hers is feeding my fashion emergency.) This year when my mother called to complain about my lack of telling her what I wanted, I told her that it would be so easy. I'm one of those people who walks into the stores at Christmas time and falls apart at how many cute little things there are that you could put around the house. It seems like I never have enough to decorate to my heart's content. So I told her to just go to the store, pick out some really fun decorations, and then send them along.

A few days later, I received a package in the mail. Inside was a reused box that was light and packed full. I opened it up anxiously. Inside I found two throw pillows, both red with an angel covering the front, edged with frilly old-fashioned lace.

My mother included a short note explaining that the pillows had been made by a woman in our church while I was growing up, Mrs. Martin. Since I had been close to Mrs. Martin as a child, my mother thought I would like to have the pillows. She even offered to take the lace off if I thought it was too much for my taste.

As I looked closely at the stitching on angels, I remembered that Mrs. Martin had taught me to do the same on a yellow potholder I made when I was seven. I struggled to keep each stitch the same length, wishing I could make my stitches as uniform as hers were. The stitching she had done on the pillows was just as precise as I remember it being so long ago. If I took a quick look at the pillows without knowing where they had come from, I probably would have missed the huge amount of work put into the task. At one time, all that Mrs. Martin held in her hands was some raw fabric printed with angels and spools of thread. What she produced out of those materials was truly beautiful. And the process by which it became the pillows I held in front of me was a labor of selfless love.

I was very grateful to receive the pillows. I wanted to keep the lace exactly as Mrs. Martin had sewn it there. I felt like when she made them so many years ago, maybe she thought of me a few times. Maybe. Maybe she had a sense that I would get them some day.

I'm trying to remember that each act I commit has long lasting effects that even I cannot imagine. Long after I am gone, maybe someone will be blessed by something I did. Of course, it's possible that I could have the opposite effect on someone by being selfish. That's a sombering idea that makes me want to make the most of every moment of every day.

Lately I've been 'cranky,' as my family members would put it. Sure, I could give fair explanations for why. A surgery, some lingering pain, and a reminder that the holidays always makes depression worse for me. Still, when I am able to see past my own needs, I want to give back selflessly. Especially to my family. To my daughters and my husband.

Long after I am gone, I will be lucky if my great-grandchildren even know what my name was. They definitely won't know anything that afflicted me like surgeries or depression or just too hectic of a life. But maybe, maybe if there are some loving, generous, giving things I can do in my lifetime, those same great-grandchildren might benefit without even knowing it was me who made it possible. Or even who I was.

Merry Christmas, all. Make every moment matter. Peace.

Belated 2nd Blogaversery... and... more Bourbon ;)

2009-12-22T13:47:00.006-05:00

Wow... I'm really bad. I missed the blogaversery. I find it quite odd that for the past two years around the same time, we as a family have some kind of issue with the bourbon.

Yes. I did eat the bourbon balls two years ago and I thought they were delicious. So, like any other food I like, I decided to stuffed my mouth with the deliciously goodness that I had discovered in the fridge. The first year I found them, they were in a tin box. In the tin box, there was a note that said "DO NOT TOUCH!!!" I didn't know what they were all I knew was that there were about 100 little chocolate balls in the fridge. They did taste funny but figured that it was some nice like European chocolate that my mom had used to be all fancy and stuff. Later my mom found out and she was angry. I talking about like flames in her eyes, smoke coming out of her ears, and spitting fire. My mom asked me why I had still ate some even after I saw the note. I told her that I didn't remember why. Although, I did remember, but you think I was going to tell her then??? What I really thought was that they really thought a note would stop me from eating the balls??? Please... like the bourbon balls had some like Jedi shield around them.

The next Christmas my mom made the bourbon balls again. She put them in them in the same tin box in the fridge. Talk about some serious déjà vu. Anyways, I ate them and my mom got all pissed off at me once again. But really, she thinks that if she leaves them out that I'm not going to eat them???

Now about the empty liquor bottle. She accused me!!! I mean really, eating bourbon balls and drinking an entire bottle of liquor are two completely different things! I like the balls but I DO NOT like alcohol just because of that. The bourbon balls have barely any bourbon in them anyways. For me to drink that entire bottle would mean that I was like an alcoholic or something. I'm surprised that she didn't consider that maybe the bottle had been emptied awhile ago.

On another note, I left for my dad's house yesterday. When I arrived my sister asked me if I would play with her. I said yes. She told me that she was the princess, my brother was the hero, and my dad was the king. And guess what she told me I was...... I was the dragon. Thanks sis. I'm feeling the love.

This year, it's just about bourbon. And Grace.

2009-12-21T17:40:00.004-05:00

Two years ago yesterday, on December 20, 2007, I started this blog with a post about bourbon balls and how furious I was at Grace for eating a slew of them without anyone's permission. That seems like an eternity ago. Let's visit an event involving bourbon that is more recent and far more challenging: what my husband found after Grace's five friends had been over for the night unsupervised.

It was an innocent enough idea. On Halloween night, Grace wanted to go out trick or treating with a few friends then come back to the house for movies, candy, and a sleepover. Our house is set up so that the den can be isolated from the rest of the house. So I welcomed them home from trick or treating at 8p or so, showed them to the den, and closed the door for the night. By noon the next day, all but one friend had gone home and Grace was cleaning up the house. Grace seemed tired and a bit irritable, but there was nothing else notable about her behavior.

The following morning when I came down for breakfast, my husband told me we had a serious situation that we needed to address. On the counter was an empty bottle of Jim Beam. The last time I saw the bottle, it was almost full. We only have one bottle in the house; it gets stored along with the rest of the hard liquor in a inconspicuous chest in the den. Grace knows it's there, but up until this point, I never dreamed she'd touch the stuff. As I stood there staring at the empty bottle, I wanted to believe so much that it was an adult that had drunk the whiskey rather than a group of Grace and friends. Unfortunately we just don't serve drinks that often; the Jim Beam comes out only once in awhile, like when I make bourbon balls at Christmas time. I could feel my stomach sinking deep into my belly. THIS was not a bridge we had ever even come close to crossing previously.

I'm not stupid or naive. Teens drink. Lots of them drink. Lots of them drink a lot. I'd be deeply in denial if I believed that there was no chance that teens might drink in my home if left unsupervised with alcohol. I wanted to believe that Grace would never touch the stuff and never let her friends touch it either if she could keep them from it. But as Sherlock Holmes says, "once you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, no matter how improbable, must be the truth." The whiskey didn't vanish or evaporate. It didn't get up on its own two legs and walk out. Someone drank it, and no one who would have drunk hard liquor in high volumes had been in the house for months as far as I could remember.

So we brought it up over breakfast. It didn't go well. Grace was angry, upset. She absolutely denied knowing anything about the bourbon. She pitched a hissy fit. Her irate, insistent refrain was, "I can't believe you'd think that I would do something like that!" Despite all her protesting, I wasn't convinced of her innocence at all since she'd pulled this kind of a fit before, lying like mad, in order to cover lesser transgressions.

Then finally when I had given up hope and started to accept that my young teenager was drinking and lying, she said, "It could have been one of your friends! What about M?!?" Indeed, M had visited for a week this past summer. I had told him to make himself at home during his stay, our home is your home. He spent the week trying to quit smoking. As a result, he ate ravenously...and he helped himself to plenty of hard drinks after work day hours were over. As soon as Grace brought it up, I realized that there was a good likelihood (actually, a much better than average likelihood) that the bourbon had been consumed by M.

I was quiet for a second. I didn't apologize, I just thought for a second. Did I owe Grace an apology? All I did was ask her what happened to the whiskey and she threw a huge temper tantrum. If she was the kind of kid who was always forthright and honest with me about everything, it would have ended there. I would have trusted her and thought of what else could have happened. But Grace has lied to me before. Suddenly, I realized what the biggest problem we had was. It wasn't teenage drinking; it was lack of trust based on a history of dishonesty.

We talked for a few minutes longer at the table about how this whole episode illustrated exactly why it is so crucially important for Grace to NEVER lie to us about anything, no matter how small. Not about a bad grade on a test, not about losing something valuable, not about eating candy in her bedroom after hours, not about ANYTHING. For years I have been telling her that if I can't trust her, all is lost. Finally we had a crystal clear example of why that is the case. My guess is that this episode finally made the point clear to her. Never, never lie. I don't care what you've done, I don't care if you've killed someone, just don't ever lie to me. If there isn't trust between a parent and child, everything else about the relationship will become painfully difficult.

As I'm looking back on two years of blogging, I'm realizing I've grown a lot as a person, a woman and a mother. It's taken a lot of difficult moments to grow, some that I'd rather not ever go through again. Now I've grown to the point where I want my teenage daughter to learn from me by reading and writing with me. At this point, I know I still have growing to do, but I hope to do it in a more interactive way with my oldest daughter.

Grace is going to comment on this after a bit in order to give her two cents worth on the event. I'm probably as anxious as all of you are to hear what she has to say about it.

Regardless, I am reminded at this time that part of why I started this blog is that I love my daughter dearly. In order for me to show that, we have to traverse very bumpy parts of the road. All of you out there have helped me and her through some of these patches. As we keep traveling along, I know there are many more bumps to come. But I don't look at them with quite the same dread I used to. I am cautiously optimistic that all will turn out fine if the two of us keep holding hands during the journey.

A story of a boy torn between two worlds

2009-12-18T06:08:00.000-05:00

It's that nine-year-old boy, Sean Goldman, who's living in Rio with his stepfather and his mother's family. His dead mother. I'm not sure whether this current event has caught the attention of others as much as it has ours here at my household. (For those of you who don't know, my husband is Brazilian and our younger daughter has dual citizenship.) If you don't know about the story, here's the latest on the story as reported by cnn.com.

I started thinking, what's my take on this? Do I go with the biological mother (who's now dead) and her family since I'm a biomom myself? I go with her because she's someone like me who braved the storm of being a single mother because her spouse was doing things she thought were bad for her child? Or do I take the side of the biodad, thinking that a biological parent should always have custody before a stepparent? But then it gets complicated, see, because I would want my husband, my oldest daughter's stepfather, to have some say-so in her life should (God-forbid) anything ever happen to me.

(Don't even tempt me for a second to go into the issues of international affairs between the US and Brazil because I will not go there.)

So. Lots of you out there have been a single mom. Or you're a biomom who's been remarried and have watched your spouse and your child have to navigate the treacherous waters of establishing their relationship. Or you're the stepparent to a child you care deeply for, and maybe your bio-counterpart isn't so happy to have you in the picture. I want to know what you think about this whole thing.

My deep hunch, from the beginning, is that this American father will regain sole physical and legal custody of his son, leave Brazil for the US immediately upon gaining that physical custody, and never travel south of the border again. So the kid loses the relationship he has with his now-deceased mother's family. And the stepfather will be left way out in the cold. Because legally...whether you're in the US or in Brazil or in China or wherever...stepparents don't have the right to step over the wishes of biological parents.

Think long and hard about it before you answer. As you can tell, I'm torn. If something happens to my ex-husband, I would never be obligated to explain my actions as a parent to anyone ever again. I could tell Grace's stepmother to kiss off and that would be the end of the story. The down side to this, of course, is that my ex-husband could legally do the same to Grace's stepfather in a similar circumstance. So I'm finding myself back to the Golden Rule: Do unto others as you would have them do unto you.

I'm not sure how the Golden Rule applies in the case of Sean Goldman's parents.

As a last word, I'm going to check out the Brazilian news sources when I get a chance today. I'm curious to see how this whole story is being reported there. If I find out anything, I'll include more here. But until then, chew on this and give me your comments to chew on as well.

Back in the saddle again

2009-12-17T12:41:00.004-05:00

Well, hm. Here I am. It's been awhile, hasn't it? My lengthy absence requires a few cursory notes and then I'll be on to the business at hand: blogging for the day.

Grace's foray into the world of blogging has been a trip for me, as it has been for all of you, I see! She is an honest and forthright person, with me and with the blogging community, so I think that makes her an exceptional writer within the venue. For instance, I told her she needed to moderate her comments and she did so by checking the site throughout the day. Then I asked her if she wanted to have comments forwarded to her email address so she wouldn't have to check the site so often. Her response? "Oh God, NO! I don't want all that mail in my inbox!" I'm guessing she doesn't want to friend any of you on facebook either. But you can always try....

And another thing about Grace. Try as I may, I cannot bring myself to call her Gracie outside of the context of our home. Yes, everyone calls her Gracie. EVERYONE. It's rather classy, I think. But I just can't call her Gracie in written form. So, she is Gracie, yes, but I as her mom will continue to call her Grace. You all out there can call her whatever you like.

Sunday is the second blogoversary of Comparative Childhood. That's something cool. I'm finding it kind of hard to believe that I've been doing this so long already. (Maybe that explains the almost 2 month leave of absence I'm just now coming off. Just an idea...) I'm going to have to talk to Grace about what we should do now that this is "OUR" blog.

Sunday is also the day we will be celebrating our family Christmas. Grace is leaving on Monday evening to visit with her father for the holidays. She's currently trying to negotiate an early return on December 30th so that she can host a New Year's Eve party at our house on the 31st. But that requires a bunch of teenagers to be at my house on New Year's Eve. And of course since it's New Year's Eve, they'll be around until midnight. And then later too, of course. And then there's the question: will their parents be willing to pick them up at 1 or 2a New Year's Day? Of course not. So we'll be having a sleepover? Oh lordy, yes, it seems like we may. However, neither Grace nor I have run this by her stepdad yet and gotten a green light...

But back to the point: family Christmas on Sunday. We'll be having honey glazed ham, because I'll be damned if I'm going to make ANOTHER turkey, and for three people, no less. Grace is convinced this will make our Christmas less than traditional. I feel like telling her to go get rifle, go out to the woods and shoot us a wild goose with some shot. Traditional, my foot. YOU'LL HAVE HAM AND YOU'LL LIKE IT.

More importantly, I'll be scheduling posts for the next couple days and probably relying upon Grace to moderate comments. Because (get ready)...

I'm having surgery tomorrow.

No really, I am.

I was in denial for awhile, there. I still am, actually. I'm still not fully grasping that I really am going back to the hospital to have my fourth surgery in 18 months. No matter, it will happen whether I'm accepting it or not. Something is going awry in my uterus. It looks like it's most likely "retained product of conception," as my doctor put it. And just so I can head you all off at the pass, no, "retained product of conception" does NOT refer to Stella. I've had some infection going on since she was born and after three rounds of antibiotics, it was clear that a little more investigation was in order. Whatever it is they can see on a scope doesn't appear to have any "depth" to it, so they assume it's a piece of membrane or placenta left over. Strange, I thought, since I had a cesarean (they usually do a pretty thorough job of 'getting it all out') and since the site of the muck is not anywhere close to the site of the placenta. But still, my surgeon hopes it comes out easily.

So there you go. I'll be at the hospital most of the day tomorrow. I'm having a spinal rather than general anesthesia, so hopefully this will lead to a shorter time in recovery before we come home. I've been pumping milk for Stella just in case I have get something in me during surgery that she can't have. And one more hopefully...hopefully I'll feel good enough to enjoy pizza and movie tomorrow night because did you hear that Domino's Pizza reworked their recipe and they are testing out the new kind in our region exclusively before launching it nationally?

Alright, then, now I seem to have gotten back on track. I'll put up some more lovely musings shortly. I have missed you all sorely. It's good to be back.

New Hair, Thanksgiving, and movies

2009-11-30T09:39:00.008-05:00

I dyed my hair. It wasn't a dramatic change or anything. I only dyed it like 3 shades a darker brown. I have found 3 things. First, hair dye smells horrible. Second, it takes FOREVER!!! And lastly, people DO notice. I don't mind that people notice. I actually like it; it gives me attention. I know that sounded very conceded, but it's true.

I ran the 5K on Thanksgiving morning... correction I WALKED the 5K. My mom told me I was going to do it again this year. Correction, I gave up and was convinced into doing it.

Mom: Gracie are you planning on running the 5K this year?
Me: Mom.... I want to but I don't want to.
Mom: I don't understand.
Me: I want to go to the event, but I don't want to run in the race.
(ETC. Mom starts giving me a hard time about how my step dad and my Aunt
only did it cause I like to run; blah blah blah; making me feel all guilty and stuff.)
Me: Mom... I don't know if you noticed... but I don't enjoy running. It is not one of my
pleasures in my life. It's actually one of my down points.
Mom: But, I thought you like to run?
Me: No mom, I like to do short sprints NOT long distance. That's why in track I did
nothing more than a 400m.
Mom: Gracie, I think you will do better, because you are much more fit this year.
Me: Mom, swimming is COMPLETELY different from running. Plus, I think am
traumatized from last year's run.
Mom: (laughs) Why?
Me: I mean, we got lost looking for it. I had to wake up at like 5am on a holiday. It
started to snow and my step dad and Aunt left me. By the end of the race I was
cold, tired, hungry, and wet.
Mom: Oh... well then I guess we won't do the event. And, I would rather NOT do that
again.
(I started to tell her how I want to go but I don't do run it. She told me to go call
my Aunt. 30 minutes later)
Me: Mom? I have decided to do the 5K. Aunt Wendy said she would walk with me.
.....My mom always gets her way.

Great one liners of the week:
Me: I think I'm going to grow my hair out again
Mom: I think you're hair looks so much better now that it's short than it did when you had it long
Me: I know, but now I'm realizing that there is so much more that I could have done with my hair than what I did.
Mom: Like what?
Me: Like, I could brush it every day.

------------

[while discussing an essay I had written about the contrasts between the novel Of Mice and Men and the movie made]

Mom: What sorts of things did you note?
Me: Well, Curley's wife is different. In the book, she's more of a slut, but in the movie she's not.
Mom: I hope you didn't use the word "slut."
Me: I did, but it's ok. My teacher understands. Besides, there's really no other way to say she's a slut than by using the word "slut."

I saw NEW MOON!!!! I'm so obsessed that I have been waiting for it for over a year. I have to say that I like the second film better than Twilight. I think New Moon stuck more to the book. I'm still Team Edward though. ;)

New Blogger

2009-11-13T15:00:00.000-05:00

Hi....Okayyyy...this is kinda weird. Not that my mom has a blog written all about me and her, but that all of you readers know who I am but I don't know you. If you haven't guessed yet...(drum roll please)...I'm the one, the only, Grace!!! My mom calls me Grace on the blog, but people really call me GRACIE.

I told my mom the posts I like and the ones I didn't read:

Gracie: Mom, I read your blog.
Mom: Really? How much did you read?
Gracie: All of it.
Mom: Oh, wow. How long that take you?
Gracie: Not that long. It was really easy.
Mom: Did you read the comments too?
Gracie: Only some. I didn't read those "Daily...
Mom: "Weekly...
Gracie: Whatever. "WEEKLY Slug." I thought it looked boring.
Mom: Really. It's not.
Gracie: Yeah, but I already know the whole story and I live with Stella now.
Mom: Gracie, it's not just about that. It was how I was feeling too.
Gracie: Oh, well it looked to educational. I mean with the pictures and all.

I had to tell my mom my terms, though, if I were to write on the blog.
1) My wording is NOT edited. Only my spelling, etc. is edited.
2) My posts will be in my own font and color.

My mom is also like, "Gracie, you need to sound more mature when you post. You're audience is now adults." I don't know how to write to adults. This could be a problem.

My mom hasn't even posted yet that she told me! I guess she wanted me to post in my own time.

Some of my favorite posts:

And yet another cake fiasco
The Children's Day Caramel Cake; I actually LOVED this cake. Yes, it was really ugly, but it was soooooo good.

Being A Baby is Hard to Do
I told my mom that the last two photos make her look like a old man.

Handling the Boys
When I was writing that long made up story about why I couldn't meet him, I kept thinking in my head "I'm writing a frickin' novel!"

Handling the Boys Part II
I KNEW WHAT I WAS DOING!!! Plus, what was mom doing looking in my message box in the first place?!?!?!?!?

Better than a cat birthday party

2009-11-13T11:53:00.003-05:00

Yes, the party's coming. Stay tuned.

You may be wondering what's going on that's kept me from posting. Um, yeah.

I have a whole list of things I can write about. I've been a little busy though. There was Halloween, which included a lot of household chores, popping popcorn, hosting a party for Grace, and hosting an old friend who was in town for only 2 days. We also attended several swim meets and parties involving the end of Grace's season. Then there was getting our family vaccinated against swine flu. And I've been blogging all week at Midwest Parents.

But really, there's something else that's been going on regarding the blog. Grace.

She's coming. Here. To this blog. In just a few hours. Stay tuned.

"As for where I've been" and other details to tie you over...

2009-11-09T20:50:00.004-05:00

Yes, I'm here. Whoa, we've had quite a couple weeks here in my little corner of the world.

Yes, Ginger the Cat's birthday party is still coming. But much like Grace's birthday this year, I'm finding the rest of life getting in the way of throwing a proper party. Thank goodness the cat doesn't know or care. As for the rest of you who DO care...it'll be up in the next few days. If you still want to wish Ginger happy birthday from your own beast, send me your greetings via email asap.

Yes, I have been writing. If you are dying to read something from me, head over to Midwest Parents. I'm posting there all week. And hey, there's swine flu and Veteran's Day and discussion of the horrible mother-daughter communication we all know and love and even a recipe for Orange Cranberry Muffins. No lie. Check it out.

Cat birthday party

2009-10-23T09:57:00.003-04:00

We adopted our cat, Ginger, on Grace's 5th birthday in the middle of February 1999. She was a small kitten then, estimated to be about four months old. So let's do the math. A kitten that is roughly four months old in the middle of February was born sometime in October. But we don't know the day. We've always said her birthday was Halloween.

So this Halloween our cat Ginger will be 11 years old.

We've never done anything for her birthday in the past. It's kind of a corny thing to do, right? Besides, what are you going to do that's not going to freak the cat out? Invite the neighbor cats over? Or maybe the strays? Better yet, let's invite the neighborhood dogs over! Or maybe just a bunch of our loud, raucous human friends who happen to like cats!

She'd be hiding in the closet throwing up within 15 minutes. Some birthday party.

We did think of inviting all the creatures in our backyard over for a party. The stray who comes around every afternoon and starts a hissing match with her, some squirrels and a few chipmunks, three birds, one of the deer, a rabbit and a mole. I told my husband it sounded like a Disney movie. Or rather, a mash up of Disney movies.

I have a better idea. Let's throw her a party here at my blog. Here's how it'll go:

Create a jpg a picture of your pet. You can make it a simple photo and send text along in an email. Or you can jazz it up to the max in photoshop. It can look anyway you like. Just make sure it's a jpg file.
Send it to me, along with your name as you would like it to appear and the address of your blog or other website you'd like to link to.
Get it to me by midnight, Oct 29th. (Meaning, the END of the day of the 29th, not the start.)
I'll post all the submissions here on Halloween and we'll have a birthday party for our family's cat, Ginger, that day here.

Very good? Very good. Help an old cat out and give her the party she's always deserved and never gotten.

The trouble with psychiatric evaluation

2009-10-22T06:58:00.000-04:00

I think I have hit a wall and I'm not sure I can ever get around it. I had to be linguist so that I wouldn't be able to answer simple questions...

Every so often, before I see my therapist, I have to fill out a battery of questions about how I feel, how my sleep is, do I feel sad or anxious, and a bunch of other stuff she would care about while treating me. The answers required are always on some sort of a Likert scale, like this:

In the past 2 weeks, have you been able to see the funny side of things?
As much as I ever could
Not quite so much now
Definitely not so much now
Not at all

Sounds easy enough, right? Well, here's where I hit a wall:

Try to characterize your mood in the last two weeks:
"I was always worrying about something."
never
very rarely
rarely
sometimes
often
very often
almost constantly

How am I supposed to answer that if I was worried a couple times on a few days? What does it mean to say "I was always worrying about something sometimes" ?!?!???!!!?

Sheesh.

And just for kicks, here's my favorite question that I get to answer:

Have you felt peaceful and calm?
all of the time
most of the time
a good bit of the time
some of the time
a little of the time
none of the time

Have YOU felt peaceful and calm during the last two weeks? I feel like if I answer "all of the time" that I should walk into my therapist's office and say, "I'm cured! I'm outta here!"

And yet another cake fiasco

2009-10-21T06:36:00.003-04:00

I think I mentioned last week that I made a cake for Children's Day. It was quite an experience, that cake-making event. I didn't think it would be since I tend to be good at making desserts and baked goods. I mean, how hard could it be to make two round layers of cake out of a box and then whip up some frosting and ice it? I've done tons of cakes before that were way more complicated. Yet, this experience takes a special place in my heart. Sort of like the scar tissue resulting from a heart attack has a special place.

It started out easy enough. It being fall and all, I decided to make a butter cake. Out of the box. No problem. Sunday night, two 8" round cake pans, about 55 minutes, voila, they came out perfectly. I put them on the cooling rack overnight. The next morning they still looked perfect and I was ready to frost the sucker and call it a successful Children's Day.

I whipped a cookbook off the shelf, the Southern Heritage Cake Cookbook, published by Southern Living in 1970. I received it secondhand from a friend whose mother had purged it from her massive gourmet kitchen when she divorced and left Texarkana for Australia for good. If anyone knows how to do a good cake, it's Southern Living. (Be careful, though. Those Southerners do Coca-Cola Cake too, and we all know that don't come out so well.) In the last chapter, "Finishing touches," dozens of frosting and icing recipes come to life on the pages. There, on the first page of text, I saw it. The answer to my autumn cake dilemma. What kind of frosting should I put on a butter cake? Why, Caramelized Frosting.

Not only did the recipe call for only three ingredients, the recipe included step by step directions, complete with photographs. Yippee! What could be easier? And it sounded luscious. A caramelized frosting over butter cake. Perfect for fall. After reading through the recipe to make sure I felt confident, I dug in.

Mix together butter and sugar until a syrup. Slowly add milk. Yep, uh-huh, I'm with you entirely. Now, keep stirring and simmer the mixture until it reaches the soft ball stage, about 240 degrees F. I don't have a candy thermometer, but I know how to test when a mixture reaches the soft ball stage. Got it. The recipe read that it would take 20 minutes, but after only 10, that syrup was definitely at soft ball stage.

That's when the fun began. The recipe said I should remove the pan from the heat and mix in the pan with a hand mixer until the frosting reached the desired consistency for frosting.

Well, I did my cooking in a teflon pan, not an iron skillet, so I'll be damned if I'm going to risk ruining my pan with a mixer. Then there's the matter of a hand mixer. I don't have one. I have a super duper 600 hp KitchenAid mixer, made to handle any mixing needs you might have. So I lifted that skillet up off the burner, poured the mixture into the mixing bowl and immediately started mixing.

Perfect. It looked perfect. I was starting to imagine how good this was going to taste.

For those of you who cook, you may be thinking something here. Something like this: "Heather, it sounds like you just made caramel candy, not a frosting. Are you sure that this stuff is actually going to spread onto the cake?"

The picture in the recipe of the finished cake looked so easy to obtain.

And yet...

Oh, if you are one of those people who realized my mistake as reading this, I wish you had been there to tell me that before I began this adventure. Indeed, I had made a huge mixer bowlful of caramel candy. It was only at the point I began trying to apply said candy to the cake in a frosting-like manner that I realized just what a mistake I had made. It probably was the difference of 30 or 45 seconds too long heating in the skillet. Or maybe it was taking the mixture cooling down while it was mixing. No matter what the tiny mistake was, I was now in quite a pickle, my great grandmother would have said.

The "frosting" was turning solid within seconds. I realized I'd better move fast, like ice this whole cake in 3 minutes or less, otherwise I'd REALLY have a mixing bowl full of solid caramel candy. I slapped it on the first layer then threw the second layer on top as fast as I could. I continued feverishly frosting the top layer and the sides, little by little. It got to solid to do anything with. Undeterred, I put all remaining "frosting" in a pyrex measuring cup and microwaved it for 15 seconds. Voila! I got soft frosting again. But it only would stay that way for a minute tops. I tried it once more and managed to finish the job. Here is what it looked like:

Not bad. I mean, not exactly professional quality, but not bad given what I just explained as to the cake's origins.

Whew.

Or so I thought. We gathered as a family that night to celebrate. A good dinner, gifts for the girls, and then...cake! We lifted the dome off of the cake plate and everyone smelled the cake. And then, we got out our sharpest knife, ran it under hot water, and tried to slice through the frosting. No way. That frosting, unsurprisingly, had hardened into a toffee shell, encasing the cake. After five minutes or so, we realized we should put aside good manners and try to get the cake out at all costs. We all had a piece, but I can't say it was pretty.

It was very tasty, though. And very sugary and chewy. We all brushed our teeth very well that night.

People, after this fiasco, I'm over my sugar fix. That was just a bit too much. It's sort of like making your kid smoke 200 cigarettes after you catch them with the first, right? You make them feel so sick that they can't associate a cigarette with anything but nausea? I wasn't nauseous, but I sure haven't been craving as much sugar since then.

Defying ethnic boundaries

2009-10-19T12:53:00.011-04:00

Back when Stella was three weeks old, we had a photography session with a local photographer, Lorissa Farr. She posted a couple of the best ones to her blog. We ordered some too. One of our favorites is this:

In this image, Lorissa perfectly captured one of our favorite of Stella's features that make her unique: the birthmark on her lower back. It's not unusual, a patch of skin on her lower back that appears darker than the rest of her skin. When she was born, we thought it was a bruise and asked the pediatrician about it. She assured us it was perfectly normal. It's called a mongolian spot and it is most commonly found in children of black or latin descent. Check, Stella is both of those via her father's heritage. Perfectly normal.

At the same time, we asked the pediatrician about another mark on the back of her neck that we had noticed and were concerned about. Here's a picture of that:

The pediatrician explained, it's another birthmark, called a stork bite. Nothing to worry about. It is most common in babies of caucasian descent. Check, Stella is of caucasian decent via me. Nothing to worry about.

Stella's diverse ethnic heritage is nothing unusual; I'd guess from all the families and children I've interacted with since Grace was born that most kids in this younger generation have the benefit of a rich genetic background. Yet, apparently there are still people in our society who don't understand it, don't accept it, and don't want to see it at all.

A few weeks ago we watched Rabbit-Proof Fence together as a family. It is the true story of three girls in Australia in the 1930s. You can watch the trailer here. The three girls are forcibly removed from their mothers, Aborigine, because they are biracial -- their fathers are white. Though it's rated PG, it's not exactly a movie for children unless they are mature enough to deal with difficult topics. For instance, until 1970, Australia still had a law on the books that "half-caste" children, the children who are biracially white and aborigine, are substandard. For that matter, aborigines are substandard humans. At one point in the film, I was so appalled I spit out, "what the fuck!" I was glad that Grace was old enough to understand my righteous anger. How could a government do something so awful, so unthinkable, so hateful and evil? I believe Kenneth Branagh's character in Rabbit-Proof Fence puts it most succinctly: "Are we to allow the creation of an unwanted race?" An industrialized, 20th century government did it because those in power believed children of interracial couples were substandard and should not exist.

Lest we think for a moment that this is barbarian and behind those of us in the US and in our distant past, the gross and despicable reality of the present hits us right between the eyes. Enter Keith Bardwell, a justice of the peace in Tangipahoa Parish, Louisiana. On Friday, the story hit national news media outlets: Judge Bardwell refused to issue a marriage license to an interracial couple. He explained his action by saying that such marriages do not stand the test of time and that children of such a couple would suffer due to not fitting into either culture. He maintains that he is not a racist for making such a decision, that he issues marriage licenses to black couples all the time. And he said, "It's kind of hard to apologize for something that you really and truly feel down in your heart you haven't done wrong." WHAT??!?!?!?!?? I react to this with the same righteous outrage that I did to the content of Rabbit-Proof Fence. But I must be explicitly clear about how outrageous this situation is. The judge does not approve of the marriage because he feels that the children of such a marriage would suffer due to their very existence and lack of identity with the culture of either parent. In short, multiethnic children are a problem. We as a society should do everything we can to prevent their existence in the first place. If they come to exist, we'll have a horrible problem on our hands.

I'm getting to the point where I believe that people in the world who suffer the worst racial discrimination are those who are multiethnic. Contrary to this, I have a rather different viewpoint. Rather than being a hindrance, I believe having a diverse heritage actually gives one an advantage in understanding the world and coping with its various social problems. Having the benefit of more than one vantage points enables a person to realize that the world is not black and white (no pun intended).

I guess these ideas of mine shouldn't come as a surprise since I am part of a multiethnic, bi-national family. But I'd be dishonest if I led you to believe that I came to this perspective without any influence. I heard a piece on NPR's Talk of the Nation a few weeks ago about a new production of Shakespeare's Othello, produced for stage in Washington, DC. and directed by Peter Sellars (no, not the one who died more than 20 years ago, a different one by the same name). In his interview with Neal Conan, Sellars addresses the obvious talking point of Othello, that being the ethnic identity of the title character. He's a Moor, traditionally portrayed by an actor of African or Arabic descent. "Moor" does not refer to any specific ethnic group, but rather someone who is dark-skinned and from the Iberian Peninsula. In other words, someone who is likely of mixed race. He is a successful and liked military leader. The poignancy of putting on this production to Washington, DC now is directly connected to Barack Obama and Justice Sonia Sotomayor. Whatever you think of the president's work so far, it is worth considering in what ways his heritage enables him to be a good leader, or at least, in what ways he is able to lead differently than all of his predecessors. Sellars addresses this point directly in the interview, at about 10:22:

We live in the age of Barack Obama and Tiger Woods. You know, what box are you gonna check? You know, the fact is, we're all more than one box. None of us fit into those boxes anymore.

It's that last line that got me. None of us fit into those boxes anymore. How many of us can neatly fit ourselves into a racial demographic? How about our children? I remember that when Grace was a little girl we went to American Girl Place in Chicago. We both looked to see if we could find a Just Like You girl that looked like each of us. Neither of us succeeded. Apparently American Girl still thought that blue eyes only go with blond hair and green eyes only go with light skin. We had difficulty fitting into an American Girl "box" despite the fact that both of us check off the box "caucasian, not hispanic." Stella doesn't check off one box on those surveys, so what luck does she have finding an American Girl that is Just Like Her?

If you find yourself recoiling at the suggestion that the "boxes" in demographic surveys are going the way of the buffalo, why is that? Is it the idea that our comfort zones are dissolving? If we can't presuppose things about people based on their appearance, maybe that makes us feel unsure and a little nervous. We might have to let go of our assumptions, the ones that make us feel knowledgeable and informed. Not all Spanish speakers are immigrants. Not all immigrants are poor and/or stupid. Not all blacks like rap. Nor do they all speak the same dialect of English. Not all whites like camping and corn bread. Nor Eddie Bauer. Need I go on?

As I have been thinking about Grace's friends throughout her childhood, I am struck by how few of them can clearly identify with one and only one ethnic group. This generation of children is, by their very DNA, more ethnically diverse. In a world that is quickly shrinking, a world in which it is an advantage to be not just tolerant of differences, but appreciative and enthusiastic, it seems that these kids undoubtedly are able to understand that world better.

Instead of focusing our energies of making lines and dividing up people into discrete groups that supposedly matter, wouldn't it be more fruitful to think of ourselves as citizens of the earth? Members of the human race? We have more in common with people once we stop and focus on the similarities rather than the differences. I, for one, am tired of the labels.

Guns and racism and censorship and drama and education. What's that? You think I'm being controversial?

2009-10-16T17:01:00.001-04:00

Some of you may remember that about a month back I wrote about the selection of the annual musical at Grace's high school, Annie Get Your Gun, and whether the arts should be censored for teenagers. I argued that the arts should not be censored for teenagers and that parents alone should be held responsible for addressing their own values surrounding controversial issues at home. There were no dissenters in the comments. I was surprised. I expected at least one of you out there to say I was off my rocker. You really all agree with me? You believe that the public schools shouldn't limit access to the arts?

I bring this up now because one person who read the post emailed me directly and told me I was wrong. Dead wrong. On Monday, after we finished our family celebration of Children's Day, I read my email and received a message from a parent at Grace's school who had been forwarded the URL of the post. And it wasn't just any parent; it was the parent who had raised the objection to the choice of the musical in the first place. She corrected some errors I had made in the original post (there is an amendment to that post now). She also revisited the issue of how the school should be responding to Native Americans and women being marginalized in Annie Get Your Gun, as well as firearms being glorified. Since she presented her points in an email, unfortunately those of you reading the post wouldn't have the benefit of her comments. I thought it would be fruitful to revisit the issue again in order to give voice to an opposing view.

The concerned parent and I agree on the core issues, like the problems stemming from children having access to firearms and the desensitization to racial and gender-based discrimination when it arrives in subtle forms (or in any form, for that matter). Despite this common agreement, from reading what she has written to me, we disagree on how minors should be educated about these issues. I take it to be my role as a parent to educate my child at home as to what values I hope for her to take as her own. The other parent believes that some collective body should make those decisions for all students and all of them should be taught those values at school. For instance, this parent wrote to me in her email that fake firearms, such as those used as props in a play, are a public health risk, plain and simple. Since this is fact, we should never allow guns to be used as props in a school building since the presence of firearms anywhere constitutes a public health risk to all exposed (most importantly, minor students). Further, if arts containing firearms are present in the school, it is the responsibility of the school to educate students about gun control. In order for these actions to be made, some appointed authority would need to endorse these decisions as fact. If individuals hold a different opinion from that which the authoritative group decides, too bad. Now, while it is true that the majority of voting adults in our community support gun control, I'd say that the issue is a far cry from a closed-book issue. I mean, if we were suggesting that high school students in a public school located somewhere differently, like, say, in Oklahoma or Texas, should be taught that gun control is the only policy that will do, I can imagine that there would be some vehement vocal disagreement. So rather than bring controversial two-sided arguments to the school system to render a verdict on, I prefer that the educational system educate students about the issues and leave the verdicts up to parents.

So that's gun control. For me, I err on the side of protecting individual rights. I may not exercise my right to have a firearm at home, but I want to be very careful about limiting the right altogether. Maybe it's the American in me. Maybe it's the southerner in me. Maybe it's my experience in rural parts of the country that makes me feel this way, you know, places where it's useful to have a firearm because if someone untoward drives into your farm up to no good, you can meet them at the door with your rifle aimed just in case law enforcement doesn't show up before the ruffians do.

But on a broader scale, what about other topics? No one who commented on my original post indicated that they thought the educational system or some other authority should have the right to limit students' access to the arts, no matter what the content. Really? You guys think that sex and rock 'n' roll and rap and all the rest should be available to teens?

Do you think we should have rating systems on movies and television and music, keeping minors from their consumption, or do you think that kind of censorship is ok?

Birth control? Abortion?

What about argumentation that the sex industry is liberating?

What about expressions of disgust for the government?
What about expressions of disgust for opposition to the government?

War? War protests?

Gang warfare? Legalizing all mind-altering substances?

All of it? You all think that all of this information should be openly available to teens to digest for themselves, hoping that their parents or guardians will help guide their thinking in order to prevent societal chaos?

In all fairness, in the comments of my original post, Angelawd qualified her support for my position by writing "I do believe all ideas and materials should be appropriate for the age, and for the individual. Some kids are able to handle more reality than others." That sounds sensible. But now we have to ask, what is appropriate for teenagers? And what if some of those teenagers are able to handle more reality than others? How do we teach them all in the same school? I'm sure there are things that some of you think the schools should not allow students to access, aside from those things that are illegal. As you can see from my laundry list of questions above, Annie Get Your Gun is nowhere near as controversial as we could get.

I'll give you the behind the scenes to why I think parents should be the ones making these decisions at home and teaching their children those values at home. I've lived in four very different regions of the US: South Florida, Central Texas, Southeast Michigan and Washington, DC. You can imagine that the mainstream values in each of these locales differed considerably. But whether or not I shared those mainstream values, that was what my community would endorse in the educational system. Along the way, through my own education and in taking part in my daughter's, I realized that it was not the values that were taught in the schools that were important. What was most important was that no matter what the majority of concerned citizens around us valued, my daughter would learn from me the things I believed were correct. For myself, I wish I had gotten the benefit of other viewpoints and opinions than the ones I was taught at school. For my daughter, I've realized that my involvement in her life as a parent is far more important than my involvement as a mover and shaker in her community. But once someone else has taught your child a value, sometimes it is difficult to teach your child something very different.

Now, that's a more lengthy version of my stance and I'm still sticking to it. But I really want to hear from the rest of you. Think about it. Are you willing to have your children hear information that you vehemently disagree with in order for them to hear a balanced view? Or would you rather they be educated in line with your own values? Are the arts (literature, drama, music, visual) any different from social sciences or physical sciences? How does religion play into this, if at all? What do you think of the education at the college level?

~~~ For those of you out there who want more controversial discussion, stay tuned. Monday I will finally publish a post that has been rattling around inside my head and in various drafts for over a month. Annie Get Your Gun raises issues of racial discrimination; I have been wrestling with the marginalizing of biracial couples and mixed race children. ~~~

About that toxic letter to my ex-mother-in-law

2009-10-15T08:08:00.003-04:00

Last month, I wrote about Grace's grandmother and why I allowed my toxic feelings towards her stemming from events in the past continue to haunt me. I had written a letter to her spewing my frustration, only to throw it away.

That sounded very dramatic, didn't it? Like I penned a letter on expensive stationary in a Jane Austen-esque fashion and then, in a fit of frustration, crumpled the sheets together and threw them violently into the trash. Or perhaps I threw them directly in the fire to burn away forever.

Come on, it's the 21st century.

I wrote it in plain text, saved it while pondering whether I should send it by email or snail mail, then when I decided to scrap the idea, I threw the file in my trash bin. Where I could retrieve it later.

I got so many comments and emails about the posting that I put up a four-day poll on whether you all thought I should post the contents of the discarded letter here for you all to read.

7 ayes, 4 nays. I'm going with the nays. Sorry, y'all, no toxic letter will be posted here.

Here's why:

This past week, out of the clear blue, two people from my real life found my blog. One didn't recognize me and the other recognized and was offended. (Big surprise, I know. What blogger hasn't been misunderstood when someone from their real life found their blog?) But neither of these people are part of my daily life. And neither are people that I care deeply for. They are just people that I know. But other people in my life will read this stuff too, I presume.

Enter Grace and how my blog affects her.

I have been blogging for almost two years, always keeping in the back of my mind that I would let Grace see the blog at some point. It's only fair. I'm writing a lot about her and I want her to read it. Now, imagine for a second that you are Grace. You are reading along and suddenly you find a completely toxic missive directed to your dying grandmother by your mother. Words that your mother wouldn't actually deliver to your grandmother, but words that she was willing to put up on public display for anyone to read and comment on.

Yeah, I have a feeling you are coming to the same conclusion I did. There is no way I can put that up here. It would be really, really bad.

But it's not all disappointment for you 7 aye-voters and those who didn't vote but also wish you could read that letter. I will give you the biggest realization I had out of writing that letter and rereading it and then digesting it. I wrote one paragraph with an imagined tone of tongue-in-cheek sarcasm in my head, only to discover later that what I had written was absolutely true. Here it is:

"When your son and I separated and filed for divorce, I spoke to you and your husband on the telephone twice. What I understood through those phone calls was that you both knew everything that was going on and were praying. Your son also communicated to me during that time that you and your husband were entirely supportive of him and his decisions at that time. Nothing I saw then or since has contradicted these facts. So I trust by this that you and your husband stood solidly behind your son and I in ending our marriage immediately. Further, it should be clear to anyone by now that your son and I should have never married. After searching for so many years, he finally found his soulmate in his current wife, and I am more than blessed in my marriage to my husband. Your son and I were a mistake, two people who should have never been together."

A mistake. Two people who should have never been together.

It's true. After I wrote that and pondered the thought, I realized that one and only one good thing came out of that relationship: my daughter, Grace. I wouldn't give her up for the anything. Just the other night I was feeling sick and the thought crossed my mind (as it does all mothers once and awhile), 'what if I get sick and die?' The tears immediately came to my eyes as I thought of leaving Grace without me, as I thought of her going through life without me anymore.

It's difficult when two people are so wrong for each other and they have a child. Though I don't have the experience, I'm guessing it is most difficult for the child themselves. But as one member of the relationship, I can say that I have struggled with how to separate the child I love from the relationship I hated. I can reflect on my whole experience as a mother with Grace and realize that I have fallen short of being the best mother I could be simply because she was her father's daughter. It grieves me. Worse, it grieves me and I have no idea how to make it right.

Update on simple sugars

2009-10-14T08:48:00.007-04:00

I just opened my laptop for the morning to check email and facebook. Within five minutes, two glaringly obvious news stories came across the screen and seemed to be screaming at me. Since I'm working away from the simple carbs and sugars, get a load of this:

Found at Yahoo, The Tragedy of Krispy Kreme - all about how the popular doughnut chain rose in financial success and then crashed just as quickly.

Published at NPR's website and broadcast this morning on Morning Edition, Soda Tax Could Shake Up Industry - all about how sugary sodas create havoc for a person's health because of the huge doses of sugar and contributing to obesity.

Now I feel really guilty and lazy just giving in to this weakness. I'm going to have to break this fix. Today, wheat toast with a side of strawberries and bananas instead of cinnamon toast.

I thank you in advance for your support in this trying time.

***UPDATE AS OF 11:15 AM***

And then the first lady gives this address about eating more vegetables and limiting the take out fast food:

What is it, a mass healthy-lifestyle conspiracy against me?

*****UPDATE AS OF 12:45 PM*****

My husband kindly left an article in my path for me to peruse today:

That's right. "20 Things You Didn't Know About Sugar." Found on the last page of this month's Discover magazine.

When I first looked at the article, #7 jumped out at me: "Can you imagine eating 16 sugar cubes at one sitting? You probably have. That's a little less than what is contained in a 20-ounce bottle of cola." The irony of the rhetorical question at the start is that I think it's intended to evoke to immediate answer "no," followed by the revelation that drinking a bottle of cola is the equivalent of doing so; in my case, I probably have literally eaten 16 sugar cubes at one sitting. And it sounded really tempting as I read it.

My husband has no idea about any of my postings on the topic of my diet. So much for my belief that no one else is noticing my lack of propriety in my dining selections.

Some things have got to change around here

2009-10-14T08:17:00.005-04:00

Resolutions for my life as a blogger

I will figure out what is the best way to respond to comments...and actually start doing it reliably.
I will take the time to figure out how to make a blog template with more than one sidebar.
Speaking of sidebars, I will clean up the stuff I have on the one sidebar I have already. Like, I'll actually put some work into composing an accurate list of blogs I read and link them.
I will design and create a banner for the top of the page that teases readers with more than grey-on-green-typewriter-script.
And I'll figure out how to put said banner on the page.
I will figure out how to create a favicon AND how to put it into the code for my site so that it shows up on the address line.
I will figure out what I would like said favicon to look like.
And what color.
Like I didn't put up weekly pictures of my pregnant belly, I will not put up regular updates on Stella's growth and other details of her developmental progress. I'm sure there are more interesting things you friends out there in bloggy world want to read about.
I'm going to tell Grace about the blog and send her a link.

...which leads me to the big question of the day. Which post do you think I should send to Grace first? I mean, which one do you think sums up my feelings about her and about being her mom the best? If you were fifteen, which one would you like to have heard your mother write about you? Here's some I have been considering:

Letting it all out
Witches
I have confidence in confidence alone

If there's another one that you remember, one that you think is better, let me know. Even if you don't know when I posted it, if you remind me of the content, I can probably find it fast.

Action items for you readers out there:

If you have a blog, lemme know what it is and include the URL.
Tell me how to comment on comments (is that recursive?)
Give me your vote on which post I should send to Grace first. If we're all lucky, her extroverted, adventuresome, gregarious, confident side will show up and she'll make an appearance here for real.

Thanks in advance for all your help ;-)

ADD in our lives

2009-10-13T10:47:00.005-04:00

It's been quite awhile since I said anything about ADD. Would you all believe me if I told you that's because it's not something that we deal with anymore? I didn't think so.

Grey at Second Verse has posted some entries lately that have hit so close to my heart. Her son has ADHD and they are struggling with finding a medication that will help him deal with the behavioral symptoms of the disorder. What's really hitting me about her writing is the raw emotions, the frustration and the helplessness, that she expresses as a mother. Like me, she writes that she feels as if educators don't understand that the behavior problems her son is having in school are a direct result of his ADHD and something he cannot just will into changing. The links to two of her most poignant posts are here and here.

As I have read Grey's words these last couple weeks, I felt as if I was reading my own words.

My journey as the parent of a child with ADD has been a difficult one. Not especially difficult, just difficult. In other words, being the parent of a child with AD(H)D is difficult. The disorder is not physically visible for all to see so that the child's challenges are understood. Rather, the symptoms of AD(H)D look like a typical bad kid. In my deepest moments of despair, I have wished that my daughter had a different disability, one that evoked more compassion and understanding from her educators, teachers, girl scout troop leaders, ballet instructors, babysitters, music teachers, family and friends, and on and on the list goes. With AD(H)D, I as a parent have heard a lifetime's worth of pejorative adjectives describing my daughter and more patronizing pep talks from others than I can count. If this is how I as the parent feels, imagine what the child hears and how she feels.

Serial Mommy published an essay by Emily Pearl Kingsley this past June, an essay about what it feels like to parent a child with a disability. When I read it, I felt like my feelings had been captured perfectly. Check out the link when you have time.

This school year is going well. Yes, Grace still deals with ADD. It's with her every day. Her friends comment all the time that she is the energetic and hyper one. But she's doing much better with her studies (all As and Bs since last March) and she's much better at coping with symptoms and advocating for herself now. By conversing with her teachers and guidance counselors, her pediatrician and other professionals, she has become much more aware of who she is and how she can accomplish everything she wants to -- with ADD. In the last six months, I discovered that two of Grace's closest childhood friends also have been diagnosed and that their respective mothers have gone through the same roller coaster ride I have. By no coincidence, the mothers are two of my closest friends. One of the things I wanted to accomplish by starting this blog was to find people who could support me and advise me on the struggle I had in parenting Grace. Thank goodness I found some.

O Dia das Crianças, or Children's Day

2009-10-12T07:09:00.003-04:00

One time when I was a kid, my mother had my sisters and I working hard on something for Father's Day. I can't remember what, I can't remember how old I was, I just remember that it seemed like a lot of work. I remembering asking my mother something like, "there's Mother's Day, there's Father's Day, when is Children's Day?"

My mother quickly retorted, "every day is children's day, we don't need to set aside a special day for that." I felt badly that I had asked such a dumb question. And I was disappointed.

It turns out, my mother's answer was a reflection of her culture, her American, WASPy, puritanical culture. Children should be seen and not heard, children should mind their elders, children don't really count until they are more like adults.

In Brazil, children are not menaces, people who are a bother until they mature and become "real people." Children are part of every day life. They are kissed and hugged a lot. They are part of dinner time conversation and are included in banquets and dinners out of all kinds. Nothing is too formal for children to be included in. It's not just parents who are like this; family is a social unit that is important in Latin America, and family includes children of all ages. Everyone gets to be a kid and, as an adult, you get to revisit your childhood every time there is a child around. Perhaps it's not a coincidence then that every year on October 12th, in the middle of spring in Brazil, everyone stops to celebrate "O Dia das Crianças," or "Children's Day."

O Dia das Crianças is everything you'd think the holiday would entail. A day off of school (and a day off of work for grown ups!), presents, celebration, music, games. It's like one big birthday party for all the kids in the country. Since we are a bi-national household, it's O Dia das Crianças at our house today too.

I made a cake for the girls. We're also having pizza for dinner since Grace likes that a lot. For gifts, Stella is getting a mirror for her crib, a tummy time play rug, and a laminated collage of photos of our family members. Grace is getting a cover for her iPod, the book "Half the Sky," and a new stationary set.

If you have children in your house, give them a big hug and wish them Happy Children's Day!

A dietary consideration

2009-10-09T08:04:00.000-04:00

I don't have the greatest sense of nutrition. I know what I should eat and what's good for me, but I have the worst cravings around. Fried food, fatty desserts, cheese sausage (love the cheese and sausage), and sweet treats. I really can't resist it. If I go out to eat, the only chance that veggies will show up on my plate is if I'm at a vegetarian restaurant.

But there's a catch. If my intake is being directly passed on to someone, I tend to be a little more careful. When I'm pregnant, I make sure to get enough calcium and eat 5-6 fruits and vegetables a day. I eat fish, not too much and not too little (you need to Omega-3, but can't overdo it on the mercury). Fat is ok, because little people in utero need fat. Sugar is ok too, as long as you don't make it your whole meal and aren't hungry for foods with essential nutrients.

Some of you astute readers out there are remembering something important. See, pregnancy isn't the only time when what I eat is passed directly on to someone else. One of you is bound to bring it up, so I'll just get it out there in the open: Heather, didn't you mention way back when you were pregnant that you were going to nurse Stella exclusively for a year?

Why, yes. Yes, I did say that.

Indeed, Stella's had nothing but mommy milk since she came out of my womb.

Well then, it's relevant to consider my diet, yes. What exactly am I putting into my body to help Stella grow strong? Er, um, well. I've got a slight problem, ladies and gentlemen.

Lately I've noticed something odd going on with my appetite. At first I thought it was just my old friend, my addiction to Coca-Cola, rearing its ugly head. No matter, passing caffeine to a baby is no big deal. But then I started craving coke all the time. Like, right after I finish one can, I start longing for another. Then it occurred to me, this isn't just a caffeine addiction. This is something worse. I'll wake up and for breakfast I make a piece of cinnamon toast on white bread and a second piece of plain toast with grape jelly. (I've never eaten white bread before.) Feeling guilty, I might make some cooked apples, doused in sugar and cinnamon. The tiny powdered doughnuts that my husband leaves out for Grace to eat after swim practice? They look irresistible. I down the whole lot of them before noon. The candy bowl full of Skittles was emptied in a day or two. A pack of Juicy Fruit with 15 pieces would be gone in one day.

Notice the trend? Simple carbs. Sugars. I can't get enough of them.

If I stopped and ate a deep fried something with some protein, it actually would be good. At least I'd be getting protein with my fat. But as it is, I stare into the fridge, I see the ham and cheese, and then I close the door and eat a pound of pretzels.

I've never had this happen before. What's going on? Do any of you have any ideas? I can't imagine this is filling my milk with the right nutrients, even when I'm taking a prenatal vitamin every day. And of course, it's ok for me and I don't gain weight as long as I'm making the milk, but sooner or later I'm going to stop. And then what happens? It can't be good.

More about me than you ever wanted to know

2009-10-07T06:29:00.004-04:00

Right after Stella was born, Heather of Cool Zebras sent me and some other bloggers in the Midwest an email. She was curious to find out if the collective blog Midwest Parents (which Heather created) could be reinvented, rebooted, revived in a sense. She wanted to know who was in.

I thought about it long and hard. If I committed, I was really committing. How much extra time did I have? And there was a new baby...

She sent out details on how the blog was going to be reorganized. I'll admit, I was intimidated. Each contributor would have a week of their own, five straight days of blogging. And not just blogging anything, there were daily themes. Like, I'd have to come up with something for "Foodie Friday" and I'd have to write up something about my personal reading.

But I'll also admit, it looked pretty cool. The stuff Heather* wanted to include in the new and improved Midwest Parents was stuff I don't do here. I don't do Wordless Wednesday or give parenting tips. Here...well, here I mostly lament. More importantly, I was not only intrigued by how this would stretch myself as a blogger, I was interested to see what the other contributors would dish up for me to chew on. Eager to be part of a renewed project, I decided to jump in.

The re-launch of Midwest Parents officially began last Friday when Heather introduced herself to the readers of Midwest Parents. Since then, the contributors have been posting their own introduction each day. And today? Who posted their introduction today? Why, me, of course! So check it out, ok? And check back every single weekday for something new at Midwest Parents!

* When I was a kid, there were always a ton of other girls with my name. Now? Now we're all bloggers, apparently. Evidence? The ones I can think of off the the top of my head are this woman, this woman, Heather at Cool Zebras and me. Lemme know if you know of others (or if you're a Heather too!). I think I'm gonna have to do a genuine Heathers post one of these days. Because despite being Heather, I was so much of a Veronica.

I trust my doctors now

2009-10-05T20:47:00.004-04:00

Last Friday morning Stella had her two month old appointment with her pediatrician. Both my husband and I attended the appointment. We're obsessive parents of a newborn like that. She hasn't had to see her doctor since she was two weeks old and satisfied the medical team that she was gaining weight like a proper baby should. Well, then. On to being a typical baby.

Two months includes such highlights as a weight and growth check, discussion over feeding, pooping, sleeping, and crying, and scheduled vaccinations. Here are the highlights.

'Member my tiny little newborn, the one that was 4 weeks early and not even 6 pounds when she left the hospital? She's a chunky and chubby one now, well above average weight and height for her actual age (not adjusted for premature birth). That's good.
She got three shots and an oral vaccination (for rotavirus). She did very well, crying for a few seconds, being easily comforted, and then settling down for the rest of the day. As far as my opinion on vaccination schedules in the United States, I am a strong proponent. Why? Because my kids are international gals, traveling the globe several times over. If you live in a small town in America and you believe that you will never leave the country and your kids will never come in contact with someone else from another country, then you're probably safe with them not getting vaccines. However, the diseases that children are vaccinated against do still exist in the world, many of them still here in the United States. I want to make sure my child doesn't get them or spread them.
She appears to be a typical two month old baby with respect to sleep schedule. Great. I'll keep my addiction to caffeine up, thank you very much. Because no more than 3 straight hours of sleep since she was born is really taking a toll on me and my migraines.

The pediatrician asked what position she sleeps in. On her back? On her side? On her stomach? And where? In her crib? In a bassinet? In bed with us? For those of you who have had a newborn, you know where this is going. SIDS, or Sudden Infant Death Syndrome. Babies who sleep on their stomachs and/or in bed with their parents, for reasons that are still unknown, are are a much higher risk of being victims of SIDS.

We swaddled Stella like mad from the moment she came out of my belly until she was about six weeks old. Two blankets, in fact. We called her our little burrito. Once she was swaddled, we laid her square on her back until she stirred and awoke, either from hunger or from the need of a diaper change. It worked pretty well. But all that changed when she was six weeks old. She would have no more of it, screaming until she was free from the blankets. So we'd lay her on her back in the crib without the blanket, her limbs flying about. As you can imagine, she didn't sleep very well. Neither did we. Within 48 hours, I decided to start laying her to rest on her stomach.

I told my husband all the info about SIDS. Despite this, we concurred on the decision. We also said we'd check with the doctor when Stella had her two month check up.

So, we told the pediatrician. We told her that Stella is sleeping on her belly. And she told us, stop doing it. You're putting your child at risk for SIDS.

She wasn't all doom and gloom; she's actually a really good doctor who listens well. She's sympathetic and encouraging towards the sleep-deprived parents of a newborn trying to get the baby to sleep. But really, she was pretty clear about not letting Stella sleep on her stomach until she's at least six months old.

I came home and my mind started running. How much at risk is Stella, really? I mean, these sorts of tragedies are surely the result of something more than just putting your baby on their stomach. We're far too attentive to our baby to possibly be at real risk for SIDS. Right? And doesn't SIDS affect newborn babies a lot more rampantly than babies who are "out of the woods"? Even if no one's ever showed that result, I'm sure there's something to it. I thought, as soon as I get Stella down for her next nap, I'll go online and find out some more facts.

And then...I stopped myself. What the heck? My baby's PEDIATRICIAN tells me something about how to take care of my baby, and I second guess her? What is the point of taking the baby to the doctor if I'm not going to trust what she tells me? I DID, after all, choose this pediatrician for BOTH of my daughters after MUCH THOUGHT AND CONSIDERATION. Why did I bother going to all that trouble if I don't trust the doctor in the end?

Stella was falling asleep on my shoulder. I carefully brought her to her crib and laid her on her back. Then I put a blanket over her belly and legs and firmly tucked it under her body to make sure it wouldn't get tangled up over her face. And then I resolved not to second guess people when they are telling me what's best for me.

I wish Ken Burns had gotten my attention when I was in high school

2009-10-02T16:46:00.001-04:00

If you haven't seen it yet, there's a new documentary debuting on PBS this week, The National Parks. It's the finished project resulting from almost a decade of work by Ken Burns, one of the most recognized documentary film makers of our day. Since everything I know about this documentary is from interviews with Ken Burns that I watched last week, I'll save you all the trouble of reading and simply embed two of the videos here.

The Colbert Report

Mon - Thurs 11:30pm / 10:30c

Ken Burns

www.colbertnation.com

Colbert Report Full Episodes

Political Humor

Michael Moore

Twelve hours long, divided into 6 2-hour segments. Tonight the final installment is airing. At the start of the week, we scheduled the DVR to record all 6 segments so that we could watch them as we had time. (Yes, I figured out how to use the DVR, that wonder of modern technology that lets you watch a television show whenever you like and pause it in the middle too.)

I've gotten the chance to watch the first two hours so far, about the beginnings of the National Parks at Yosemite and Yellowstone. As I watched it, I started remembering my high school lessons from US History. Vaguely. John Muir, that name sounded familiar. Wasn't I supposed to know who that was once upon a time? It seems like I was supposed to have read something about him that I didn't and then there was a question on a test that I didn't know. Nez Perce sounded familiar too. I knew it referred to an indigenous language of the Americas, but I seemed to remember that there was some other important thing about the people group that I should know. But I couldn't call it up.

As a junior in high school, I took US History as an AP course. It was what you were supposed to do if you were headed to college. I took it and I never cracked higher than a C in the class. Worse, I didn't learn much about American history. It wasn't until long after I finished my BA that I started wanting to understand the history of the country I grew up in. I realized that it affected my daily life. I needed to know what had happened in the tract of land and to the people who lived there, regardless of their citizenship and ancestry.

As I watched the first installment of The National Parks, I started wishing I could have seen it as a high school student. Maybe I would have had a chance at understanding why history mattered. Maybe I would have paid attention long enough to realize it was an interesting story.

I really found myself having a lot of regrets about how I approached my education.

And then it occurred to me: I can't go back and change my own high school experience, but I can influence Grace's experience. Grace is taking AP US History this year. I could suggest to Grace that she watch the series on the National Parks. She could enjoy learning about the history of the United States instead of trying to reconstruct the stories from the dry text in a thick, heavy coursebook.

I must say, so far she's taking the course a lot more seriously than I did. She seems to understand the ideas more fully than I did, too. When I suggested that she watch the series, she responded well. The next day she watched about an hour of the first show and took notes.

Once again, I'm realizing that Grace is a far more mature person than I give her credit for. And she's a far more mature person than I was when I was her same age.

Homecoming is here again.

2009-10-02T14:50:00.008-04:00

Tonight. Tonight's the night.

It's Homecoming at Grace's high school.

Last year I had no idea what Homecoming meant, what the event entailed. This year, I was prepared.

There's a football game, yes, but who really cares about that? Grace especially doesn't care given that she's on the swim team and they had a meet scheduled at exactly the same time as the Homecoming football game.

The most important event, of course, is a dance. A semi-formal. Grace, unlike most girls, goes to a dance and wants to dance. She wants to be wild, be goofy, take pictures, eat, and have A LOT OF FUN. BOOOOOOOO, she says to the girls who go to these events and look and act like princesses, not daring to do anything to muss themselves. A dance is for letting down your hair and HAVING FUN.

Now that you get the picture, here are the essential points I have learned since last year.

#1 - It is very important that you pick out a dress that makes you look spectacular. It is also very important that no one else pick out your spectacular dress.

Grace and I set out a day, a Saturday three weeks ago, to go shopping together for a dress. The two of us with baby Stella in tow went to the mall on a mission. Once we had located the motherload of dresses at our favorite department store, we grabbed as many dresses as we could find and Grace tried on at least thirty. We narrowed it down to eight, and then two. Finally, she decided on a purply-blue satin dress with silver accents. Low cut in the front, yes, but not in a way that looks slutty. It's technically a halter top, but the back has this fantastic look where two straps come from her nape down to the sides of the dress. Like backless with some flair. She said it didn't look like a typical Homecoming dress, the kind that people would expect you to buy (ergo, no one else is likely to pick out the same dress). She also bought $16 silver ballet flats with a big sequined flower at the toes that make the dress stand out and look fun. And that you actually dance in, as opposed to just look dressy in.

Stella behaved perfectly through the whole process.

#2 - You have to weigh the pros and cons of going with a date.

Grace mentioned to me this Tuesday that she might be going to the dance with a date. Now you must realize, Grace has never actually been on a date before. I asked her for more details. Well, she said, it was a friend of hers, someone who has a girlfriend who goes to another high school, but they may be breaking up, but that doesn't matter because Grace and this boy are just friends, and in the end, who really would think much of it anyway? By Wednesday she told me there was no date because she decided that the whole situation was just too complicated. Last night, she told me that several boys had asked her to the dance, but she turned them all down because she didn't want to have to spend all night with one guy when what she really wanted to do was party with her girlfriends. OK, then.

#3 - Corsages are not obligatory.

Last year, at the last minute only hours before the dance, I remembered that Grace would need a corsage for the dance. I called four florists from my office before one would agree that they could get it ready in the space of three hours. I agreed, paid through the nose for it, and it was beautiful. It matched her dress perfectly. I brought it home, my husband gave it to her, and she smiled for pictures with the lovely attached to her wrist. Then she quietly slipped it off before we left for the dance, leaving it on her desk at home. She put it up on display after the weekend as a souvenir. My husband was hurt. She explained to us that it's really weird to wear a corsage if you don't have a date. And though it might be nice to have a corsage and a date, see the discussion under #2.

So, my life is easy. No corsage to worry about this year. Or ever, for that matter, since I only have daughters.

#4 - When you get ready for the dance, it is way more fun to do this with friends.

I have this old-fashioned, idealized notion that every time my daughter has a formal event to attend, she will be close by so that I can relish in her getting ready process and can take an endless number of photos before she actually attends. In the sitting room, by the front door, in a scenic location both in the front yard and the back yard, a beautiful pose, a silly pose, posed with my husband, posed with me, and on and on and on the list goes.

Well, Grace doesn't really have all this as part of her idealized night of Homecoming. She wants to get ready with her friends and go to the dance with them too. The only way for both me and her to have our way is for me to host her friends and let them all get ready at my house. So two of her friends are coming over this afternoon and they are spending two hours getting ready together. Grace wants pizza and other refreshments on hand. I am surprising her by providing Izze, a beverage far too expensive for every day consumption.

I'll take pictures of all three girls in the sitting room, by the front door,...

#5 - Parents should be cool and trust teenagers who have never dreamed of doing anything dangerous in the first place.

'Nuff said.

Happy Homecoming, all you sophomores at Grace's high school.

One more time, because it's a message that matters

2009-10-02T12:49:00.004-04:00

This is the third time I've posted this video to my blog. The first two times were in December 2008 and in January of this year. The video is put out by The Girl Effect. Indeed, I put it up now, for a third time, because it really is that good.

Yesterday I got a notice on my Facebook newsfeed that Oprah Winfrey was going to mention The Girl Effect on her show that afternoon. I tuned in and, sure enough, her whole show was dedicated to real ways that each one of us can change a woman's life in a developing country. She even included a page on her site that gives direct links to numerous organizations and specific ways you can help another woman. There's also a newly released book, Half The Sky, that inspired the show Oprah put on yesterday. I'm ordering a copy today for our home and making sure Grace gets to read it.

I haven't been contacted my anyone to endorse this cause in any way. For all I know, none of these organizations even knows I exist. I am so persistent in mentioning this cause because I'm being hit smack on the head by something so important, so obvious, that I have to pay attention to. Our world is plagued by so many ills that could be solved. None of them can be solved until women around the world are no longer marginalized. How can I as a woman ignore that? I am among the most privileged group of women to have ever walked the earth; how can I ignore that most of the women on the planet do not have this measure of privilege?

There is a woman in Brazil who I think of every day. Take that back, she's not a woman, she's a girl. She is fifteen years old, the same age as my older daughter. I've never met her; I don't even know her name. But I hear about her a lot and I worry about her. She has lived in poverty her entire life. Years ago, her two older brothers stopped their education in order to work and try to make money for their family. This girl has also stopped going to school; she gave birth to her first child, a girl, the same week that Stella was born. The baby's father is in his twenties and long since gone. This fifteen year old girl is raising her baby alone. One girl the same age as my oldest daughter giving birth to another daughter the same age as my younger daughter. I wish I could take both of the girls in my arms and hold them. I wish I could make their life as good as the one my two girls have had. Instead, I think of them. Each month their family gets $100 from more fortunate people, generous people; it doesn't go far, but it gives them some of the necessities that they would otherwise do without. In the absence of anything else I can do for them, I hope that the money helps their situation get better.

That's my touchstone, the one I use to remember that every girl matters. A lot. I need to remember that I am rich, I experience the most lavish life that this planet can offer. Here in the industrialized world, the first world, we've spent the last two years navel gazing and believing that the sky is falling because we are experiencing economic downturn. Imagine a different world though, one where all the luxuries we have let go of never existed in the first place. They are impossible dreams. Just the privilege of going to school is not something you as a woman are allowing to do.

Today, today let's make a difference.

Sav(or)ing the garden before the frost

2009-09-30T23:14:00.001-04:00

I'm a little behind this year. Apparently while I wasn't looking, autumn arrived. See, I've been inside the house for the last two days and didn't notice that the chilly temperatures on Monday weren't just glitch. It's reliably in the 50s every day, the leaves are changing color, and everything around me is signaling that our Indian summer is long over.

So suddenly did the autumn come that without warning, we are under a frost advisory tonight. Frost. And it's (technically) not October yet. I can't say I find it unbelievable given the very cool summer we had. Still, frost? I swear that we were at the pool just a few weeks ago. Yes, in fact, we were at the pool only a few weeks ago. I remember. It was exactly eight weeks ago, the day before Stella was born. Grace and I and my dad were at the pool together, the two of them doing laps and me enjoying the buoyancy. We can't possibly have gone from summer swimming weather to frost in the course of eight weeks.

As you might recall, Grace and my husband decided to plant seeds in early June and see what might become of them. Some vegetables, some herbs, mixed up with a little optimism, they hoped that they might see the fruits of their labor later in the summer. They got more than I thought they would: the seeds sprouted and grew heartily, the zucchini plants thrived exceptionally well. Despite this, I can't say we saw any genuine vegetables like tomatoes or eggplant. We did get some rather healthy herbs out of it, however. Dill, Italian parsley, marjoram, spearmint, and basil. Did I mention basil? Ah, yes, basil. Lots and lots of basil.

Today, the plants are still growing strong. But there is that frost advisory. I'm not much of a handy gardener, but I do know that frost is not good for ground plants like vegetables and herbs. My husband called me from his office this afternoon to ask me to clip as much of the basil and marjoram off as I could.

I ventured out in the early evening sun. A young buck, a doe and a small fawn were enjoying their supper in the back of our lot near the woodlands. They continued feeding as I made my way to the herb garden. I clipped as much of the marjoram as I could. Then I considered the parsley growing close by. It certainly wouldn't weather the overnight frost well. I clipped a generous amount. On to the basil. Three plants had good growth. I clipped them down to the root and brought them inside.

I wish I could upload scent files to my blog. The aroma in the kitchen is indescribably wonderful. So you'll have to settle for photos. Here you are.

parsley and marjoram

basil

And for an extra treat, I'll give you a look at the chrysanthemums blooming right at the edge of our garden. I hope they survive tonight's frost and stick around for a few more weeks at least.

crysanthemums

up close

Happy Autumn to all of you!

Her Majesty, The Lioness of the Manor

2009-09-30T19:33:00.004-04:00

She doesn't look at all miffed over her near brush with supplantation, right?

The fifth member of our family

2009-09-30T16:08:00.003-04:00

One member of our family has been completely neglected. I can completely imagine that some of you out there think our family only has four members. My husband and I, Grace and Stella. Four, exactly four. Except for cursory comments, any acknowledgment of the fifth member of our family has been omitted entirely from my blogging content for quite some time now. That member is The Cat. The saddest part about her absence from my writing is that the last time I wrote about her was when I decided not to have a cardiac ultrasound for her. Because I had just found out I was pregnant and had satisfied my desire for something else small and cute in the family. God, I suck.

Since I don't have a toddler or other small child to react to the new baby in the house, I think life has cursed me with a cat that is playing that role in our home. The jealousy, the regression to earlier stages of development, the temper tantrums...it's all there. I can only assume I'll see sibling rivalry in a few years.

Now that we've established how neglectful of a cat owner I am, let's move on to what she's been up to. After successfully navigating a move to our new home last November, she decided in mid-May to stop using her litter box. It was in our basement. First, she deposited her packages in each of the bathtubs in the house, first in the master bath, then in the guest bath, and finally in the hallway bath. We closed the doors to each bathroom. Then she starting using the guest room floor, right behind the bed where you couldn't see it from the doorway. Fine, close the guest room door. She then moved downstairs and starting using the carpet in the den. Where there is no doorway to close it off. Arg. Since this time we've been trying to retrain her to use the litter box. Oh my God. Yes, it has taken more than four months to do this. We've managed to get her to use the litter box if it is in the hallway right next to the stairway to the basement. But only if the top is off of it, because she's finicky that way. She wants her litter exposed to the air; she doesn't want to have to crawl in and out of the box like some kind of lowly domesticated animal.

Then Stella came along. We knew she'd take a backseat as soon as the baby was outside of me. The Cat really is a baby to us, see. We hold her like a baby, we take pictures of her and send them to friends and family, we talk baby talk to her, we marvel at her cuteness. So as soon as something smaller and cuter came along, of course our demonstrative affection for The Cat would abate a tad.

Truth be told, we didn't even know where she was half the time, or if she was home at all.

When things quieted down a bit after Stella's arrival, The Cat gingerly approached her. I noticed it one afternoon when I was holding Stella in the nursery. Stella was wailing her head off about something. The Cat was in the hallway and peered into the room through the doorway ever so subtly. Then carefully, step by step, she ventured in. When she finally reached the loveseat that Stella and I were sitting on, she rested her front paws on the seat cushion and let out a tiny kitten cry. I couldn't help but stop and look. Sure enough, she was empathizing with Stella. She stayed there in the room with us until Stella settled down. When Stella was laying in her crib and falling asleep, The Cat stepped out as quietly and carefully as she had entered.

Since then, I've noticed that she's taken up camping underneath the crib. She never went in the nursery before. Now she walks under the crib to the center, curls up against the wall, wraps her tail around her body and goes to sleep.

I was amazed that this was The Cat's reaction to the new baby.

And then the day came. I should have known it would come, but still, when it came, I was unprepared. The day that we realized we couldn't find The Cat.

I had seen her the afternoon before. My husband had come home late on Tuesday night and didn't find her anywhere. I hadn't opened any of the doors, so she must be around somewhere. Or...maybe not. She could have slipped into the garage when I was loading Stella into the car and then walked right out into the outdoors when I opened the garage door. However she managed to get out, she was gone. She was nowhere in the house to be found.

I called the Humane Society. They took a report, asking me all about her. She's an orange tabby with patches of gray stripes. She has a lightning bolt black streak on her forehead. She's ten years old and she's spayed and declawed in the front paws, and, oh my God, she's been outside by herself for over a day and we live on the woodlands and anything could have gotten her and she would have no way to protect herself! Calm down, the woman told me. She said she had a cat by this description that was 11 years old. Eleven years, you say? And then I realized, The Cat is actually 11 years old. I'm so negligent I don't even know how old The Cat is anymore. No luck, though, that cat was a male. The woman on the phone told me to come by the shelter the next day to look at the cats there. The next day Stella and I spent 30 minutes looking at cats and kittens one by one. I'll bet we saw over a hundred. All of them were so sweet and needy. I reached out and pet some of them through their cage wires. I told each and every one of them that I wished I could take them with us and give them a home. But we didn't want a new cat, we wanted our cat. None of those cats was The Cat.

As I was leaving, I asked to see the report to make sure they had all of our information correct. They did. And then I asked them if there was anything else we could do to help her come home. The woman at the front desk said to put pieces of our clothing outside, clothing we had worn that was rich with each of our scents. With no other ways to turn, I decided to try this.

That night we all went to Grace's swim meet. We spent the whole meet wishing we could go home and search for The Cat. After the meet was over, we four rushed home to see if we could lure family member number five, the outcast. Grace ran to the basement and got some of our clothing from the laundry pile. My husband started walking around the backyard calling for her, shining a flashlight into the trees and bushes to see if he could see the reflection of her green eyes. Stella and I fixed yet another bowl of tuna fish to set on the back porch overnight. No luck. We couldn't find her.

After about an hour, we woefully looked out the sliding glass door into the backyard. The temperatures were dropping; could she survive out there for very long? We turned on the back porch light to see if there were any other critters around. There, right next to the door, sniffing our clothing, was The Cat. We quickly pulled her inside. She was fine, happy in fact. My husband snuggled her in his arms and asked her if she had had fun while she was out on her adventures. Then we all retreated for bed, relieved.

For the last couple days, The Cat has been sitting by the sliding glass doors in the afternoon, basking in the sun. A stray cat keeps coming around and taunting her through the glass. You can hear The Cat's hisses and screams through the whole house. She's protecting us and her domain. And all this while I thought I was protecting her. I'm wondering whether it would be wrong for me to put out tuna fish for the other cat and lace it with gasoline...

And yet, it happened again

2009-09-28T17:40:00.004-04:00

Grace was away for the weekend. She spent it with her father and his family.

Her younger sister, her father's daughter, turned three years old last Tuesday. Grace spent that evening with her father's family to celebrate. Then this weekend her father and stepmother decided to travel north, 150 miles, to her stepmother's parent's home to celebrate again. They left on Saturday morning around 10a and returned Sunday by 8p.

When Grace came in the front door last night and said hello, it was apparent she was sick. Not only did her voice sound like a frog's, she was coughing and then said her nose was stuffed up.

Over the weekend, she had taken cough drops from Friday night until she came home and she took an allergy medicine (given to her by her stepmother) on Sunday morning. Then she rode home in the car for 3 hours in a t-shirt and short shorts...when the temperatures were dropping and well into the low 50s already.

Once I had assessed the situation, I gave her a cough suppressant and a mild decongestant. Then I told her if she felt sick in the middle of the night to come tell me so she could take more medicine. This morning at 5a when she woke up for swim practice, she asked for more medicine. I told her that if she felt sick when it wore off to call me from school and that I would come get her. At 11a, she called from school. I went to school immediately and picked her up. She came home, put on her pajamas, and got in bed. She's sick.

The last four times Grace has been sick, this has occurred immediately upon her return from her father's house. In fact, I can't remember the last time she fell ill while being at home. Neither can she. In longer than the past two years, since she started eighth grade, I can't remember a time she was sick and missed school or anything else due to illness when she was home with me. But I can remember many times she missed school in that time period. Each one of these times immediately followed a visit with her father.

I spent the entire hour I met with my therapist this afternoon unloading all my frustration about this. Now that I am finished with that, I have only one question left. What is her father doing in the 48 hours she spends with him that gets her so sick so fast? I mean, this is a kid who never gets sick in any other situation. My God, how oblivious do you have to be as an adult in order for a teenager to get sick so often when she is in your care?

For those of you who (rightfully) give me the following advice every time I broach this issue, I talked with Grace last night about how she can take care of herself. I told her that since she is the only person looking out for her health when she visits with her father, she needs to start paying attention when I teach her about monitoring her own symptoms and about over-the-counter medicines. And I told her that whenever she feels sick, she should call me and ask me what she should do. The last thing I told her was to try and figure out what the factor is that causes her to get sick when she visits with her father (some ideas: not wearing warm enough apparel? not eating well? not getting enough sleep? sleeping on the floor? inhaling second-hand smoke nonstop?)

I wish the courts would mandate that non-custodial parents parent during visitation, not just visit. Maybe they should rename visitation 'parenting time.' Just an idea.

Honest Scrap Award

2009-09-25T09:45:00.005-04:00

ONE MONTH AGO, Crys at Modifying Motherhood gave me an award. I thanked her right away and thought, 'thank goodness I have an idea for an upcoming post.' Um, yeah, right. I don't think "upcoming" translates into ONE MONTH LATER. But Crys is a great sort of person, or, rather, I imagine she is face to face since she seems to be a great sort of person as I see her through her writing. So I'm sure she understands that I don't mean any offense by taking ONE WHOLE MONTH to accept this award and pass it on.

Here goes.

Crys gave me the Honest Scrap Award. Sounds nice, eh? I'm supposed to list ten things that you probably didn't know about me. Then I pass the award along. Easy 'nuff. Here is my list:

When I was in high school, I was in love with England. I wanted to travel there. I wanted to move there. I thought everything about England was amazing. I knew every single fact about the British royal family and the Beatles that there was to be known.
When I was in middle school, around 1984, I thought Michael J. Fox was about the most amazing thing in the entire world. I would have done anything to see him in person. I couldn't imagine that anyone was more fantastic. Then the crush waned. Then about 1998 I told someone how much I liked him as an actor. And that person said, 'yeah, but what has he done lately?' Oh. My. And now? More than ten years later? I respect him and love him even more. He is, in the language that Mrs. G would use, my secret boyfriend.
I was a cheerleader in middle school. I would have done anything to be a cheerleader forever and be an 'it' girl. When I tried out in high school I was cut for the squad because I couldn't do a split.
I tried yoga for the first time when I was 24. I was really good at it. I apparently am very flexible. I never really did yoga after that. I should.
I bite my fingernails. And my toenails.
I love Project Runway. I find those designers very talented.
I don't understand poetry at all. It's not that I dislike it, I just don't have the ability to understand it.
For reasons I cannot explain, I don't like U2. I can't think of any song by the band that I like. I saw them once in concert during their Pop tour and I was bored. And I was completely burned that I had paid so much for the tickets and driven 100 miles to see the concert.
In middle school I made up my mind that I was going to go to college at Florida State. There I would major in music and minor in mathematics. I planned on becoming a piano teacher.
The only beer I enjoy drinking is Bell's Oberon, only available during the summer.

There you go. Now, to the passing onward. I, Heather at Comparative Childhood, do hereby bestow the Honest Scrap Award to:

CDP, aka Aunt Dahlia, at (parenthetical)

Amy at Welcome to Amy's World

Melissa at Buddha Mama

Go visit their blogs! They are very entertaining!

Being a baby is hard to do

2009-09-20T14:33:00.015-04:00

We've finally gotten Stella's social security card and copies of her birth certificate. Now we have to get a US passport. We also have to go to the Brazilian consulate and do all sorts of paperwork to get her citizenship there too. And she needs a Brazilian passport too so she can legally enter the country. All this leads to...

Baby Passport Photos

And you thought it was a pain to get a decent passport picture for yourself...

Stepfamily Day

2009-09-16T09:18:00.000-04:00

This past Sunday afternoon our stepfamily had dinner with another stepfamily-in-the-making. Actually, that's simplifying the situation. Let me explain.

My friend Frieda has three children. When Frieda and I met, we were both married to our first husbands, the father of our respective children. Since we met, I have been divorced and remarried and she has gotten divorced and is now engaged. We are both in a much better place today than we were then.

Frieda's fiance, Henry, has two children of his own, a son in high school and a daughter who finished her first bachelor's degree a few years ago. Actually, his daughter is his stepdaughter, the daughter of a woman he is no longer married to. Henry and his daughter were there at dinner on Sunday. He told me while we were grilling meat for dinner that it was about 20 years ago he met his first wife and wonderful daughter. I would have never guessed the details of their familial relationship if he had not been forthcoming with them. She responded to him like any daughter would respond to her father.

It wasn't until I got home that I started thinking about the complexities of all the relationships present. Freida's kids interact happily with Henry's stepdaughter. When Frieda and Henry do get married, what is the relationship of these stepchildren of Henry? I don't even know. Are stepchildren from two different marriages related? Does it matter given that they all interact with one another as family?

Many times I look at my stepfamily and I think things look complicated. My older daughter Grace has to divide her time between our family and the stepfamily her father built. I suspect she has her share of tense moments since few members in either family behave suitably in this circumstance. As far as my husband, the stepparent in our family, goes, he faced how to build a relationship with a girl from a country that he had no childhood experience in. He had no idea what American girls are like and what they do when he met her. The whole thing has been an involved process to say the least.

But we are as simple of a stepfamily as you can get. One stepparent, one child, and these two connected by the biological parent. Now we have one more member, the half-sibling of the first child. My friend Frieda has a more complex stepfamily involving not just her children, but her fiance's biological child and his stepchild from his first marriage. And yet, this doesn't make the two families better or worse than each other or any other family. What matters is the family members and how they treat each other.

I've been very hesitant to say what I'm about to say, but since it's Stepfamily Day, I'll go for it: A stepfamily is at least as good as an intact family. See, stepfamilies get a bad rap. People who have experience only in intact families don't hesitate to say that intact families are better than any other family structure. Some people in the media go so far as to say single mothers and stepfamilies are flawed and are to be blamed for many of the ills of our society. But I've never heard anyone in a stepfamily be so bold as to say that a stepfamily is better than an intact family. I think it's time for those of us in stepfamilies to stop acting like it's a flawed structure and stand up to say what a great thing it is.

I don't know what the statistics are as to how many families today are traditional intact families versus stepfamilies. I don't even know how one could reliably calculate such a number. I'm not sure it matters. What does matter is that for people like those in my stepfamily, our family is the best one we have been in. That includes intact families we have each been in. So I am grateful to say, we are and always will be a stepfamily. Thank goodness for it.

Should the arts be censored for teenagers?

2009-09-15T12:02:00.008-04:00

The following post has been amended as of October 13, 2009, with changes and comments immediately following. A follow up post on October 16, 2009 addresses these amendments.

Last night I attended the first PTA meeting of the school year at Grace's school. I have been involved in this organization since before Grace finished 8th grade. Last year was my learning year, we could say. That is, I learned that organizations that have no profit margin or dollar amount placed on time tend to harbor lots of endless conversation and controversy. After a few months of participating, I learned how to protect my time and, to some extent, how to diffuse the energy from never-ending debates.

Last night there were several controversies. There was a 30-40 minute interrogation of the principal over her lack of sufficient communication to the school community after the first day of school regarding a potential criminal matter at a bus stop. Then there was more discussion regarding her past failure to post the daily announcements at the school's website. A last minute controversy began over how much of a voice the students have in matters like what type of food is served at the Homecoming dance and how much they should be emotionally supported by the PTA. And then one very concerned parent brought up the theatre department's choice of an annual school musical -- Annie Get Your Gun.*

The last parent, new to the school since her daughter is a freshman, expressed great disapproval of the musical. It glorifies the use of firearms and requires that we introduce weapons as props in a play. Further, women and native Americans suffer the ills of discrimination and inequality throughout the libretto.

Fair enough, these are valid points. And fair enough that the parent brought up these concerns at this point even though auditions for the musical began yesterday afternoon. When all is said and done, it's very unlikely that the theatre department will change their choice at this point. Consequently the discussion becomes one of values and opinions, rather than one that will effect real change. Still, the discussion rankled me. I was irritated. I was annoyed. I thought this woman was doing it for show, putting on airs so as to establish her superiority in the pecking order that is the PTA.

It was only later that I thought, why do I feel this way?

It was censorship. It's the idea that teenagers can't handle information.

For the purpose of my discussion here, let's abstract away from the issue that the school musical is an extracurricular activity that the kids are not required to participate in. There are plenty of things that students are exposed to in the name of education that could be construed as inappropriate along the same line of reasoning. If you've ever been in education, you know the laundry list of literature of all genres that has been subject to censorship in the curriculum. What is worse for students to read: Annie Get Your Gun or The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn? What about The Catcher in the Rye? The Taming of the Shrew? (Or God forbid, Kiss Me Kate.) The question of whether teenagers can handle discussion of sensitive issues has been out there for quite a long while. Some believe that all of the aforementioned titles should be banned from a school's curriculum. Others err of the side of liberalism and say none of it should be censored. And then there are the curious cases in which people nit pick on a case by case basis, reaching inconsistent verdicts for each work.

It bothers me considerably. I don't think that the school or the government or any other board should be censoring material. I think that's the job of parents. If my daughter is deeply involved in a theatrical production that has themes I don't agree with, I can take the opportunity to talk to her about those issues. That's my take on the issue.

When I was a senior in high school, I was the student director of the school's production of Oklahoma! Weapons, discrimination against women, yeah, they were in there. Heck, it was my great-grandfather's double-barreled shotgun that was used as a prop by Andrew Carnes. That's right, an actual firearm was used as a prop.** In one of the final scenes, we directed Will Parker to lasso Ado Annie and pull her to him, an act demonstrating that he had indeed won her over. No one objected. When Grace was in 8th grade, her middle school put on The Sound of Music. There, in middle of Act I, Leisl swung her body back and forth flirtatiously towards Rolf while singing the words, 'I need someone older and wiser telling me what to do. You are 17 going on 18; I'll depend on you.' I was concerned for the actress playing Leisl and hoped one of her parents took the opportunity to talk about her place in the world as a young woman. But still, I don't think the play should have been censored because of these lyrics.

If students don't encounter these works, these works that were contemporary in their time but that now are rightfully deemed discriminatory, how will students learn about the history of these issues? How will they develop the ability to recognize subtle forms of discrimination when they appear? How will they come to appreciate the progress we have made (or haven't) as a society? In short, if students have no access to these works, how will we begin a discussion with them about the issues they raise?

I don't know if my stance makes me a raving liberal or a staunch conservative. Since I want a hands off approach, that should make me conservative. But since we're talking about social issues and I'm advocating full access to information, that should make me a liberal. Who knows. But that's my stance and I'm sticking to it.

*I want to be sure to note here that the theatre director chose the 1999 revival version of the musical to put on, a revision of the script and libretto that significantly reduces the level of racial and gender-based discrimination. I'm not sure the objecting parent knows this.

**Granted, the barrel of the shotgun wasn't aligned correctly and the whole weapon weighed about 35 lbs. I doubt anyone could have used it effectively as weapon, much less even pick it up.

AMENDED ON OCTOBER 13, 2009
I received an email from the parent who voiced concern about the choice of Annie Get Your Gun as the choice of dramatic musical at Grace's high school. A colleague of hers found the blog on October 12 and forwarded her the link to this post. She notes several inaccuracies which I correct here. I always strive to accurately represent things here since bloggers get a lot of criticism for not checking their facts. In the interest of presenting the facts more accurately, please note the changes below. My apologies for any misunderstandings for any and all readers that may have occurred as a result of these errors.

The child of this parent is a sophomore, thus she did know about the choice of the musical the previous spring. The concerns she raised in September have been brought up since last June.
To clarify that my first impressions of her at the meeting were indeed incorrect, her motivation in bringing up these concerns at a PTA meeting was not to "put on a show, airs, or establish my superiority in the pecking order of the PTA." Rather, she is extremely busy and would prefer to be minimally involved in the organization.
She was aware that the revised version of the musical was selected by the theatre director before making her objections.
She reiterated in correspondence with me that she strongly disagrees that parents should have a "hands-off" approach as I advocate here.

Abercrombie goes for the kids

2009-09-14T13:17:00.003-04:00

OK, first off, I say up front that by posting this I may indeed be branding myself as too cynical of a middle-aged mom. That being said...

Yesterday, while visiting with a friend and her family, I heard the first mention of Abercrombie Kids. Yes, that's right. Our children's favorite teen and college age clothing vendor, Abercrombie and Fitch, has opened its doors to the younger clientele, grade school age children and tweens.

I'll just wait right here while you take that in for a second or two.

OK, I'm guessing you're ready to go on now.

I thought it was a joke. I mean, wouldn't it make a great SNL skit?

I'm not stupid, I understand the logic. Get a young kid hooked on the brand and then they will be even more loyal as teens and young adults. But this is a little different than Gap Kids. Gap Kids sells clothing kind of like what they sell at the adults store -- t-shirts, jeans, khakis...clothes that don't look like you've just come off the beach or out of bed.

I was in college during grunge and I understand the appeal of the look. You give off the aura that you don't care about your appearance and you have bigger things on your mind. You don't have the time or energy (or money) to put towards fashion. Grunge is the ultimate exemplar of function before fashion...which becomes a fashion statement in and of itself. But now it's acceptable to pay top dollar for this. Every time I see stores that carry this look, I think that I've got to teach all these kids how to shop at Goodwill, wash their clothes in the wrong temperature and then overstuff the dryer and leave all the laundry in there for a day.

It's like Grace wearing big faux diamond stud earrings and a pearl bracelet paired with a wrinkly flannel and jeans with holes in them. No. No, no, no. This is all wrong.

Back to the point. We're now selling this look to children? Grade school age children? I presume because it has become so acceptable to obtain the look of "I didn't pay much for this and I don't care what I look like" via a credit card that we forgot the attitude and message that was what was behind the look. And now we want to put that look on children? Huh?

WHAT IS HAPPENING TO THE WORLD OF FASHION OUT THERE?

I suppose this is how the baby boomers feel when they see a woman wearing a couture item with the words "Power to the People" emblazoned across the front in purple and green sequins. That cost over $1,000. Oh my.

One last dig at abercrombie kids and then I'll drop it, I promise. It's the image on the gift cards available online. A shirtless tween boy flanked by a cute girl wrapped around his arm. All I can think of is the ad campaign by Abercrombie (for adults) with the Adonic guys. Not bad to look at...unless the models are under the age of 13. Then it's just wrong, you know?

Please help our children...

Marriage, Part 3: About that health care debate...

2009-09-10T08:36:00.004-04:00

I can't figure out who these people are who say they are happy with their health care coverage plan. I don't know anyone who is happy with theirs. Mine is fine, my health care needs are met, but my access to it is completely contingent upon my husband's full-time employment. It seems like a very precarious position to be in, that your family's health care coverage would evaporate instantly if one person were unable to report to work full-time. Yes, I know, COBRA. Do you have any idea how much electing to continue health insurance through COBRA costs for an individual or a family? And I would likely not be eligible because my pre-existing conditions are plentiful. Neither would my daughter Grace for the same reasons.

While thinking about this, I started remembering how many people I've talked to who made the decision to marry when they did because they needed the health care benefits their partner could make available to them. I know that when I got married four years ago, the timing of our wedding coincided very closely with the date that my health coverage would cease. In the last month I've heard from two friends who did the same.

Now, I don't want to make it sound like I got married for the health care plan. I didn't. But it was a nice perk. And it was definitely a factor in thinking that planning a wedding 12 weeks would be better than giving myself more time.

So now that I've been hearing from friends around me that we all share this in common, I'm starting to think this is more prevalent of a situation than I originally thought. So I ask of all of you out there this question: how many people, yourself included, do you know that got married at a certain point because they were in need of an affordable health care plan?

The beginning of Stella

2009-09-08T09:31:00.006-04:00

Yesterday Stella turned one month old. I haven't said much about her. So here's a tidbit. As usual, it's really about me.

Lately I've been telling stories to Stella as she is nursing or is falling asleep. I started with telling her about the day she was born. That was when she was two weeks old. It was inspired by my neighbor who came over to visit a few days earlier with her two kids, 8 and 6. As we visited, she asked how I was and how Stella was at birth. Her kids chimed in and asked their mother, 'how much did I weigh, momma?" and "what was it you said the first time you heard me cry, momma?" It was clear that each one of them had heard the story of their birth over and over.

Then I moved to telling Stella how much her daddy loved her. I told her about how much we wanted to have a baby and how long we waited and how, the entire time I was pregnant, we were careful, and a little nervous that something would go wrong, and a tad scared that she would have a problem or not be healthy and that we worked so hard to make sure she was healthy and happy and safe.

And then I realized, part of the story goes back to when my husband and I first started seeing each other. He told me he wanted to have children. Like, in week two of dating. And I said something like, I don't believe you, or, you needed to explain what it is exactly about children that you want. It was only after much time had passed that he told me how much my response revealed about me. He told me I was seeing him as just a typical man and that I assigned all the stereotypical values and perspectives to him without ever even probing to see if those were valid assumptions.

See, I had accidentally gotten pregnant with Grace by my first long-term boyfriend. I thought he was great. I was in love, as they say. I thought, nothing can stop us now. We'll get married and be together forever. We can survive. It was like that country song by Trisha Yearwood, "She's in Love With The Boy."

God, when I hear that song on the radio it makes me sick to my stomach. I wish I could grab every young girl who's fantasizing while listening to that song and shake her up and say, 'for the LOVE OF GOD and all things holy, LISTEN to your father for half a second and don't even THINK about marrying that boy some day!" As you all know, things did not work out with my boyfriend in the way I envisioned. Yeah, once Grace was born, he thought she was cute and all. And he played with her. On some days he got inspired and planned a whole day of fun with her. But...

Parenting is hard work. It's not all fun and games. He didn't like the hard parts. So he got to do all the fun stuff and I ended up with the rotten stuff like changing diapers and giving time outs and staying home while he went out (with who?) and working on homework. At the tail end of our relationship, he would want to have fun with me alone and would get angry if I didn't find a sitter at short notice, saying it was like I didn't even like being with him (well, truth be told...). I haven't even touched whether my job or career was as important as his; suffice it to say, mine was a needed source of income, his was the one that mattered. When push came to shove, I needed to work, and I was the one who needed to figure out childcare and everything else. After we divorced, it was clear who was the "fun" parent and who was the "disciplinarian." I made up my mind then and there, I'm never having kids with anyone again.

I admit, it was a completely sexist decision. I actually always wanted to have a big family with lots of kids. Four sounded perfect to me. Sure, a lot of work, but if there's two people who love each other, two people who are really invested in a family and committed to making it work, then a big family can be joyful even though it is a bit hectic. But through the course of my first marriage, I decided that men are not prepared as people to take on the commitment of parenting in the way that I envisioned they could. They wanted to have a healthy sized progeny in order to ensure that they passed on their genes and their name. I wanted my kids to have a father who was involved in their lives, one who would love being with them as much as I did. One who felt like they were a part of him, not just an extension of his life. By the time I was separating from Grace's father, I had had enough of it. I wanted Grace to have an awesome dad and she didn't. I had tried to make a family work, it didn't work, and now I was 30 and didn't want to try and fail again. And so I let the dream that I wanted, the dream of the big, happy family, die.

Enter my husband-to-be and his comment during our nascent romance. He wanted to have children. I had been divorced long enough to know it wasn't easy to rebuild a family, that is, to create a stepfamily. In fact, it was a hard thing to do. And I already had a daughter who was nine and I was starting a 5-year PhD program within months. There would be a big age gap between my only child and her next sibling. Was it possible to build a family?

After two years of feeling each other out and making sure this was the 'real thing,' we got married. See, along the way to marriage, my husband convinced me through the ways he treated me and cared for me that he valued me as an equal in our relationship. I also saw how he cared for Grace, Grace, who wasn't making forming a parent-child relationship between the two of them easy. Once we made the decision to get married, we immediately started thinking about another child. But within two months of our wedding, we were seeing a reproductive endocrinologist at the infertility clinic because me, I had some bad symptoms and some bad family medical history. It took a little more than four years and a whole lot of medical treatment for me until we held our baby Stella in our arms.

I tried to tell Stella the abbreviated version of the story a few days ago. It wasn't easy. I don't think it ever will be. But I did manage to tell her that we were very, very happy to finally have her in our lives. I hope that I can explain the story to her in a way that she can understand while she is young so that she can grow up knowing that her parents longed for her more than she can imagine.

Michigan these days

2009-09-05T09:16:00.006-04:00

The current economic recession this country is experiencing didn't blind-side me or most Michiganders. We saw it coming long before the nation did, because Michigan has been experiencing a recession (or possibly a depression) for years.

For most of us living here, we don't need the published statistics to see the effects. Everyone knows friends and family members out of work. Everyone knows a family who has left the state for work elsewhere. My county, one of the better off ones in the state, just announced that ALL non-federal mandated spending will be cut in order to make the budget balance. One of the bridges in town in a heavily trafficked area has been reduced to one lane in each direction because it is no longer structurally sound for more weight -- and there's no money to fix it.

Enter my daughter and her driver's education.

Grace is fifteen, which means she wants her learner's permit to drive. When I was a teenager, I went down to the DMV, took a written test, had my mother sign a piece of paper, and I walked out with my learner's permit. Not so these days. Teens are required to receive 24 hours of instruction in the classroom, 6 hours of observation on the road, and 4 hours behind the wheel before getting their permit. Oh, and they have to take and pass a written test. The bottom line is this: you have to pay for driver's education. And you have to find about a month of available time to ferry your teenager back and forth from classes, driving times, and examinations in order for them to meet the requirements for the permit.

So during July and August we did this. We forked out some $350+ for the course and she dutifully attended every single lesson and class. Grace took her last driving lesson the night before Stella was born. Now she holds a "green slip," the evidence that she has passed the course. She can drive with it, provided a licensed adult is in the front seat, but she needs to get her official permit from the Secretary of State office. The longer she waits, the longer it is until she gets her real driver's license, because you have to hold a permit for 180 days before you can get a real license.

All through the summer days of driving, I realized much more acutely that the roads are in terrible condition. Teaching a kid to drive and avoid potholes at the same time is not easy. I kept thinking, I wish there was money to fill these potholes. The road out in front of our house got more and more jagged until we started coaching her to drive on the left side of the street when the road was clear. Ah well, what are you going to do? Some day we'll get out of this recession and the roads will slowly get fixed, one by one.

I promised Grace that I would take her to the Secretary of State as soon as I could after Stella was born. I knew it wouldn't be easy to find a good time since I would be recovering and she would have a packed schedule with preseason swim team training. Stella would have to come along with us too since the lines would be long. And I definitely wanted to get it done before Grace started school because, oh lordy, then it would be impossible to find an available time.

Yesterday, on Friday, Grace and I set out after her morning swim practice to get her driver's learning permit. We had all our documents, we got Stella all ready and in the car, and we drove up to the office. When we got to the office, Grace carried Stella in her car seat to the door because that's still too much weight for me to lift.

We were ready.
We were stoked.
We were feeling like we were getting things done.

We got to the front door of the office, pulled on the door, and found it was locked. The office was closed, no one was home. It was a required furlough day for all Secretary of State offices, the last of six such days this year. The state is saving $22 million by taking such an action.

I thought, "damn." Because our efforts had been thwarted and we were inconvenienced.

And then I thought, "damn." Because all those state workers got the day off. Without pay.

I'm wondering when the day will come that we go through the entire day and not be reminded that people all around us, our neighbors, our friends, everyone, is doing without in this season. Some are fairing alright, but some are really suffering. I'm wondering how many of the state workers are able to enjoy their long four-day holiday weekend given that it came at a fairly high cost, and at a cost they didn't choose.

Grace completely understood the situation. She didn't make a fuss or complain. I promised her that we would come back to the office on Tuesday when they have extended hours until 7p. She said that would work great. Sometimes I wish I had Grace's disposition, the ability to just accept the ups and downs, to roll with the punches. She sees things pretty clearly, but she always seems to see the glass as half full.

What Not To Wear

2009-09-04T17:29:00.003-04:00

A few weeks ago while my mother was still visiting us, we made good use of her time by asking her to run errands around town and buy things we needed. One of those errands was one she enjoys very much: buying Grace new clothing for the school year.

Grace likes this activity with her grandmother very much more than she likes doing it with me. See, my purse strings are a bit tighter than grandma's and my willingness to allow certain items enter into Grace's wardrobe is far more conservative. But alas, this year there was no contest. I was home in bed with a newborn, and grandma, and with her money bags, was ready and willing and eager to go to the mall.

And so off to the mall they went, the two of them, to spend copious amounts of time, energy, and most importantly, money, at some of Grace's favorite stores. High on the list was H&M. I can't stand going to this store with Grace. Sure, it is filled with tons of clothing for less than what other lines would charge (like Abercrombie & Fitch, Urban Outfitters, American Apparel, American Eagle, Hot Topic, and Forever 21). But there is still one problem with H&M. Grace has the impression that anything that is for sale at that store must be (1) fashionable, (2) useful, and (3) worth the money they are charging for it.

I would like to interject at this point that my mother is not the same woman I grew up with. She did not take me or my sisters out and spend money like this. We wore uniforms to school and thus the only other clothing we needed were church clothing for Sunday and shorts and t-shirts for doing chores. I cannot remember my mother ever taking me to the mall and buying me more than 4 items in one trip. Period.

Back to my mother's and Grace's shopping trip. I am sitting at home with Stella when the phone rings. It is my mother calling on her cell phone from H&M. Grace is in the fitting room. Mom is calling to ask about one item she is trying on. See, even though my mother is generous with Grace, she still strives to not buy anything that is out of line by my clothing rules for Grace. So she was calling to make sure that the miniskirt Grace was trying on wouldn't cause any problems.

After talking to my mother a few minutes, I asked to talk to Grace on the phone. She happily got on the phone and told me that the miniskirt was three inches below her fingertips and thus wouldn't cause any problems at school. I asked her to describe the skirt. It was a form-fitting knit miniskirt with a black and purple leopard skin print.

[pause. I breathed deeply here so as not to tick the teenager off.]

I said to her, 'I would prefer that you not spend money on that because it wouldn't really be appropriate for school.' She accepted that and we ended the phone call.

Come to think of it, I'm not sure what a piece of apparel like that would be useful for. A job interview? A night out on the town? What do you pair with this skirt, a black tank top and high heels?

But I didn't tell her all that. I just told her it wouldn't be worth buying because she wouldn't be able to get much wear out of it.

I would like to interject at this point as well, that this is also a piece of evidence that my mother is not the woman I grew up with. My mother would have never dreamed of allowing me to even consider clothing that was risque or questionable. If I tried on clothing that she didn't approve of, I got a very unhappy mother in the fitting room. And there was a lot that she didn't approve of. Like form-fitting knit miniskirts with black and purple leopard skin print.

Grace and my mother came home two hours and $350 later with an enormous amount of new clothing. She put on a fashion show for me and the final verdict was that she had done good. One dress would need to be exchanged for a different style and she was required to let me borrow the uber-cool, hip length, black trench coat she got, the one that she picked out to wear with the black riding hat. Yes, a black riding hat. Like the ones Princess Anne wears when she rides her horses.

My sister is coming in town today for Labor Day weekend. She told me a few days ago that she would like to treat Grace to an afternoon out at Starbucks and then clothing shopping at Plato's Closet. I told my sister the story of Grace's recent trip to the mall with our mother. My sister suggested that before she goes shopping with Grace, the two of them should "shop Grace's closet." In other words, make heads or tails of what she's got already, since it is likely she needs nothing new. Really. Because even though I know nothing of fashion trends and what's hot this summer, Bossy keeps up with this stuff and posted a very informative primer for this year's fall must-haves. And Grace has got all that stuff. Tons of long necklaces? Check. leggings? Check, check and check in three neutral colors. Knee high boots with flat soles? Check. Boyfriend jacket? Check (and mother is educated to know that the aforementioned black trench coat is actually a boyfriend jacket). Sequined skirt, jeans with baroque backsides, tailored plaid tops, and items with ruffles? Check, check, check and, check. Oh yeah, she's stocked.

Grace has a unique sense of style. She does her own thing. For a 15-year-old girl, she does pretty well. But when I see some of the outfits she puts together, I am reminded about how much teenagers don't see the whole picture. There are some outfits you never put together unless you're sending a not-too-nice message.

Like last Sunday she was going to an outdoor cookout/sleepover up the street with a bunch of her girlfriends. She wore a pair of short running shorts along with two tank tops and her Adidas deck sandals. Easy enough. But then she puts on a pearl bracelet, faux diamond stud earrings, makeup designed for the Oscars and a headband covered with white satin with a big white satin bow on the side. It was bizarre. I tried to explain to her that when she puts so much effort into looking good that it's unclear what message she's trying to send by wearing so little clothing. I mean, if she hadn't put so much work on the accessorizing, she would have just looked laid back and casual. But instead she looked like she was trying to show off something. There was a side issue as well that the temperatures were dropping into the 40s that night and I couldn't figure out why she was wearing so little clothing. But by objecting to her choices in fashion, it was like I had committed the unpardonable sin. She was completely upset and argued the whole time.

I've been at this thing of trying to teach my daughter what is and what is not ok to put together in an outfit for years now. I feel like I'm making very little headway. I keep asking myself, how does a mother teach her daughter to refrain from wearing outfits that are never in fashion? How does a mother, in a caring way, tell her daughter that the way she has put herself together makes her worth less than she really is? I really wish I could get to the bottom of this issue and figure out the best way to communicate this message to her.

A quick quiz on the ethics of teenagers

2009-09-02T09:37:00.003-04:00

Short answer question

Instructions:
Read the following situation. Once you have completed the reading, consider the question. Give a thoughtful and complete answer, including the ethical premise for your choice.

Situation:

It is the last week of summer before the school year begins again. You are on the varsity women's swim team at your high school. You are a sophomore. You are trying to do well this season and earn a varsity letter. Two weeks ago you started pre-season training with your team. Pre-season training is a strain on the schedule -- morning and afternoon practice every weekday along with a morning practice on Saturdays too. WAY more work than optional summer training.

You are also a very social gal, one who wants to enjoy the last week before school starts. You've got lots of friends because you're gregarious like that and all. Last weekend you contacted a bunch of friends and convinced them to make plans with you. All the friends are exuberant and you set the date to go downtown the next Wednesday afternoon, Wednesday, Sept 2nd, that is, and shop, do Starbucks, take goofy photos, and generally kick the dirt up with your heels one last time as you all bid summer adieu.

And then reality hits you. Tuesday morning you look at your calendar. Even though your swimming coach has canceled the last two Wednesday afternoon practices, she's actually holding the practice this Wednesday. Wednesday, Sept 2nd, that is. The same day you have scheduled with your friends to go downtown.

Damn. You made an assumption based on precedent without checking whether the precedent was now a permanent arrangement. Now you have a date with a bunch of friends to go downtown for the afternoon while your coach expects you to be at practice swimming laps. In preparation for the meet on Thursday, tomorrow.

Question:

What do you do?

What DO you DO?!?

Possible Answers:

What I would have done when I was 15:

I would have explained the situation to my coach and said it was a mistake, admitted I was wrong, but gone ahead and kept my date with my friends. It's unclear to me whether in the long run I would have continued to think that this was a good choice.

What Grace did this week, now that she is 15:

She talked to her coach at the morning practice on Tuesday. The coach was not pleased. Despite this, she came home and told me that she was going to go ahead and go out with her friends anyway. Then Grace thought about it some more. She talked to her coach again at her afternoon practice on Tuesday. The coach reiterated that it was 'highly recommended' that she attend the practice the next day and, consequently, cancel her plans with her friends. Or at the best, reschedule for another day. Grace came home from practice and started calling her friends and rescheduling.

Right now I think the plan is for Grace and her friends to go downtown Friday afternoon (when practice really IS canceled) and shop, do Starbucks, take photos, and generally kick the dirt up with their heels one last time as they all bid summer adieu.

Once again, she proves she is better than I.*

* Every time I make a choice between "I" and "me" at this blog, someone notes when I make a mistake according to the prescriptive rules of English grammar. I don't really adhere to those rules here at my blog, but since it always seems to come up, this time I'll defend myself. In "she proves she is better than I," the use of the pronoun "I" could be questioned -- isn't "I" the object of the comparative marker "than," indicating that it should receive accusative case and be pronounced "me?" In actuality, the object of the comparative marker "than" is the entire clause "I am good" in which the adjective "good" is obligatorily deleted and the copular verb is optionally deleted. Since "I" is the subject of the clause, it must receive nominative case. Quod Erat Demonstrandum.

Facing your demons: Part 2

2009-08-31T12:55:00.007-04:00

The first half of the story is here. And now we continue our story...

...And so it came about at 4:30p on the afternoon of Saturday, July 25th that Grace's father came by to pick her up. It's a month later and I cannot remember anything about the actual picking up. She was home on time at 7:30p.

The on-time pickup and the on-time return are something that hasn't happened, well, ever, I don't think. So what's a woman to complain about? And I was already feeling like an ass for hating my ex-mother-in-law for relatively minor offenses. I felt...unevolved...unrealized...emotionally immature.

After Grace had gotten in from the evening out and had had a few minutes to collect herself and relax, she came downstairs to the den. I asked her how dinner was. She said it was nice. I asked her where they went for dinner and what else had happened.

Grace told me that first they went by the hospital to visit Amy, her stepmother.

[insert the sound of screeching brakes here]

I involuntarily interrupted Grace. 'You went to the hospital to visit Amy?'

She explained, Amy was there for at least a week. She had been admitted a few days earlier because she was feeling down. A few seconds of explanation later, I understood. Her stepmother had been admitted to the psych ward for a week, probably because she attempted suicide again or told someone she was considering it.

It's not the first time it's happened. When Grace was 9, just after we moved away from her dad in Michigan and moved to the DC area, her father had planned a trip to come see her. He wanted to do it within a few months of us moving because he felt it was important to be part of Grace's life right away. He also had proposed marriage to Grace's soon-to-be-stepmother a few weeks earlier. They were deeply in the midst of planning a wedding.

He arrived in town as scheduled and called our house to let us know they would be coming by soon. Or rather, he would be coming by soon...alone. Because his girlfriend wasn't with him. Because she had attempted suicide and had been admitted to the psych ward for at least a week. Grace's father wanted to tell me this because he wanted to clear it with me. See, he wanted to explain to Grace over dinner what was really going on.

Good lord. I was still reeling from my divorce from the guy and poor decisions on his and his girlfriend's part. I thought they weren't wise in their parenting choices. (For more details, you can read this, this, and this.) And then, my worst fears were confirmed. This woman that Grace's father had hooked up with was psychologically unstable. To the point where she would take her own life. The only silver lining I could see was that if this guy ever sought joint or sole physical custody of Grace, this episode would be a severe dent in the whole 'happy family' picture he had been trying to create thus far. Worse, I was faced with entrusting my ex-husband to explain suicide to my 9-year-old daughter. In terms of someone in her family. Whoa.

I just took a deep breath and told him fine. I can't remember whether I asked Grace about it when she came home.

Fast forward to Grace's recent pre-dinner visit to the psych ward at the hospital. When you're 15 and your stepmother is admitted to the hospital for psychiatric evaluation, what do you say? What is appropriate to say? When this is the second time it's happened in your childhood, how do you react to this person in the long run? How do have a relationship with them? WHAT IS MY CHILD FACING?

She explained to me that her stepmother is sick and that sickness requires her to stay at the hospital sometimes. When I looked confused, she insisted, 'No, really mom, she has a serious illness, it's not funny.'

THAT'S what my daughter is facing and how she's dealing with it.

Talk about something that causes me to introspect. My kid is fine. She knows what is up with her stepmother and she can deal with it fine. Her stepmother is not ok. I've been expecting she and her husband to act like responsible, active parents and take good care of my daughter when she is in their care. During that week, Grace's stepmother couldn't take care of herself, much less her own kids or her stepdaughter. Under what pretense would it make sense for me to expect her to live up to all the high standards I have laid on her in my mind?

Grace's father called me a week ago to set up visitation for her now that the school year is starting. He said it would be too difficult to have weekly visitation with Grace. He's just going to have her to his house every other weekend now. I presume that holidays are also times he wants to have her at his house. I suspect life is getting heavy on his shoulders. So what can I do other than have compassion? His life is stressful, as is the life of every member of his immediate family. He's cutting things out that he thinks he can in order to get a handle on the logistics of daily life. How can I react any way other than to be understanding and compliant?

So there you go. I still regret that Grace's biography includes a scattered relationship with her father. She doesn't get to see him much and it's unclear that they have ever gotten past a level of superficiality in their relationship. But at least she has a father who likes her. She's learned to accept his limitations, both emotional and logistical; I can accept them too.

Facing your demons: Part 1

2009-08-28T18:15:00.004-04:00

Grace is leaving this evening to spend the weekend with her father.

Since the last time she saw him, I've gotten a double-whammy of What-I-Never-Would-Have-Expected. It has created such a shake up in my perspective, it's taken me a month to write anything about it here.

Here goes.

The last time Grace saw her father was Saturday, July 25th. I begrudgingly listened to her earlier in that week when she told me he had called and wanted to have her at his house for that weekend. See, our family hadn't had a weekend together since long before Memorial Day. After the weekend requested by Grace's father, all hell would break loose and we wouldn't get another weekend as a family for quite some time. My mother was coming in town, and then a baby shower, and then the week of the baby being born (count 'em, 9 medical appointments that week, not including the actual cesarean delivery itself), and then baby, and then aftermath....

I just wanted one uninterrupted weekend for our family. And Grace's father called to tell Grace he wanted to have her come to his house that weekend. Because it was his mother's birthday on Saturday.

AAAAAAArrrrrrrrgggggggggg.......

It didn't help the situation that I deeply despise the grandmother, my ex-mother-in-law.

I found myself telling Grace that the whole situation frustrated me. I mean, sure, it was her grandmother's birthday, but we also hadn't gotten any family time together. My father-in-law had just died days before and my husband wasn't even back from Brazil yet. Grace had been at her father's house for four weeks and just come home only one week before. Yeah, sure, she's supposed to see her father every other weekend and that Saturday would be two weeks since she came home, but shouldn't I get four weeks of uninterrupted summer vacation time too? (Never mind that, indeed, Grace had come home for a weekend during her four weeks with her father and had also spent two other days at home because she wanted to.) I mean, really, this whole thing came down to whether Grace's father or I could convince the other that our family time was more important than the other's.

And so it came about that I talked on the phone with Grace's father about the weekend in question. I can't remember who placed the call. I listened to him. I heard what he had to say about how important is was to his mother for her to have Grace at her birthday celebration. I listened to how they hadn't really made any plans yet for the birthday.

I told him how important the weekend was for our family. I didn't tell him about my father-in-law dying and my husband going to Brazil. I just didn't want to go into it.

The last I had heard about my ex-mother-in-law was that she was lecturing Grace about how it was about time for me to give up my grudges. The context of such a bold suggestion from this woman? She asked Grace whether Stella would be friends with Grace's other siblings, her father's children. Grace immediately recognized the awkwardness of the question and told her grandmother it would probably never happen. She explained to her grandmother something like, 'my parents are very different from each other, you know? They wouldn't exactly hang out together or get their kids together to play.' And then the comment came. Her grandmother told her enough time had passed and I should just get over my grudges.

I heard this story the same week my father-in-law fell ill. I thought, why on earth should I spend any time worrying about family of MY EX-HUSBAND when the family of MY HUSBAND are suffering? Why is she trying to tell my daughter that I am a spiteful, vindictive, vengeful ex-wife? I wrote a long letter of retort to this ex-in-law in my journal then threw the journal entry into the trash.

During the telephone conversation with my ex-husband about Grace going to visit him that weekend, he asked if Grace could just come out for dinner with them to celebrate his mother's birthday. I sighed, thinking, I can't believe we're going to have our family weekend interrupted so that woman can have a birthday party.

And then my ex-husband told me, she has lung cancer.

I couldn't say anything.

He went on explaining, you know how she is, she's sentimental and she's thinking this may be the last birthday she'll celebrate and...

I didn't hear much else of what he had to say.

My mind was racing. Lung cancer? What's the survival rate of that? She's not a smoker, but everyone she's ever lived with was, so secondhand smoke...and she's already survived breast cancer 20 years earlier...

I told Grace's father, of course, dinner, Saturday, what time will you pick her up and get her home?

I faced a situation I have thrown in people's faces for years as a hypothetical one. Whenever someone gets completely worked up over some menace in their life, I say, "What are you gonna do when this person is dead?" The idea of my comment is, is it really the person who's getting you all worked up, or is it just nice to be able to bitch about something? If it's the person, then their death will be a welcome relief. But many times, the bitching continues long after the menace is gone. At that time, I think it becomes relevant to ask, what is the real source of your demon?

I faced my own demon. The demon I had created. This woman wasn't worth me getting worked up over. Sure, she'd done things in my distant past that were hurtful and rude, but she's not part of my life anymore. I'd seen her maybe two or three times in the past year. Less times than that in the previous five years. What kind of an effect could she really have on me? And now, now she's dying.

Truthfully. She's dying. I was suddenly relieved I had thrown the letter I had written to her in the trash rather than addressing it and mailing it to her. I found myself asking, should I attend the funeral of this woman, even as difficult as that would be for me?

And that's not the end of the story of Grace's dinner with her father's family on the night of Saturday, July 25th...

That's a bit too personal

2009-08-26T20:06:00.003-04:00

So over there on the left sidebar have been sitting the results of a brief poll I took during July. The question asked was simple: "Here at my blog, do you think I should delve into discussing issues that might hurt people I care about, even if such ruminations on my part might help me be a healthier person?"

It's something every blogger has to decide for themselves. Of course, the slant of a blog tends to dictate some of this; if you're writing a foodie blog, you're less likely to find yourself at a fork in the road where you must ponder the question. But if you're like me and write a blog about yourself, your past, your parenting skills, the way you were parented, your children...these things tend to smack you in the face more often.

I've decided not to write stuff that here that I wouldn't want someone to find because the bottom line is, sooner or later someone will find it. However, I could share some things without pointing fingers. And a bit of my thoughts without giving away all the secrets. And reveal things without risking hurting others.

I write a lot about political commentary and religion. Not that those two are necessarily intertwined, but they can be. And they have been intertwined in my life. And their intertwining oftentimes causes me to react.

I realized over the past couple months that I am not reacting to politics or religion primarily. If I meet someone who is devoutly religious, I don't damn them in my mind. If I talk to someone with differing political views than mind, I don't instantly judge them and write them off. Rather, most times when I sound off on an issue here at my blog, I am reacting to the source of these opinions. And many times the opinions are coming from...my mother.

I know, I know, I can imagine what you're thinking. This is everyone's plight, I'm just another middle-aged mom with a mother who is critical and disagrees with everything I value. I can't tell you how many times I've read bloggers who have banged out tomes on the same train of thought. But for me the friction I experience with my mother has a deeper root than her being a little cranky and irritable and disagreeable. Recently I realized, I don't have the strength to tolerate the banter. Why? It's because of the mixed past I have the source of the banter. When I get these emails from my mom, I don't hear "I disagree with your politics;" I hear, "I disapprove of you and who you are." And so I blog about the issue, believing it's the politics or the religious overtones that are at stake. But that's not really what's bothering me.

CoffeeYogurt has a great blog. Go visit it. I mention it here because she's a psychologist and there is one small tidbit there that will make you laugh. In her comments, she set the text to read, "Tell me about your mother..." Perfect, eh? I've never told her about my mother (I don't think), but man, if I did, I could say a lot. So thanks for the continual source of amusement for me, CoffeeYogurt!

OK, so to the point. What has this got to do with my blog and my decision not to discuss issues that could be hurtful? Well, I realized that some of my ranting here is a little out of place. Do I believe God exists? I don't know; I'm a trained scientist, so I don't know how to even answer a question that can't be answered through research. So I'm not an atheist. Would I ever consider going to church again? I would, especially if I found a church that was "right" (and I don't mean that in the US political sense). It's just been hard to find that. Would I ever lean to less liberal politics? Hell, yes. I value equal rights and a strict separation of church and state (even if the state church is my own), however, I'm a bit concerned about liberal use of money these days. For the record, I was concerned about it when it was a Republican administration that was spending so much too...

So I think I'm going to stop using this blog as the outlet of my frustrating relationship I have with my mother. I don't know why she sends me the messages she does or why she says the things she does. I've decided not to engage the conversation with her anymore. And I've decided to stop letting these messages affect me too. Including composing whole posts for my blog in order to vent my frustration.

Anyone out there who thinks I may get my emotions bottled up and burst one day due to the lack of venting, don't worry; I have a therapist ;-)

An honest post about depression during pregnancy

2009-08-22T14:30:00.001-04:00

As I've mentioned in passing in the last few months, while I was pregnant with Stella I was diagnosed with clinical depression. This was a big step for me, the going through with seeing someone for diagnosis and treatment. The story of my depression does not begin with pregnancy, though; it begins way, way back long ago in my life.

Very few people who know me would believe I suffer from depression. I have a public persona that is chatty and accommodating. Things have to get very, very bad for me before my public self starts deteriorating and my somber side shows up. That's one of the issues I deal with: how to be "the real me" in public. I also have a quirky problem in that I know what depression looks like and how it gets diagnosed. If I had to sum up the major hindrance to my getting help for my psychological health, it would be to say that I am too metacognitive regarding my own psyche. I usually have a pretty good handle on how I'm doing psychologically, even when I'm not doing so well. Unfortunately, if there's one way to make people believe you are healthy enough not to need help, it's having the ability to accurately describe your own condition and its severity.

Anyways, about halfway through my pregnancy, it became clear that I was having a more difficult time dealing with my own depression in public and in private. And suddenly it became relevant that crying a lot and feeling a lot of anxiety and being unsure of who I really was undoubtedly was not helping Stella in utero. Thus it came to pass that I sought out professional help.

The whole thing was and is a little strange for me. Experiencing depression during pregnancy put me at a 60-80% chance of experiencing postpartum depression. That information was a bit sobering. For the first time in my life I took everything off the table except for my health. That was a VERY strange. I feel better able to cope with things, but wow, suddenly I had time and space to feel some things that otherwise were routinely scooted to the side.

Yesterday I came across this article about depression during pregnancy and some discussion of the effects of various treatments. I emailed the link to my husband. After he got a chance to look at it, he asked me if I really wanted to consider going through a pregnancy ever again. Unbelievably, I have no doubt that it was all worth it. Stella is an amazing gift and she makes my heart melt every time I spy her. The possibility of getting to do it again is almost too wonderful for me to imagine. But you can imagine that from my husband's perspective, he's trying to make sure I'm ok. He's protective like that.

What the source of my depression is I still don't know. Yeah, there's the current trend that depression is largely biological. And then there's my own opinion that one's genetic predisposition to any psychological disorder is exacerbated by past and present stress. I have a BA in psychology, which is enough to know that I don't know much and that I should refrain from any speculation on the mental health of myself or anyone else around me.

FYI, postpartum depression seems not to be my problem. In what seems to me to be some kind of a strange blessing, I know that I feel no worse now than I have at any other point in my life. So it feels like pinning the source on being postpartum would be misguided. I haven't yet checked with my therapist on that conclusion, however.

I figure that at this point in my life, coping with depression is part of who I am. Sure, I'm a lot of other things. But I am finding that if I conceptualize of myself in a more integrated way, it helps me understand myself better and approach problems I face in a more effective way.

So there you go. Journey on...

I'm officially a sappy, teary, sentimental, postpartum mom

2009-08-17T19:28:00.002-04:00

Grace is home, Grace is home, Grace is home!

She was gone to camp for seven days, but now she's home! I'm so happy!

At least twice a day I look at Stella and I remember Grace as a baby. I remember that feeling that my baby was the most special, most wonderful, most important baby to ever come into the world.

I've pulled Grace next to me three times to snuggle since she came home at 5p. She obliged me affectionately. Even though I insisted she wear a face mask around Stella since she's spent the last seven days with hoards of teenagers doing god-knows-what and touching god-knows-what their hands and then touching their faces with their hands and inhaling god-knows-what germs. Damn swine flu. God knows how many of them have been exposed and contracted the disease.

I'm calling her a germ-infested teenager and then kissing her and she's still smiling. Under the face mask.

Enough already. I'm just loving my family right now.

(I'm warning you guys: No one dare to bring up the fact that I'm still taking narcotics. NO ONE.)

more toes

2009-08-15T13:58:00.003-04:00

OK, I swear this will be my last update on the toes and feet. It's just that I looked down at my feet this morning and thought, 'no one will believe these belong to the same woman who had those bloated feet three days ago.' So here you all go. THIS is what my feet look like today, what their normal appearance is:

Now can you see why the previously posted pictures were so shocking?

If that's not enough, now that my calves are unswollen, it is sickeningly obvious that my muscles have atrophied significantly due to my lack of physical activity during pregnancy. I look like a turkey, what with my legs looking dinky and my mid-section still bloated and enlarged.

OK, enough. In a few weeks when I'm recovered from my surgery, we'll start a muscle strengthening exercise program. Fun.

Another update in pictures

2009-08-14T07:41:00.003-04:00

Remember what my toes looked like two weeks ago? When they were swollen? And I had just had a pedicure? Apparently I didn't know what swollen was. Here's what they looked like then:

This is what they looked like Wednesday night:

I knew you could bloat after a cesarean, but this was off the charts. They pumped a lot of fluid into me via IV during the surgery and from Friday noon until about Wednesday morning, every single bit of tissue in my body from my diaphragm down was completely bloated with fluid. My joints were useless, no contour of my muscles could be detected, and my bones couldn't be found anywhere. Since I'm not supposed to be moving around much (and frankly there was no way I can move around much given the pain level I'm experiencing), it makes getting the fluid out of my body more difficult. And then I came up with an idea: use heat to get my blood circulating, and then the fluid will get carried out of my tissue. Pleased with my new idea, I put the heating pad on high and left it on my thighs overnight. Sure enough, blood circulation increased rapidly and I started getting on my feet to the restroom every hour. It also had the nice effect of making me sweat. Within 24 hours, I had lost 15 pounds. I have never seen such a fast and dramatic change. I also have never been so eager to be uncomfortably hot ;-)

OK, on to better things. Since we came home from the hospital Sunday evening, I've mostly been sitting in my bedroom like a Victorian aristocrat, getting every meal in bed and moving only when absolutely necessary. I have the home phone, my cell phone, my lap top, the tv remote, the iDock remote, the camera along with all its cords, note pads, my wallet, medicine, candy and chapstick, everything all within arm's length. So I can make shopping lists, order stuff online, blog, play online games, check facebook, watch cable reality shows, pig out and get a sugar high, and sedate myself all without getting out of bed. I feel incredible. Here's a sampling of a typical breakfast I receive here in Chez Postpartum:

Raspberry danish, marble and cheddar cheese cubes, hard boiled egg, raisin bran and sweet cherries and blueberries on the side, all with orange juice and milk. Yesterday morning I got French toast with sour cream and maple syrup, berries on the side and wheat toast. Yes, I'm a spoiled Victorian aristocrat. Duchess Heather, we'll call me. Duchess Heather and Lady Stella.

And now for a update on how things went medically and on our general health. This is what I looked like at 7a, when we arrived at the hospital.

The part about this whole birth story that I'm keeping very quiet about is this: I actually got the chance to have contractions. Really. It started Wednesday night. I noticed I was having trouble breathing and used my inhaler. I called my allergist first thing Thursday morning, asking if it was wise for me to use my inhaler so close to surgery and after steroid injections the previous two days. He said there was no way it was asthma; the steroid injections would have prevented any onset of asthma. Then again, Thursday night, breathing trouble. It went on for a good hour before I realized, I'm having trouble breathing because I'm having contractions. I decided to not alarm my husband, take a warm bath and go to bed. I mean, what's the difference at that point? They stopped overnight. But I will hold onto that brief experience as a taste of what the natural onset of labor would have felt like had circumstances been different. A small gift.

My surgery involved some unexpected twists and I lost more blood than normal. During standard pre-op monitoring of vitals, Stella was showing some signs of distress without an apparent explanation. Though she was healthy and fine when she finally was delivered, the vitals caused my doctor to jump start the surgery. (I applaud him for not alarming me or my husband by sharing this information until after the surgery was completed.) Consequently, I don't have a cute tiny c-section scar. It's low and it is wide. Which came in handy when, after delivery, my doctor had to lift my uterus out to ensure I could have more children later. The myomectomy site from my surgery a year ago was pretty thin and the doctor expressed his happiness that we scheduled the c-section for 36 weeks. He chose to stitch the site so that the uterine wall would be reinforced for future pregnancies. My husband watched the whole surgery, except for times when he was kissing Stella and I and taking in her awesomeness. He even filmed a good bit of the surgery and took pictures, though I haven't been brave enough to see those shots and clips yet. When my surgeon had closed and all things surgical were almost over, he came over and congratulated me, and I gave him a hug.

Stella was 6 lbs, 7.4 oz at birth. Like most late preterm infants, she lost some weight and she's having a hard time getting it back. As of Wednesday, she is still under 6 lbs. Not a huge deal, but the pediatrician wants us to reduce her activity as much as possible and have her eating a lot. So...the Victorian aristocratic lifestyle it is. She and I stay together in our pristine tower and eat and rest, eat and rest, eat and rest all day and night long.

But she is cute. And sweet. And lovely. And I am completely euphoric, even in my present state of complete sleep deprivation.

So much for "our daughter will never wear pink." We are guilty as charged.

Song suggestions

2009-08-13T19:26:00.005-04:00

To all of you smart cookies out there (and there are quite of few of you out there):

I'm suddenly craving a playlist of songs for Stella. Here's the criteria:

1. Lyrics that are appropos to the birth of a new baby, parent-child relationship, etc.
2. The song has to be good, you know what I mean? Not just a song that one person likes a lot, but one that most people agree is a good song.

I'm a music junkie, so chances are that most songs you suggest I'll have somewhere in my files. Don't be shy, don't think it's too obscure or whatever, don't worry about the genre (although, though I'm close to Detroit, that rap grinds on my ears somethin' horrible most of the time...)

Tell me your picks, please! Thanks!

ps - just in case you all are wondering, yes, I create playlists like this for Grace all the time.

The most amazingly mature thing Grace said this past week

2009-08-13T12:55:00.004-04:00

Given the post I wrote the night before my cesarean last Friday, it could be surmised that we are having some extended family conflict in our household for the last few weeks. This would be an understatement.

My mother has a very clean, white, polished picture of the world and how things should run. It's best for a woman and man, both virginal, to meet and fall in love, get married, have children, and live happily ever after. I think the "happily ever after" part is optional, whereas the other parts are essential. Also I'm not sure the falling in love and staying in love is important either. What is important is the loyalty, the longevity, and the lack of variability in what a family constitutes.

Grace was talking with my mother the other day while they were preparing dinner together. The topic of one of my close friends came up. Grace has known this girlfriend of mine since she was born. She has been married and divorced twice. As you can imagine, these ups and downs in her personal life were something she never would have imagined. Grace has known every husband and watched both divorces. She's also watched and experienced the divorce of her own parents and my remarriage. In all these circumstances, she's had the opportunity to ask honest questions of both me and my girlfriend.

When my friend was divorcing for the second time three years ago, she came to visit Grace and I in order to get a weekend away and just recharge emotionally. Grace asked me privately during the weekend, "Why does your friend always get married and divorced?" I told Grace that I wasn't sure but that Grace was welcome to ask my friend. And she did. And they had a heart to heart conversation about how life sometimes turns out differently than you imagine, no matter how much you work for things to be otherwise.

The bottom line? This friend of mine has been one of the kindest and most honest and most nurturing people to my daughter that exists.

Back to Grace's conversation with her grandmother. My mother was asking Grace about my friend. She wanted to know from Grace if the friend was planning on marrying her current beau, a man who Grace met for the first time a few weeks ago. I overheard the conversation at the point my mother said (approximately) this to Grace:

"Once someone gets married and divorced, they are probably going to never get married successfully again. Every time they get married and divorced, it gets worse. If she gets married again, it will end in divorce." She then went on to tell Grace that this is why it's so important that you get married to the right person and stay married, because if you get divorced, it's nothing but difficulty from there on out.

Grace didn't miss a beat. She replied, "that's not true." Her grandmother immediately contradicted, "yes, it is, it is a well documented fact that you can read about." Then Grace retorted, "No, you're wrong. Look at Mom and my stepdad. Mom got divorced and she has a great marriage now."

I won't try to summarize in one sentence how amazing that made me feel. My heart warmed to an orange heat and I smiled more broadly than I have in months. When I related the story to my husband later that night, he said he loved that kid and was impressed with how mature she had become.

Maybe, maybe, she's getting the whole picture in a balanced way. Maybe it's starting to make sense to her in a real way. I love her so much.

How to score a new wardrobe - don't tell Grace

2009-08-11T09:04:00.005-04:00

Stella gets to change her clothing every few hours without fail. This is a big no-no for Grace. Why the inequality? Well, Stella has this habit of peeing and pooping all over herself. I really hope that Grace won't go to such drastic measures to score more wardrobe changes during the day.

Grace left for camp today with her high school orchestra. She was cranky when she came into my bedroom to tell me goodbye at 7a. I barely got a hug or a kiss. I'm not sure what was vexing her. I mean, I could take guesses, but I'll hold off on that. She said to me yesterday that she really wished she could take Stella with her to camp. She wasn't serious, but we both told each other that it would be a long week away. I told her it would feel weird for us to have our family together and for her to be gone. She said it would be strange to be away from Stella for so long.

During the same conversation together, she and I and Stella spent time alone. Grace wanted to hold Stella so much, and I was trying to find times when Stella was fed and would take to just being held and played with. We got three chances yesterday. Up until yesterday, Grace's priming on babies has been pretty typical of most people which is to hold babies like big bags of flour and if they fuss, they must need to eat or have a diaper changed. I'm a little different in my approach to babies. Babies are people and when you hold them or care for them, you should treat them like people. So Stella spends a lot of time just laying next to someone and being spoken to or getting to relax on her own terms. So far she's been a pretty good baby, not full of angst without a source, so it helps us be able to let her relax and be close to us. Yesterday when Grace first took Stella, she knew only how to hold her like a bag of flour. She wasn't taking any advice that she could hold her differently and insisted this was the only way. Stella was pitching a fit, crying and yowling. After realizing this wasn't working, Grace insisted that Stella needed to eat and was handing her back to me. I finally told her just to sit down and I would show her what would work better. After an hour passed, she was much more comfortable with Stella and Stella had calmed down completely.

I'm beginning to get the handle of this whole thing, I think. I miss my older girl, even though she's only been gone mere hours.

News at last

2009-08-09T06:16:00.002-04:00

At 8:27a on Friday, August 7th, Stella Magna was born under a full moon, which was completely overshadowed by its brighter cousin, the sun. Yet despite this, Stella shone like a star, perfect in every way, bringing joy to all around her. I am beyond in love with her. Since she officially came into our family Friday morning, we all have been crying in joy, smiling in peaceful contentedness, and spreading love between us in ways I have never imagined before. All went as well as we could have possibly asked for. Stella is healthy, I am healthy, we're going home from the hospital this afternoon. I promise I'll update the blog with more pictures as soon as we're home and have more time.

Witches

2009-08-06T22:43:00.005-04:00

Have you ever seen Into the Woods by Stephen Sondheim and James Lapine? If you haven't, you really should try to do so. At this point, the musical has not only had an original Broadway and original London cast, it's been reprised on Broadway in the early 2000s and toured extensively. Now it's become the ambitious show of choice for high theatre departments to put on. I had the joy of being 16 years old when I saw it the first time, when the Broadway production opened its first tour in Fort Lauderdale at Parker Playhouse. I'm afraid that first exposure spoiled me for anything less. It was perfect, amazing, and unforgettable.

The plot? Take a bunch of tradition fairy tales, give three-dimensional humanity to the characters and then intertwine their stories in a believable way. It's far too well done for me to even begin to summarize here, so I'll stick to the lead role, originally written for Sondheim's female diva and muse of choice, Bernadette Peters. The character? The Witch.

Now I know that through various artistic genres like musical theatre (Wicked!), contemporary fiction (Wicked: The True Story of the Wicked Witch of the West by Gregory Maguire) and children's literature (The True Story of the 3 Little Pigs!), we have become accustomed to seeing a traditionally evil character reframed in a different light. The new take on the antagonist is that they are grossly misunderstood by society and in the end are revealed to actually be virtuous and good. Sondheim and Lapine are far more creative and realistic than this. The Witch in Into The Woods is not good. She is not wholesome. She is somewhat misunderstood. But really, she's taking in the world around her and calling it the way she sees it. Her way of coping is brutal honesty and confrontation, whether that's with those seeking her help or with those who have tried to take advantage of her or with her own daughter.

Oh, did I forget to mention that detail? That The Witch has a daughter? Well, yes, yes she does. A daughter she dearly loves and protects. And this is a big part of her identity as a person.

Her daughter, as it turns out, is Rapunzel. You know, the witch who keeps Rapunzel locked away in a tower and won't let her see anyone else? Yeah, that witch is Rapunzel's mother in Into The Woods. I'll leave the rest of the origins of that relationship to those interested in looking into the whole plot of the story. She's keeping her daughter in a tower to protect her from the world. There comes a point where a prince comes to the tower and tried to steal the daughter away. Seeing a potential danger to her daughter, the witch hacks off the daughter's locks, tricks the prince, then knocks him to the ground below after blinding him. The daughter becomes hysterical and starts screaming. These are the lyrics to the dialogue that follows between mother and daughter:

"Stay With Me"

[WITCH]
What did I clearly say?
Children must listen.

[RAPUNZEL]
No, no, please!

[WITCH]
What were you not to do?
Children must see-

[RAPUNZEL]
No!

[WITCH]
And learn.

Why could you not obey?
Children should listen.
What have I been to you?
What would you have me be?
Handsome like a Prince?

Ah, but I am old.
I am ugly.
I embarass you.

[RAPUNZEL]
No!

[WITCH]
You are ashamed of me.

[RAPUNZEL]
No!

[WITCH]
You are ashamed.
You don't understand.

[RAPUNZEL]
It was lonely atop that tower.

[WITCH]
I was not company enough?

[RAPUNZEL]
I am no longer a child. I wish to see the world.

[WITCH]
Don't you know what's out there in the world?
Someone has to shield you from the world.
Stay with me.

Princes wait there in the world, it's true.
Princes, yes, but wolves and humans, too.
Stay at home.
I am home.

Who out there could love you more than I?
What out there that I cannot supply?
Stay with me.

Stay with me,
The world is dark and wild.
Stay a child while you can be a child.
With me.

The song makes me cry. I think it gets to the heart of it. This mother is trying so hard to cope with the best way to raise her child, and her child misunderstands. The mother lashes out and acts out of her own hurt and her own struggles. And she shares these feelings with her daughter. As it turns out, the irony of the story is that The Witch is right. The world IS dark and wild. In a moment of chaos in the kingdom, the prince who has married Rapunzel cheats on her while she is suffering from postpartum depression. She flees to the woods, never to be seen again. Not a good end to the story. It's not entirely clear that the daughter would have been any better off with her mother, who, partially out of her sorrow of watching her daughter suffer and mostly out of disgust at the pervasive evil disguised in the world around her, abandons the kingdom in their moment of need. But I think the person of The Witch as a mother and as a person is far too touching to simply write her off as a selfish quack.

I have, at different points these past few days, felt like The Witch. I have also felt like her daughter. I've spent the last week with my mother in town. Grace has also been here with me. I've been both a mother and a daughter since last Wednesday. It is an understatement to say that it has been confusing and emotional. It brings me right back to the root of why I started this blog: to explore my own childhood in the midst of being a mother and living through my daughter's childhood.

How can a single woman cope with loving her mother and trying to make her comfortable and happy while simultaneously needing to stand up for her own needs and dignity? How can one woman simultaneously love her teenage daughter and try to meet her needs while also feeling so weak and human and incompetent at the same time?

I will cut this short as the day is drawing to a close. My daughter is an amazing young woman. She is able to balance her emotions and respond maturely to difficult situations in a fashion far beyond her years. I am in awe of her.

I'm signing off until tomorrow...

Awake and alert

2009-08-06T06:59:00.003-04:00

This morning I've been awake since roughly 4:30a. I'm guessing at that time since it was 4:45a when I actually decided to check my alarm clock. At 6:20a I gave up trying to fall asleep again and decided to take a shower and start the day. Sure, I went to bed at 1a and it makes no sense that I should be awake now. I suppose I've got a lot on my mind.

My husband planned on trying to sleep in until 8a, but, duh, he was aroused earlier by my moving about. He just asked if I was stressed. I said I was probably anxious and had a lot on my mind. I told him I'd blog about it to solve the problem. And then I told him his commentary would surely not be omitted from my blogging ;-)

One day more before baby girl/slug is born. The funny thing is, the new baby is not what's keeping me up. It's the rest of the players in my immediate and extended family.

The Weekly Slug: 34 weeks, almost 35, but who's counting anymore because we're going to have a baby in not more than 11 days.

2009-07-27T18:04:00.015-04:00

I thought I'd give you guys some fun stuff to savor since events have been a bit on the heavy side around here.

First, a picture that my husband took of me right before I was taken to triage at labor and delivery last Wednesday night.

I look terrific, don't I? Like it's really not 11 o'clock at night and that I'm contemplating a delivery at 34 weeks? Like I'm not sitting there having contraction after contraction thinking, 'hm, these are starting to hurt a bit'? You guys are too kind. Thank you for reassuring me that I look just fine.

That trip to the hospital did have one good effect. It woke us up to the reality that we were completely unprepared for a baby to come into the house. Or even into our lives. Here's a picture of every first-time dad's nightmare:

That car seat wasn't even out of the box last Wednesday night, much less in the car when we left for the hospital. I guess we figured that if the girl was born at 34 weeks, it was highly unlikely she'd leave the hospital right away with us. Still, the stroller has no wheels and we still really have no idea how to put the car seat in the car safely. I am POSITIVE that when Grace was a baby I was one of those 4 out of 5 people who had the car seat installed incorrectly. Positive.

I still don't have a bag packed for the hospital. For myself or for the Slug. Oh my.

One good thing about Papai going to Brazil just a few weeks before his Slug's birth is that he brought back gifts and gifts and gifts and, oh, did I mention? Some gifts. Here is one of my favorites.

This is from one of my sisters-in-law. It is one bottle of shampoo and one bottle of lotion specially formulated for both mommy and baby. They both smell amazing. She sells products from the entire line of this company. It is like a woman's dream-come-true to have someone in the family constantly supplying green-friendly beauty and health products. She is fabulous.

Even better as a dream-come-true is that I got these babies all prettied up this afternoon, while also having my feet scrubbed and massaged and pampered:

I can't keep my toes from looking like little sausages skewered onto the end of a pot roast, but I can at least get them to be cute. And feel cute. I cannot tell you how amazing of a treat this was. I haven't been able to reach my feet for weeks now, consequently my podiatric hygiene and care has been less than acceptable. Given that I only wear flip-flops now, it was grossing me out a lot that everyone could see them. So I got myself to the mall, went to one of those nail-only places, made good use of the back massager in the treatment chair and relaxed for about an hour. At the very least, by the time this picture was taken my ankle bones were showing a bit. That's a distinct improvement over their normal appearance of late.

And now for my confessions of guilty pleasures. The entire bottom drawers of my nightstand is filled with my stash. Witness it in all its decadent glory:

I wish I could tell you that this is just a symptom of pregnancy but alas, I am a big wimp when it comes to resisting sweets. So there you go. The caramels were just purchased last night on a distinct pregnancy craving. The juicy fruit is going with us to the hospital. When I get around to packing a bag. Assuming that is before the Slug is actually born.

Enough for now about the Slug. I've been neglecting discussion of Grace. Also of The Cat. They will get some good dedicated posts soon. Because they are both pretty awesome.

Where were we? Ah yes, I remember.

2009-07-23T21:43:00.007-04:00

My husband was gone to Brazil from the 12-21st. If you'll recall, before leaving he told his (soon-to-be-born) daughter just not to try any funny business until he got back on the 21st. She complied perfectly. However, yesterday in the evening of the 22nd, a little over 24 hours after he got back...

I started having contractions that wouldn't stop. Every 3 minutes. By the time I called triage at the hospital, they said 'Come in NOW.' And that we did.

We came home this morning at 3 or 4 am after quite an adventure which included among other things: one botched IV that left a huge bruise on my right hand, one good breathing treatment due to a sudden onset of asthma and a baby girl still in utero who decided those few hours in the hospital were the moments to REALLY practice her soccer skills (what, with dad back from Brazil and all). Finally the contractions lessened in frequency and there seemed to be no other immediate health risks to attend to. During the whole time I just kept thinking, 'I can't be having this baby now. I mean, look at my husband....'

...who was barely able to keep his eyes open. His past week consisted of crazy travel itineraries, the death of his father, working all the funeral arrangements out with some help from our newly adult nephew, mourning, and trying to make sure everything was ok here in the US with me. When we got to the hospital last night, he phoned his sister from the triage room because he hadn't even gotten the opportunity yet to call her and tell her he had arrived home safely. It had been a long week, what with his father passing away and all....

Yesterday, we went to mass in the evening in honor of my father-in-law. Seven day mass. It's a cultural tradition in Brazil -- have the funeral the day after the death, mourn for a week and go to mass seven days later. When we arrived home from mass, me still wearing my black, the contractions kicked into overdrive. And thus we found ourselves at the hospital all night. However, before all this ensued...

While my husband was gone, my bestest best friend came in town for a week. She was great. She took care of everything. It was great to see her and visit. I was grateful for her to be here. She even indulged me in a haircut and coloring, a photography session done by her at my house and many lovely dinners. I indulged her in one home-baked cherry pie. Which reminds me...

A couple weeks ago I promised a post on the paucity of cherry crops in Michigan, the state where the annual National Cherry Festival takes place. That post never came. Ah, well, what am I going to do? I think I'm going to make another pie this weekend, so if you're lucky I'll remember to take pictures and post them here. But until then...

Pics of a very pregnant lady with a fabulous new hairdo:

34 weeks yesterday. Still with baby inside. Just stay put, little girl, ok?

The Weekly Slug: 32 weeks, or T minus 4 weeks and counting

2009-07-10T18:28:00.004-04:00

Here we go.

My husband is leaving for Brazil on Sunday. He is quite insistent that the only thing his daughter needs to do is stay put. Just be happy. Don't try any funny business and all will be fine. I assured him nothing will happen until he's back on the 21st. I'm not dilated, my cervix is high, my blood pressure is fine, everything looks typical for a woman at my stage of pregnancy NOT ready to go into preterm labor. So just don't worry. The only thing he'll miss is my appointment next week with the obstetrician who will be performing my cesarean. We'll be discussing our hopes and dreams for this birth. Or rather, I'll be discussing my husband's and my hopes and dreams on behalf of the two of us.

Last night we took a tour of the hospital maternity ward where our girl will be delivered. That was a little surreal. We had been there before about a month ago for monitoring because my contractions were not happy about calming down. At the time I thought, I'm never coming back here to this triage unit. Since I wasn't in need of actual care last night, we got the tour this time. All the other couples seemed happy and wanted to know about birth plans and such. Our hospital prefers that natural birth be the default and that women triage, labor, deliver and recover in the same room. Baby stays with Mom always. Baby never leaves Mom. I was wishing I could do birth like that at least once. When Grace was born, I labored in a labor room, delivered in a delivery room (read: OR), recovered in a recovery room, and she was whisked away immediately after birth for a couple hours to sob in misery in a nursery while being poked and prodded by latex fingers and lay in a bassinet alone.

On the tour last night, I just asked quietly if they could point out the location of the ORs to us. I just didn't want to disrupt the normal flow of discussion among other expectant parents in the tour about natural childbirth and all.

Speaking of Grace's birth, is it me or has this recession resulted in a severe cutback on the amount of freebies handed out at hospitals and mailed to expectant moms? When I was pregnant with Grace, we raked in the goods. I remember thinking a few weeks before she was born that I could probably go a month without having to go to the store for any supplies. I got a case of formula ready made, two more huge containers of formula powder (mind you, I nursed her, so I didn't even need the stuff), shampoo, lotion, baby powder, baby oil, diaper cream, silverware, OTC medicine samples, diaper bags, samples diaper wipes in cute little containers that fit perfectly in the diaper bag, books, videos, you name it. I was stocked. But for this pregnancy? Nada, nothing, zip, zilch. I even intentionally put in one of our email addresses into one of those "free stuff for your baby" sites that get advertised all over the pregnancy and baby websites? Then I entered our home address, our home phone, selected free magazines, and on and on. All I got for it was spam in my inbox. What is up? What did I miss? How do you get the freebies these days? Do they still exist?

I did something a little unexpected this week. I talked to a photographer about doing a maternity session. She has this awesome website and people give her rave reviews. I just feel like time is slipping away from us and I want to remember this pregnancy for being something good. My husband has told me over and over that he loves to see me pregnant, that I look healthy and beautiful. It's good to hear. So one week before delivery, in the evening of July 31st, me and my husband and Grace will go have a photography session together. We've never (and I mean NEVER) done this before. Had a photography session together, that is. The photographer promises she won't make Grace feel goofy and make her do things that are sappy and insincere just because her mother is pregnant. She even said that she would take a couple of head shots of Grace so she'd have a few decent pictures of herself instead of settling for her school pictures this year. All in all, I'm looking forward to it.

My bestest best friend is coming in town on Sunday, arriving just after my husband takes off for Brazil. She promises him she will take care of me.

I think that covers all the news that is the slug this week. Things are getting hectic and more immediate. I might move to the bi-weekly slug or something like that if things speed up more. Then again...that might be overkill ;-)

A bit melancholy

2009-07-08T05:53:00.001-04:00

I'll tell you friends, it's been a long week. A lot of things that have gone on are things that would normally have sent me spinning and carping, but right now these are causing me just to have a short temper with people and write them off, tell them to grow up and get a real problem.

My father-in-law is dying.

We've spent the last 2-3 days trying to get a reasonably priced fare between Michigan and Brazil for my husband, while both of us deal with the oscillating emotions of whether he should go while I'm this close to delivery. But the truth is, if he doesn't go, he'll miss it all, whatever "it" is, that is. Holding his father's hand while he's doped up on morphine and comatose, holding a sister while she cries, getting to attend a funeral, who knows.

And so it is that I find myself before 6a in the morning, unable to sleep any longer despite the first persistent migraine in two months accompanied by severe pelvic pain and one reluctant dose of vicodin, watching the sun creep slowly into the horizon.

I'm realizing that dealing with all this is another way in which I have discovered how much I love my husband.

I want my daughter, the one that's not born yet, to at least be heard by her grandfather, even if that's only over the phone. But I'm afraid it's far too late for that.

The fender bender that happened to our car a couple weeks ago and the ensuing repairs that are taking over a week, that seems unimportant. That I repeated that fender bender almost perfectly with the other car two days ago also seemed like a dream, like it was life passing before me. Everything seems trite and banal. My sister's jealousy over my pregnancy, my ex-mother-in-law dissing me to Grace day by day, the cat suddenly staging a protest over using her litter box and using the carpet in the den instead...all this was really important a week ago. Today? Not so much so.

I'm wondering if being in the midst of clinical depression is making me more melancholy about the whole circumstance. But maybe it's also allowing me to be more in touch with my feelings and be more sensitive. Maybe it's making it possible for me to feel my emotions more accurately than if I was busily distracting myself with the normal overstimulation and hyperactivity I regularly feel.

We saw Grace at a swim meet yesterday afternoon. It was the first time she'd seen my husband since she learned of his father being ill. When she was done with her first event, she came to us and gave him a hug. It's the first time she's ever done this spontaneously, without someone telling her she should (like on Christmas after receiving a gift or sometime like that). The gesture was not unnoticed.

I suppose life is like this. You live, you experience, you feel, you learn. Somewhere along the way you realize, this is what living is. I guess right now I'm wishing that living didn't include the dying part, the dying of people around you and of yourself as well.

Could you give me your opinion?

2009-07-04T17:02:00.004-04:00

To any and all readers who find themselves at this, my personal blog:

I am having some time in my life to introspect lately. I know, you're thinking, 'Heather, isn't that all you do given how this blog reads?' Well, not exactly. I mean, sure, I try to think through things and make sense of them in a way that makes the facts around me and my emotions come together. But I don't always feel like I get to an 'a-ha' moment. You know, like when you see things in a way that you never saw before?

I rant about God a lot. I also rant about politics sometimes. And, as the title of my blog reveals quite transparently, I ruminate over my childhood. I got some issues with my self esteem. And now, NOW, I find myself able to reflect on this stuff more. It's coming together in ways I didn't see before.

Here's the controversial part I find myself unsure how to deal with, the part that I need your input on. I could easily write days and days of posts on what is on my mind re: self-actualization. But (and it's a big 'but'), that would require me to dish out some details about people I love. No it's not my husband or my daughter, but it is other people who really matter. Several of my bloggy friends out there (hi, bloggy friends!) have recently had the experience of having someone find their personal blog and go a little ballistic on them. I'd like for that not to happen. Still, something inside of me is tempted to dish out all this stuff because I think it would help me reason through all of it.

Can you give me you advice, and can you vote in my poll on the right, about whether or not you think I should delve into these issues and risk some emotional outbursts should the relevant parties ever find and read this blog?

Thank you, all.

The Weekly Slug: 31 weeks

2009-07-01T13:52:00.003-04:00

We have a date, a scheduled date for cesarean, that is. August 7th. If you're suddenly finding yourself doing the math, let me save you the time: 36 weeks, 2 days. We'll do a couple shots of steroids 24 hours before delivery and one last sonogram to get an idea of how big she'll be. The obstetrician who's doing the surgery feels confident that all will go well, given her development thus far.

Today I am officially 31 weeks pregnant. There are good days and there are bad days. Really, I'm just looking forward to seeing my baby and not being pregnant anymore. I know, once the baby is born I will have her to take care of and I won't feel so great because I'll be recovering from a surgery. But the amount of negative effects to my body that I either can't treat well because I'm pregnant or that are induced because I'm pregnant is getting a little much.

Last night I was out shopping with my husband. I was pushing the shopping cart and I felt tired. When we stopped in an aisle, I squatted down and took the weight off my legs, while holding on the handle of the cart. It felt so good. I thought, I wonder if I could just push this girl out right here. I'd been having hard contractions all day, so the idea didn't seem too far fetched...

I got my bathing suit, and wow, what a big difference that makes! It makes me feel beautiful. Better than that, I never imagined how good it would feel to get in the pool. I feel completely weightless and I can actually move around. I can even swim a lap or two in shallow water. It feels so incredible to exercise my arms and legs without feeling heavy or getting sweaty! I love it!

I went to a summer swim meet with Grace on Saturday. After the meet, we were visiting with other families from the community team. A woman there asked me when I was due. I told her in August and that we had our feet in both worlds with a high schooler and a soon-to-be-newborn. Her son who was with her and on the swim team was 8. Turns out, her children span in age from 4 to 28. Her oldest grandchild is older than her youngest child. I suddenly felt normal, like my life wasn't so extraordinary. Beyond that, the meet is filled with families with young kids. I realized that I was enjoying myself and that I fit in with the parents of little kids, even more with my teenage girl there with me.

I think up until now I've been trying to figure out how to be two people at once. Like, how do I be the doting, nurturing mom of a baby while also being the hip, mature mom of a teenager? You'd think I'd have figured out sooner that I can be both at once. But really, it wasn't until Saturday that I realized that being exactly who I am is what both of my daughters need.

Hey, anyone out there use cloth diapers recently and have advice for me? Because I could use some first-hand help and coaching.

What's best for a child?

2009-06-26T14:14:00.003-04:00

Grace is sick. Again. Well, not really, she's not really sick. My best guess is that she's temporarily anemic due to poor diet and starting summer swim team training. She had dizzy spells for three days until she told me about it over email. I told her to eat more meat. By day four, she skipped swim practice. She said she woke up late, decided she was too sick to go, and slept in until 10a. Now she says she's fine. She was convinced this was a side effect of starting birth control pills, which she started the day before the dizzy spells started. That's possible, I suppose. I told her to try eating meat or some other iron-rich protein for breakfast, I would call the doctor, and asked her to keep me informed. As I said before, she's been eating protein in the morning (eggs, ham) for two days and she's fine now. I'll take that as a sign that my best guess was right and that the birth control pills aren't having any negative side effects worth noting.

Ooooooooo kaaaaayyyyyyyyy. I'm going to try and make this a productive post, one that doesn't just turn into an ex-husband-bashing-fest.

Last week Dragonflymama and I co-hosted a discussion between biomoms and stepmoms. Her question to me going into this discussion was, how much do I worry about Grace when she visits with her father and stepmother. The honest answer is, quite a bit. I worry not because I think her father is intentionally harmful or awful, but rather because I think he is ignorant. He's ignorant about things that are important for basic quality of life. His younger kids are chronically ill, so I hear. And Grace is frequently ill when she returns from his house for weekend stays and for longer visits. For more about this, you can read here, here, and here. I don't even waste my energy talking about her stepmother on this issue; clearly her father is somewhat inept, and her stepmother either isn't able to help or isn't willing to help.

The most serious thing that's happened regarding this matter occurred just before I started blogging. In the fall of 8th grade, Grace was at her father's for the weekend and he called Sunday afternoon to say she was sick and could I come get her because he didn't want his other kids catching whatever she had. She had starting vomiting that morning. When he called, she was resting and drinking liquids. Bad, bad, bad. See, she has a chronic condition that is serious but manageable through lifestyle choices. The just-letting-her-drink-liquids-and-rest remedy is bad news for Grace. I drove to his house immediately to pick her up, only to find myself at the ER with her for the next nine hours. All night long, I watched her slumber in fatigue. She was woken up after every 1000 ccs of fluid to have her vitals taken. Three times she stood up, they attempted to take her blood pressure, and she subsequently passed out as I was holding her. Needless to say, she needed a few days to recover. (No, he didn't call that night or in the next few days to find out any news of how she was feeling. She didn't call him either.)

I could seek to stop the risk (that is, the risk as I see it) to Grace through legal means. I could just ask the court to cease all overnight stays with her father and let visitation be limited to day visits. I hesitate to do this. Though it would solve her health risks, her father wouldn't stand for it. When I was divorcing the guy and asking for no overnights, citing potential health risks, her father came at me like a bat out of hell. So did his attorney. I realized, I'm losing this one. No matter how much I think this guy is potentially harming his daughter, the court doesn't agree. They think this guy needs time and opportunity to parent his child, including doing so overnight. So that's it. His right to try and parent in a less-than-optimal way is more important than the potential risk to the child.

He was court-ordered not to smoke in confined spaces with her, nor put her in the situation where anyone else would. Like that piece of paper made any difference...

Next, if I did this, I'd get painted as the evil, evil, evil biomom. Really, I would. Can you imagine what this would come off sounding like? I just don't want to deal with the aftermath. And it's likely that the aftermath would come without any improvement to the situation.

Worst of all, Grace would be furious with me if I tried this. Though of late she's shown somewhat of a cooling off in her affection for her father and her eagerness to be with him, she definitely doesn't want to stop seeing him. Or rather I should say, she doesn't want to stop seeing his family. Over Memorial Day weekend, he and his wife hosted a big bonfire party with his friends. Grace and her two toddler siblings were the only children in attendance. (Bonfire? Children? Am I the only one who finds this odd?) Anyways, she willingly attended and, when it was quite late (11p) and the younger children could stay awake no longer, she took them home, put them to bed, and that was that. When she related the story to me she said it had been a great weekend. She said she thought her father and stepmother came home about 3a, though she wasn't sure. She just knew she woke up at 2a and they weren't home. But she was clear to tell me that they weren't drunk. Yeah, of course they had been drinking but they weren't drunk, she was sure of it...

I feel like I'm allowing Grace to continue staying at a friend's house for sleepover while the friend's parents aren't providing a safe environment for anyone in their home. Yes, the friend may be very sweet, and I don't doubt that Grace is having a good time while visiting, but it just isn't safe. The obvious difference, of course, is that I have (as of now) no right to limit the sleepovers, uh, I mean, overnight visitation with her father so he can have an opportunity to parent.

And really, what am I going to tell the courts that's going to justify my concerns? That my daughter eats too much junk food at her father's house? That she's taking care of younger siblings when her father and stepmother want a night off? That she's not getting enough sleep? When I think about how the affidavit would read, it's a weak case at best. And then there's the expense, both financial and emotional.

I know I sound like a broken record. I keep saying, this co-parenting thing is complete shit and I'm tired of compromising just because the courts say I have to. I am tired of sending my daughter off to this household and hoping she's ok. I want better than that for her. I want her to be healthy and calm. I want her to avoid unnecessary stress. Sure, she can have a relationship with her father and his family, but can't she do it without all the excess trouble?

Jacko is dead? Whoa. That came completely out of nowhere.

2009-06-25T18:32:00.005-04:00

All I can do now that it's confirmed that Michael Jackson is dead is link here to my post from last fall about him.

Wow. I mean, Ed McMahon and Farrah Fawcett was one thing; they were both relatively before my time. I was a little kid when these two were in their hey day. But Jacko? Wow. I am floored.

Aaaaah, summer.....visitation.

2009-06-22T12:08:00.006-04:00

I got a call last night at 10:30p from Grace's father. She has been with him since last Saturday, the 13th. Today is the first day of "normal" summer schedule [read: not on vacation out of town]. He called to ask if I could pick up Grace to accompany her to a hair appointment she scheduled at 4p and then bring her to his house, 20 miles out of town.

There is such a long and convoluted story that leads up to this late night phone call, you would either be snoozing or checking your email in another window before getting through half of it. I won't torture you. Many questions ran through my head after his phone call.

Is it really so hard to keep up with your child's schedule that during the mere four weeks she visits with you during the summer, you can't figure out a way to make the schedule work?
Why didn't he tell Grace that this time wouldn't work and tell her to reschedule the hair cut appointment for a more convenient time?
Why did the guy wait until 10:30p at night to call and ask me about this? Who calls their ex that late at night?

I think this comes down to a personality difference between Grace's father and me, or maybe just a skill difference. It's that ability to problem solve, or the ability to see the plan that you are formulating is a poor one and you need to rethink the whole thing. I've written here before about how much this guy is really poorly skilled in this area. It's why his plans fall apart and why problems seem to always be landing in his lap and why he can never seem to show up on time. Everyone around him picks up the slack. Or everyone doesn't pick up the slack and just accepts that the chaos that may ensue is just part of the normal ebb and flow of life.

So, there we are. Ten days into summer break and I realize that this guy is lacking in an essential skill for parenting. He's so lacking that at some point calling his ex-wife at 10:30p to get her to pick up the slack seemed like the best option. My thought is, if he can't take care of the kid and her schedule, a schedule he enthusiastically embraced and assured everyone that would work, why not just let Grace come home and see him when he can work it out? Is it really necessary for Grace to live with him for four consecutive weeks during the summer, what the courts awarded him seven years ago, if he's really not up to the task?

By coincidence, I read through our divorce and custody settlement a few weeks ago, which states explicitly that arrangements for this four week summer stay are to be settled no later than January 1 before the summer. I couldn't help but laugh out loud when I read that; he's never made that deadline. It has been four years since Grace spent this allotted four summer weeks with her father, mostly due to a fantastically awful situation that arose during the summer of 2005 when Grace's father left town with her and didn't tell me where he was or how to reach him. I called Grace's cell phone, no answer. I called his cell phone, no answer. Two days passed and I heard nothing. I got panicked. I called his parents and asked them how I could get in touch with them because no one would return my phone calls. His mother assured me that even though she had no idea where they were and had not heard anything from them in days, nor had anyone else, they were perfectly fine and there was no reason to worry. When he finally did meet up with his parents in Colorado at a mountain cabin resort (remember, he lives in Michigan and we lived on the East Coast at the time), he took the time to telephone me and to yell at me, saying I had no right to try and find him like that.

Um, well, actually I do. It's clearly spelled out in a court order that I do have that right, as does he, and it's a right of his that I had never violated. Oops. He was never very good at understanding legal documents. Ah, well, what are you going to do...

Since that time, I really haven't trusted him to take care of Grace for four consecutive weeks, nor have I trusted him to take care of her while I wasn't local to both of them. He never got his act together to come up with a plan for her to visit during the summer for that long, consequently, this is the first time that we've tried four weeks since the "Summer of 2005 Fiasco." For last summer's tale, you can read a brief recap here.

Grace is coming home this next weekend for a couple days. I worked that into the schedule because I wanted to give her 48 hours of recuperation time in the middle of this four week marathon of living with her father and his family. I also am, indeed, meeting her at the hair dresser this afternoon to see her for that brief hour and pay for her hair cut. July 10th, the day she is expected home for the rest of the summer, can't come soon enough. I'm so never agreeing to this again. He can sue me, but he won't. And frankly, I don't think he really wants the opportunity to parent for this extended time. I think he's always been relieved that I take care of all the difficult needs of this girl.

Stepmoms & biomoms - thank you!

2009-06-22T10:45:00.002-04:00

Thank you everyone for your comments in the discussion of the stepmom-biomom controversy! It was very insightful to hear all the viewpoints, and also realize that each of us is in a different and unique position in our families. Please continue to comment on these and other posts if you like -- the ongoing discussion will be good!

And next, an update on my role as a biomom interacting with my ex-husband...

Keeping the conversation lively: I'm guest posting today

2009-06-17T07:45:00.001-04:00

Where am I today? Not here. As part of our ongoing discussion this week about the stepmom-biomom controversy, I'm guest posting over at stepmama metamorphoses today.

So what are you waiting for? Head on over already!!