Salty Besos

Someday Soon, I am Totally Going To Get My Shit in Order

2012-01-31T18:02:00.003-06:00

Or, hey, remember me? I am that blogger that used to post semi-regularly and then fell into a month and a half of insanity on top of Christmas and holiday stuff and now is trying to find her followers again.

I thought that was too long of a title, so I decided it should be a subtitle. And that is the way it is. Because I have no editor.

As I look at the visual cacophony that is my desk (does that even make sense? Can I say that? Because otherwise, I have a hard time working the word cacophony into my conversations, and I really like that word) and glance at my watch anxiously and realize that no matter how hard I glare at it, I can not make it give me more time, my lower back aches and my mind races. How do other professional parents manage? I have committed time to Jay’s school, to volunteering in the classroom and helping to create a brand new school garden. I have committed to our own community garden to help pull together committees and plan for registration and oh, sure, I’ll take on accounting duties for the garden too, what the heck, because I. Am. A. Sucker. I am racing between phone calls and working with staff and interns and deadlines and a constantly vomiting to-do list that somehow explodes and gets messier by the hour. All compounded by the fact that I can’t take or make phone calls while I am pumping at the office, because of the constant psshh, psshh, psshh, psshh of the breast pump and the total knowingness of whoever is on the phone. Moo.

Here’s the typical day: Drop Jay at school (“Jay! Tuck and roll! Mama has to get to the office! Here, I’ll swerve over to that snow bank, it should break your fall better!). Dash to work. Phone calls, phone calls, meetings, phone calls, glance over a report I really ought to read, try to sound relatively well informed on a call with truly well informed people, pump, pump, pump, gah! It’s 1 pm already! Faster! Faster! Phone calls, writewritewrite, re-write because that sucked, pump, pump, pump, Gah! Late! Phone calls, emails, staff questions. Really late! Go home! Dinner! PTA meeting, bath, bed, honk shooooo… repeat. Criminy. How do other parents do this?

And does their back ache, too?

When I do get my shit together, I am going to call my parents. Hi mom and dad. I miss you. I am going to call my siblings, assuming they remember me. They all rock and I miss them. I am going to get a damn back massage. I am going to take a deep breath. I am going to knit. I am going to read something, like for fun. I am going to garden, instead of just sitting on five committees for it. I am going to run. I am going to sleep, without any dreams of what I didn’t get done at the office. I am going to dance. But right now? I am late. Gah!

Makin' Bacon

2011-12-11T16:00:00.004-06:00

... and egg Christmas cookies with Grandma

These are called Bacon and Eggs, for reasons you may figure out.

Then we got creative and made Green Bay Packers Bacon and Eggs and UW Badger Bacon and Eggs...

Do you know how much sugar is in these things?

When can I have some of those things?

They're really good!

Meet El Dorado. More on this guy later...

And Just in Time for the Holiday Season, We’re Better!

2011-12-02T12:43:00.001-06:00

Just wanted to report that we are all better, so you can invite us to your Christmas party now. We promise not to infect you like we did my entire office suite this week, or Jay’s classroom or my family members on the East coast who somehow contracted conjunctivitis virtually and who now won’t even answer my phone calls for fear of us transmitting some other germ fest.

Kidding. I do not know why they won’t answer my calls.

Kidding again. I suspect they don’t answer my calls because I don’t actually like, call, and stuff. And this reminds of something to complain about.

Kids and phone calls. Why is it that every time, EVERY time, the phone rings, the kids seize upon that very moment to:

-Break something
-Kill each other
-Fashion a weapon
-Break something else
-Decide it is high time to try rappelling off of the third floor balcony
-Whisper forcefully to me, as if whispering somehow makes it possible to hold two different conversations simultaneously
-Jump on their beds (They have bunk beds. Think about the physics of this.)
-Spill something
-Bite the dog
-Cry because the dog bit them back, and WTF, mom?
-Need their butt wiped
-Find something gross to step in, put their fingers in, put into their mouths, or rub into their hair
-Run around the condo at top speed (we have a 1000 square foot condo. Think about the physics of this)
-Slam into a wall at top speed
-Spill something else
-Sing “Tomorrow, Tomorrow, I LOVE YA, TOMORROW!” while spinning around wildly and careening into furniture
-Try furtively to repair broken stuff with pounds of Scotch tape and the sash from my bathrobe

So, friends and family, if you’ve ever wondered why I am more accessible on Facebook than on my cell phone, there you have it. I am still trying to get the tape and bits of lampshade off of my bathrobe sash.

So, um, can we come to your Christmas party or what?

Sick

2011-11-28T22:27:00.003-06:00

Does your throat feel scratchy?

I dread this question. For us, it signals the start of an unavoidable, unstoppable, week-long, sleepless, I-am-worse-than-you-so-you-have-to-take-the-baby, ear infection riddled sick fest.

First, before you read this and then hastily run off to locate a can of Lysol and a case of hand sanitizer, we are all on the mend. Mostly. Second, it’s too late, anyway. Find a box of Kleenex, a jar of honey and a good book. In my case, you won’t be able to read the book because you’ll be busy dealing with the needs of three simultaneously sick and needy small people, but it may cushion your face as your head drops from exhaustion sometime around 2 a.m. Anything in paperback is a good choice.

At this moment, we have three bottles of antibiotics lining our counter, to combat double ear infections and pink eye in all three of the kids. We have made the trip from pediatrician’s office to pharmacy and home again three separate times in less than a week, and Chris has been gone for three of these days to go deer hunting. If I am doing the math correctly, that means… let’s see, two parents, minus one who escaped to hunt all by himself for three whole days… carry the zero… I’ve got it! That leaves ME all the hell alone for three days with three sick kids all five and under. That’s some math for you.

It has meant bodily fluids coming out of eyes, noses and mouths, lots of children’s Tylenol and ibuprofen, much pacing in the middle of the night and general crabbiness throughout the day. But it hasn't been all bad. It's uh... no. It's pretty much sucked rotten eggs.

(Pausing to shush and bounce and pace with a very uncomfortable Jack)

O.k. so we are not all quite on the mend… and typing this post… is taking way longer than I planned… as I am only able to type short barrages of words… and only when I get to the end of my pacing loop… with one hand… while swaying and humming,… and trying to make it seem… like I am not typing… but just kind of pacing in place over here by the computer… and then Jack rouses… and I take off for another loop through the condo… because what? I am totally… not typing! I am the most non-typing, only pacing person I’ve ever met… maybe who has ever lived… Only pacing! Pace, pace, pace! That is me! I just… can’t get enough pacing!

No devil couch! I will not sit on you, no matter how much you try to seduce me… with your soft cushions and supportive frame... The way you call to me while I blearily stumble back and forth in the living room… You see, sick babies have a sense for these sorts of things. When they sense that their parents are feeling any level of comfort (i.e. blood flow to all limbs, a chair to perch a partial butt cheek on, etc.) they stir and proceed to wake themselves and anyone else in the house who has managed to find some sleep.

Oh! Look at me! Pacing away! Pace… pace…pace…

Does your throat feel scratchy?

Multi-tasking is Essential and Other Lies People Tell You

2011-11-11T12:54:00.002-06:00

After several years of pretending that I am paying attention to fifteen things at once, I have a confession to make. I am not. I am not even paying attention to two things at once. If I am checking my email and having a conversation with you, chances are I am not actually listening to you. If I am writing and listening to music, chances are I have no idea what song is playing. If I am watching the kids and updating Facebook, chances are that I don’t know who started the fight over what toy and why even though I have to now intercede.

For a long time, I tried to hide this fact, because everyone multi-tasks. Right? A quick look at job listings will tell you that employers seek and expect it. Friends and family expect it. And we all say we are doing a good job at it. This is a lie. In fact, we all think we are better than others at it. This is another lie. Other lies include, “No, I’ve never noticed how good looking so and so is” and, “I like burnt rice, really!”

Back to multi-tasking. The truth is, I suck at multi-tasking. And I know that you do too. Don’t take it personally, we all suck at it. Lots of research backs this up now, which I could track down and link to, but eh. I am blogging right now and stopping to find that research would suck me into a vortex of internet/Wikipedia/Google results from which I would emerge with recipes for Jerk Chicken and a full natural history of the sea anemone. Just trust me on this or spend a few minutes looking it up yourself. What we commonly think of multi-tasking as is actually high speed task switching. And I am formally and publicly declaring an end to my delusion of multi-tasking.

Multi-tasking, I am calling your punk card.

Here is what I know to be true:
-Multi-tasking causes stress
-Mindfulness reduces stress
-You can not multi-task and be mindful

As my organization has experienced the roller coaster ups and downs of this year (and at present, mostly downs), a wise board member of mine recently said to me, “It is a good time to be mindful.” He is right. Now is a good time to be mindful. Of course, right now is always a good time to be mindful. To stop the endless chatter in our heads, to practice full awareness of the present moment, to be here now, and by definition, to not be anywhere in the future, past or lost in fantasy. Even though his words were simple, this long time meditator reminded me that it is hard to feel stress when you are truly mindful. Being mindful necessitates releasing your expectations of what the next month, next day or next moment should be. It requires you to be fully present in this moment. It also allows you to be mindful of your own thoughts and feelings. It allows you to recognize your feelings of anxiety, sadness or anger and in acknowledging them, allows you to release them, rather than be controlled by them. We spend so much time wrestling with our emotions, strong arming our thoughts and alternately becoming absorbed in or ignoring our feelings. In doing so, we allow these feelings and thoughts to control us in their hidden grasp.

An analogy that I often think of is that pain, either emotional or physical, is like a two year old. Ever had a two year old try to get your attention? Ever try to ignore her then? What happens? The two year old gets louder. Maybe they scream, or flail, or strip off their clothes in the produce section of the grocery store. Pain, like a two year old, will try to get your attention. If unacknowledged, that two year old will try harder. And if you continue to ignore her, that two year old will ratchet it up to an ugly temper tantrum that paralyzes everyone involved and horrifies the nearby woman testing a cantaloupe for ripeness.

That, at least for me, is the danger of multi-tasking. What that two year old needs, more often than not, is acknowledgement. She needs you to put down the smartphone, get down on her level, look her in the eye and say, “I am here with you right now. What are you trying to tell me?” What ever pain we are feeling at any given moment, whether it is a backache or the sting of rejection, needs the exact same acknowledgement.

In multi-tasking, we sweep endlessly from one thing to the next, always with the hope of being efficient, maybe with the thought that when “everything gets done” then we can relax. Then we can meditate. Then we can be present, and enjoy the present moment. But do you? I don’t. Do we ever get everything done so that we can sit and be in the present moment? How much of our lives do we spend in anticipation of the next moment, thereby robbing ourselves of the present one?

Mindfulness is simple, and as is often observed, is simultaneously incredibly difficult. Being present, being mindful, is being here, now. Even if now isn’t what we think of as perfect. It is noticing the thoughts that emerge and the feelings we experience without judgment, without holding on to them or building them up. Just acknowledging them and allowing them to be, and allowing them to pass. It is acknowledging that toddler when she first says your name, instead of reacting angrily by yelling at her when she is bubbling over with frustration next to the tomatoes.

This is not to say that I will never try to do two or fifteen things at the same time ever again. I will. At some point, we all have to. What I am saying is multi-tasking robs us of being here, now, and we would all be a little better off if we acknowledged that. Since it is in being here and now that matters, I will try my hardest not to multi-task mindlessly, but to live life as mindfully as possible. So, forgive me if I don’t respond right away to a phone call or get right back to an email. I am trying not to multi-task these days, which seems like it would be less efficient, but in allowing me to be fully present, it actually makes me much more efficient at the task at hand.

Now is a good time to be mindful. So is right now. May the peace and joy of the present moment fill you.

Confessions of a Haphazard Blogger

2011-11-08T16:43:00.002-06:00

Dear Anonymous,

Dang it. You figured me out. Yes, I do check my web statistics. Yes, I do wait until I get a critical mass of threatening email and pleading comments before posting juuuuuuust enough to appease my fan base, thereby not alienating them completely and inducing them to check back regularly with the hope that now, yes NOW, the blog will be updated regularly.

Then I sit back in my comfy chair and cackle as I drum my fingertips together and imagine the disappointment on visitors’ faces as day after day the same post pulls up on their screen. Until now this has been my primary form of entertainment. Dancing with the Stars and Kim Kardashian’s failed marriage paled in comparison. But, I guess the jig is up. Sigh.

Alternatively, I could just be crazy busy. Three kids is, like, a LOT of kids. Way more than two, and way, WAY more than one. Where was that information a year ago? Seriously.

We did have an awesome Halloween, which our friend Becca took pictures of, because I was so intent on remembering to bring all three kids AND their costumes, that things like cameras, water bottles and Halloween candy buckets? Pshhh. If it doesn’t carry the threat of inducing long term emotional scarring, it gets bumped to the bottom of the list, and chances are, I’ve forgotten it. This includes calling my mom, paying bills on time, checking email, grocery shopping and writing here.

I still do plenty of writing. To-do lists, with misplaced hopes that I will actually get to do the things on them; Grant proposals that don’t get funded, and late passes for Jay now that it is my responsibility to take him to school. He is not always late. Just on the mornings when I take him into school.

Okey dokey, I think that about gets it. I’ll try to get some pictures up soon, because that always makes it look like I am a diligent blogger and can also be done one handed. They may or not be pictures of my actual family, though...

Stupid Country Song

2011-10-26T22:15:00.009-05:00

I used to be a fan of country music. I am still, actually, except when it makes me cry. There are enough crappy things in life, do we really NEED music that depresses us, too?

Jay’s school had its fall/Halloween dance tonight. Being someone who loves to dance (in public, at drumming circles, at weddings, in the shower, when trying on clothes in fitting rooms- yes husband, that is why it takes me so long when I disappear into a fitting room. For each garment I try on, I lipsynch Madonna’s “Like a Virgin” and strut back and forth in front of the mirror, as I assume most women do. Your suspicions have now been confirmed). Where was I? Yes, the dance.

So I love to dance. Of course, before coming I did make sure that parents were actually supposed to show up, because I have a whole lifetime to embarrass Jay, and I wanted to hold off just a little before getting started on that. So parents invited? Check. We arrive at the school gym and the DJ announces a dance contest. I am cool with that. I can throw down with the best of these parents. I am ready with my Electric Slide and Macarena and Funky Chicken. Bring it.

The DJ urges the kids to grab a parent and get out on the dance floor. Jay and I make our way out into the colored lights amidst the princesses and pirates.

And Then.

This:

Yes folks, “Don’t Blink” by Kenny Chesney. Seriously. Who the hell thought that this would be a good idea? In case you didn’t play the video, I’ll give you a little taste of the lyrics.

Don't blink

Just like that you're six years old and you take a nap and you

Wake up and you're twenty-five and your high school sweetheart becomes your wife

Don't blink

You just might miss your babies growing like mine did

Turning into moms and dads next thing you know your "better half"

Of fifty years is there in bed

And you're praying God takes you instead

Trust me friend a hundred years goes faster than you think

So don't blink

Oh, I blinked alright. I blinked a crap ton, because tears were streaming down my face and were totally ruining my mascara. I mean, why not throw a little Sunrise, Sunset in there, too, DJ? Butterfly Kisses? Some other song that makes us all despair over how fast kids grow up, and then finishes with a reference to our spouse dying? Jesus.

Jay and I danced, while I held Jack snuggled against me in the sling and Ella shyly hid behind Chris’ legs wearing her pink princess gown and hiking boots. I sniffled. I tried not to be one of those girls at the school dance who runs out of the gym and into the bathroom sobbing (there’s always one. Just like dancing in the fitting room, this is another truism of our gender.)

After that, things got better. The country music ended and we got jiggy with it. Turns out Ella can get down.

Which means that shopping trips for clothes with us will start to take a lot longer.

Owned

2011-10-21T12:17:00.002-05:00

We have a dinner tradition in our family. It’s a little hokey, and maybe when we have three teenagers they will roll their eyes and sigh about it, but for now, it works, and we like it. At dinner, we go around the table and everyone says what the best part of their day was. It’s simple. It’s enlightening. It’s entertaining. Often we also go around and share the worst part of our day. Sometimes we also go around and say what we are thankful for. Sometimes our responses are variations of the same answer. “The best part of my day was going for a long run in the Arboretum. The worst part of my day was the call with a funder that was so bad that I had to go out for a long run in the Arboretum to clear my head. I am thankful for good running shoes.” Sometimes I hold Jack up and speak for him in a low voice, all ventriloquist style, and say the best part of the day was burping or laying naked in the sunshine or chewing my hand, which never fails to get big belly laughs from Ella and pleas of “More! Talk like Jack some more!”

Today as I dropped Jay off at school (which is almost always the best part of my day) Jay asked me to pick him up after school. I told him I would try, but that I really had a lot of work to do and didn’t know whether I could take off from the office in time to pick him up. He nodded his head in understanding. Then he said, “If you did pick me up from school today, when we have dinner tonight and talk about the best part of our day, then I’ll say it was you picking me up after school.”

Stop. Let’s pause right there. That moment. That was the exact moment that I realized that I was OWNED by this boy. Because instantaneously I mentally began jettisoning items from my to-do list, rearranging my schedule, pushing up phone calls and weighing the option of simply quitting my full time job in order to be a professional to-school and home-from-school walker person. What would my business card look like? Would I have to craft a mission statement?

I beamed. I told him I would be there. I sighed, knowing that I wouldn’t get to all of the things on my to-do list. Eh. That’s what Mondays are for, right?

It’s Just Thursday

2011-10-20T10:35:00.000-05:00

It’s not our wedding anniversary. It’s not his birthday or Valentines Day or Sweetest Day. It’s not the anniversary of some date in our relationship that means something to us, but no one else. It’s just Thursday.

It’s Thursday. And today, like most days, I woke up to a cup of hot coffee on the nightstand and the sounds of Chris cleaning and talking to the kids, explaining some this or some that. That is not why I am writing. He was awesome this morning, just like he is awesome every morning, and has been for the more than ten years we have been together. I am lucky.

I have a spouse who, when I screw up, he says, “It’s o.k., I understand.”
When I am in a black hole of confusion and have lost my way forward, says, “I believe in you.”
When things aren’t going right at work, and I can’t solve all of the problems of the organization, and I cry tears of frustration, he listens quietly and nods supportively.
When I say, “I just need a break,” he says, “How about tonight?”

I am incredibly lucky. I am thankful to him. And I am thankful for just Thursdays.

Coffee coffee coffee

2011-09-28T16:36:00.001-05:00

It sure seemed like a good idea to have four cups of coffee on an empty stomach this morning but now that I am talking and thinking at a thousand miles a minute and can’t stop my hands from shaking and hey look at that over there, is that a silver dollar? No it’s a toaster, but it’s still shiny and do you think that caffeine gets in breastmilk, like immediately, or does it wait until the caffeine high has passed and did anybody else think it was weird that the actress who played the mother in the Fresh Prince of Bel Air was switched out halfway through the series, I mean, come ON, who didn’t notice that those were two completely different women? Like in Bewitched? When they changed out the father?

Because caffeine always increases my efficiency, here is a bulleted pointed list of life lately:

-Jay: still five. Is a quick study on “how to be late to everything.” I am so very proud. This morning I taught him how invaluable a good hard sprint can be to beat the school bell.

-Ella: still three. Has developed an inexplicable love for princesses and bugs. Well, the bug part I can explain. Is really funny, but is also as stubborn as I am. Dang.

-Jack: still smushy nom nom nom love love love.

Oh no, here comes the caffeine crash.. wu huh? [Headkeyboard]

Dhklsdjchfsldkynmcxlcn AL,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,

The Two Minute Post that turned into the Much Longer Post because I have no time management skills

2011-09-22T16:26:00.001-05:00

I have emerged from the protective cocoon of maternity leave and have jumped right back into the fray of full time work. Crimini! We are presently consumed with trying to figure out school schedules, work schedules, nursing visits and more. Sleeping and eating are important, too, I guess, if you like that sort of thing.

Jay is enjoying school. Ella is enjoying life without Jay to boss her around during the day. She misses him from time to time, but not enough to actually, like, vocalize it or anything. But, I know that when she gleefully declares, “When Jay goes to school today I am going to play with his toys!” that what she really means is that she misses him. Or something.

Also, did anyone else know that we actually have a daughter? Like a whole middle child, who is not her older brother Jay or younger brother Jack, but an entirely different, and wonderful little person who says funny things and likes to dance around wearing pink sparkly ballerina slippers? Huh. Once Jay started school, Ella came into her own and I realized just how much she had been relegated to the role of middle child. Let the guilt trip begin.

Speaking of guilt, I find myself feeling a lot of guilt lately, especially now that work has started. I realized recently how hard I had been trying to meet my own and others’ expectations. Read to your children at least 30 minutes a day. Eat organic, locally sourced food. Exercise an hour a day. Floss. Write thank you notes, on time. Spend quality time with your family. Keep a clean house. Meditate daily. Work at least 8, but preferably 10, hours a day to make an impact on the world. Read the newspaper. Follow local politics. Get involved. Volunteer. Walk, don’t drive, it’s better for the environment. Always do what’s right. Tell the truth. Be happy- no one likes a sad noodle. Be calm. Women who aren’t are called bitches. Bake cookies for your neighbors. Vote. Donate.

The list in my head keeps going.

On any given day I am giving it my all to do all of these things, and do them well. I had it in my head that women everywhere were doing all of these things simultaneously and that I was just behind the ball. Then it struck me that no one person I knew was doing all of these things at the same time. The women who were fit and physically active and highly involved with their kids didn’t have full time jobs. The women who had high powered jobs didn’t have kids at home. The women who were calm didn’t have spotless homes or a fulltime job/small children one-two punch.
After realizing that I was striving for the impossible, I exhaled deeply. There simply aren’t enough hours in the day to keep a clean house, cook all of your meals from scratch, take public transportation, exercise for a full hour, volunteer, work a full day, eat dinner together, read to your kids and still get the prescribed eight hours of sleep a night. I still feel guilty much of the time, but I am now conscious that I was pushing myself into the realm of near insanity, and now I can allow myself to scale back on my expectations. And, just like that, Ack! I am late for heading home! Guilt again!

We made it!

2011-09-01T14:40:00.006-05:00

We made it through our first day of school...

To make sure this day was extra special, Ella and I got busy baking surprise first day of school cupcakes today:

I think they were a hit...

Kindergarten!

2011-09-01T10:20:00.009-05:00

“Mama! Mama! Wake up! You have to wake up! It’s my first day of school!” And so the day began with Jay running into our bedroom, already fully dressed and carrying his backpack. “WE HAVE TO GO! We have to go! I don’t wanna be late!”

He was joyous and crazy excited, but I had to hide under the covers until I could stop sniffling. I got out of bed, grinning only because of his irrepressible grin. Yes, buddy. It’s your first day of school.

Game on.

I want to remember everything about this day. I want to remember how he asked me to brush his teeth because I do a better job and he wanted his teeth to be really, really clean for today. I want to remember how he looked wearing his new backpack and button up shirt and holding his Lightening McQueen lunchbox. How the grass glistened with the morning dew as we walked through the field to school and it got his new red sneakers all wet but he didn’t even notice because he was so excited. How our next door neighbors were there with their little girl, Ava, and how we discovered that our kids are in the same classroom this year. How exuberant he looked as we walked inside the building together. How their teacher tapped a drum to call the kids to Circle Time and they flocked to him. How proud I felt of him. How nervous I felt. How so not nervous he felt.

Here, in nearly stop motion animation is our first day at school:

Walking to school:

Our school, Sandburg Elementary:
Arrival at the school. Me, willing the tears to subside.
Testing out the new playground before the start of school:

Jay: "Can Ella play, too?"

Walking over to the classroom:

A few fleeting moments of uncertainty before the final move into the classrooom:

Discovery of our next door neighbor, Ava, and her family:

"Yeah, I guess I am ready, Daddy"

Peering inside the classroom:
Deep breath. Now we start the walk into the building.

Note the other parents outside:
Ava and Jay sitting together:

So. Pumped.

New teacher, Mr. Thao:

He plays the drums. He is the coolest EVER.

Jay: I am immensely proud of you. You are going to rock the world.

World: Take care of my little boy. He still can’t tie his shoes and sometimes he needs help buttoning his pants.

Tomorrow we will have a kindergartener.

2011-08-31T09:53:00.006-05:00

Our lives will forever be changed as we become subject to the world of school schedules and peer pressure and homework (do kindergarteners have homework? I do not know.) I am also incredibly apprehensive because soon the jig will be UP. Soon Jay will learn that other kids get cupcakes and sugar cookies in their lunchbox not just wheatberries and dandelion salads or whatever. Soon he will learn about video games and that some kids have televisions IN THEIR OWN house, not just at their grandma and grandpa's. He may even learn that Cheetos are something people actually eat, instead of throw in campfires.

While Jay is alternately nonchalant and crazy excited, I am alternately weepy and neurotic. All of my weaknesses and insecurities are dancing about in my head as I lay down at night, going over his school supply list for the hundredth time to make sure I have picked up everything and wondering what we should pack him for lunch in his new Lightening McQueen lunch box. What if we are late for the first day of school? What if his teacher is like that one I heard about in the news who sold her student’s winter coats on E-bay only to get busted by a parent who went searching for a replacement only to find her own kid’s coat for sale? What if the snacks are full of high fructose corn syrup and blue lake #5? What if all the other kids are playing Crocodiles and Parakeets, but Jay doesn’t know what that is because I just made it up right now? What if the other parents don’t like meeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee?

I am, as I have detailed in earlier posts, not so good about getting to places on time. Five minutes late? Heck, I’m early. Ten minutes late? Right on time. Fifteen minutes late? Eh. Twenty minutes late? What? Why is everyone staring at me? Do I have spinach in my teeth?

So, it was with no small amount of concern to learn that Jay’s school ends at 3:17. Like, not even a round number. I can’t really fudge that pick up time when they have identified the time with such precision. And here’s the other problem: which time piece should I rely on come the start of school? The microwave, which is three minutes faster than the oven, which is six minutes faster than my watch, but only four minutes faster than the clock on the dining room wall?

Here’s another thing: they expect us to drop him off outside. Outside! As in, not inside at his classroom. Outside, where there will be one teacher to watch over who knows how many kids on the play ground. No one to clock him in or take a ticket or get a sign-off from or whatever. We are just expected to drop him off at the school playground and expect that at 8:30 this teacher will be able to round up gobs of five and six year olds and herd them into their classrooms. Geez, I mean, what could POSSIBLY go wrong?

And also, school shopping. Dude. Shopping for school supplies is a test devised by the school system to determine how smart parents are, in order that they may place children in correlating and probably permanent class rankings. It is clearly a re-visitation of those math word problems that we all hated in school. Example: “Bobby needs three boxes of crayons, twelve pocket folders, one pair of scissors, one three-ring binder, two bottles of glue, twelve glue sticks and a box of markers in order to have a good school year and thus pave the way for a strong academic career and ensure that he does not end up panhandling on the east side off- ramp of I-95. Considering your budget, the value of your time, the price of gas, and your level of vulnerability to impulse purchases, determine the best way to purchase school supplies without going bat shit crazy.”

Seems simple enough.

I took that list to an office supply store and for approximately eleventy hundred dollars bought everything on the list. Done.

Then I went across the street to the grocery store for a gallon of milk and promptly discovered that I had failed that test.

Because that grocery store had all of those school supplies, only much cheaper. Box of crayons? Only $1.50 compared to $1.99. Glue sticks? $1.50 for a four pack compared to $3.99. I should have just bought a sticker that said “First time kindergarten mom” and also, “Chump”

So I returned to that office supply store, with three howling, hungry, impatient and ornery kids in tow. I got my money back. And then I returned to that grocery store with three howling, even hungrier, even more impatient and much more ornery kids in tow and re-bought those school supplies. Because, heh! I saved seven dollars, baby. I gloated all the way to the minivan.

But then.

Then I went to Target. It was a simple stop. We were there to look for shot glasses (don’t ask questions, just know that when you have three kids, you must own at least one, and preferably two, shot glasses) And you know what? They had crayons for $.40 a box. Hot damn! That’s like… fifty… no, seventy… crap. That’s like A LOT cheaper than $1.50. Did I buy them at Target and return them to the grocery store? Of course I did. Ha! Those suckers at Target. They sold me crayons for $.40 a box. I’d show them to you , but I can’t find them in the $200 worth of other stuff I didn’t need but bought anyway while I was there.

And then you know what? In yesterday’s paper, Toys R Us, which is only 38 miles away, is selling the SAME crayons for only $.25 a box. Holy crap! How can I stand by and allow myself to get ripped off by those guys at Target? If I only drive the forty minutes to get there, I could save, like, fifteen cents. Thirty cents on two! But, for some reason, Chris has hidden my car keys. And I can’t figure out how much money I would save if I called a taxi to get there…

A post in which I answer fan mail and say other stuff, too

2011-08-27T00:33:00.006-05:00

I know I have been out of touch for a month, but that hasn’t stopped the deluge of fan mail I get from my thousands (hundreds? O.k., dozens) of readers from reaching me. I read all of it and though I can’t respond personally to each and every one of my readers, I think it is time that I respond to some of the more commonly asked questions. (Some of these may or may not be actual reader questions. Some of my responses may or may not be complete and utter nonsense.)

Anonymous: Um...has anything been going on since July 24th?

MG: Jack pooped all over my shorts yesterday and Kodiak horked something greenish on the carpet near the sliding glass door. Overall, I’d say it has been a pretty productive month.

Melody Yap: Can I know what song is this ?

MG: Melody, I would love to be able to tell you, but I don’t know. I only know it as the la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la la la la song. My awesome mother-in-law made the video. I would like to promise you that I will ask her when I see her in a few days, but I have already forgotten what this sentence was about.

Anonymous: Um, is that Jay making espresso? I don't mean to pry, but isn't he a bit young??

MG: Dude. Psssshh. And also, No. And when we get him good and trained we’ll force him to open a kiddie espresso stand in the front yard and sell it to passersby to help pay for those new kindergarten school supplies. Elmer’s glue don’t come cheap there, Anonymous.

Honey Hiring: HoneyHirting Smart Recruiting for jobs management Track multiple jobs.Track jobs from scheduling to hiring.Shortlist Candidates and Schedule interviews.Maintain historical data of jobs.Recruiters management Tracks all jobs Tracks Company accounts Tracks candidates history Tracks candidates from short listing to interviews to hiring. Candidate management Tracks multiple candidates Mass upload of candidate data. Maintain historical data of candidate Company management Tracks all jobs of a company Tracks all interviews of jobs Tracks company job and hiring history Copyright © 2011 HoneyEaters Software Pvt Limited Solutions. All Rights Reserved. www.honeyhiring.com

MG: Hmmmm, good question, HoneyHiring. But really when you think about it, I think you’ll agree that Bounty paper towels are the quicker picker upper.

Anonymous: Is it true that you climbed Mount Everest wearing a kitten costume and playing the clarinet last year?

MG: Twice. Although it was a cold weather grade kitten costume.

Anonymous: O.k., that was a nonsense answer.

MG: That wasn’t a question. You have to ask a question. Read the part above where I talk about responding to reader’s questions.

Anonymous: O.k, that was a nonsense answer?

MG: Wait. You still didn’t ask a question. In a question, your voice is supposed to raise a *little* at the end. You didn’t do that. You just swapped out the period for a question mark.

Anonymous: ?

MG: …………….?

Anonymous: ??

MG: O.k., that was just sassy.

Other Anonymous: You have three young kids and a busy schedule. How do you manage it all and stay sane, beautiful and vivacious?

Anonymous: Hey wait, Missy wrote that question. That wasn’t a real reader’s question.

Other Anonymous: Yes it was!

Anonymous: That was just Missy using a high pitched voice and putting her hand over her mouth to make it sound like it was coming from somewhere else.

MG: Well, Other Anonymous, I am glad you asked. I couldn’t do it without (insert product name here- this space available for your product today for the low, low price of only $399 a day). I love (insert product name here) because it makes my hair shiny, my boobs perkier and my feet smaller. No matter what tomorrow brings, I know I can depend on (insert product name here) to carry me through the day with confidence and bowel regularity!

Well, that’s all the questions we have time for today, folks! Feel free to send more in for another riveting mass response post next month!

Other stuff:

We are all doing fine, having returned from a three and a half week trip down to visit Grandma and Grandpa in Florida (which is why I haven’t written. Because they didn’t have internet access. Bet you feel real guilty for being pushy about me not posting, don'cha now, Anonymous?)

Jack is super awesome and still squishy and soft. I’d post pictures, but that does involve me putting him down.

A huge shout out to our friends Becca and Julio who just had a beautiful little girl, Amalia Susan, yesterday. Congrats guys!

Ella turned three while we were in Florida. Our attempts to shield her from princess-mania have proven futile.We partied in full on pink princess style.

Kindergarten starts next week. Blargh and yes! And also yikes and OMG and woohoo and boohoo and every other possible mixed up emotion I can feel and attempt to convey via a keyboard.

I explained to Jay that he could have anything he wanted for dinner on the first day of kindergarten. Anything at all.

Jay: Could I have a bowl of yogurt?

Me: Yeah, but, you could have anything you want for dinner. Anything. Whatever you want. This is a celebration dinner!

Jay: (contemplating) ... Could I have THREE bowls of yogurt?

…And I’m spent.

Smiles! First Smiles!

2011-07-24T22:01:00.007-05:00

What's that? Who's that back there?

Oh it's my sister. She's cool.

Hello, Mama! Now this lady is cool. She's like a dairy, but softer.

And there's that Daddy guy. I kind of like him, too.

Man, this whole optical focus thing kind of rocks.

Note to my mom: I could only coerce these smiles by promising him that he would be seeing Grandma soon. It had absolutely nothing to do with me grinning and cooing and shaking my head while saying, "Boooza booza booza!" Nothing. I swear.

Note to husband: Um... the boob shots? Really? Dude. My mom reads this blog. See above note.

Second note to my mom: Those are totally not my boobs! OK they are, but Chris did not actually look at my boobs when taking these pictures. I swear! OK he did. But he insisted that he really likes my personality and he was focusing on that when taking these pictures.

Note to self: Check for personality in cleavage.

Sure the post sucks, but look! I've got pictures!

2011-07-24T11:44:00.006-05:00

I’ve approximately two point seven minutes to write while Jack sleeps and Chris has Jay and Ella running errands. And suddenly, my mind is blank. Despite having stored blog posts in my head for weeks (they were really, really well thought out and funny and poignant, too! Honest!) suddenly I cannot think of a single thing to write. It reminds me of a word game that my dad and I used to play when I was growing up. The game had no rules and was simply a volley of unrelated words that went back and forth until someone ran out of words, usually me. He would say something like “apple.” I would reply “porcelain” he would counter with “remarkable” I might respond with “foundation” and so on until one of us (usually sooner rather than later) would completely run out of words, our minds devoid of even a single word. Of course there were no rules to the game, so periodically and rather arbitrarily, one of us would simply declare ourselves the winner. Then we would play again.

So as I sit here with the clock ticking away, my mind is a complete blank. Jack’s birth story? Jay and Ella’s recent antics? Visits with Grandma and Grandpa? The harrowing tale of how I heroically saved us from doom and chaos when the minivan locked us all inside it’s sweltering oven-like vault on a 95 degree day, (spoiler warning) only to realize that I hadn’t taken the van out of gear when trying to park it? Eh.

Apple!

Porcelain!

Goat Cheese!

I lose.

Jack is one month old today. How did that happen?

2011-07-20T20:49:00.004-05:00

Where has the month gone? It has gone into staring into his eyes, stroking his fuzzy head and admiring his tiny hands, feet and nose.

Typing with one hand is no fun, and as I am loathe to let anyone else hold the boy, I have been neglecting my blog. We are all healthy, happy and tired here in the Gavin household, though. In losing sleep, I have also seemingly lost my ability to use words with more than one syllable or coherent sentences, though, so I have arguably been doing the internet a favor by not writing. Thus, I offer up a video, put together by my most awesome mother in law and Aunt Joy.

Hands off the kid

2011-06-29T09:29:00.003-05:00

There have been a lot of arguments over here lately. Most of them center on one thing, or one very small person. Despite my claims that he is “All mineminemine!”, I am constantly having to fend off sneak attacks from other family members who try to steal Jack. Jay and Ella and Chris all seem to feel like they should get an opportunity to hold or touch Jack. Like what the HELL? Chris says things like, "Um... He's my son, too you know" and Ella crowds against my side for top of the head kisses and baby shoulder caresses. Jay wants to sing and dance and read his favorite books to Jack. I argue that he is my prize for nine months of pregnancy and several hours of labor. Chris argues that he suffered through my pregnancy, too. Whatever. I’ll have to think up a really important errand to send everyone on in a few minutes… In fact, I think I need corn. Fresh corn on the cob. Picked by the kids. At a u-pick field. In southern Illinois. And then… Texas watermelon.

Chris getting his weekly allowance of Jack time:

Aw... isn't that sweet. Now that's enough. Unhand the kid.

Videos... because typing with one hand sucks

2011-06-26T20:55:00.006-05:00

Jay reading "Go Dog, Go!"

Ella reading "What's Up Duck? A Book of Opposites":

Baby Jack, just doing his thing: (sure he can read, but only in Latin)

Mine, mine, mine

2011-06-24T17:27:00.008-05:00

Or alternatively, I am hormonal and weepy and starting to worry about college funds.

Jack is perfect. Everything about him, from his perfectly round head, to his perfect toes, everything is perfect. I am so totally, utterly, completely in love and so very, very happy. And yet, I can’t stop crying.

I can’t stop crying because I know that tomorrow he will be older. He will be bigger. He will be different. And not this. I can see him leaving for college and having kids of his own, even as I hold him tight in my arms and kiss the top of his tiny fuzzy head. And I want so desperately to stop time. To freeze it in a little jar and make it stop going by so quickly.

I find myself getting angry at Jay and Ella because they won’t let me spend all of my time with Jack, breathing in his delicious scent and admiring everything that is so perfect about him. And they are wonderful too. And I know they are growing just as quickly and I love them every bit as much, but they gave me an appreciation for how quickly newborns become babies who become toddlers who become big kids who start kindergarten this fall. Today as I sat in the pediatrician’s waiting room, a woman with a teenage daughter cooed over Jack and reminded me again that “it goes by so quickly” and she remembers bringing home her daughter and how giant her then two-year old son looked suddenly. I could feel my chin quiver. I know it goes by quickly. And I think that sucks.

There are times when I think this will last forever. When the kids are fighting or when Chris is yelling at someone to GET OFF THE TABLE or when Jay is asking for help reaching the glasses or when Ella needs help getting onto the potty. Times when I would kill for a little privacy, when I want a nap or when I need to sit by myself and think my own thoughts. And then I realize what I trade for those moments. And how much I will miss the squabbling, the singing, the pint-sized person running full force into the couch headfirst, the bedtime routine, the helping them do everything as they learn to do it all by themselves. And then I start to cry again, with huge gulping gasps of air and snot bubbles.

Am I hormonal? Sure. Am I a bit sleep deprived? Yes. Am I keenly aware of how fast time passes, especially when you are not paying attention? Absolutely.

All this by saying, if you come to visit us, and I slap your wrist while shouting, “Mine, mine, mine!” as you try to pick Jack up, you have been warned.

Jack Edward Gavin

2011-06-22T13:00:00.003-05:00

Jack Edward Gavin b. 6/20/2001 7:25PM 6 lbs. 14 oz. 18.5" and perfectly perfect in every way. He's good. We're good. Life is good.

It’s show time

2011-06-20T17:40:00.001-05:00

We’re at the hospital. We’ll update more soon. Trying to find something funny or witty to write. Nothing comes to mind. So far so good, baby Jack’s heartbeat is strong and we are pacing the hospital halls. Hopefully news to post soon.

Gravity and Other Things Pregnant Women Hate

2011-06-16T11:01:00.003-05:00

The bible has it wrong.

When God punished Eve for eating the forbidden fruit, the sentence handed down was not an eternity of painful labor. It was gravity.

At nearly eight and three quarters months pregnant, I hate gravity. Gravity pulls stuff to the ground. To places I can not reach. Once something falls to ground, I can only look longingly at it, mentally will it to magically come back to me, or try to forget it.

Unless that thing is chocolate. Then I can reach it. But that’s the exception that proves the rule, or whatever that phrase is.

I have decided that back when Eve was frolicking in the garden, things floated freely. It’s why she didn’t need a bra. But once she ate the forbidden fruit, God was all, “Hey Woman. Now you shall suffer. Your ankles will swell to the size of baseballs. Your belly will look like a road map. And you will have to bend over to pick stuff up despite the hard, round growth that does not budge in the center of your body. Sucks to be you.”

Whenever I have something in my hands and then it has to be somewhere other than my hands, a mild panic rises in my chest. What if I fumble it when I am trying to put my cell phone on the kitchen table and it falls to the GROUND? How will I get it back? What if no one is around to hand it to me? If a spoon falls in the dining room and no one is there to get it back, does it really make a sound? Answer yes: it makes the sound of an eight and three quarter month pregnant women grunting and panting on her slow descent to her hands and knees and even more awkward and slower rise back up again.

But gravity is not the only thing pregnant women hate. Oh no. We hate outgrowing our maternity clothes and realizing that we have a few more weeks to go in them still, so we refuse to buy more because we only have a few more weeks to go in them, damn it, and so help me GOD I will not buy another pair of maternity pants. We hate how far everything is from the car. Why did people put mailboxes, houses, and stores so far from my car?

We hate skinny jeans. Enough said. We hate how we pant like Labrodor Retrievers whenever we have to go up a flight of stairs or read a story to our older kids. We hate how time slows down when you hit the final couple of weeks of pregnancy and suddenly two weeks looms ahead of you like two months. We hate July, and we hate August even more. We hate how our butts sweat (that could just be me).

But there are some things that I love. I love how when I go to the gym, strangers smile and give me encouraging nods. I love how our baby kicks when I eat fruit salad. I love how a big belly makes everything else look so much slimmer in contrast. I love thinking about this new, tiny human who will come home with us soon, hopefully, someday really soon.

Like tonight. How about tonight?

Still Ready.

2011-06-11T22:04:00.002-05:00

Still no baby. Despite a couple (a few?) hours of contractions last night, we are still here, still without a newborn, still hoping that tonight will be the night.

Gah!

Ready

2011-06-09T16:10:00.001-05:00

O.k., I am ready. I thought I wasn’t, and maybe I’m in denial about life with three kids, but I am ready now. Like, NOW. I know I still have nearly three weeks to go. I know I could go past my due date, like so many pregnant women do. I know. I KNOW.

But I am ready.

I packed my hospital bag. I found a glider with matching ottoman. I have held the “what to do when I am out of the office” staff meeting (no boys, no naked days, no drinking until at least 10 am). I have written, re-written, re-written again my maternity leave instructions. I have cleaned, organized, polished, dusted, pared down, and scrubbed everything I can get my hands on. Twice. Two nights ago I cleaned out my closet. Then I faced all the clothes and hangers in the same direction and switched out all the hangers that were not white. Then I sorted the remaining hangers by type and color. Then I tied the sorted hangers in color coded bundles. Then I paced back and forth, wondering what I could possibly do with this one yellow hanger that couldn’t be bundled with the rest of the hangers, because I had a midnight blue bundle and a sky blue bundle and a slate gray bundle and a forest green bundle, but no yellow bundle. It threw my world into mayhem, this one yellow hanger. In addition to sweaty butts, this is the other thing pregnancy does to you: it makes you (meaning me, but you, vicariously) neurotic.

The kids beds! They aren’t made! Who cares if they are still sleeping in them?! Smooth the quilts! Fluff the pillows! Tuck in that corner!

Coffee grounds! On the counter! That outlet- it has dust on the top ledge! Vacuum! Trim your nails! Clean those phone buttons! Straighten that stack of papers! Alphabetize those books by author then by subject and then by copyright date! Shine those copper bottom pots! Speak in exclamation points!

If I weren’t feeling so crampy and contraction-y lately, I think my sense of urgency would be lower. But as each day passes, my body, blissfully unaware of dates on a calendar, says, we’re getting close. I have no idea how close. Maybe close means another four weeks. Maybe it means tonight. But contractions and cramps tell me that something, sometime, will happen.

In fact, I am even crankier than usual when I wake up these days, to realize that I did not go into labor. Not even once. No baby. No mad dash to the hospital. No water breaking, no calls to the doctor, no waking up in the middle of the night because it was “time.” I drink my coffee and try not to feel surly. But really, I am ready. O.k, Universe? I am ready.

Three weeks.

2011-06-06T16:57:00.003-05:00

But really, probably not. I have decided that June 16 or 17th will actually be the day, as in, you know, THE DAY.

If not before. (Which of course, I realize, destines me to a fate of two weeks overdue-ness. In July. Because the universe scoffs at cocky self-assured bloggers. I wonder what other blogs the universe reads?)

I still go back and forth between being ready and being SO not ready.
Not ready:

I have no glider with matching ottoman to feed my fantasies of rocking a precious newborn to sleep

I have no hospital hall walking slippers

I have not packed the hospital bag

Holy shit. Three kids? Like one, two and THREE? Not ready. So not ready.

Ready:

We have committed to selling the condo. Or at least trying to sell it. In fact, our realtor called this morning and someone wants to see the place the day after tomorrow! Which means we have to scrub the chocolate stains off the walls and probably stash plastic garbage bags of random stuff in our cars, to make it look super roomy and awesome. Because, really this condo rocks so much, we find that we don’t actually need things like a coffee maker or a toaster or toothbrushes. Buy it and you too will never need a broom or winter boots or cookbooks. Amazing!

Contractions. A lot of them. Intermittent, yes. But painful, real contractions that let me know that we are not far off.

I wet my pants yesterday.

The eclipsing of all other thoughts by thoughts of labor. And a nearly primal need to make it as natural, calm, quiet and dark in the delivery room as possible.

An eagerness to meet this new little person we have created that will make the world a better place and our family an even bigger, louder and more joyful one than before.

Four weeks.

2011-05-31T12:55:00.003-05:00

In four weeks (or less) we will bring a completely new human being home from the hospital. Holy hell. And by that I mean Yay! And also, OMFG. I oscillate between excitement and cold fear.

In some ways, I am completely prepared. Cloth diapers located? Check. Washed? Check. Folded and neatly put away? Check, check. Newborn and infant boys clothing brought up from storage room? Check. Sorted, washed, folded and put away? Check, check, check, check. Infant car seat inspected and ready for action? Check. Sleeping space figured out? Eh. Maternity leave notes written and staff prepped for my absence? Uh… Mentally prepared for assuming responsibility for another human being’s upbringing and quality foundation of life? Oh god, oh god, oh god.

And now begins the slippery slide down. The slippery slide is filled with hyperventalaty (yes, I did just make that word up, actually, what of it?) gasps of breath, irritation about our condo being too small and worries about selling it (or worse, not selling it) and waking up at four am to wonder about who will take care of X,Y, or Z while I am out of the office. We have no bassinet, no crib, no play pen set up, because setting one up would eat up approximately all of the space in our bedroom and in order to sell it we need to make the room look huge! And airy! And spacious! The crib is actually the least of my concerns at the moment. More likely than not, we will co-sleep as we did with Jay and Ella for the first year or so and a crib would just get in the way.

Of more concern is my mental state.

When we were expecting Jay, we did what many expectant parents do. We took a childbirth class. We read pregnancy books. We shopped for strollers and baby carriers and cloth diaper wraps. We planned the nursery. Friends and family threw us baby showers. We had conversations about The Baby and Life with The Baby and all the cool, fun, awesome stuff we would do with The Baby.

Through all of this stuff, it never occurred to me what registering for baby bathtubs and reading What to Expect When You’re Expecting and going to baby showers were actually doing. They were helping me, us, to mentally prepare for this colossal transition. We thought a lot about what life would be like with a baby because this was a life changing event. We knew that everything would be different when we met our new little guy for the first time. And it was. When we were expecting Ella, because she was a girl, I was able to mentally prepare by shopping for cute girly clothes and thinking about what life would be like with a daughter and by reorganizing Jay’s room to turn it into “The Kids Room.” I read books about VBACs and thought a lot about labor, since I had Jay with a c-section.

But now that we already have an inventory of cloth diaper wraps and booster seats and onsies and have read all the books we have had time to read and don’t need a childbirthing class and can’t find the time to have a conversation about our day, none-the-less about The Baby, I find myself casting about for what I should be doing to mentally prepare. There is no nursery to prepare because our condo is only two bedrooms and there is no mysterious labor to study up on because I had a great VBAC experience with Ella. I haven’t spent the hours daydreaming about what life will be like when our new little guy comes along because I already kind of know and also know that I can not really ever know, because it is all so different, with every kid, and on any given day.

So, this is a post about how I am ready and so very not ready at the same time. Which, I guess, maybe means that I am ready.

Note to the Universe: That last statement was not intended to indicate any actual degree of readiness, particularly in the next two to three weeks. We still have to do things like find and buy a glider with a matching ottoman and replace my slippers for pacing the halls at the hospital and steam clean the carpets before we can bring a baby home. And also, I am so not ready. Seriously.

You look great!

2011-05-27T11:04:00.000-05:00

Repeat after me, “You look great!”

This is what you should say to any pregnant woman. Every pregnant woman. Every woman you think might be pregnant. But especially, and particularly, every pregnant who you were about to say something different to.

Let me explain. Every woman is different. We are short. Tall. Thin. Plump. Athletic. Whatever. In addition to already looking different from the woman who is standing in line at the grocery store flipping through Town and Country magazine, I also look entirely different from the woman sitting next to me in the OB office who has the exact same due date. We all look different when we have an entirely different human being growing inside of our bodies.

So.

So, here is what you do not say to a pregnant woman: “You can’t be eight months pregnant. You’re not big enough!”

I know it seems harmless. Complimentary, even. But, truly. Knock it off.

Here’s why. I am on the tallish side. I also maybe have squishy insides that allow for a baby to hide, creating a baby bump that is on the small side. I assure you, it makes me no less pregnant. So after a slew of well intentioned folks exclaimed, “there’s no WAY you’re six/seven/eight months pregnant! You’re too small” I did the only thing I could do.

I freaked the fuck out.

I am doing too much yoga! Not eating enough! Not resting enough! Too stressed at work! My baby will be tiny! It will be all my fault! I am inflicting all kinds of developmental delays on him! He must be undernourished! And it is All! My! Fault!

I began meticulously taking kick counts. I paid attention to my energy level (too low? That would obviously mean I was sucking necessary nutrients from this poor kid’s brain. Too high? Obviously I was over-caffeinated/ over-sugared/ over-somethinged and it would result in an awful childhood disorder that I couldn’t pronounce). I watched my weight gain. I held my t-shirt close to my belly to scrutinize my profile. I flipped up my t-shirt for a better view. I looked this way and that way. I fretted.

I talked to my doctor. I told her that I was concerned about my growth. Because people have been telling me that I am too small. And you know, they must know best, right?. True, they were probably trying to be complimentary, but they managed to freak me out. Because here’s another thing about pregnant women: It takes precious little to freak us out.

An entire industry exists because we are so easy to freak out. Pregnancy is nine months of freak out peppered with food aversions and cravings for pickled beets. They make at-home fetal heart rate monitors, lead blankets to protect fetuses from electromagnetic waves from our laptops, special diets, exercise regimens, and books about the dangers of everything you can imagine from bisphenol-A to goat cheese. We freak out. Aside from growing a human inside of our bodies, we freak out. It’s what we do.

My doctor measured me. She frowned. Well, maybe you’re measuring a leeeeeeettle small, she told me. Let’s get you on the office ultrasound and have a look. We lubed up my belly and she cranked on the machine. She measured. She studied. She measured again. She studied again. Measured, studied, measured, studied.

Finally, she pronounced the baby to be about a week behind his gestational age. This did little to allay my fears. He was small and it was all my fault, clearly.

But then she told me that this ultrasound could be off by plus or minus three weeks. She decided to have me go into the hospital for another, more accurate, ultrasound. Just to be sure. Not that anything was wrong, she assured me. Babies grow at their own rate and this was just a crude ultrasound and she was no ultrasound technician.

I spent two weeks freaking out while waiting for my ultrasound appointment and while trying not to freak out. The reality is, I didn’t even know how worried I was. I went to work. I read to the kids. I cleaned the kitchen. I practiced yoga and kept up a normal exercise routine. I read the newspaper. And over all of that, day in and day out, a deep dark cloud of worry hovered above my head. I was not even aware how much of my life was overshadowed with this worry. The worry that our baby was too small, that he wasn’t thriving and that it was something that I was doing terribly wrong.

The day of the ultrasound came. The ultrasound tech measured and studied. She measured again. She studied again. Measured, studied, measured, studied. She was very quiet. I watched the screen anxiously, looking for a definitive answer. I tried to make sense of the smoosh that was on the screen. There was so much baby I couldn’t tell what was what.

Finally, the measurement results were tallied. The baby’s gestational age: 35 weeks, 1 day. The baby’s average ultrasound age: 35 weeks, 3 days. He was in the 66th percentile for size.

Boo-ya.

I cried from the relief.

We were tracking and trucking right along. He isn’t on the smallish side. He is on the perfect side. I couldn’t believe how relieved I was. I hadn’t known how much worry I had been carrying around. How much guilt. How much self- berating I had done.

So.

So, listen. Mothers worry. From the moment we see two lines on a pee stick to the day we die, we worry. But we especially worry when we can not see our small people and examine their owies and talk to them or their doctor.

Comments about a woman’s belly are a wildcard, but are generally ill advised. We will worry that we are too small. We will worry that we are too big. We will worry. We just will.

Now repeat after me, “You look great!”

Because, really, she does.

Happy Mother’s Day

2011-05-08T21:57:00.003-05:00

First of all, is it “Mother’s Day” or “Mothers Day” or “Mothers’ Day”? Plural possessive, right? Because it seems to me that it is a day possessed by mothers but there are a lot of us, so I think that means the apostrophe should go at the end, but then again, maybe we don’t own it, because, really, can you possess a day, or any length of time for that matter? Isn’t that like trying to own a gas molecule or a sunrise or an isosceles triangle? Screw it. I’ll just go consult a Hallmark card and we can move on.

Second of all, how did three weeks go by without a single post, because, seriously, I meant to. I mean, really, what the hell? I have been busy growing my belly, simultaneously feeling too large to move and worrying that I am not growing fast enough. I am eating too much sugar! The baby will be diabetic! No! I am not eating enough sugar! I need to gain more weight! Give me that stick of butter and a spoon! Too much working out! I need to take it easy and let this baby grow! No, not enough working out! I need to get exercise or I’ll go crazy! More rest! I need more rest! No, more cleaning! This carpet must get steam vac’d RIGHT NOW!
Probably it is best I haven’t posted for the last three weeks. You haven’t missed much.

Except that Jay toured his kindergarten class this week (sniffle). He was positively exuberant. I was a complete wreck. He went from classroom to classroom, interviewing the teachers. Which classroom has a train? What kind of snacks do you serve? What books will we read? I tried hard not to let my chin tremble as he coolly assessed each room and looked so… so much a kindergartener. I mean really. When the hell did that happen? Who let that happen? They didn’t consult me, that’s for sure.

The garden is open and we have garlic, strawberries and asparagus showing us that winter didn’t completely kick our ass. It only feels that way to our pasty, freezer burned, shell-shocked selves. We had two feet above average snow fall this winter. The sun is rumored to still exist, but I have yet to see the evidence with my own eyes. I need temperatures that start with the letter “S” and I need some humidity or things are going to get ugly soon.

Jay and I made doughnuts from scratch this morning. It was his first doughnut ever. I tried to convince him that only I have the recipe for these magical little cakes. Once he learns to read and we pass a Krispy Kreme for the first time, though, the jig is up. Then I’ll have to act all indignant, like, “What the HECK? How did they get my super top-secret recipe? Ah well, I’m sure they are HORRIBLE imitations. Blech, gross, and also, ick.”

Let's see. What else? Ella is potty-training. Sort of, ish. Mostly I am swearing NOT TO BUY ANOTHER PACKAGE OF DIAPERS, anymore, at all, no way, nu-uh. All the while looking directly at her and telling Daddy that we have to save the rest of the diapers for the baby, because Ella is a big girl now and she has to wear big girl underwear. Ella just shrugs, stips off her wet diaper and tells us to save it for the baby. Then she grabs a fresh one. I guess we have taught her a little too well how important it is to reuse...

Sometimes I try to have a subject to write about

2011-04-15T17:14:00.002-05:00

With an actual main idea and supporting ideas that dovetail nicely through the course of brilliantly written prose. And sometimes I just start typing and find out right along with you where I end up. I stop writing when I get bored or hungry and wonder why people actually come back to read future posts. This is one of those days. You’ve had your fair warning. I do not know what this post will include, but it may or may not reference chocolate and Lady Gaga and the debate on whether private foundations are truly striving toward becoming learning organizations and embracing failure while learning from their investment strategy mistakes or whether that all sounds good in their annual reports, but really, not so much.

Let’s see what the grab bag that is my head on a Friday afternoon yields:

1) Jay, last night: “Mama, I want a hot dog. But I don’t want any sourcrotch on it. Just ketchup.”

I’ve spent the day trying to drop “sourcrotch” casually in my conversations to my staff and officemates. It’s harder than you might think.

2) Jay, a few weeks ago: “Daddy, I know that half of the baby’s genes come from you, and half of the baby’s genes come from Mama. But how do the genes GET together?”

I have become an expert in question evasion. It won’t work for long, but it worked the other day when he asked another delicate question: “Mama, why do you and Daddy share a bed?”

For that situation I employed a reasonable and responsible response. I invoked self-inflicted violence. Me: “Ouch! Oh, I just stubbed my toe. Oh, that really, really hurt.”

And done.

Isn’t there a book or something that I can give him? When does it become appropriate for me to put my hands over my ears and shout "What?! I can't hear you!”?

This is so awkward.

3) Michael Jackson totally rocks. Still. Even more than in the 80’s. Pandora. Just do it. Just beware that they’ll try to slip some Kenny G in there and you’ll have to slap that shit down quick or you’ll find yourself on a musical tangent listening to contemporary smooth jazz artists that make you think of creepy dentists.

4) Or maybe that’s just me.

5) Ella has taken a liking to wearing sunglasses. At night, to bed, in her footy pajamas. It’s pretty cute, so I don’t intervene. She may also be trying to fake out the boogey monster. Since we haven’t had a single boogey monster attack us while we sleep, I’d say her strategy is working.

6) Luther Vandross is dangerously close to Kenny G. Dislike, dislike, dislike.

7) Facebook. Time sink or not? Discuss.

8) It is sleeting outside right now. What the hell?

9) The first U.S. dog guide was a German Shepherd named “Buddy,” who was presented to Morris Frank in 1927. Check out this and other fine facts at: Mental Floss Random Fact Generator: http://www.mentalfloss.com/amazingfactgenerator/?p=827#scroll

10) Sourcrotch.

11) And I am spent...

Please go to sleep. Please go to sleep. Please. Go. To. Sleep.

2011-04-11T16:14:00.001-05:00

It’s been a harrowing three days, fraught with danger, excitement and temper tantrums. Many, many temper tantrums. It turns out that the “terrible twos” are aptly named, actually.

I have been single parenting this weekend while Chris was up at the North House Folk Craft School in Minnesota learning how to make baskets out of ash trees, and let me tell you something.

Holy hell.

I never, ever, EVER want him to leave again. Somehow, he does this day in and day out. He manages to keep the kids, the dog, the fish, the houseplants and himself alive, on a regular basis, whether I am travelling or home. Me? I am now only a shell of my former self.

To whit:

- Three temper tantrums before noon today.

- I can not seem to remember to keep the fish fed, or to turn on their light when I am supposed to or turn off their light when it has been running for 24 hours straight, because look! I remembered to turn it on the first place, o.k.?

- I have cooked one meal in four days. It was meatloaf, and even Ella wouldn’t touch it.

- Jay has survived on crackers, fruit and atmospheric dust, as far as I can tell. I do not know what he has eaten.

- Ella has developed her own form of temper tantrums that I am ill equipped to deal with. I am a pretty mellow person. So when she starts slapping her head and screaming, red faced, at the top of her lungs that SHE! WANTS! THE! RED! SHOES! THEREDSHOES! THEREDSHOES! I don’t know what to do. Should I give her the red shoes? Is it even ABOUT the red shoes? If I give her the red shoes will it set a precedence for being a weak parent when I already told her that she can not wear the red shoes because they don’t fit anymore forchristsakes and plus they are for wearing with fancy dresses and we are just going to the sandbox? How do other parents deal with this age? Do they also secretly wonder if their child is possessed and start calculating how much Benadryl they’ll need to get a good night’s sleep?

- I have never dosed anyone with Benadryl who was not fighting an allergic reaction.

- But come ON. Am I the only who has wondered?

- And now you see why Chris stays at home with the kids.

The Struggle in Wisconsin

2011-03-30T11:01:00.000-05:00

A great video I wanted to share about the struggle in Wisconsin. People, it's not about the budget. And it's not just about Wisconsin.

Bullet points

2011-03-25T16:58:00.005-05:00

In the interest of time and my attention span, here are some bullet points that I have prepared for today's post.

We went to Florida last week. It was great. Warm and sunny. I didn’t have to scrape ice off the windshield a single time. We did not have to spend fifteen minutes getting coats and hats and mittens and scarves and boots on before we went outside to check the mail. We went to the beach, where the water flows freely, absent of any hard chunks of ice. We wore sandals. I got a sunburn. It was lovely.

Jay turned five on Wednesday. It was so good we celebrated it twice. Once with my parents, once several days later with Chris’ family in Wisconsin. We had the obligatory train cake and presents. I later sobbed to myself that he is already five years old and made a mental note that I needed to put together one of those video montages with music and photos of the last five years. I ate a bucket of chocolate instead.

I am twenty-six weeks pregnant. Holy hell. I better do something. Like get a crib, or a package of onsies or boil water or watch a movie that features pregnant ladies or SOMETHING to get my head in the game.

I am trying not to freak out about not having any space to put the baby or his crib or his package of onsies because our condo is too small and we can’t sell it because the market sucks and now he’ll have to sleep standing up in the hall closet and he won’t even be able to stand for at LEAST nine months so how are we going to prop his fat little cheeks up in the interim and, and, and, waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhh…

Winter is a horrible, slobberific houseguest, who has officially overstayed its welcome. Get out of here, winter. And take your nasty black snow with you.

Did I mention that I am trying not to freak out about the whole delivering a baby in twelve-ish weeks and having no place to put the baby afterwards because our condo is too small?

Did I mention that I am really starting to freak the fuck out about it?

Oooh, is that chocolate over there?

Keep calm, carry on.

2011-03-11T15:53:00.000-06:00

We lost.

This morning Governor Walker signed into law his “budget repair bill” that has ripped the state apart and has tragic effects for so many of us here in Wisconsin and across the country. Despite days and weeks of protesting often outside of a locked Capitol as Walker refused to hear our pleas, despite standing in snow and temperatures in the teens with tens of thousands of other protestors, despite the letters to our legislators, to our governor, to the media, to anyone OUT THERE who could help, we lost.

We lost the battle. We did not lose the war.

After yesterday’s vote in the Assembly, I stood with a group of protestors that shouted “Shame, shame, shame!” as Republican legislators filed out of the Assembly room, flanked by police escorts. They pointedly avoided eye contact, refusing to acknowledge the thousands of us who had crowded into the Capitol who came to have our voices heard.

I did not shout shame. Instead, I stood, speechless. It was utterly surreal. After nearly four weeks of protestors talking, asking, hoping, waiting for a compromise to this destructive bill, nothing, not a single bit of the bill, was changed.

I stood speechless, and I cried.

It was so hard to believe that after so long, after investing so much time and energy into fighting this bill, we could lose without so much as a single concession from Walker or his fellow Republicans. It was unimaginable that my voice and the voice of the hundreds of thousands of us over the course of this last month could not move him, not even an inch from his dogma. It felt like something had died within me.

And then it was reborn, like the Phoenix rising from the ashes. Because after my tears dried, a calm resolve filled the place of sadness. It was time to move on. Time to make sure that these rights are restored, that democracy does not get trampled again, that legislators and this Governor are recalled, that the courts step in to mitigate if not repeal, this legislation. It is time to move on. To keep calm and carry on.

Governor Walker, rest assured. This will not stand.

Crackerjack reporting

2011-03-04T13:23:00.008-06:00

Crackerjack reporting from the ground here in Madison, WI. Tomorrow we’ll be at the Capitol protesting again, in what we hope to be the biggest rally against Walker yet. Our legislature continues to be in a stalemate as our 14 brave state Senators stay out of state to deny the Senate the quorum it needs to pass Governor Walker’s “Budget Repair Bill.”

What our democratic Senators have done is heroic. By preventing a quorum, they have slowed down this bill, giving us all time to read and review it. We would not have otherwise been able to know what was in this bill that Walker and his legislative counterparts (two brothers, republican Jeff Fitzgerald who heads up the state Assembly and republican Scott Fitzgerald who heads up the state Senate- you can’t make this stuff up) tried to ram down our throats in three days.

We hope they stay out as long as it takes for Walker to agree to changes in this horrific bill. If even ONE state Senator steps into the Capitol, the state Senate is poised to breathlessly call a session and pass the bill. Despite what Fox news is reporting (that our Senators are derelict in their duties and should come back and “debate the bill like grown-ups”) there will be no debate. We all know that. Senate Majority Leader Scott Fitzgerald has made that clear. They will not compromise on this bill. Once granted a quorum (through force if necessary), the Senate intends to pass this bill and get it to Walker’s desk for a signature, which will have deleterious effects on Wisconsin’s middle class for decades to come.

While we try our best to prevent that from happening by writing to our legislators, protesting at the Capitol and writing to Governor Walker, here’s what has been going on in Mad-town this week:

Democratic Assembly reps were forced to move their offices outside this week in order to meet with their constituents, because Capitol security, ordered by Walker’s administration, barred entry into the Capitol. To do this, they had to move furniture through their office windows.

Once outside, administration officials ordered them to move their furniture back inside because it “might be scratched” if it is outside:

After being forced to move outside to meet with constituents because constituents were not allowed into the building, legislators were prevented from coming back inside. Democratic Assemblyman Nick Milroy of South Range in northwestern Wisconsin was trying to retrieve some clothes from his office in the Capitol Thursday night when he was TACKLED by law enforcement:

See the video here: http://www.wisn.com/video/27074185/detail.html

You really can’t make this stuff up.

Governor Walker threatened to lay off 1500 state employees if his bill was not signed by last Friday. Then by Tuesday. Now by April 1. Next I expect to hear him shout from the rotunda of the Capitol, "I’ll start firing errybody up IN here if ya’ll don’t do what I say!" He is really rattling his saber to get the Senate Democrats back to the Capitol by any means.

To date, he and his cronies have:

Stopped allowing democratic state Senators to get paid through direct deposit, instead requiring them to pick up their paychecks at the Capitol building, where, oh by the way, the Senate will quickly go into session and pass the bill before any knows what is going on, once they have a quorum.

Revoked parking permits, copy and print codes for democratic Senators and their staff.

Threatened to reassign democratic Senators’ staff members to republican Senators, as long as Senate democrats are out of town. Which prompted this reply from a Senate Democrat Chris Larson, “I would be very interested in letting Sen. Fitzgerald know about a new technology called the cellular telephone," Larson replied. "I thought he was aware of it. What it does, is it gives a Senator the ability to keep in touch with his staff when he is not in that building. "

Authorized the legislature to fine Senate Democrats $100 for every day they are absent from the Senate.

Authorized law enforcement (the Wisconsin State Highway Patrol is headed by none other than Stephen Fitzgerald, Scott and Jeff Fitzgerald’s dad. Truly, you cannot make this stuff up) to arrest and detain Senate democrats, any time day or night and forcibly bring them to the Capitol for a vote.

Desperate much, Governor Walker? Your desperation at passing your Budget Repair Bill by any means necessary reveals a lot about your nature, your flagging power and base of support, your poor leadership skills, and your utter lack of sensibility and respect for the democratic process.

Take a step back, Governor, and listen to your constituents.

We don’t want this bill, we don’t want your tools, we don’t want your style of leadership.

Despite what you say now, you did NOT campaign on this and independent research of your campaign materials proves it. The state did not know what it was in for when you were elected by a 52 % to 47 % victory. Your election was not a mandate, and if the election were held today, you would lose:

“A new Rasmussen Reports telephone survey of Likely Wisconsin Voters finds that
just 34% Strongly Approve of the job he is doing, while 48% Strongly Disapprove.
Overall, including those who somewhat approve or disapprove, the new Republican
governor earns positive reviews from 43% and negative reviews from 57% of voters
statewide.”

While support for or against you falls predictably along party lines, you should know that 56% of voters not affiliated with either of the major parties disapprove of the job you are doing. Those, sir, are what we call the independents. The swing voters. The folks that put you in the Governor's mansion.

And the folks that will take you out.

You are cutting medical care for low income families, ending birth control access for thousands of women, cutting funding for schools and libraries, cutting access to medicine for low income senior citizens, firing the people who teach, serve and protect your citizens, and curbing our rights to stand up and speak out against these and other injustices.

Keep it up, Walker. You are alienating more of us everyday.

The Budget

2011-03-01T18:09:00.002-06:00

Governor Scott Walker unveiled his budget today, with sweeping cuts to education, environmental protection, Medicaid, and aid to local governments. He told us again and again that while he was cutting aid to local governments and schools, he was equipping us with the "tools" for dealing with the cuts. His tools? A prohibition of municipal governments from working with unions. By mandating that local governments may not engage in collective bargaining with their workers, Walker argues that local governments now have the ability to make cuts that will offset their budget imbalances.

There. He fixed it.

His budget includes:
Elimination of municipal recycling programs. $900 billion in cuts to education, along with rules PROHIBITING school districts from raising property taxes to compensate for the revenue loss. Limits to water quality regulation. Cuts to farmland preservation programs. Prohibitions on municipal governments working with unions.

Thanks, Walker. Because I was just thinking that I had had enough of good education systems, clean drinking water, environmental protections, medical access for low income folks and a high quality of life. But hey. I-94 will look really snazzy, and our prisons are about to be upgraded, to make more room for criminals. That’s where Walker has put his money: highways and prisons.

Nice. Welcome to Wisconsin, we’re open for business. Just not at the Capitol building (if you are a protestor. Or a Democrat. Or someone who just disagrees with Walker.)

An Open Letter to Governor Scott Walker

2011-02-28T16:07:00.005-06:00

Dear Governor Walker,

Shame on you. Shame on you for preventing the democratic process to proceed, by your efforts to block public access to the Capitol, limit food and relief supplies to protesters inside the Capitol, revoke access to office and technology equipment by Democratic Senators, prevent their salaries from being paid through direct deposit so as to require them to return to the Capitol to collect their paychecks, your callous disregard for the safety of the citizens of Wisconsin (by considering planting “troublemakers” in a crowd of PEACEFUL protesters- which my four year old son and two year old daughter were a part of), and most importantly, your blatant disregard for the people of Wisconsin and our input into the legislative process.

Since you won’t listen to us speak and have closed the doors of the Capitol building to protesters (both figuratively and literally), I am writing this letter to tell you how disappointed I am in your two months in office and the Budget Repair Bill you introduced two and a half weeks ago. I have sent this letter to your office as well, but since your administration has, to date, only acknowledged the letters of support you receive, I want to be very clear and very public about my strong dissent.

I oppose the entirety of SB 11/ AB 11, not just the collective bargaining aspects that have garnered so much opposition in recent weeks. The reoccurring theme that I have found throughout the bill is the categorical elimination of public oversight in the rules making process and the abdication of legislative authority to the Walker administration, from state owned power plant sales to the civil service to Medicaid to the power of labor unions. The four most egregious provisions are those that relate to the sale of state-owned power plants, converting civil service positions to political appointee positions, limits to collective bargaining and changes to how decisions are made regarding the state’s administration of Medicaid. The following are my objections to this bill:

Sale of State Owned Power Plants
This bill allows the Department of Administration (headed by your appointees) to sell any state owned heating, cooling, and power plant, or contract with a private entity for the operation of any such plant, with or without the solicitation of bids, for any amount that the department determines to be in the best interest of the state. The bill exempts such sales and contracts from having to be approved by the Public Service Commission (PSC) which is currently the case now.

I oppose the ability to sell state owned power plants in no bid sales contracts. Competition in this process is healthy for guaranteeing the state receives the best offer. There is no reason to limit these sales by allowing them to be sold off in no bid contracts. Under this provision, your administration could feasibly hand these over for a song to any party you choose, without any public oversight or input. As a taxpayer, this troubles me. As someone who can do math, this concerns me. How does a no bid process benefit the taxpayers of Wisconsin?

Converting Current Civil Servant Positions into Political Appointee Positions
Under this bill, legal advisors, communications directors and legislative advisors would be moved from classified service to unclassified service, making them at will employees and appointed by the heads of state agencies, which are governor appointees.

Under current law, these positions, as classified positions, are part of the civil service. The civil service is set up to maintain constancy throughout administrations. This bill would provide the executive branch greater reach and power into administrative agencies by allowing you to appoint and dismiss legal advisors, communications directors and legislative advisors of state agencies, now part of the civil service. This bill would make these positions political appointees, meaning that you and future administrations would have purview over legal analysis, communications and legislative interaction with agencies. I ask this: Would we be guaranteed honest communications from a Walker appointed communications liaison from the Department of Natural Resources? From an administration that has shown us that lying to the public is not inherently problematic?

In addition to my concern regarding the level of honesty we could attain from Walker appointed communication, legal and legislative advisors, turnover of these positions would be increased and institutional memory would be diminished each time a new executive takes over the governor’s mansion. This was the whole point of a civil service- to protect employees and the general public against the ups and downs of elections. How does increased turnover in these positions save the state any money?

I am not sure how this provision would help repair the budget, but it certainly would provide you and your administration with increased latitude and power to control the message that reaches the public regarding your policies. This language is unacceptable and must be removed.

Limits on Collective Bargaining
Your Budget Repair Bill would make sweeping changes to collective bargaining, a mainstay in the progressive movement, which was founded in the state of Wisconsin. I have several objections to the provisions in this bill that relate to collective bargaining.
· This bill limits collective bargaining to wages only. Under this provision, employees would not be allowed to collectively bargain for improvements to workplace conditions, benefits, or workplace safety. We need collective bargaining to be able to unify and respond collectively against a myriad of injustices from improper workplace treatment to terrible working conditions. I object to language in this bill that removes the ability of employees to collectively bargain.
· Under this bill, wages can only be bargained up to the percentage change in the consumer price index. Public sector employees have already been subjected to furloughs and wage freezes over the last two years. This provision will encourage current employees to find employment elsewhere and discourage future potential public sector employees from a career in the sector, since public sector wages are already below private sector wages. In short, I believe this provision will put us at a disadvantage for recruiting and maintaining a strong and vibrant public sector workforce.
· This bill requires an annual certification election of unions. At least 51 percent the actual employees in the collective bargaining unit must vote in favor of representation (not simply 51 percent of voters, but a full 51 percent of union members, an important nuance to note.) If the union fails to collect this percentage of yes votes, the members of the collective bargaining unit become non-represented and may not be represented for one year, in effect killing the union.
· This bill requires that unions hold an initial certification election for all represented state and municipal general employees in April 2011. Considering the timing of this bill, I have serious reservations that an election could be held in time to meet this requirement. I bet you knew that.
· I object to the elimination of collective bargaining for child care providers contracting with the Department of Children and Families as this bill does. Collective bargaining should not be eliminated wholesale for any segment of the workforce.
· This bill prohibits municipal employers from collectively bargaining with municipal general employees. While I believe all language regarding collective bargaining should be eliminated, at the very least, decisions whether or not to negotiate with unions should be left up to individual municipalities to decide.
· I vehemently object to the prohibitions this bill makes on salary deductions for labor organization dues. This provision above all else should be removed, as it has no relevance to Wisconsin’s economic recovery and only exists to weaken the power of unions. I see this as a direct attack on unions and the power and money they hold.
· This bill allows a general employee to refrain from paying dues and remain a member of a collective bargaining unit. Again, taking money from unions equates to taking power from unions. By stopping the flow of money into unions from dues, you are knowingly crippling unions’ ability to support candidates in electoral campaigns. Since unions tend to support Democratic candidates, you are effectively reducing campaign support for any future political opponents. I find the changes you are proposing to union dues structures to be the most blatant and abhorrent of power plays and beyond the pale.

Changes to Benefits for LTEs
This bill revokes the ability of Limited Term Employees of the state to receive health insurance or participate in the state retirement system. Since Wisconsin has increased LTEs positions over full time permanent employees as a result of the recent economic downturn, many people in this state would be affected by this provision. I strongly disagree with this bill’s provision that targets LTEs for benefits elimination.

Authority to Fire Public Employees for Participating in Work Stoppages
This bill authorizes your administration to fire any state employee who participates in a strike, work stoppage, sit−down, stay−in, slowdown, or other concerted activities to interrupt the operations or services of state government, including specifically purported mass resignations or sick calls.

While I understand that the public sector must continue to function, this provision grants authority to fire employees who protest against the very provisions in this bill or provisions in future bills that cut even deeper. How is this acceptable?

Changes to the Medical Assistance Program
This provision allows your administration, under the authority of the Department of Health Services (DHS), to make changes to Medicaid by deeming them necessary under an emergency rule. Under this provision, DHS does not have to provide evidence of an actual emergency; they simply must deem it so.

This provision gives unprecedented power to your administration to make changes to Medicaid without legislative oversight, so long as the Department of Health deems these changes necessary under an emergency rule. Under emergency rules, no public input would be attained before making these changes, which include making certain requirements, modifying benefits, revising provider reimbursement models, developing standards and methodologies for eligibility, and determining eligibility. I oppose this provision because it circumvents the separation of powers that was created in the constitution.

Public oversight in matters such as these, that concern a large segment of the population, must be allowed. As a taxpayer, I object to the idea of moving the authority to make changes from the state legislature to an unelected bureaucracy because it removes my ability to provide input on any of the changes which will affect my family and fellow Wisconsin residents.

This bill does little to repair the state’s budget but does a lot to increase the power of your administration. Were it not for the Democratic senators’ decision to prevent a quorum, we would not have known about all of the little discussed provisions included in this bill that bear no relation to our fiscal situation, since you have done little to inform us on all of these intricacies. I am deeply disappointed, Governor.

What you are doing in the name of the economy is a slap in the face of democracy. As of this afternoon, the public is being denied entry into the state Capitol where we have gathered for two weeks to show our opposition to this bill. This is our house, Governor. We pay for the lights, the building repairs, the employees who clean the floors, and your salary, to name a few. We deserve access and input in this process, not a closed door and a deaf ear.

And you? You deserve nothing less than a recall.

Thanks for your time.

A letter to Anonymous

2011-02-23T16:50:00.004-06:00

Dear Anonymous,

I thought about simply responding to your comment in the comments section, but decided to call a little more attention to this.

Thanks for your comment by the way. I am pleased to able to explain more fully why there are 70,000 people at the Capitol right now. I'll start by saying that I don't think you've looked very carefully at the 144 page document Scott Walker has introduced as a "budget repair" bill. First of all, let's acknowledge the fact that the unions have given Walker the concessions he has demanded. But let's be honest. His bill busts unions because unions are the only source of competition against conservative groups' electoral campaign support.

Busting up the unions by making it illegal to require dues, as this bill does, would mean that unions would be unable to contribute to political campaigns. This is not about the state's inability to pay for "Cadillac" plans. This is about power. More specifically, it is about taking power from others and giving it to Walker and his cronies. Killing the unions would mean that little to no monetary competition stands in the way of the GOP for future electoral campaigns.

The other items in this bill clarify that quite nicely. The "budget repair" bill, or AB 11/SB 11 includes numerous provisions that have nothing to do with the budget. For instance, turning legislative, legal and communications liaisons for every state agency into political appointments (therefore giving Walker the ability to fire anyone who said anything derogatory about him or his policies), yanking the authority of the state legislature to approve changes to Medicaid and instead giving it to the Department of Health (which is headed up by Walker's appointee, giving him great latitude in squashing the program), and selling off state run power plants in NO BID contracts… which might just benefit the Koch brothers who contributed $46,000 to Walker’s campaign in 2010 and who are looking to purchase power plants to complement the gas lines they already own in Wisconsin.
Finally coming back to the public employee union issue, government workers have FOR YEARS sacrificed pay in order to ensure decent benefits. They are underpaid compared to the for profit sector.

Reform? Don't bullshit me. This is a power play of the worst kind, and we won't stand by silently.

Protesting

2011-02-21T14:45:00.004-06:00

What is happening in Wisconsin is an abomination to democracy and we won't be silent about it. This is day three of the Gavin family representing at the state capitol. Jay came up with his own sign today. Despite what many "news" outlets are reporting, these are protests, not riots. Folks are peaceful, kind and friendly. Even on Saturday when we met with the tea partiers during the counter-protest, there was no violence. People from thirty states and five countries have called into Ian's Pizza on State Street (and others) to buy pizza for the protesters. We've been given apple cider from local farmers, doughnuts from kind strangers, pizza, and even an umbrella in yesterday's cold wet weather from a guy that went to a thrift store and bought an armful of them to hand out to protesters. I am so proud to stand with my fellow Wisconsinites for democracy and our future.

Also, Governer Walker. Thanks for the teachable moment. You've made an activist out of my son and inspired countless others to get off the couch and let their voices be heard. Even if we don't win on killing this terrible bill, we'll have succeeded in coming together for our future. Nice work on that.

Wisconsin "Budget Repair Bill" Protest Pt 2 from Matt Wisniewski on Vimeo.

And everyone else. Let's keep keeping on until this is over and we have successfully pushed back on the power play that is being made not just in Wisconsin, but across the country, because the Koch brothers are coming to a "budget repair" bill near you.

And it’s a…

2011-02-08T22:55:00.008-06:00

And it’s a…

Tomorrow’s the Big Day

2011-02-07T17:12:00.000-06:00

Or at least a big day. Not THE big day. That will come twenty or so-ish weeks later. But tomorrow is a big day in pregnancy land. Tomorrow is the day we find out whether to bring pink onsies to the hospital or blue.

As if.

In all actuality, we’ll bring whatever onsies I can grab in the middle of the night once my water has broken and the time for putting together a cute wardrobe has long since vanished. I’ll frantically waddle into the kid’s room and root around in the dark for something to bring with us that doesn’t have any stains on it, while Chris paces the hallway and calls the doctor, because I am an ACE at planning.

I’ll have the best of intentions of packing a hospital bag beforehand. I will. In about two months, I’ll start to put together a list. An awesome, comprehensive list complete, with things like:

-hair dryer
-bean bag heating pad thingy
-diapers
-Um…?

Then I will get distracted by something shiny and walk away from the list. The kids will find the list and color on it. It will get pushed under the couch and left to languish for months along with a handful of cheerios and a dog biscuit. Two nights before I go into labor, I will suddenly and frantically recall my list. I will recall that it was a superb list. Unequal to anything I could put together again. I will start searching the condo for it. I will make angry faces at Chris and toss things to the left and right as I look for this really, really, great list. I will get distracted by the mess I have just created. I will make angry faces at Chris because Look! A huge mess! I will clean the mess and make more angry faces at Chris, because he is the symbol of all things terribly wrong with my hormones, and also, Rar.

Then I will forget about my list again. I will eat baked Cheetos and chocolate chunk ice cream, and scrub the floorboards nineteen more times.

But that day is not for another twenty or so-ish weeks, so eh, no list needed right now. Besides, if I forget my onsies, Disney will be right there waiting for me:

http://www.nytimes.com/2011/02/07/business/media/07disney.html?_r=1

Ugh. I guess better go make that list.

Groundhog Day

2011-02-02T23:06:00.004-06:00

Today Jay popped up from his underground den and checked for his shadow. Okay, actually, he tunneled his way from our couch to the end of the deck through four feet of snow and scared the crap out of our neighbors who were walking by and saw him standing between the railing and a snow drift taller than him. Chris stuck his head out of the sliding glass door and waved nonchalantly at the neighbors, probably catching them just in time to avert a call to the local child protection service...

Jay tried to convince me to let him have a camp out tonight in his snow tunnel. When I demurred, he told me that AS SOON as he wakes up in the morning, he is going back out there. He has plans for adding a few extra rooms, complete with snow furniture and snow blankets.

Snow is a resource we have plenty of at the moment. I think the official count from yesterday's blizzard was 14 inches (I also think I just made that up, but there are entire websites devoted to that kind of information and only one website devoted to crap I make up, so this is where it's at people). Snow drifts were much, much higher. Chris went snowshoeing this afternoon and walked on snow that was five feet off the ground. I stayed inside and feverishly cleaned and scrubbed everything I could get my hands on, because oh my god, this condo is filthy and don't you know there is a baby coming, a baby that will need a clean place to sleep and nurse and crawl and we can not POSSIBLY bring a baby into this world if that teapot continues to have hard water deposits on it, DO YOU HEAR ME? Can you SEE the cobwebs on the floorboard of the bathroom? No? Get down on your hands and knees and cock your head to the side. There! Do you see them now? How can we LIVE like this?? Really.

Really. Between the spring cleaning itch and nesting fever, it is best to avoid contact with me for the next twenty or so weeks, unless you'd like to help Chris rip out our carpet and replace it with hardwood flooring. Nesting is only getting started, baby. Luckily, spring cleaning will end a little sooner. Jay did not see his shadow this afternoon.

(Probably because I compulsively scrubbed it off of the snow).

Pretty much the only good thing about Wisconsin in January

2011-01-28T14:58:00.001-06:00

I cooled off my oatmeal in like seven seconds flat this morning. For the record, I would happily eat cold cereal if it meant a sun tan and some humidity...

Today’s dilemmas

2011-01-26T16:53:00.004-06:00

Sorry, folks, it's late in the day, my brain is frazzled and my creative energy is tapped out. This is the best of what's left. (Have I sufficiently lowered your expectations? Good. Let's begin.)

Today’s dilemmas
Go to the gym over the lunch hour (No.)
OR
Stuff potato chips into my mouth while I read over grant reports and obsess over how we are going to make payroll at the end of the year? (Yes.)

Leave the office at a reasonable time (No.)
OR
Get sucked into sending out that one last email, no wait, one more, gahhhh, I have to reply to this person before I leave, and… wait. How is it dark outside? (Yes.)

Buy myself a cup of coffee from across the street and enjoy much needed fresh air on the way there (Nooooooooooooooooooooooooooo.)
OR
Sit at my desk, desperately NEEDING a cup of coffee but not allowing myself to get up until every last thing on my to-do list is done, meanwhile becoming increasingly pissy about the fact that I am too swamped to get a cup of coffee, and stewing about it for a while before realizing that I could have just gotten up and bought the damn cup of coffee in the time it took me to worry/seethe about my workload. (Why, yes, actually.)

Take a deep breath (Ha! No. What are your crazy? I don't have time for that crap.)
OR
Become so absorbed in my thoughts and work that I forget to breathe for long stretches of time until my head hurts and I am generally ornery? (Yes indeedy.)

O.k. you get it. I am a little crazed at the moment. Wish I could say I did any of the first options on the above list today. Instead I am wiping potato chip grease off of my keyboard and reaching for the Tylenol.

In an attempt to end on a positive note, I will list five things that made me happy today:

1) The baby is kicking
2) Chris is making dinner
3) Potato chip grease comes off relatively easy (from the keyboard, not my waist)
4) I didn’t inhale my weight in chocolate this afternoon. (Only because I didn’t have any chocolate at my desk and getting hold of any would have involved actually, like, getting up and stuff.)
5) I do not have a number five yet. Wait, did I just say that NO chocolate was something that made me HAPPY? Now you see that stress makes people hallucinate. Bring on the chocolate.

Reasons why I haven’t written a blog post in nine days:

2011-01-14T15:35:00.002-06:00

I have been busy peeing. No, really. Forget what those lying prenatal books tell you about how “in the second trimester, the frequency of urination will subside, as the uterus moves higher into the blah, blah, blah.” I pee all the time. It’s what I do. It’s my new hobby. It’s my defining characteristic. So shove it, “What to Expect When You’re Expecting”. You lie.

I have also been busy drinking coffee, now that coffee and I are madly in love with each other again. We’ve decided never, ever to fight again. I love coffee and it loves me. Me and coffee, coffee and me, together forever. I know that it totally treated me like crap for a while, but it said it was sorry and would never do it again, and I believe it because it loves me, and someday soon, we are going to run away together and have coffee babies and, and, and… What’s that you say? Coffee is a diuretic? A diuretwho? Hold on to that thought. I have to pee. I'll be right back.

But really, my smart phone is to blame. I can access all of my friend’s blogs, read the news, check the weather, and lurk on Facebook without ever logging onto a computer with an actual keyboard. This is all well and fine, except that I need an actual keyboard to write blog posts. But now that I can check everyone’s blog while in line at the grocery store, pumping gas, and peeing (oh come on, like you wouldn’t), I don’t feel a real need to boot up one of those archaic machines called a “laptop.” I mean, I have to wait like three or four MINUTES to access the internet once I hit the power button on one of those things. What the hell, man?

Also, friends with blogs. I have been meaning to tell you that you are not updating your blogs nearly often enough. Now that I can check your blog while in line at the grocery store, pumping gas and peeing (oh come ON, you know you would, too) I have decided that your meager three or four updates a week are not enough. Get on the ball, people. I am waiting to be entertained.

And now, I have to pee.

Coffee! I Can Drink Coffee!

2011-01-05T17:15:00.002-06:00

I guess the first thing I should report here is that I think I felt the baby kick yesterday. The first, little, tiny, kickety-kick, that makes you wonder… is that today’s lunch or a muscle spasm or is there a little creature inside of me who is finally big enough to karate chop my intestines?

But let’s be honest. The real thing that is noteworthy is that finally, after fifteen weeks of pregnancy, I have the stomach and nose for my beloved cup of coffee. Yes, small people kicking me in the gut are cute and all. But coffee will never grow up and shout “I hate you!” when it is fourteen and wearing black lipstick. Coffee likes to curl up with me every morning and ease me into my day. It likes to pep me up in the afternoon. It is a welcome guest when we get together with friends. And it totally hated my bitchy self when the worst of the pregnancy symptoms raged. And you know what? I hated it, too.

But we’ve made up.

Slowly, slowly, we’ve patched things up. First I could not even tolerate the smell of brewing coffee. Eventually that passed. After a couple weeks of not growing queasy at the stink of it, I poured a half cup and then set it back down, disgusted. Several weeks later, I tried it again. This time, I could lift the cup to my mouth, but couldn’t stomach the thought of actually swallowing it. Weeks went by. Dumb, but perseverant, I gave it another try. I took a meager sip and regretted it dearly. Horkville, USA. Population: me.

Finally yesterday, I woke up and wanted a cup of coffee. I actually wanted a cup of coffee. I didn’t just WANT to want it, like I have for fifteen weeks. I finally wanted it. What an awesome feeling. I am not up to drinking more than a cup a day yet, and may not for the rest of the pregnancy (and yes, yes, I know experts say to limit your coffee drinking during pregnancy and blah, blah, blah, but are any of those experts pregnant woman? Just the fuck wondering).

Yay, coffee!

Oh, yeah. And the baby kicking. Yay for small people karate chopping my guts!

Finally, a House We Can Afford

2011-01-02T19:36:00.001-06:00

It’s a fixer-upper, but at least we own it. We may have to build an addition on when the baby comes, but we’ll cross that cardboard bridge when we get to it. In the meantime, we are basking in the glory of homeownership and picking out what shade of Crayola we want for the trim.

If you too, are looking for affordable homeownership, try Target. Fourteen ninety-nine. No indoor plumbing, but you can recycle the entire thing when you tire of flamingo pink decorative bricks.

Merry Christmas!

2010-12-24T09:22:00.001-06:00

It’s Christmas Eve, and I am in the office. In part because I have work to do, in part because I waited till the last minute to order Christmas presents and had them shipped to the office so the kids wouldn’t see them. Presents that won’t arrive until today. Presents that I won’t get unless I sign for them.

It’s not a bad life hanging out in the office alone, listening to Christmas music, working on my to-do list, though. I am kind of enjoying it. Did you know Bare Naked Ladies did a Christmas album? So did Bob Dylan. I was sorry to hear that. Really, really sorry. I know some people dig him, but he depressed me when I listened to him slog through Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas.

The snow is softly sifting down, I have a week of vacation stretched out ahead of me, and aside from Frank Sinatra crooning Jingle Bells, all is quiet.

Have a Merry Christmas everyone, filled with love, laughter, joy and peace.

So THAT’s why I hate coffee so much

2010-12-23T14:30:00.004-06:00

Today was my first trimmester screen and as the ultrasound tech pulled up the first image on the screen, suddenly the pregnancy became so totally, completely real to me. Sure, I’ve hated coffee for months. Sure, I’ve been so tired it felt like my body was pumping lead through its veins. Sure, I’ve felt queasy at the merest hint of most of my favorite foods and have had to undo the button of my jeans the last few days, but until today it seemed… I don’t know. Easy not to think about it in terms of a small person growing inside of my body. The blob I saw on the ultrasound five weeks ago was just that. A tiny, indiscernible blob. Is that its leg? An arm? The head? Oh, that’s my right ovary. It’s cute though, right?

This sonogram was indisputable proof that there is a living, growing, healthy, active little person inside of my belly with an actual forehead and fingers and elbows. All I could say was, “Wow.”

Wow.

I know I’ve been through this twice before, but every time, it’s always the same. Wow.

Really? We did that? We made that? We created this little person who is, right this very minute, mawing on his or her arm and hiccupping? Turning around and flipping upside down and pushing on the sides of my belly to stretch their legs? Wow.

It's just... Wow.

Jay and Ella are looking forward to their new sibling. Jay is hoping for, and is convinced it is, another sister. Ella is only convinced that if she looks hard enough into my belly button that she’ll see the baby.

It was too early to tell the gender and I am ambivalent about finding out the gender this time. On one hand, what does it matter? We’ll be delighted no matter what. And plus, surprises! Yay! On the other hand, the more we can tell Jay and Ella about their new little brother or sister, the better. Despite their seeming lack of interest at my last prenatal appointment when we listened to the heartbeat, they really are very interested in finding out everything they can about the baby. When is it coming? Does it poop inside of you? How does it breathe? When is it coming out? Will it hurt when it comes out? Will we get to hold it? When? When? When is it coming??? Will you nurse it? Can we pick out a toy for the new baby? Can it sleep in our room? Can we rub your tired, sore, aching feet while you relax from a hard day at work, Mama? (I may have just imagined that last question.)

This week has been hard. Losing Tabasco was incredibly hard. It was fun to feel a smile take over my face and my heart lighten when I saw the images of our newest little one. Welcome! We can’t wait to meet you! And please end the coffee aversion soon.

This is a story about a girl and her dog.

2010-12-16T15:41:00.002-06:00

A story about heroism. About love. About Taco Bell.

On the night we brought Tabasco home, we smuggled him into a Taco Bell. He was tiny. Less than two pounds. He fit in the palm of my hand. He could have had a party in it, actually. With all of his Chihuahua friends, if he had known any and could have figured out the phone system. He had sharp little puppy teeth and claws and hated the car. He whimpered as we drove and scaled my t-shirt all the way from my lap to my right shoulder to try to get a handle on what the hell was going on. When the car stopped, so did his trembling, for the moment. I would soon learn that Chihuahuas just tremble.

It’s really kind of a state of being rather than a symptom of anything. Yes, they tremble when they’re cold. And when they’re scared. They tremble when they’re excited. And also when they need a little exercise or would really, really, really like you to rub their belly. I also believe they tremble as a way to protect national security. I suspect they use trembling as a form of whole body Morse Code and that’s how they tell the feds about the terrorist plots they’ve just uncovered. Most CIA agents are not adept at understanding Chihuahua Morse Code, unfortunately. When you think about it, the intelligence community has really missed the boat with Chihuahuas. Huge ears for capturing enemy conversations. Huge eyes for enemy surveillance. Small bodies for infiltrating enemy hold outs. Trembling Morse Code for reporting back to the team. And God, are they cute. Who wouldn’t want to cuddle with a Chihuahua in their tent instead of that dude who never changes his socks?

But mostly, Chihuahuas just tremble.

Chris and I tossed around names as we poured hot sauce on our seven layer burritos. Chi- Chi? No, that’s dumb. Tequila? No, that’s a girl’s name. Besides, Tequila makes me want to hork. Remember that time we went to… and you…oh god, that was horrible. Chris looked down at his burrito. Hot Sauce… Tabasco? Tabasco. Tabasco! A Mexican state and a damn good condiment. Brilliant. Absolutely brilliant.

As we found out later, Tabasco was a demanding little shit.

We were told to keep him kenneled for the first few nights as he adjusted to his new surroundings and acclimated to life without his littermates. You know what? That was a piss-poor idea. He cried the entire night. All night long he scratched and pawed and cried and yelped to come out. We didn’t relent. Oh no, no. We need to show this dog who is in CHARGE, we told ourselves. He’ll quiet down. Soon. Any minute. Sweet Jesus, when will this stop?

It stopped approximately one half second after we opened his kennel the next morning and he came out wagging his puppy dog tail and cheerfully wishing us a wonderful morning. Thanks for letting me out! Can we cuddle? I’ve missed you!

In the end, we did show him who was in charge. Without a doubt, he was.

From that point on, wherever I went, Tabasco was not far behind. To the office. On bike trips. Long road trips. Vacations. Board meetings. He slept in my bed, curled up behind the bend of my knee. He crawled into my sweatshirt as I drove, and nestled down against my stomach. Every now and then he would poke his head up through the head hole, making me look like some kind of two headed bat eared freak. It was the greatest.

On long car trips we’d pull into Taco Bell and get him something for the road. It was odd how much he loved the stuff there. As if he watched the commercials on T.V. and was preparing for his role as the next Gidget. The cashiers were always so amused when they saw him eagerly waiting at the window. We knew what was coming. Yes, yes, “Yo Quiero Taco Bell, and Drop the Chalupa.” We endured all of the Taco Bell dog quips, because Tabasco looked EXACTLY like the Taco Bell dog. Still, they never gave him free chalupas. What the hell?

Despite the subtitle, there isn’t a real story of heroism in here, except that Tabasco helped me adjust to a different life, a life far away from my family and places I knew. When we moved through three states, Tabasco was my solace. I missed home so much, and Tabasco was my one touch back with the place I grew up. We learned and explored together and he licked my face when I felt like the homesickness was just too much. We huddled under warm blankets and at night he’d sit on my lap as I learned to knit. I knit a sweater for my first baby while he sat on my lap, content and warm. Later, after Jay was born, Tabasco came to the hospital to see the new kid. He wasn’t all that impressed, but happily scampered up to my hospital bed for a lap session. Later Tabasco endured him but always let him know who this lap really belonged to.

Actually come to think of it, Tabasco was kind of a coward. Once, when visiting my parents, a burglar broke in as we slept. When everyone awoke to the mayhem, and we were zipping this way and that calling the police, Tabasco hunkered down in bed and didn’t come out until the coast was clear. He later slinked out and tried to climb onto the detective’s lap as she filled out a report. Perhaps this is why they have not made it big as intelligence operatives.

There are no words to describe how much I love Tabasco. He has always been more than a dog to me. A friend, an office mate, a confidante, a supporter, and belly warmer, and sadness chaser.

So it was with profound sadness that I kissed Tabasco for the last time this morning. I held him as he gently drifted off, peacefully surrendering to the havoc wrought upon him these past few months by prostate cancer. In the end it was easier then I thought. And yet so very, very much harder than I ever imagined. I weighed him when we got to the vet. A meager 4.7 pounds. About half of his body weight from six months ago. He lost all interest in food, in sitting on my lap, in laying in the sun, in leaving the warmth of a pile of blankets and the security of under my bed. His pain was too great, his once fierce fire too dim now. And despite this, knowing when it was time was so very hard. And yet I knew.

They asked whether I would want his ashes. I pondered this for a while, but ultimately decided that his two favorite places, my lap and Taco Bell, would not be ideal for spreading his ashes. In the end I chose only to keep his memory. Strong and vivid of a dog who was always so much more than a dog. He was one of my most favorite people in the world.

Tabasco, may you enjoy an eternity of belly rubs, warm laps, and chalupas. Thanks for the limitless love and the many, many smiles.

Blizzard

2010-12-12T10:47:00.004-06:00

We’re under a blizzard watch until 6 pm tonight, but most of the snow has already come and gone. We’ve been out frolicking in it for much of the morning. Snow is an all purpose fun factory: snow ball fodder, fort material, sledding bedding, and for Ella, breakfast.

I am sure I’ll curse it tomorrow as I try to make my way to work, but since today is Sunday, it’s awesome.

Updates on all the stuff that I can remember to update you on:

2010-12-03T13:54:00.002-06:00

We start week twelve today, which means only one week before I can count myself in the second trimester, which means soon I will be able to look at a cup of coffee without feeling the need to vomit.

Madison will get its first real snow tonight, with 2-4 inches predicted by tomorrow morning.

We’re going Christmas tree hunting tomorrow! I love this about living up north. Back home, getting our Christmas tree meant setting up the ladder and ascending into the attic crawl space to pull out the boxed Christmas tree. True, we always knew it would fit in the house, and true, we didn’t have to brave snowy roads to get it, but there is really nothing like the smell of a real Christmas tree. Plus, I don’t have to pull cobwebs out of my hair.

The update on Tabasco. I can’t muster any humor here. He’s in pain. It sucks. We know the time is coming when we will have to make The Decision. That time is not now, just yet. He continues to eat, he continues to seek our attention and from to time he seems his normal, happy, yappy self. We’ve got him on pain meds and watch him closely. He had a vet appointment yesterday, and although I went in strong, I came out weak. Be his advocate, get more pain meds, make sure they don’t touch him in that spot that is so painful he nips my nose if I get too close. Sure, he is slower these days and looks a bit more ragged, but he’s still… what? I don’t know. My puppy.

I left sobbing. Talking to the vet made everything so real. This sucks.

Jay told me yesterday that his tooth hurt.

Me: Oh, I’m sorry, buddy. Which one?
Jay: The one aight ere (pointing to a molar)
Me: Well, let’s take a look at it. How long has it been hurting?
Jay: Oh, about a quarter mile.

I am looking for a good gingerbread recipe. Please send them my way. Christmas baking will commence this weekend.

Bring on the Fatty McButter pants.

I’ve been working on this blog post for weeks.

2010-11-29T15:20:00.002-06:00

Which is why I haven’t been posting. I have been writing and re-writing and trying to figure out how to best make the announcement that I sort of made last month, but didn’t REALLY make last month because there is protocol for these sorts of things and posting these announcements on your blog before telling people like, oh, say, your own mother, is generally not best practice.

Wait. Was that coherent?

Let me try that again.

We’re expecting!

There. That was easier than I thought. I get so anxious about making that announcement to people, it really makes me uneasy. I am not sure why. Maybe I don’t like the attention? Maybe I am worried that people won’t be supportive? Won’t care? Will make dumb jokes about us turning into the Duggers? Will know I sleep with my husband? Will think I need another hobby? What? I do not know.

Despite my uneasiness around making The Announcement, we are looking forward to having another baby. I come from a big family and really enjoy having so many wonderful brothers and sisters. I want that for my kids as well. Brothers and sisters rock. Who else can you blame for breaking that vase/ farting/ knocking over the trash can/ digging a hole and burrowing underneath the house and knocking on the floor under your mom as she sits in the easy chair reading the Sunday paper? (Mom, that was Mike).

Who else can you count on to listen to you agonize over teen drama/ job options/ moving/ money/ health concerns/ whatever? Your sibs. That’s who.

I look forward to bringing Jay and Ella to that first OB appointment when we can hear the heartbeat. I look forward to talking with them about their new little brother or sister. I look forward to bringing a new little one home from the hospital and into our family. I look forward to holding a smooshy newborn. I look forward to folding those itty-bitty onsies. I look forward to carting around a minivan of small people. I look forward to being able to have our own basketball team. I look forward to a day in which, when they are all grown up, they still love to hang out together (because some of my favorite people in the whole world are still my brothers and sisters). I look forward to seeing the three of these little guys grow up into whoever they will be and giving them the love and support they need to get there.

Right now, I also look forward to an end to nausea and debilitating fatigue. Week eleven ends on Friday, which means only a couple more weeks of Super Nose (don’t you DARE make toast! Oh my god, the smell from your tea is overpowering! Gah! I hate you!), only a couple more weeks of lead body (oh, I can’t move from the couch to my bed. Why is the bed so far from everything? How much would we have to pay to get a rickshaw in here? I am so tiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiired… **jerks awake, wipes drool** Right. What was I saying?)

Only a couple more weeks of insanely strong food aversions. (Why did you cook THAT? I hate that. I will DIE before I put that in my mouth.) I eat a lot of crackers and cold cereal. I am kinda getting tired of it. There’s only so much Life cereal one person can take.

In the meantime, I’ll eat my saltines and take my vitamins and think about a day when my grown-up children guffaw as they play Barrel of Monkeys on my chest while I try to nap (Dad, that was Jimmy).

Leaving on a Jet Plane

2010-11-09T09:41:00.002-06:00

I leave Florida today and leave my Dad in the very capable hands of my Mom, brother and sisters. He is a long way from full recovery, although he sleeps a little less and talks and interacts a little more everyday. He has slept most of the time since being discharged from the hospital. This was initially hard for all of us, considering his rapid gains right after surgery, but sleeping a lot is no doubt speeding his recovery. We haven’t always let him rest, though. Yesterday we played Barrel of Monkeys on his chest while he dozed. I am sure he appreciated it.

He woke up this morning hungry, another good sign, since he hasn’t wanted to eat much since the surgery. Everyday gets a little better. I wish I were staying long enough to see him fully recovered.

It’s been fun spending time with my family, and it’ll be hard to say goodbye. We live so far away and though we try to get together throughout the year, work and school and life inevitably get in the way. Sadly, it takes a crisis like this to get us to drop everything and get together. Here’s hoping for a happy reason to get together soon.

Homeward Bound

2010-11-06T13:38:00.003-05:00

My Dad has been discharged and is out of the hospital and resting comfortably at my Aunt Fran’s house. He’s doing well, but tired. We’ve got bread rising, dinner in the slow cooker and we are monitoring the bird feeder out on the patio. Today will be a pretty low-key day, with perhaps a run outside in the nature preserve out back for us siblings and a board game or two. I introduced my sister Sandra to the art and science of bread making. What’s more fulfilling than baking your own loaf of bread? Which reminds me, it’s time to get it in the oven…

Updates from my Dad, the bird feeder and the bread later.

Hanging out with my Dad

2010-11-05T11:55:00.001-05:00

They moved my Dad into a regular hospital room and out of ICU this morning. The room has a great view of a pond and a huge stand of pine trees across the street. There are snowy egrets, great blue herons, white egrets and snapping turtles. My Dad is still going strong. This morning he used the bathroom unassisted, strolled around the 4th floor twice, sat up in a recliner, watched a Dixie Chicks Youtube video (Goodbye Earl, by request) and is tucking into a BLT and Pepsi right now. The doctor and his nurses are extremely impressed with his recovery. He could have his choice of pain meds, but he has been told that he can’t drink wine while on pain meds.

So he requested Tylenol… and the wine menu.

Surprisingly, no wine menu. What kind of place IS this?

My Dad, Mom and siblings are in high spirits. I think the Universe must have been listening to my plan a few weeks ago, because this time around has gone off without a hitch. Thank you Universe, and thanks to all of you out there for the positive thoughts, good intentions and healing vibes. It’s been felt and we are in awe.

But, seriously. No wine menu? What kind of place IS this?

ICU

2010-11-04T17:53:00.002-05:00

We're in ICU (no, I don't see you, I'm in Jacksonville. You're somewhere on the internets. Haw, haw, haw. That just doesn't get old). My dad, the brain surgery patient/superstar, is up and talking and joking. He just chowed down on roast beef, mashed potatoes, green beans, coffee and cranberry juice. Dad says, "That was good... Better than hospital food, really." He's even groped my mom. I guess 48 years of marriage don't change much. Even after brain surgery.

I can honestly say I have never been so ecstatic to watch someone eat roast beef. And he's placing his breakfast order for tomorrow.

I'll spend tonight in the ICU with him and make sure that he gets everything he needs (I know I needn't worry: the doctors and nurses here at the Mayo clinic are fantastic. Absolutely outstanding, seriously). Though it sounds altruistic that I am volunteering to spend the night in the hospital with my dad, the truth is, I feel so lucky to have the chance to hang out with him. With several states between us and six other siblings, I don't get many opportunities to do this. Bring on the CSI episodes and menu planning.

Success

2010-11-04T12:18:00.004-05:00

The surgery is over and was a success. A success!!

We've just spoke to the surgeon, and things could not have gone better. They repaired all three aneurysms. They even found a small forth one, which they repaired while in there. The surgeon says my Dad is highly susceptible to aneurysms and we'll need to take care going forward that we are performing annual brain scans to catch them in time. He's in the recovery room now. He'll be in ICU for 24 hours and then it's on to a regular hospital room for several more days.

We are a hot, teary, mess here in the Mayo Clinic waiting room. It's over. And it was a freaking success.

Go team Dad!

The Big Day

2010-11-04T06:49:00.008-05:00

1:06 pm EST:
Update from the operating room: "They are 'closing up' and everything's gone fine." We'll hear from the surgeon shortly in a conference room.

Big sigh of relief. More updates when we have them.

11:45 am EST:

Waiting in the waiting room is more fun than... well, what's more fun than a barrel of monkeys? I do not know. This game requires strategy. Skill. Leadership. Ingenuity. A lot of freaking time. Which we have, because we have no updates from the operating room.

I find that gently encouraging the monkeys with quiet "oooh, oooh, ahh, ahhh" sounds and promises of dark chocolate dipped bananas encourages strong bonds.

By the way, Kathy cheated. And mom abetted. Just so you know. Don't play for money with these folks.

9:56 am EST:
Update from the OR. (That's operating room, not Oregon. I do not know anyone in Oregon. Well, I do, but they aren't family. But my sister, Kathy, of the liberal waiting room media, has been to Oregon. Figures. Aren't they crazy liberals, too?)

The OR volunteer says: everything is "fine". I hate that word. "Fine" is so passive-aggressive. What does fine mean? They haven't really gotten started? My Dad's brain looks good? The surgery is almost done? The surgeon just locked on a tee time with his golf buddies? Why don't they blog from the operating room?

9:43 am EST:
Just got a text from my sister Kathy with an update on my Dad. Looks like the news from the next chair isn't any different from what I had. Wonder if Kathy is giving her news with a liberal spin?

Maybe I could be Fox news, my mom could be NPR and Kathy could be MSNBC. And I could talk about how the liberal media is skewing the updates and how it's really the fault of the Obama administration that my Dad has these aneurysms. I could also start TYPING IN ALL CAPS BECAUSE I AM REALLY, REALLY PISSED OFF ABOUT SOMETHING, RAR, RAR, FEDERAL TAKEOVERS, I'VE LOST MY FREEDOM, OBAMA, STATE'S RIGHTS, FISCAL SANITY, OBAMA IS THE DEVIL, BUY GOLD.

9:14 am EST:
Surgery has begun. The craniotomy is a 4-6 hour procedure. More updates around 10 am when one of the hospital volunteers gives updates to people waiting in the waiting room. She'll go back to surgery and get information on all of the patients and fill us in. In the meantime, it's Rachel Ray and People magazine.

7:45 am EST:
We're at the Mayo Clinic in Jacksonville, FL. My dad has checked into the surgery unit. I am eating greek yogurt and watching an ABC news segment about the new panda born... somewhere. San Diego? Washington DC? Missed that part.

No updates yet, though we don't believe he's in surgery yet. He is probably getting a really cool buzz cut on the left side of his head right now. Think good thoughts, everyone.

All in favor of chickens. say "Aye"

2010-10-24T11:00:00.005-05:00

Aye!!

Is it bad that I sent the entire family out of the condo on a rainy Sunday morning? Dressed them up in rain slickers and snow pants and sent them on their way, ignoring their protests and cries of , “Nooooooooooooooooooooooooooo! We want to stay with Mama!” and smiled sweetly as I pulled on their rain boots and told them to have fun catching frogs and newts or whatever else might be out there that would be sort of slimy and intriguing to the toddler/preschooler set.

Chris is always up for a walk outside, so I felt no guilt there. I felt a mild pang of guilt in shooing Ella and Jay out the door as the weather oscillates from a cold drizzly pitter-patter to a strong, gusty full-on downpour. But as I sip my coffee and sidle up to the computer for a good session of journaling, my guilt melts away. Or at least I can’t hear it ringing in my ears over Ella Fitzgerald on Pandora. Eh, we’ll put them in a warm shower when they get home and follow it up with a cup of chamomile tea. They probably won’t remember this experience in thirty years, anyway. And if they do, it might be because they are doing the exact same thing to their kids so that they can reclaim the tiniest schnibblit of sanity.

But hopefully they won’t remember it in fifty years when they are choosing my nursing home, and I’m all, “Noooooooooooooooooooooooooo! I want to stay with YOU!” and they just smile sweetly and zip up my granny hoodie and orthopedic shoes as they shoo me and my walker out the door...

But who knows? Maybe they’ll actually have fun stomping in the rain puddles and catching frogs. And who knows? I might like Bingo and creamed corn.

So, really, I sat down to write about chickens. I want chickens. I have wanted to chickens for years. Egg providers, composters, entertainers, pets. Chickens are the overachievers of the animal world. And I want a flock of chickens so bad I can taste the fresh brown eggs.

When we bought the condo four years ago, it was understood that it was a starter home. Only a starter home. Something to earn us equity while we finished school and planned for our real home. A house. With a yard. Maybe even a small farm. With enough room for a huge, overflowing vegetable garden, berry bushes and some fruit trees. A bee hive and chickens would round it out. When Chris and I were both still in school, the condo made perfect sense. Who has time to mow the lawn or shovel snow when there are term papers to write and midterms to study for? And we’ve enjoyed being able to take off for an impromptu camping trip or day long road trip without worry about who will shut the hen house at night or collect eggs in the morning. We also haven’t had to worry about upkeep of the siding or replacing the furnace.

But lately our 1000 square feet on the third floor has seemed stifling. Incredibly limiting. Suffocating, almost. We crave more space, more room outside. The ability to fling open the back door and march the kids outside on a sunny day to play in the sandbox while we cook dinner or talk. The ability to step outside and pluck a fresh tomato from the vine or harvest kale or potatoes for dinner. And of course, the ability to collect fresh eggs for breakfast.

We have done the best we could with what we have. We have had a plot in the community garden a mile away every year that we have lived here. Our garden plot is bigger than our condo, at 1200 square feet. We spend as much time there as we can, but there is just something very different about having a mile in between your stove and your tomatoes. Sometimes that mile really makes a big difference. Plus, keeping bees and chickens there are against the rules.

We garden on our deck, the best we can too. We struggle since we have a very urban downstairs neighbor who abhors anything natural. She once called the condo association and complained because we had a hummingbird feeder. “ All birds poop,” she explained matter-of-factly to Chris.

We’ve had to take down our bird feeders, our bird houses and even limit what we plant on the deck because she has called the condo association more than once to report dirt falling between the cracks onto her patio from our upstairs deck.
Wonder what she would think about chickens roosting on our banister.
Wistfully, I pick up urban homesteading and simple living books from the library. “Get a set of chickens!” They advise. “They are cheap! Provide wonderful eggs! Easy to care for!” Urban chicken farming has really taken off the last several years. In many cities, it is quite common to see chickens picking their way through suburban lawns and roosting in backyard coops. Madison, Chicago, Seattle… urban chicks are chic. But trust me, I am not doing it because they are trendy (hey, don’t make fun of me. Trendy is relative, o.k?).

I want chickens because they just make sense. They eat your kitchen scraps and produce wonderful compost for the garden. They produce luscious, rich, colorful eggs. They are entertaining to watch strut around and peck at potato bugs. (Entertaining is also relative. We don’t have a T.V., ok.?) Did I mention the bit about the eggs? While Madison is chicken friendly, my condo is not. So, until the housing market picks up and we can sell this condo, I’ll have to continue to buy my eggs from the food co-op and longingly look though dreamy poultry catalogs (Hey don’t make fun of me. Dreamy is relative, o.k.?).

!!!

2010-10-22T16:36:00.003-05:00

June 18, 2011.

Racing heart, sweaty palms, high spirits.

This is what the Terrible Twos Looks Like:

2010-10-15T08:28:00.008-05:00

Ella, and Jay and Chris went for a nature walk yesterday. But when Chris went one way, Ella decided to go the other way. Chris urged and then insisted that she follow him. Nope. Ella simply could not be convinced that the trail was better than bushwhacking through the brambles and Virginia Tickseed. Before Chris could reach her (she could navigate under this stuff faster than Chris could wade through it) she was profoundly stuck, unable to move forward, or any direction actually, because the Virginia Tickseed had caught a hold of her fine blond hair and would not let her go. She screamed for help and Chris freed her as best he could, but she came home with a head matted down with these stickers.

Two hundred and eleventeen Virginia Tickseed stickers, one deep conditioning treatment, one rattail comb, and one Sid the Science Kid episode later, here we are:

After an hour of dutifully pulling these stickers out one by one, I made sure Ella was singing, "I love my Mom, uh-huh, uh-huh, my mom is cool, uh-huh, uh-huh".

November 4th

2010-10-14T14:21:00.001-05:00

Wisconsin will have a new governor, Madison will have a new congressman, and my Dad will have a new brain. Well, maybe not an entirely new brain, but hopefully a “good as new” brain. Maybe even a “better than new” brain. Unless that means he forgets everything from before, like who I am. That would be less than ideal. But then maybe I could reinvent myself and pretend that I never did shitty things as a teenager, like sneaking out… and getting busted for it. Or the many other things I’d prefer not to mention in case he still doesn’t know about them… Ha, ha. Kidding Dad! I totally never drank that bottle of gut rot gin that you kept under the kitchen sink! That would be really irresponsible! And also disgusting. And would make a person, fifteen years later, still puke into her mouth at the merest whiff of gin.

By the way, just want to say, very clever, Dad. Once Jay hits fifteen or so, Chris and I will be heading to the liquor store for the cheapest bottle of Nasty, and we’ll keep it, all innocent like, under the kitchen sink, you know for cooking and whatnot. And when he sneaks a nip late one Friday night after we’re asleep, and vomits on the living room floor, we’ll hold back our snickers, clean him up and watch him swear off alcohol for the next ten or so years.

Mini Me

2010-10-12T08:39:00.004-05:00

As I was getting dressed for work this morning, Jay looked at my shirt and said, "Oh! I have a shirt like that! I'll go get it, so we can match!" He had such a huge grin as he pulled on his matching button up shirt and jeans.

I don't know how much longer my kid will think it's cool to match with his Mama, so I needed to capture this on camera.

I guess I am not done.

2010-10-11T15:44:00.002-05:00

Here’s what should have happened today, in case the universe is confused and would like to hear my version of the plan. My mom, sisters and brother wait in the waiting room while the brain surgeon skillfully and handily fixes my dad’s aneurysm. There are a few moments of tension, and from time to time, he says things like, “Sponge” and “Scalpel” and a quick, attractive assistant immediately provides said objects. My mom might pace a little. Who am I kidding? My mom doesn’t pace. My mom would tell my brother to pace. My brother would get up and pace.

Then, the operating room door would open. A nurse would come out, wearing a big grin. The surgery was a resounding success. Everything is better. No. Everything is better than better. In fact, my dad can now speak four languages and play the saxophone. He has, in the intervening moments, even come up with a new form of math, which is like, way harder than calculus. He is sitting up, holding court for the doctors and nurses right now if you want to go see him, the nurse would tell my mom and sibs.

The uplifting music would swell and my brother and sisters would give each other high fives and back slaps and whoops of joy and relief. They would call me and I would shriek and jump up and down. I would put a funny blog post up and then exhale for the first time, truly, in three, maybe four weeks. My mom would go to his bedside and hold his hand and we would all be so relieved. Later, everyone would go out for ice cream.

So, you can see that for me, being a reluctant planner, this was enough of a plan. Not having this plan realized, not even close, I am sort of stunned. What next?

Well, I know what’s next. I am going out for ice cream. Fuck you, aneurysms.

So much for optimism. It is dumb.

2010-10-11T15:03:00.001-05:00

I am such an optimist that I avoid thinking about what else could be. Things will be great, because they just will! They have to be! There will be sunshine and butterflies and rainbows and happy, prancing unicorns with ice cream cones and even the flowers will have smiley faces.

There just will be, o.k.?

I don’t tend to dwell on the negative or alternative plans. In fact, I don’t even make them. As a reluctant planner, generally one plan is all I can ever actually get myself to make. So, my plan for my dad’s surgery today was to be upbeat, exchange jokes with my sibs, and wait for the good news. But to keep me from compulsively checking my phone every 2.3 seconds for a text message, I dragged myself out of the office and over to a yoga studio for a class. It was a class done in a heated room, and as I sweat, I breathed out all of my tension and worry and scary thoughts that had been trying to surface for days, when I have been all, “oh no, bad, scary thoughts, you can’t come here. I won’t even acknowledge your presence.”

During class, I focused on my breath, my sweat, my trembling arms, bringing my spine into alignment. It was such a necessary respite. And when class was over, I was sure the universe would reward this focused work with a happy message on my cell phone.

You might guess where this is going.

My cell phone held one text message and two missed calls. Two missed calls. Not good. I sucked in my breath and was momentarily too scared to even read the message. Indeed, the news was not good.

The doctors found yet another aneurysm in my Dad’s brain.

O.k., wait. What?

First of all, fuck you, brain aneurysms.

Second of all, seriously? Three? Is that even possible?

Third of all, I don’t even have a third of all. I can’t get any other words out, except, what the fuck? And, Seriously?

They had to stop the procedure. They can’t do anymore today. Three aneurysms are too difficult to deal with using this procedure. My parents will need to see another surgeon. Another day, another procedure, timeline uncertain.

When I last spoke to my sister, they were waiting for my dad to rouse from the anesthesia. Then he and my mom will talk to the surgeon about options and next steps. We all know that next steps mean the Big Scary.

The Big Scary is full on brain surgery with a much riskier, much more invasive procedure. It means much longer recovery times and longer before life is back to normal for all of us. Before that, it also means a whole lot of worrying before the surgery (will we be able to do the surgery before one bursts?) and more paperwork, stress and traveling for my parents. I wish I had better news to report here. I’ll post with updates on the new timeline and game plan as soon as I can.

Here’s to sunshine and butterflies and rainbows and happy prancing unicorns with ice cream cones and flowers with smiley faces next time around.

11:21 am

2010-10-11T11:24:00.001-05:00

Text from waiting room:
Dad started the procedure appx 12 noon (eastern). Appx two to three hour procedure… all is well so far… mom reading newspaper.

10:56 am:

2010-10-11T11:13:00.001-05:00

Text from me to folks in waiting room:
Update please?

Text from the waiting room:
Had bagel… no cream cheese (yuck)… coffee alright… mom wants to use coupons for dad’s procedure… buy one get one free… dad still waiting to go in…

10:22 am

2010-10-11T10:26:00.001-05:00

Text from waiting room: IV’s in…machine working. Doctor says we’re a go…dad waiting for his turn on the machine.

9:45 am

2010-10-11T09:47:00.002-05:00

Text from waiting room: We continue to make headway… mom reports that dad is with the anas…(the person who puts you to sleep) Mom continues to drink lots of water. More progress now than in any previous visit.
-Jim

Game on

2010-10-11T09:42:00.000-05:00

My parents got a call from the hospital on Saturday. The machine repair crew had been working on the problem and the machine is now up and running. They’ve rescheduled for today, for this morning.

Text message from my brother, 8:46 am:
Dad, mom and me at Mayo Clinic. Again. Going through registration process. Dad and mom in good spirits. We’ll send updates.

Ugh. I can feel my stomach tightening… send positive thoughts, ya’ll.

Clothing Swap!

2010-10-10T16:48:00.005-05:00

Ordinarily, I can come up with few better ways to spend a Sunday afternoon than with Chris and my two small people. But this afternoon vied for a pretty high ranking.

I went to a clothing swap, hosted by one of my very extraverted friends. About a dozen or so of us brought our cast off clothes, accessories and shoes to throw in the mix. We laid them out and hung them up in Emily’s living room and at the appointed hour, we went shopping. It was such a hoot! Girls shimmying into eighties style sparkly black tights, flinging off cardigans, pulling up sundresses, laughing as they put on oversized bras, or undersized jeans (hate you, skinny jeans), strutting around in clompy boots and helping each other button, zip and evaluate business suits and elaborate blouses. I brought two bags of stuff, but thankfully only came home with one. The rest of the clothes will be donated to a local social services agency.

We shared gingerbread cake and some incredible pound cake that I must track the recipe down for, and a whole lot of laughs. I even came up with the idea that will make me billions. Possibly trillions.

Are you ready?

A pump up bra. That’s right, ladies. A pump up bra.

Does anyone remember the Nike Air Pumps from the late eighties/ early nineties? The ones that you pumped up with a squeeze button on the tongue? Now Think Air Jordan meets Victoria Secret.

I shall call it...(wait for it...)

My Secret Air.

Just got pulled over for a speeding ticket? No problem. You've got Secret Air. Pump it up (Psshh, psshh!).

Need a quick confidence booster? Secret Air to the rescue. Just pump and go! (Psshh, psshh, psshh!)

Wearing a blouse that is a little loose up top? Secret Air! (psshh, psshh, psshh, psshh!)

Need to show a little extra cleavage to get into that hot night club? psshh, psshh, psshh, psshh, psshh!)

Hot date with that guy in marketing? You get the idea.

I see many overdramatized infomercials in my future. Billions, billions, I tell you! Well, maybe more like millions. Hundreds? O.k. dozens then. Hey, I bet some twelve year old would pay at least ten or eleven bucks for one of those things.

Only problem is, Secret Air kind of sounds like a fart.

I have to go work on my business plan.

Post script: Noooooooo! My future is ruined. Behold the real Air Pump bra:

Oh well. I don't think I would have made a good business woman anyway. I gave away all of my business suits this afternoon.

A post in which I try to talk about chatty, innocuous things, but really just wind up writing up about the thing that has my stomach in knots

2010-10-10T00:08:00.002-05:00

Hey, let me ask you a question. Whose idea was it to start a strategic planning process at work five weeks before our huge annual conference? When all the crazy little detaily things start to crumble apart and suddenly I realize that I am simultaneously losing sleep over what strategic partnerships we should be forging over the next five years and how many drink tickets we will give the live band during the cocktail reception? What the eff? Seriously.

Oh snap. That was my idea.

Well, fine. Then can I blame something on someone else?

Actually, I can. I can blame the Mayo clinic in Jacksonville for botching the job not once, but twice. See, my Dad went there on Thursday to have surgery on a brain aneurysm. It was kind of a big deal. Four of my sibs were there, along with my mom. I called them and waited and worried from Madison, and made myself ready for a potentially lengthier stay in Florida if the surgery didn’t do what they hoped and a second, more invasive, technique was necessary. (See Dad, I am actually the more thoughtful of my siblings- you love me best, right?)

On Thursday morning I got a text message: Mom and Dad at the hospital. Dad’s checked in. We’re in the waiting room.

Followed shortly after by another text.

Machine broken in the operating room. Dad o.k. No surgery today. Rescheduled for tomorrow.

Sigh… Another night filled with worry.

Friday morning, the six of them hauled their cookies back to the hospital. My cell phone chimed with the text message: Mom and dad back at hospital. Dad checked in. We’re in waiting room.

Followed soon by: Um, machine still broken. No timeline for fix. Dad and mom are done. We’re out of here.

Argh! Hello, Mayo Clinic? This is freaking brain surgery, which generally speaking, is not done a whim. Could we show a little hustle in the mechanical repair department? Because you know what? My parents live six hours away from you. And my sibs who were chilling in your waiting room? They came from other parts of the country to give my Dad (the surgeryee) some support post surgery, not because they can’t get enough outdated Field and Stream and muted Regis and Kelly.

They all have return tickets and life was supposed to have returned to normal by now. My dad would have a cool story about how they fixed his brain by using a wire inserted near his groin, we all would have made several jokes about how fitting it is that they can do brain surgery on guys like him by starting there, and all would be well.

Except we’re all still wondering… what now?

Sammy the Cat

2010-09-28T16:46:00.000-05:00

I don't need another little creature to take care of right now, but who DOESN'T need a tabby kitten that has extra toes and wobbles when he walks? Sammy the kitten is looking for a home, and my friend Myla assures me that he is very smart, sweet and fun. How about it, guys? Anyone looking for a small furry friend?

You can find out more about him here: http://www.daneferals.org/animals/detail?AnimalID=2752474

A Delicious Day

2010-09-26T19:34:00.009-05:00

It is Sunday, and the day started for me in a truly delicious way... I slept in. Chris started the day off entertaining the kids while I slept in. Yes, people. He is that awesome. After breakfast, we walked to the farmers’ market. The East Towne Community Farmers Market is brand new, runs on Sundays and is only a few blocks away from where we live.

The vendors were so friendly and we wanted to buy something from everyone- just to encourage them to keep coming back. We love having a walk-able farmers market! We bought beets and cilantro and pumpkins, peppers and watermelon. Despite the urge to support the farmers market (single-handedly if necessary), we could only justify buying what wasn’t growing in our garden. Which is still quite a lot, actually. We strolled over to the garden and harvested brussels sprouts, carrots, tomatoes, beans, radishes, strawberries (there were THREE still hanging on!) and onions.

It was time for lunch and Ella's nap, but the kids found Box Elder bugs and we just had to play at the playground on the way home.

Mmmmmmmmmmmmm... Box Elder bugs. Delicious.

After lunch (not Box Elder bugs, just leftover pizza) and Ella’s nap, we were ready to get outside again. The day was stunningly fall and glorious.

It was apple picking time.

We drove to Door Creek apple orchard and we picked us some apples. And ate some apples. And picked some more apples. And ate some more apples. Try this one! How about this one! Oh! This one is great! Nom, nom, nom. While there, we also went for a horse carriage ride around the orchard and met a wonderful couple with 10 month old twins who we shared the ride with. Twins. How do they do it? They looked at Jay who was trying to launch himself off the back of the horse drawn carriage and Ella who was headed the other direction, trying to climb on top of the horses and I am sure they wondered the same thing.

From there, we drove to the coolest playground ever:

We didn’t know that they would be hosting the Monona Family Fall Festival there today. They had Alpacas and chickens to poke little fingers at, a pumpkin hunt, fire trucks, live music, pony rides, and kayaks to paddle around in the creek behind the playground. We played until we were too hungry to play anymore (though we had ten pounds of apples in the car, not a one of us could eat one more apple) and decided to head home. But on the way home, we drove past an ice cream shop that we had to explore. I mean, who doesn't want ice cream from a place with a sign that has a fish and an ice cream cone in the same picture?

They had Babcock Hall ice cream, which is made at the University of Wisconsin-Madison Dairy Science program. There aren’t many places off-campus that sell it, so we really had to stop.

The kids went with Blue Moon, but I opted for orange custard with chocolate chips and Chris went with a berry choice. We finished our ice cream on the playground across the street from the ice cream shop. Now we are popping corn for our weekly Sunday night tradition. Delish!

I suppose I should have titled this, "The post in which I write in excruciating detail of a day full of good weather, good food and good fun," but then you might not have read it, and then where would we be?

Every once in a while, you have one of those days that you'd love to remember in brilliant detail. Because it was so very delicious. Today was one of those days.

Sassy Gay Friend

2010-09-23T22:39:00.000-05:00

Everyone needs a sassy gay friend. Even the Giving Tree:

2010-09-07T16:42:00.001-05:00

Jay & Ella- groupies in training.

2010-09-07T16:38:00.001-05:00

This message has been sent using the picture and Video service from Verizon Wireless!

To learn how you can snap pictures and capture videos with your wireless phone visit www.verizonwireless.com/picture.

Note: To play video messages sent to email, Quicktime@ 6.5 or higher is required.

2010-09-07T16:37:00.001-05:00

2010-09-07T16:36:00.001-05:00

2010-09-07T16:34:00.001-05:00

Band practice at the UW... I am a marching band groupie.

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Well, Nebraska isn't SO bad…

2010-09-02T10:04:00.003-05:00

I am in Nebraska today, on day three of our great Midwest Adventure. I am checking out a conference facility here in Nebraska City, where my organization will hold a conference in November. We pulled in late last night amid torrential rain and lightening so strong that it lit up the entire sky like day light. We had a quick, late dinner and fell promptly asleep. This morning I have finally had the chance to look around and check out the facility in earnest. So far, so good. Lots of natural light, wood ceilings and beams, decent coffee, hiking trails and comfortable beds. Now I am off to see what else this lodge has to offer our members, and then we’ll continue on to Kansas for a couple more meetings and then a visit with some family.

Before this, we drove through South Dakota and before that Minnesota, with several meetings in Minneapolis. The best part, by far, of Minneapolis was sitting in a coffee shop, having a cup of coffee with one of my board members, and watching a Peddle Pub cruise past the window. I did not take this video, but could have, as this is exactly what I saw while sitting in Nina’s coffee shop in Saint Paul:

The name says it all. It is a pub. That you peddle. Excellent.

Aside from the beer, we have seen lots of corn. Lots and lots of corn. Minnesota, South Dakota, Iowa, Nebraska, Kansas. I had no idea our country grew so much corn. Which, Chris informs me, is not the "eating kind of corn". These corn fields we are passing are actually "milk" fields. As in, the corn is grown to feed cows, which we then milk. But, considering the preponderance of high fructose corn syrup in everything from ketchup to Pepsi, I am pretty sure that we are actually seeing soda fields.

Mail Merge FAIL!

2010-08-27T15:40:00.001-05:00

I just sent out an email to 100 people using their last name instead of their first name in my greeting line.

As in, “Hi Jones,” instead of “Hi Michael.” As in, I am an ass.

I would like to crawl under a rock now. Not the end of the world, but come ON. Not the best impression I could give either.

Aren't things like Mail Merge supposed to make life easier? Sigh... I think it’s time to call it a day.

Ewwwwwwwwwwwwwwww........

2010-08-27T08:27:00.001-05:00

From Slate:

German "Cannibal" Restaurant Requests Body-Part Donations

Politicians aren't sure if it's a tasteless stunt or simply a bad idea, but either way, a soon-to-open Berlin restaurant has attracted attention by implying that human meat will be on the menu. The restaurant, Flimé, has taken out ads in German papers calling for "members" to "donate" whatever body parts they like, provided they submit medical records. "Flimé only covers the costs for hospitalization," an ad on the website informs interested parties, adding, "the designated use of the donated body part is free to Flimé." Elsewhere on the site, proprietors say that they're looking to hire an "open-minded surgeon." The campaign has sparked outrage in Berlin, where the vice-chairman of the Christian Democrat Party recently denounced it in the press. "I'm working on the assumption that this is some sort of a warped joke," Michael Braun told a local paper. "But it's disgusting, not least because it wasn't long ago that we had the case of the Berliner who was murdered by a cannibal." Speaking to Der Spiegel, Flimé spokesmen insist that the restaurant is not a hoax, citing the Brazilian Waricaca tribe as inspiration for the so-called "Wari cuisine." According to the Guardian, the tribe "once practiced the ritual of 'compassionate cannibalism,' or eating parts of the corpse of a loved one to emphasize the connection between the living and the dead."

Read original story in Der Spiegel

I have been thinking a lot about toxics lately.

2010-08-20T09:41:00.001-05:00

And revolutions. And toxic revolutions. I have been wondering what my best next step should be. Yes, DuPont has faded into the background since I kindly invited them to get the fuck off my blog. They have not made many, if any, more visits to my blog.

And you know what?

It kind of pisses me off.

I start to wonder if they have dismissed me or the fight that I am waging against their products and the toxins they contain. I wonder if, once they insulted me on my own blog, they have turned to the next Mommy blogger who disparaged them or their products. I wonder what it will take to get their attention in a very real, very visceral way.

Because, dude. Believe me. What they are doing, and what they are not telling us publicly, is fucked up.

This is not exclusive to DuPont, but I have developed a bit of a grudge against them in the last few days, so I will use their name as a metaphor for the epicenter of evil chemical industry corporate practices. They know that their products, like Teflon and Scotch Guard, contain likely carcinogens. But, they say that they try to teach folks to use their products “safely.” Which to them, means in very small print on page 30 of their instruction booklet making some mention of not cooking Teflon pans on high heat. You know that booklet that you toss in the recycling bin with the rest of the packaging? That booklet that no one reads? Because who needs an instruction booklet for a frying pan? Yeah. That one. Next time you come across a non-stick pan, read through that booklet. And then send that shit back to DuPont with a request for your money back.

And instead of acknowledging this fact of consumer nature and either being very upfront about the dangers of PFOA, or (God forbid) removing these toxic chemicals from their products, the company remains belligerent and unrepentant when we call them on it.

So here’s what I did today.

Step one. I joined the Safer Chemicals, Healthy Families campaign. I told them my DuPont story and joined the thousands of other parents and loved ones who are concerned about toxic chemicals in our households and in our environment. Now I am asking you to do the same thing. Please check out this campaign to reform the Toxic Substances Control Act, because you know who ELSE is trying to reform the Toxic Substances Control Act?

DuPont.

And not in a good way.

Dupont and their other friends behind the American Chemistry Council, a powerful industry lobbying group, are fighting hard to have legislators oppose efforts for producer responsibility bills. Which means that even though they acknowledge this stuff is dangerous, they would really not like to have to take responsibility for it. That would, like, totally cut into their profits and be pretty inconvenient and stuff.

Step two. I called my people and have started to strategize with them about how we are going to band together, as a movement, and turn the tide against these invasive, ubiquitous chemicals on a legislative front.

Step three. I shared my story with you. And I hope that you will share my story, and yours, with others. We do not have to live in a world where we can not eat canned beans, or stir-fry Tuesday night’s dinner on high heat. We can do better. Join up with me at Safer Chemicals, Healthy Families and tell DuPont and their goons to stuff it. Help create a revolution so that years from now, you can tell your granddaughters that you fought the good fight.

And won.

I am amazed what a little comment about Teflon can do

2010-08-18T11:59:00.000-05:00

Shortly after making a reference to Teflon on my blog last week, a representative of DuPont left a kindly, albeit patronizing, comment on my blog. My response to him quickly brought down the heat from DuPont. They made at least five separate visits to my blog yesterday and left a border-line abusive anonymous comment (tracked from my web analytics back to their server… THAT’S a bit embarrassing, DuPont, no?). Now I am watching as folks from the EPA, Veterans Affairs, the USDA, and a whole host of others who have never come before to read about my kids or small yappy dog are reading the blog.

Weird. And scary.

Scary that DuPont has googlebots trolling the internet to find out whether people are disparaging them on personal blogs. Scary that they are so worried about what’s in their products that they will take such massive action as meddling in our personal blogs and leaving belligerent comments for our friends and family to see. Scary that one little comment could set off a firestorm and quintuple the daily hits on my page.

But it does make me wonder what they are trying to hide.

Here’s what we know, folks. Nasty chemicals like PFOA (found in Teflon and Scotch-Guard as an example) and Bisphenol-A are not good for us. They are linked to higher rates of cancer, birth defects and other health hazards. I will continue to urge all of my friends and family to stop buying and using anything that contains them. And I fully support strong federal chemical policy reform. If the irate response from DuPont shows us anything, it’s that they know their products pose health hazards and are afraid that the people who read my blog, and yours, too, are going to find out.

So, moms, dads, sisters, brothers, aunts, uncles, cousins, grandpas, grandmas, friends, colleagues… what are we going to do? Shall we let the industry continue to bury their warnings about their products on page thirty in tiny print and attack folks on their personal blogs, or are we going to take them to task for knowingly poisoning us?

I vote for the latter. What up, bitches?

Another letter to DuPont

2010-08-17T22:41:00.000-05:00

Hey Anonymous, I’ve been thinking about this. Let’s talk a little bit about your comment from this morning.

First, I think it was cute that you tried to remain anonymous even while posting from DuPont’s server.

Second, I don’t appreciate you insulting my audience. You asked that I put the issue “in context that people can understand.” I solemnly promise that not one of my readers misunderstood what I was saying or the context. Teflon contains likely carcinogens. Stay away from it. It’s pretty simple.

Third, just a question, really. You state that, “Gasoline containes (sic) additives that are ‘KNOWN’ human carcinogens”- your emphasis, not mine. You follow it up with a statement that anyone with “half a brain” can manage to pump gas and not inhale the ‘carcinogenic’ vapors (again, your emphasis, not mine). Let’s not use air quotes lightly. Gasoline does contain known carcinogens. Don’t inhale it. And, actually, few of us can avoid the fumes when we pump gas. Perhaps you don’t drive a car? Very environmentally conscious. I appreciate that. But here’s my question: are you saying that gasoline is carcinogenic or “carcinogenic”?

It looks like I’ve kicked you in the jimmies.

Probably Midwestern moms blogging about the nasty secrets of your industry bothers you. We are, after all, your market: busy moms, with hectic lives, shuttling our kids to soccer practice and ballet who don’t have time for sticky, messy pots and pans. But you know what we have even LESS fucking time for?

Cancer.

Just saying. So listen up. There are A LOT of us. And we care about our kids. And we talk. To each other. And now, we are talking about you, Anonymous (DuPont). And the talk is not so good.

So now I’ll reiterate what I said in my comment to you earlier. Get the fuck off my blog. Then get out of my body, my kid’s bodies, my kitchen, my home, my water, my soil, my air, my world.

And thanks again for your interest.

A letter to Dupont

2010-08-17T07:23:00.004-05:00

After my most recent entry, I received a comment from the fine folks at Dupont, emphatically arguing that Perfluorooctanoic Acid (PFOA) is not actually all that bad and maybe the people who read my blog would like a little more education on the subject. Ross, the Dupont representative, indicated that they would (in their kind, unbiased, industry authority) be happy to provide more information to all of us. In the meantime, he advised we should know that "no authoritative body has designated PFOA as a human carcinogen." If you'd like to see his response for yourself, check out the comments on my last post.

Here, then, is my response:

Ross, Ross, Ross. Thanks for your interest in my homespun blog. I guess it is an honor to draw the attention of DuPont's googlebot. Your argument is careful and well articulated. It is also steeped in industry rhetoric. While it may be technically true that "no authoritative body has designated PFOA as a human carcinogen," let’s talk about what it would entail in order for us to prove, conclusively, that PFOA is a human carcinogen.

It would entail the deliberate and rigorous testing of these chemicals on humans over a period of several years in a clinical setting. It would entail deliberate exposure of human test subjects to these chemicals in measured amounts to see if it, well, killed them. It would entail observing any deaths, without interference, to test the hypothesis. And then running a statistical analysis of these deaths to see if there was a strong enough correlation between deaths from cancer and exposure to PFOA.

This sort of testing, last I knew, was illegal.

So let’s be honest. No authoritative body has designated PFOA as a human carcinogen because the bodies are not stacked up outside of DuPont’s laboratories. Interestingly enough, the bodies ARE stacking up outside of DuPont’s manufacturing facilities. In Parkersburg , West Virginia, where most of DuPont’s Teflon is manufactured, PFOA is now present in the drinking water of residents. These include families with young children, Ross. Just like mine, Ross. Maybe just like yours.

Families and individuals in Parkersburg have been enjoying higher rates of birth defects, prostate cancer, autism, and asthma. Perhaps courtesy of their enhanced drinking water. Drinking their water and filling up their baby bottles is now dangerous, because, and here I’ll quote the same authoritative body that you did, according to the EPA, PFOA is a “likely carcinogen” (Read more here: http://www.epa.gov/oppt/pfoa/pubs/pfoarisk.html)

It is in our best interest, and the best interest of our children that we follow the precautionary principle, which in layman’s terms means better safe than sorry. Yes, we have not conclusively found that PFOA is a human carcinogen. But I will not allow my kids to become human test subjects. Will you offer up yours?

Thanks for your interest.

I was at a meeting last week in Chicago

2010-08-12T10:09:00.004-05:00

I was at a meeting last week in Chicago, talking to a woman with an eleven year old step daughter. She was so moody, the woman said. But, she said, she supposed that had to do with the fact that it was her time of the month.

Her what?

Her time of the month, she repeated. I gaped. The girl is eleven. ELEVEN. When I appeared shocked, the woman informed me that it was quite normal these days. She casually explained that it is all of the hormones floating around. In our drinking water. In our food. In our baby bottles. Hormones are everywhere, or more precisely, hormone disrupters and hormone mimics are everywhere, fundamentally altering the way our bodies function.

Two words. Holy Shit.

I am beginning to sound like a downer, but really, I am not usually.

Perhaps I should end every other sentence with an exclamation point! Maybe even two!! That might convey the fact that while this is not an especially cheerful post, especially for those of us with little girls, I am not usually a Debbie Downer. I could also insert smiley faces randomly throughout the post so as not to have people wander away from the blog in a depressed fog. Would that work?

As I wrestle with Tabasco’s diagnoses, I wonder what, if anything, I could have done to prevent it, or protect him. Cancer rates are on the rise. Is that because we are paying closer attention, or because we are actually seeing rises in cancer rates? The evidence points to the latter. And while I fully support our “Race for the Cure”, I support even more our race for the CAUSE. What is causing all of this cancer? Is it something we are doing to ourselves?

The evidence seems to be mounting to a solid “YES.”

So I did some research. In part because I didn’t believe the woman in Chicago, in part because I didn’t WANT to believe her. And what I found was study after study that backed her claim. For instance, in a study recently published in the journal Pediatrics, researchers found that girls as young as 7 and 8 were reaching puberty at rates higher than those 10 to 30 years earlier. Most notably, they had breast development, at these ages, significantly increasing their chances for developing breast cancer later in life.

Plastics and other manufactured chemicals seem to be at the heart of this erupting science. Bisphenol-A, or more commonly known as BPA, is a common additive in a host of consumer products: sippy cups, baby bottles, water bottles, store receipts, canned food linings, juice box linings and more. It has properties that make it especially attractive for making clear plastics that are nearly shatterproof (like most of our Nalgene water bottles) and for making the coatings for linings of thermal receipt paper, canned food and sodas, and water pipes. But it is also, alarmingly, an endocrine disrupter. It has been linked to cancer, earlier rates for puberty in females and brain development in fetuses, among other things.

Another study, done by the Environmental Working Group, researchers ran chemical analysis on four mothers and their daughters. It found that each of the eight women's blood or urine was contaminated with an average of 35 consumer product ingredients, including flame retardants, plasticizers, and Teflon- and Scotchgard-related perfluorochemicals found in stain-proof coatings. These mixtures of compounds are found in furniture, cosmetics, fabrics, and other consumer goods, and have never been tested for safety, but are linked to endocrine disruption and cancer, among other health problems.

So, yes, it is everywhere. I get a little hyperventalatey when I think about it all. Where do we even start? It’s in our Teflon pans and our bank receipts, in our Lazy-Boy recliners with Scotch Guard and in our canned beans. What I believe is that we need some strong, solid and free of industry bias federal legislation to curb the perpetual influx of toxic pollutants into our bodies. But that will take some time. I did find some hope over on Diane MacEachern’s blog, Big Green Purse, when she posted on this topic recently. Here, stolen blatantly from her blog, are some recommendations for what we can do to protect ourselves in the meantime:

* Eat more organic food, and feed organic food to your kids, too. Yep, most of the time it costs more. But would you rather spend money on healthier milk and organic vegetables, or training bras? And honestly, if you're still buying bottled water, now's the time to stop and shift your spending to food that's actually worth the price.

* Eat less meat. Unless you're buying organic meat, the beef, pork and poultry you're eating and feeding your family are probably laden with growth homones. A diet made up mostly of fruits, vegetables and whole grains is a lot healthier, overall. Just in case you're still on the fence about this one, here are a few more advantages to limiting or eliminating meat in your diet.

* Look for BPA-free everything. Nowadays, no one should be buying anything made from plastic unless it clearly says "BPA-free" on the label. Baby bottles? Rubber duckies? Water bottles? Make-up containers? If it's plastic and doesn't say BPA-free don't buy it.

* Use fewer personal care products, both for yourself and for your kids. Babies are born with perfect skin - why do we insist on slathering them with lotion? As for ourselves, most women put more than ten different products on their skin every day. While no one of these products poses an imminent threat, over time, the multiple exposures we suffer add up. Limit what you put on yourself and your kids, and choose products that contain mostly natural plant ingredients rather than synthetic chemicals.

* Exercise, and exercise your kids. The Pediatrics study showed that early breast development was more likely in girls that were overweight. Keep your kids active. Turn off the tv and get moving!

-Taken from Dianne MacEachern's Big Green Purse, “Little girls are worrying about bras when they should still be playing with Play Dough.”

I am trying to maintain a level of cool headedness in the swirling scary news of the nefarious chemicals that surround us. I hope I didn’t depress anyone, but maybe motivated some folks to take a closer look at what’s in their house and what’s surrounding their babies. But for those of us who don’t like an unhappy ending, I’ll lead a charge: Let’s do something about this for our daughters, for our sisters, for ourselves. We all deserve better. Let’s dump these toxins out of our lives and out of the lives of those we love. Let's do it for her and for all of the other little girls we have in our lives, so they can grow up healthy, strong and cancer free. (Smiley face, double exclamation point)

I have a tendency to mis- and over-diagnose myself and others.

2010-08-11T09:41:00.004-05:00

Once, finding a lump behind my ear, I deduced gravely, that I had brain cancer. Another time, though much younger, I managed to nibble my way through a peach pit. When I asked my mom what would happen if someone ate a peach pit, she (unaware that I had just been snacking on a summer peach and chewing on its pit) casually replied that they might die from cyanide poisoning. Not wanting to alarm her or to get in trouble, I refrained from telling her that I had just consumed a peach pit myself. I knew for sure that I was in for it, and didn’t want to be in trouble in my final moments. What could she do at this point, anyway? Death was about to knock on my door.

It didn’t right away. But I knew the painful convulsions could come on at any minute. I retreated to my room and sobbed as I waited for the inevitable. Once my parents understood the severity of my fear, my dad calmly assured me that I would be just fine, and over a period of days and weeks I began to believe him.

But my fear that grave illness or death was just around the corner never really went away. Over the years I have diagnosed myself (more recently with the help of Google) with HIV, breast cancer, Avian Flu, and Alien Hand Syndrome.

Which is why I have a hard time understanding how I mistook cancer for a urinary tract infection in Tabasco.

Cancer.

In my small, young, yappy, wonderful, beautiful, springy, perfect dog. Cancer.

I hate cancer.

For a few weeks now, maybe a few months, Tabasco has taken a long time to pee. He would pee a bit on this spot of grass, a bit on that. More over here and then walk a few feet and whiz a little more over there. I assumed that, like most dogs, he was merely establishing his territory. But more recently he has also taken longer to do his other business. Squatting here, moving a little, squatting there, moving a little, squatting again. Again, I assumed he was just doing normal dog things. I tapped my foot impatiently and urged him to hurry up.

The day I brought him into the office and he was peeing every five feet, I started to pay attention. I took him into the vet and we came out with an unclear diagnosis of some kind of kidney infection. We got him on a series of antibiotics and were confident that things would be just fine. He’s only seven, after all. The vet wanted a follow up, so we brought him back a week or two later. The antibiotics weren’t doing the trick, anyway, so I wanted to see what else we could do for him.

It was during that appointment that the doctor zeroed in on Tabasco’s prostate. Usually the size of a pencil eraser, it was now about the size of a golf ball. Unclear what the cause could be, but concerned, the vet switched him to another antibiotic and ordered up an ultrasound.

Yesterday, I got the chilling call. They found a malignant tumor growing on his prostate. And there is very little they, or anyone, can do.

Fucking cancer.

Removing the prostate is not really an option. It can be done at a very steep price, but won’t guarantee that we won’t see the cancer emerge someplace else. Removing the prostate would also mean Tabasco would permanently lose all control of his bowels, meaning that for the rest of his life, he would have continual accidents. Chemo treatments would be costly, fairly uncharted territory, and would severely affect his quality of life. There may be some cutting edge techniques being experimented with at the University, our vet explained, but none that are widely recommended or used for this situation. In essence, we have very little in the way of options. At this point it becomes a quality of life issue.

Fucking cancer.

There are dogs, and then there are dogs. Tabasco is neither. Owing to the fact that he is small and cute, he has always enjoyed a life that was different from the life of a normal dog. He sleeps in our bed, comes to work with me, goes on vacation with us. Before I had kids, I carried him around in a special sling, and rode him to work in the basket on my bike. He kept me company on long drives from North Carolina to Miami and he always, always has given me boundless love and affection. He nuzzles his way into my sweatshirt and curls up contentedly against my stomach in the warm space between my sweatshirt and my belly. He is a regular at staff meetings and board meetings. He is on our organization’s website. I named my blog in honor of him. He was my first puppy and my stability through moves over three states. Tabasco is not just a dog. He is something so much more. A companion, a partner, a friend.

The vet can’t give us a prognosis. Weeks? Months? Years? No one knows for sure. So as I look into the future, I am not sure what I see. I hope that we can curb his pain, give him an enjoyable life and show him the boundless love and affection that he has so generously bestowed on us over the years. I see many salty besos and many lap sessions. I see cheeseburgers and hotdogs and unfettered access to my sweatshirt.

I see love in its purest form.

Stupid Rough Week

2010-07-22T11:48:00.001-05:00

It’s been a rough week. Here’s the recap.

Monday: Call from the pediatrician. Ella has tested positive for Lyme Disease. Stupid Lyme Disease. Stupid fucking ticks. Stupid me for ever taking her outside. Deep breathes.

Tuesday: Call from the car mechanic. That horrible grinding racket every time we come to a stop? It’s the brake pads. Or, it used to be the brake pads. Stupid disappearing brake pads. Cost to replace: $240. Deep breathes. Reach for the credit card.

Wednesday: Call from my mom. Reports from three different physicians confirm that my dad has another aneurism. Another aneurism. He’s already had one. And it burst. The way I see it, he’s already filled his lifetime aneurism quota, damn it. Stupid aneurisms.

Deep breathes. I will the tears to stay back while I am in the office and they flood hot and fast later, as worry for my dad turns into worry for my mom and extends on to worry for each of my siblings and cascades, unstoppable, to everyone I love.

Today: Call to my vet. Tabasco is at the office and is peeing every five feet, outside and inside. He’s whimpering and inordinately clingy. Stupid urinary tract infections. Deep breathes. Deeper credit card debt.

I’ve got a board call in an hour and a half and can’t focus on a single thing. Stupid unfocused focus.

"Mom, I want to be twins with you"

2010-07-20T09:09:00.001-05:00

Me: Oh, Jay that's so sweet. But we can't be twins, you know, because we'd have to be born at the same time.
Jay: I know. I want to be as old as you, so I can do whatever I want, like eat ice cream for dinner.
Me: Hmph
Jay: Mom, can I have a magic wand?
Me: That would be so cool! What would you do with your magic wand?
Jay: I make me as old you so I could do whatever I want... like eat ice cream for dinner.

This is what I am daydreaming about this morning

2010-07-09T11:18:00.002-05:00

Early this year I resolved to spend just a few minutes each day collecting my thoughts. That's a really good idea. I wish I had the time for it. How does life go by so quickly? The days, filled with waking up, getting ready for work, saving the world, driving home, making dinner, cleaning up, getting kids ready for bed, collapsing into bed myself, just meld one into another. It sounds like I am complaining. I am not. I am ok with the fact that this stuff, this mundane, ordinary stuff, is what comprises most of life. I like ordinary. This is the person, after all, who could be content with oatmeal for breakfast every single day. Really. I prefer plain white t-shirts and jeans and boots to most other options. Simple. Streamlined.

But ordinary.

Which is not really a segue for anything, but since I am indulging myself in a stream of consciousness, I guess it's not necessary to move smoothly from one unrelated thought to another. I suppose my larger point is that I become so focused on the present and experiencing the realities of life that I don't often have time to sit down and let my thoughts stream out of me. And then sometimes they bubble to the surface without me being ready for them and just like so much else in life, suddenly they are real and here and I must deal with them just like I deal with an empty gas tank or a fussy toddler. With attentiveness and a sense of presence.

By my calculations my life and many others is 70 percent monotony and 30 percent other stuff: vacations, adventures, time with friends and family and fun stuff. I know that many people live for that 30 percent. I try not to. Not because I don't enjoy it, but because I don't want to miss out on what makes up the majority of my life- eating dinner together, wiping kids faces, sending emails to colleagues, pumping gas, going to the library. Sure, the fun stuff can be the most memorable, but the ordinary stuff is the most prevalent. Life is what we are experiencing right this very moment, with noisy construction equipment outside the window, and the phone ringing and a small yappy dog sleeping with his head on my lap. Sometimes it isn't all that great. But sometimes it is. And it is always right now.

But sometimes I daydream.

With chickens roaming the yard and an overflowing garden bursting with tomatoes and green beans and fresh baked bread coming out of the oven. I dream of wandering the path that leads to a thicket of wild berries and picking buckets of berries for a pie.

I dream of running long distances on winding forested trails, and of taking cross country bike trips with not much more than a sleeping bag and tent.

And this is what I am daydreaming about this morning.

We're back

2010-07-07T16:58:00.001-05:00

And we are all healthy, safe and jet-lagged. Now comes the sifting through of 700 pictures, crawling out of the pile of work at the office and adjusting to a quasi-normal schedule. I returned with a new appreciation of night time. Visiting Alaska during Solstice really threw our sleep schedules off- twenty-two hours of daylight and two hours of twilight. Wow! I've never been so happy ot hear crickets. Many thanks to the family in Alaska for showing us a great time.

Ella started coughing last night.

2010-06-28T19:20:00.002-05:00

Actually, it was more like barking. Ella started barking last night. The night before, she had nursed almost constantly and felt warm. Now she felt hot. Her eyelids were droopy and she was lethargic, of course with the intermittent bursts of energy that sick kids always, inexplicably, have. Mostly though, she just cuddled against my chest and dozed in my arms. Occasionally she would rouse to ask for water or to nurse, always in a voice that I barely recognized, raspy and weak.

It worried me so much that I thought to wake Chris’ aunt to take a look at her. Annette, a Nurse Practioner, was asleep by the time I worked myself into a real state of worry and I decided to wait until morning. Morning came and I sheepishly asked Annette to look at Ella. Sheepish not because I doubted that Ella was very sick but because I know that medical professionals must tire of being asked for free advice from friends and family and I was wary of overstepping my bounds. Annette unhesitatingly pulled out her stethoscope and took a good look at her.

As Annette listened to Ella’s wheezy lungs, Chris shuttled our luggage out to the minivan on our way to the airport. The plane would be boarding in an hour. Is she well enough to travel? Is it pneumonia? Do we need to get her to an ER? Do we simply dose her with benydryl and hope for the best?

Sometimes you just need someone else to make the call. She advised us not travel and instead suggested we bring Ella into her office. In my quest to do the best thing for Ella, my ability to make good decisions had devolved into a myriad of half thoughts. Maybe Chris and Jay should go home and I stay in Alaska until she is strong enough to travel? …What if she stops breathing in the airport? …What if she stops breathing on the airplane? …How sick is too sick to travel? …Will insurance cover a doctor visit? …Will insurance cover the prescriptions? …How will I get my baby home? My baaaaaaaaaaaby is sick. How sick? What’s wrong? What do I do?

We skipped our flight, that's what we did. We took Ella in to Annette’s office and had her looked over more thoroughly. At this point we have mostly ruled out pneumonia and are zeroing in croup. We had to push our flight back two days and will be taking a red eye when we do fly home. Still, we get to stay in Alaska for a couple more days, see more of the family, and we do not have to haul a miserable little one through four airports in a twelve hour period.

I am extremely grateful for Annette and to the rest of the wonderful, warm, kind family that I have been lucky enough to be welcomed into. Pictures of Alaska to follow, I swear. Maybe even more to share now that we are on an extended vacation...

2010-06-25T15:47:00.001-05:00

Jumping our sillies out..

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Back from Denali

2010-06-25T15:44:00.001-05:00

Jay jumps on the trampoline after 3 nights camping

Camping in Denali

2010-06-21T13:46:00.001-05:00

We are headed to Denali this morning, and as I am being rushed out the door by folks who are aware of such things as "time" this will be a very short post. I doubt there will be Internet access or phone service there, but if there is service, I'll at least get some crappy phone pics out on the blog. Here are some pics of where we are headed that I filched from elsewhere on the net. I may or may not see stuff this cool:

Alaska

2010-06-19T23:47:00.003-05:00

We got in last night (actually this morning) and are adjusting to the time change and sleep deprivation. We went for a hike at Hatchers Pass after some sleep and some more sleep.

Where's Hatchers Pass?

Here:

Or, here:

It's 9:30 pm and still full daylight. Exhausted. Sleep. Must sleep.