The New Reality

So we are living in a new reality.

One where my kid with learning disabilaties and neurological issues is a senior in high school, with, after a lot of hard work, there is a good GPA and not only a college acceptance, but a scholarship.

We're doing school online. We don't know what graduation will be. Non-existent? Online? Happening a year from now?

We don't know if his first semester at college will be AT college. We're doing Admitted Student Day online next weekend.

I have worked from home for a large company for 6 years, my husband is an essential worker and goes to work everyday. I've done grocery delivery for a year and a half, not much new here, except that toilet paper, cleaning wipes, and eggs are about impossible to find.

But what has changed?

I miss my friends. I miss being able to use my Disney pass. I miss baseball, and am mourning for our empty season ticket seats that are already paid for that I can't use. I miss hanging out at our local cigar lounge (husband smokes, I drink wine, lol). I miss just being able to get out of the house, including driving my son to school everyday at the crack of dawn.

I've realized I've seen every movie on the Lifetime Movie Network.😂 I resorted to watching Tiger King. I'm so tired of my house. I was excited to have to go out to pick up prescriptions. I'm actually looking forward to going to the dentist on Monday (broken wisdom tooth, real emergency).

I don't like this new life. And I don't think our old life is ever coming back, things will change.

And it sucks.

And that's why they have wine.

So I'm Racist and Anti-Woman: Diary of the Woman Who Doesn't Go With the Flow

There are lots of opinions on the Super Bowl halftime show. And many of those opinions judge the opinions of others.  Which, well, in the age of “I am accepting of everyone” just makes me laugh. 

I’m one of those people who is “Puritanical,” “racist,” and “anti-woman” because it was not my cup of tea.  I actually switched it off and went to a Lifetime movie instead, did nothing for me.

Personally, especially in the light of the fact that the Super Bowl, wherever held, is one of the largest events known to attract sexual trafficking, it made me cringe a little that people celebrate what was a show that was very sexually tinged.  Yes, I know, you’re going to call me racist, but I live in Florida and am pretty entrenched in the Latin culture, married into it even, and with many of my friends being of the various Latin cultures.  Oddly, none of them ever included crotch grabbing and pole dancing in their celebrations, so I guess maybe I just don’t know the right people.  And, just in case no one realized it, Shakira and JLo were already big stars, we’ve all already accepted them as such, this wasn’t actually a huge breakthrough.  Yeah, I’d think it was cool if someone sang Polish up there, but, really, it wouldn’t be some big Polish breakthrough, and if people didn’t like it, well, they just didn’t like it.  I can get that.

Then there are those that claim this as a celebration of women, but then in the next breath are lamenting that they don’t look like them.  HELLO.  If what this is telling you is that you are not good enough, how the heck is this empowering?  And if you think your significant other, or they guy at the next table in the bar, or your coworker that is all over this performance is thinking “My goodness, how strong and empowering are they!  I have more respect for women now, especially Latinas!” you are very sadly deluded.  Read your timelines on social media.  You know, the ones with the pictures of rear ends and guys drooling over them.  This is not empowering.  This is putting us back years from where feminism actually began from.  I’m not empowered by some jerk looking at my ass, and I’m still struggling to be taken seriously in a very male environment at work.  This does not further my cause.

So that is where I stand.  Call me whatever names you want, throw me into some stereotype, you’ve likely done it a million times anyways.  I don’t like it for what I don’t like it for, not for what you are going to pretend I don’t like it for.  And, please, if you have some feeling to say “But you think Melania” is OK, you need to examine how you think, because you are way too entrenched into some political position that you don’t understand actual reasoning anymore.  I am not a fan of nude posing either.

And if you are looking for someone to gush over at the Super Bowl, look at Demi Lovato.  Classy performance by someone who is trying really hard to overcome shortfalls, and we all have shortfalls.  You want a strong woman, here is one for you.  Yep, we should not celebrate her drug use, but we should celebrate her willingness to overcome, educate, be open about herself, and her strength.  Her honesty is much more empowering than dancing in a skimpy outfit on a pole, any day.  Any day.

That’s why they have wine.

That's Why They Have Wine: The Battle of The Bulge

That's Why They Have Wine: The Battle of The Bulge: Weight.   It’s that one thing I think every female has thought about at some point or another. We see the “perfect” images of what we ...

The Battle of The Bulge

Weight.  It’s that one thing I think every female has thought about at some point or another.

We see the “perfect” images of what we are supposed to look like every day, even as children.  We are told this is what we are supposed to be, sometimes even by our parents.

I can remember when I was about 11 or so, my mom took me to the pediatrician because she thought I was overweight.  In fact, per the doctor, I was underweight.  This is one of the clearest childhood memories I have.  That memory probably should have made me think “Well, there, leave me alone!” but, for some reason, instead, it was the beginning of my weight worries.

I was a competitive gymnast starting at about the age of 12.  Our coaches were always pointing out our body imperfections, and the size of my trunk (not the one with junk, the one between your shoulders and hips!) was often called into question.  At that time, the muscular body was just thought to be fat. And, well, I actually have a freakishly large rib cage.

When I was 15, I started running track.  I was obsessed with having the “runner’s body.”  I became both anorexic and bulimic.  I don’t think anyone even noticed that I was lying that I ate, or that if I did eat, I threw it up afterward (you learn to do it VERY quietly).  I lost a lot of weight, I was bony.  I thought I would die if I didn’t get in at least 7 miles of running a day, and I would feel guilty if I ate ONE saltine cracker for a snack.  My mom did notice I was getting too thin, and would try to force me to eat things like chocolate cake (another very vivid memory, it was a birthday cake, we were at my grandparent’s house), but she had no idea I just threw it up later.

When I went away to college, things got a little better with my eating disorders.  I think a lot of it was just that we had communal bathrooms and I was scared someone would know when I was puking.  However, I was still obsessed with my weight.  I did, manage, however, to gain that freshman year 10 pounds, and, though I was still probably underweight, the first time I went home for a weekend, the first thing I heard was “Wow, you’re hips are getting too big.  You need to watch what you eat.”

While in college, I participated in a psychology experiment for extra credit in one of my classes.  The study was about perception of how “fat” you were, as compared to your actual size.  I’m the one who threw the curve, as I perceived myself much larger than my tiny self.  The study was actually summarized in Cosmopolitan magazine several years later, after I graduated, and when I read it, that’s when it really hit me that I had an issue.

I started therapy for this, and for some other things, and learned to not be afraid of food.  I remained rather thin, though I ate like crazy, but that was because I was still distance running competitively, and not because I was starving myself.  I had more energy and ran better, and didn’t worry about what I was eating.

I broke my foot in 1998, when I was 30, major stress fracture training for a marathon, when I had really reached my prime in the sport.  Though I tried running again, that and all the arthritis I developed (toes, knees, hips!) from all my years of running kept me from ever getting back to that competitive level.  I started gaining weight.  Then a few years later, I got pregnant, and, that was it, I had a different body!

I struggled for a long time again with how I felt about my weight.  Early menopause did not help, as hormones made my entire body type change.  I was eating healthy, but I still gained weight.  I started feeling very bad about myself again, and fought to keep from getting to that place I was as a teenager.

I currently, at age 51, weigh 50 pounds more than I did at my 90 pound anorexic low point.  I am technically overweight, but not the “obese” that my (female) doctor told me I was, I looked it up myself, I’m not even that overweight.  I have developed high blood pressure and my cholesterol, which has always been on the high end, even at 90 pounds, went up some, so I have tried to drop a few pounds to see if it will help, though it is most likely hereditary, as my mom and grandma, both also shamed about their not-that-much-overweight weight, had been, and we all ate healthy! 

The big difference, though, is that about a year ago, I finally came to just accept my body for what it is.  It’s not about what I look like.  I don’t even look that big, and I look much better now that I accepted my weight and am not trying to squeeze into clothes that are too small because I want to think I need the small and not the medium, or even large.  I actually remember being a teenager, in those really rough years, and admiring women in their 40’s and 50’s, including those in my family, for being happy though they were not model-thin, and I could not wait to be that age so I could feel the same.  It took me this long to get to where they were, because I had to realize it’s not age, it’s mindset.

I am just fine the way I am.  I will continue to eat healthy to try to help my health, but if it doesn’t make me lose weight, I’m OK with that.  And it’s a good excuse to buy new clothes.

That’s why they have wine.

My Take On Bird Box (Warning: Spoilers)

So, the Bird Box.

I see lots of posts of how wonderful it is, and lots of posts wondering what the hype is.

I’m a horror movie and book aficionado, and I fall into the “what’s the hype” camp, so thought I’d give my thoughts on it.

To begin with, most horror movies are awful. They fall into the “slasher film” subcategory, and they have unbelievable plots and often are just excuses to show people having sex, because that is always who gets killed.  When a decent one comes along, that is about the fear and suspense and not the sex and blood and gore, I think everyone thinks it’s the greatest movie in comparison to the slasher films.  I believe that is where the “hype” comes from.

Not that I don’t think it was a good movie, I just don’t think it was THAT good.  It does actually have the foundation that comes from good literature, which is the story being multi-layered:  The main level being the story that is being told, and the underlying level, which has some kind of sociological or psychological meaning.  This is not surprising, as the movie was based on a book, but like most adaptations, I think it probably lost some of it’s underlying level in the translation to film (and the ending itself is supposedly different than the book).  The movie DID make me interested in reading the book.

Sociological or psychological meaning, you ask?  Yes, read Stephen King and really think about the stories, and you’ll see it.  Notice I said READ.  This is because, unless King himself produced it, his stories lose not only parts of the underlying level, but sometimes the whole thing when being adapted to film.  My favorite horror movie of all time is The Shining, but not the Stanley Kubrick version that was in theaters.  It had thrill, suspense, and the wonderful talents of a maniacal Jack Nicholson.  It did have it’s own underlying theme, however, it was not King’s theme.  I have read that he absolutely hated the film because of that.  He later adapted it himself, as a TV miniseries.  His underlying level really shines through on that one, there is no mistaking that the whole story is about the horrors of alcoholism.  This version is my favorite, with the Kubrick version being my second favorite horror movie of all time, and it’s because of the much more subliminal fear factor to it.  I actually didn’t have a glass of wine for weeks after that!

Back to the Bird Box.  I’ve been reading some other amateur interpretations online, and while not all quite the same, they all seem to agree with the same thing I got from it….it’s about facing our biggest fears, our demons, and for the character played by Sandra Bullock, that was the fear of being a mother.  The details get a little harder to decipher though, and I think that it some of the stuff that got lost in translation.  The only person in the movie we really saw overcome her fear was Sandra’s character, but she did it in a roundabout way, “blindly” having faith that she could be saved from the demons, she never stared it right in the face (get what I’m saying here? 😉)  Those that did face their fears directly, they killed themselves, so….I’m not sure what that is trying to say, but maybe it is about having faith, leaving your fate in the hands of an unseen being (the voice on the radio), and not trying to do it all on your own?  The mentally ill people that did not have to be blindfolded, like many others think, I agree that is because they’ve already come to terms with their demons, they’ve been living with them all along.  And the birds…well of course they can sense demons, all animals have a greater sense at “seeing” the unknown than humans do because we overthink everything. The movie does leave a lot to think about, and that is why I’m interested in the book!

As far as “scary,” I didn’t really find it to be scary.  It’s not appropriate for a young child, but it really didn’t invoke the fear feeling in me.  It is more of a psychological thriller than a horror movie, but then again, so are many of Stephen King’s stories.  The movie “A Quiet Place” released this year had the same sort of apocalyptic theme, where you had to sacrifice one sense to survive, but I found that one to be more in the scary realm.  I wouldn’t say it was a better movie, but if you are looking for the fear factor, you’ll find it more in that one.

And, so, bottom line, I think it was a good movie.  I don’t think it was a movie that is on par with the greats like The Shining, or the Star Wars movies, or Gone With the Wind, or even the original Die Hard.  I think it worth watching, maybe even worth watching again to try to understand more of the underlying theme, but I don’t think it was so good that there are endless social media posts and blogs about it, including this one that no one will read!  And, so, it will probably win some Oscar because that is just what happens when I don’t think something is Oscar-worthy.

That's why they have wine.  Have a glass and relax while watching the movie.

Santa Is Real

Santa.  The beloved name many of us grew up with, a man who generously brought everyone gifts in a mysterious, magical, impossible way every Christmas Eve.  A legend who consumed thousands of pounds of cookies and cocoa and milk to fuel him through it.  The representation of hope for millions.

Santa.  The now controversial idea.  The story that we will not perpetuate lest our children think we are liars.  The mythical man that steals our credit for getting Joey and Susie exactly what they wanted.  The discriminatory jerk who doesn’t appear at homes whose religions do not celebrate the holiday he appears on.  The oblivious fool who doesn’t realize that he is bigoted against those with less means.

Santa.

In this house, Santa is real.  In this house, Santa is the embodiment of the spirit of selfless giving without the need for credit.  He is hope, magic, generosity, and love.

I don’t have little children.  I have a 17 year old son and a husband.  Santa fills all our stockings somehow every year, and those of the pets, and no one says it’s anyone else.  Santa buys things for children in need, with my own child as his elf helper in picking out toys, and never gets to see their happy faces when they open it.  Santa donates to causes that benefit a myriad of our population, without needing a “thank you.”  Santa is a spirit that is alive and well here.

When my son was young, Santa brought all the toys.  All of them.  Mom and dad gave underwear and pajamas, and still do.  As the desire for toys stopped, the presents lessened, but there are always stocking treats and small gifts, as long as you believe and embrace the spirit.  I guess that’s why the adults and pets here get stuff too.

I’ve never had the “Oh no, my child found out there is not a Santa!” moment.  I’ve had the question if he is real, with the answer of “If you believe, he is real.”  There’s never been another doubt, and never a mention that Santa doesn’t exist.  There’s not been a crisis that I’ve lied to my child, because I haven’t.  I’ve just taught him the magic of giving.

The Santa at our house, he is open to anyone, of any religion or financial situation that wants to participate.  He doesn’t discriminate, he doesn’t try to show anyone up, and he doesn’t choose to not exist because someone else may not believe.

That’s why they have wine.  In some houses, Santa may prefer that over cocoa!

I Forgot My Toddler Was In The Car

Sadly, we read incidents of small children left in hot cars on too regular of a basis.  The usual response, not surprisingly, is not actually one of sadness, but one of outrage, one of placing the parent or caretaker in the realm of serial killers or perhaps of even Satan himself, one of “Well, I WOULD NEVER do that.”

But is that the correct response? 

A typical comment I see on news articles is “People don’t forget their cell phones, but they forget their child!”

Let me start by saying I leave my cell phone in the car all the time.  ALL THE TIME.  I’ll need to make a call for work and realize I have no clue where my phone is, after working for a couple of hours.  My 17 year old, he finds it hilarious that I have first, an alert on my work calendar to remind me to pick him up from school, and second, and alarm on my phone to tell me when it is his bedtime.  I can’t even describe the laughter when I don’t get the bedtime alarm because I left my phone in my car.  He finds it hilarious because he has ADHD, so completely understands being so involved in something else that your mind sort of one-tracks, and he likes to tell me I must have it too (and maybe he is right!).  What he doesn’t think is that I’m a bad parent for this, he knows how much I love him, how much I’ve fought for an appropriate education for him, how I am ALWAYS there, be it 2 am, if he has an issue and needs help.  He knows that he is a miracle baby, MY miracle baby that I thank God for everyday, born prematurely while upside down and backwards and with the cord around his neck and that my doctor didn’t think he was going to be alive…

But you know what I did one day when he was 3?  I forgot to drop him off at daycare.

A week earlier, we had switched him from a daycare a couple blocks from home to a daycare a couple blocks from my office, in rush hour time that is a 50 minute difference for a 12 mile drive when there are no accidents.  That morning, I had an argument with my husband and was stressed out over a high priority issue I was working on at my job, and I had not slept well with the stress.  The drive was worse than usual, and I was running late for work and worrying about that.  If it had been my set routine to drop off my child at daycare right before work, without a doubt I would have pulled in to that parking lot while running on autopilot.  But it wasn’t.

I got to my office and parked, turned around to grab my purse, and “OH CRAP!”  Yes, my toddler was fast asleep in his carseat.

I pulled back out and drove the few blocks to his daycare.  But it all could have been different.  It could have been tragic.  His life, my life, his dad’s life, the life of everyone that loved him or me could be a completely different story.

Not because I am a horrible mother that doesn’t deserve her child, but because I am a human being.  An imperfect human being, as we all are, even if we don’t want to admit it.

If you’ve really never made a mistake in your life, or even just not with your children, my hat is off to you, but I will be sending pillows to break that fall from your pedestal when it happens because it is painful.

That’s why they have wine.  A toast to those that understand the phrase “But for the grace of God go I,” because you’ve realized one of the big truths in life and are able to accept it.