The Weight of the World, At Least of Mine

I am not a vain person.  My favorite places to buy clothes are EBay and Goodwill.  I can’t remember the last time there was something on my feet that didn’t have a Crocs emblem. (Ok, so I have a broken toe and can only comfortably wear a particular pair of flip flops, but still…)  I get my hair cut at Super Cuts.  I only shave my legs once a week.  I’ve never, and I mean NEVER, plucked a single eyebrow.  Not a single one.

So why am I suddenly so obsessed by my weight?

As I’ve reached menopause, I’ve put on a few pounds.  I’ve lost my rear end, it either fell off somewhere while I wasn’t looking or was run over by a steamroller.  Whatever was there, however, was somehow recovered and relocated to my belly.  At the age of 46, 3 weeks from 47, my body apparently figured out I had long past puberty and for the first time in my life I have breasts larger than those of a 12 year old boy.  The result of all this?  The wardrobe I had so thoughtfully put together with my wins on EBay no longer fit me.  Six months ago, I had a blazer collection to die for.  Tonight, I made myself get rid of all those things I could no longer button, and, well, I don’t think you can call one blazer that only closes if I hold my breath a collection.

A couple months ago I had come to terms with my body.  I started getting rid of tight clothing and buying stuff bigger.  I actually own more than one bra, and I didn’t have to buy them in the little girls department.  I accepted that I was getting older.  My husband claims I look better (though I’m not sure I’m really buying that, I do know he loves me anyways).

And then a few weeks ago, my mother came over.  My 70 year old mother, who is 3 inches taller than me.  “Mom, wow, did you lose weight?”

“Yes, you are the only one to notice!  I weigh XYZ pounds!”

XYZ pounds.  Hmmphh!  3 inches taller and 10 pounds less.  She is 70, she is supposed to be heavier than me.  And, well, she always has been.  I’ve always been the thin one in the family.  Then she adds that my sister lost weight too.  It’s not supposed to be this way!

So, yes, I am 20 pounds more than I’ve been for most of my life, 20 pounds more than the weight I was in high school.  Heck, 40 pounds more than when I was training for a marathon.  (How was I even healthy then!)  And I don’t know whether to accept it or obsess over it.  I eat good, I’m not even sure what I can change.  In the past week I’ve hardly eaten, but the scale hasn’t even moved. 

Last night, I bought some larger tops on EBay.  Tonight, I put my too small blazers in a bag and put them in the car to take to Goodwill.  Tomorrow I’ll still watch every calorie I eat.

Growing old.  That’s why they have wine!  Wine gets better with age, somehow I need to accept that people do too, even if we are more full bodied!

Why My Vote Is Not Wasted

Let’s take a little quiz.

If you told your child a good serving was 2 brownies, and instead they ate 10, would you:

1.  Never make brownies again and start a campaign to make brownies illegal.

2.  Complain that now there is no way everyone in the family could have an equal amount of brownies because there were only 12 to begin with, and make more brownies.

3.  Tell your child to eat the other 2 brownies so you could put the plate in the dishwasher, knowing that if he wasn’t already sick to his stomach, he would be then, and would learn his lesson.

My answer, I would pick #3.  He might not get it right away.  Heck, he might even do it again, maybe a few times.   Eventually, however, he will understand that maybe things need to change, maybe always doing the same things the same way just gets us to the same consequences.   That maybe he should do things differently if he wants a different outcome.

And to that end, when I vote Libertarian, it is not a vote “wasted” as many like to say. There is a purpose to what I do. I know that there will be no immediate dramatic change.  I know there will not be some sense of satisfaction of being on the “winning” side.  I know that the result of my actions will not in any way give me any sort of credit, not even in the long run.  I get it. 

I, however, also know that I am planting a seed or two or three.  A seed that shows there is an option other than the status quo.  A seed that shows the establishment that not everyone is happy with their representation.  A seed that helps others to understand that it’s OK to vote based on what they actually believe instead of if there is an R or a D next to a name.  A seed that shows my child that it’s perfectly alright to still like a team that you know will probably lose, if that is who stands for who you are.   

One day, those seeds will grow into a mature tree with more than 2 branches. That day may not be until my child is grown.  It may not even be in my lifetime.  But it will come.  And so I will continue to nourish that sapling and vote my conscious, and to have the peace that I did not settle for someone I did not believe in.

The only vote wasted is the one that is not cast.  One day we'll be able to have a viable choice that is not just the lesser of two evils.

Until then, that’s why they have wine.

I Think I Can, I Think I Can...Crap, This Is Hard!

I am writing this to distract myself.

Eight or nine years ago, I wanted to lose a little weight.  I tried the South Beach diet, which consists of an initial phase of eating no carbs but for some non-starchy vegetables and then slowly adding “good” carbs back to your diet, and was successful.  I lost my pregnancy weight (and it was about time, as my “baby” was 5 years old), felt better, and truly lost the sweets craving that used to be my health downfall.  I stuck with the maintenance phase easily for years, maintaining both my weight and my health.

Then I turned 40.  About that time, a woman’s hormones get bored and decide to shake things up.  They create havoc and make you do all kinds of strange things.  One of those things is, coincidentally, blaming everything on hormones and taking no responsibility for particular actions, like screaming at the cat for the bell on her collar annoying you while you are consuming an entire chocolate cake.

Recently, when most of my clothes no longer fit me and routine tests revealed my cholesterol had gone up just past the acceptable level, I decided I needed to stop blaming the hormones.  So….I’m on day two of Phase 1 of South Beach, and I am finding myself plotting how to steal the hash browned potatoes and bread from my son’s plate and hide it under the squash and chicken sausage on mine.

Day 1 was not so bad.  I ate cottage cheese, raw veggies and hummus, almonds, and cheddar cheese.  I was full and I was happy and I was proud of myself for taking control of my health.

Today didn’t start so bad either.  This morning I boiled some eggs, making some extra for later in the week, and for lunch I made chicken salad with leftover chicken breast, celery, nuts, and just a smidge of mayo.  I snacked on baby carrots mid-afternoon.  Again, I was feeling good. 

Until about 2 hours ago.

At that point I had an almost uncontrollable urge to eat an entire bag of potato chips.

Instead, I grabbed a few more of those carrots and went outside to finish the Halloween decorations.  That’s when the visions of pasta and bread took over my brain.

I came back in and cooked dinner, trying so hard not to tear just a little bite off the bread or take a bite of potatoes.  I had to walk away and read a little about the benefits of a low carb diet to reinforce myself, and grab some more carrots a couple of times (good thing I stocked up), but I made it through.  I need to wash the dishes though and I’m scared to go back into the kitchen.  I don’t know what I might do.

Oh, no, it just occurred to me I still have to pack my son’s lunch!  This might be too much.

That’s why they have wine.  Too bad I’m not supposed to have any.  Well, maybe one glass wouldn’t hurt….

THIS Is Why They Have Wine!

My day started like a character in the remake of Groundhog Day.  Bright and early at 7:30 am I turned on my computer and logged into work, to start the day exactly as I did yesterday.  There are only so many times you can test the same issues, over, and over, and over, before you go crazy.  After all, they say the definition of insanity is repeating the same thing and expecting a different result.  Hmmm, I just realized I get paid to do that.  So that is why they have me work at home, so no one can hear my screams!

Then, about 9, I left for my physical therapy appointment.  Physical therapy that I do twice a week to try to alleviate the pain from a herniated disk in my back that impinges a nerve and causes not only pain but numbness, pain, and weakness in my right arm and hand.  Physical therapy I go to at a place that is specifically for orthopedic problems, houses doctor’s offices, testing facilities, labs, a surgery center, and of course therapy.  A place where many of the patients are on crutches or in wheelchairs and some too injured to have a hard time just making it through their day.  A place where it took me 20 minutes of driving around the parking lot, over, and over, and over (well, this seems to be my theme) to even get a parking spot, and I made it to my appointment with one minute to spare.

So we’ve gotten to 9:30 am.  People shouldn’t even have to be out of bed that early.

Once in therapy, because I was actually feeling pretty good, they added some weight work to my routine.  And now, well, I no longer feel so good.

After a bit more of my Groundhog Day of work, I went to do school pick up carpool.  In a monsoon.  I literally could not see what was 5 feet in front of me and was saying the same prayer, yes, over and over and over again, that my poor little Mustang would not hit a puddle more than 6 inches high because I did not want it to die, nor did I want to.  It didn’t, and I may have been stressed enough to have caused some of the tight neck muscles I now have, but I’m alive.  This was my day’s highlight.

I finished work and went to empty the litter boxes of our two cats.  I discovered that my son’s cat, whose litter box is in his bedroom, had, well, some stomach issues today and didn’t quite completely make it to the box.  As I was taking the box and the mat outside to wash it, I told my son to get the vacuum and clean up the litter that was on the floor.

“Can you get the vacuum for me?”

What?!  Child, if I have to get the vacuum for you at this moment, I just might smack you upside the head with it.  Teenagers just don’t have any clue when it’s the wrong time to express their teenage attitude, do they?

In the midst of all this, I was making dinner.  I decided to get fancy today and use diced tomatoes in the meatloaf instead of ketchup.  This was not the best idea, and one I’m NOT going to repeat over and over.  Soupy meatloaf isn’t exactly the goal I was striving for.

And this, my friends, this, this is the real reason they have wine.

And very large helpings of mashed potatoes.

 

Island Escape

This past weekend, my husband and I did something we’ve never done:  after two and a half years of marriage, we took a vacation without the child.  Really, he even went on our honeymoon with us, so this was all new territory.

So I did what any woman who has never gone away alone with her husband would do, I Googled “best romantic getaways” and, alas, one of the things I ran across was a bed and breakfast within driving distance, on Amelia Island in Florida.  It was a historic mansion built in the 1800’s, grew their own organic herbs and veggies on property that they used in their food, in the historic district of the island, near the beach, offered a romance package, and, well, they had a wine social every evening at 5:00.  In other words, my idea of heaven.  It was perfect.  For me.  Downside, it was a complete non-smoking property and my husband enjoys his cigars in the evening.  I did my duty and found some other places….the beach, Savannah, St. Augustine, and gave my husband all the details, including the non-smoking bit of info, though I knew that could be a deal breaker on my choice.

And so we decided on Lido Key, on the beach, in a large chain hotel.  Luckily that only lasted about 5 minutes, because I have an amazing husband who knew what my heart was set on.  I made the reservations at the Fairbanks House before I even took a shower the following morning, romance package included of course!

Friday, we headed out on our journey, arriving about 4 hours later at our destination.  It was a beautiful day, sunny but not too humid, a perfect beginning to our weekend.  We entered the wonderfully restored home, cheery and clean but with all those Victorian era touches and décor that transport you to a different time.  Teresa came out and greeted us, and went and got the key for our room, which was actually the attic of one of the three cottages adjacent to the main house.  Our cottage was previously the home of the caretaker of the estate.  As she was ready to walk us out, Bill, her husband, reminded her it was 4:00, time to get ready for the 5:00 hors d’oeuvre and cocktails, and so he walked us to our room.  The cottage had a private porch for our use, with a cat sleeping next to one of the chairs.  I felt right at home.

We entered to a beautiful room, with chocolate covered strawberries and a bottle of wine waiting on the counter, a large king bed, and a two-room bathroom which was half the size of our entire suite, containing a huge Jacuzzi tub and Victorian sofa in the first room, and the regular bathroom with shower in the second.

We decided to just hang out in the room for a while, after the long drive, and then attend the 5:00 social hour.  In the meantime, we read the guide to the property, which was written very humorously and was quite entertaining in itself.  I did inform my husband he could smoke his cigar, he would just need to stand on the public sidewalk, and we found that we did have wi-fi, the network was named after the Beatles, and the password was one of their songs….you could guess it or if you gave up you could ask.  My husband insisted on guessing, and, well, we still don’t know the password.  There are a LOT of Beatles songs.

The social hour was well worth our time.  That night only two other couples attended (there are 12 rooms at the B&B), but we had a great conversation.  You had your choice of beers, wines, and  soft drinks, and Teresa had made Florentine toast points, Italian sausage in puff pastry, and cheese and crackers with raspberry chipotle sauce.  I believe I gained 5 pounds in that hour alone.

After dinner, we walked the two blocks to the historic downtown area.  We walked around the shops, one of which I now have memorized after my husband looked at a pair of shoes at least 4 times in our weekend there.  He did not buy them, but upon coming home he immediately looked them up on the internet.  Yeah, I’m not the show person in this house!  We looked for somewhere to eat and found a restaurant a block or so off the beaten path, Cafe Karibo, with an outdoor patio and musicians.  They were busy, full, and had a wait, but for the table directly in front of the band.  We took it, and enjoyed some great food and entertainment.  After dinner, my husband bought me a unique necklace I liked in one of the shops, I believe in his campaign to prove he is the most romantic of the two of us.  (Actually, he is, I’m Miss Practicality, but it’s fun to compete, so don’t tell him I said so.)

Both of us are not anything close to morning people, but we decided to turn in early so we could enjoy breakfast at the house the next morning, served only from 8-9:30.  Coffee, juice, fruit, quiche, scones, sausage were on the menu for the day. We didn’t need lunch later.

After breakfast we walked to the marina downtown, and watched two pods of dolphins swimming very near shore, went in some more shops, including the aforementioned shoe store, ate ice cream and chocolate covered pretzels, and of course in one store I had to buy a book on the hauntings and ghost stories of the area.  I read the entire book while we sat in a cigar lounge (I did my research ahead of time, I take care of my husband!) that afternoon and wrote down all places in walking distance from our accommodations, which was most of them.  It was probably at this point that my husband proved he is the most romantic of the two of us (but, shhh, that is still a secret) because he did not visibly let on that it was a little annoying that the ghost hunting became my obsession for the rest of the day.  Upon returning from the cigar lounge, we did hang out in the room a bit, but then the tour was on and I made him walk with me to all the haunted spots within a few blocks, with plans to visit a few more after dinner as they were near the restaurant we would be eating at that evening. (For my dear friend Rita, that blog is coming next!)

We returned in time for the social hour, um, of course as there was wine, and met some more couples.  In our conversations, we found that two of the women, who had never met, were from the same tiny town in New York and that one of the men was at the Baseball Hall of Fame the same day we were this past summer.  And, believe it or not, that I’m not the only one who found the place by Googling “best romantic getaways!” Such a small world!  I really am not actually usually a small-talk, social type of person, but I really enjoyed the social hours.  It didn’t hurt that we had some wonderful homemade corn and black bean salsa with chips and baked brie with raspberry chipotle sauce to go along with it.

Part of our romance package was a voucher to use for dinner at a one of the local restaurants, and we ate at David’s, a steak house, for which our hosts had made reservations for us and even informed them of my food allergies.  It was a nice atmosphere, great steak, and they finished off by giving us chocolate covered strawberries.  After dinner we looked at the remaining haunted locations on my list, and returned to the room, where there were homemade cookies waiting for us.  Yep, I think I gained another 8-9 pounds that day!

We went out and sat on our porch, and when I posted a few haunted pictures on Facebook, a friend reminded me of my Ghost Radar App.  Yep, I had gone all these places and forgotten to use it, so my poor husband had to watch me play with that for the next few hours!

We slept in the next morning and missed breakfast, though we both wondered what we may have missed out on.  And we both had a wonderful time, and are already thinking about our next adult-only getaway.  Maybe even to the same place, but this time in the main house.

It’s not only a wonderful thing to spend time alone with your spouse, it is necessary.  That’s why they have wine.  And it’s even better served with great food at a great place.

 

It's About Your Child

A few moments after I texted my son’s father that it would be OK if he stayed there this weekend until Monday since school starts on Tuesday, I read a couple of posts online regarding what should the father be responsible for financially.

Everyone has an opinion, but, really, how can any of us give an answer regarding a relationship whose details we know nothing about?  We live in a world where we want everything spelled out for us – what days you see your child, who should pay for a haircut, who should provide insurance, who should pick up a child from school.  And we want someone else to make those decisions and to have them written in stone, or at least on paper that is filed with the court.

Is this really what parenting should be?  It is sad that relationships fall apart, some for very darn good reasons, but should we condemn our children to a life of “But that’s what the paper say?”

I have those papers.  I was required to, had no choice, you get a divorce and have children there has to be an agreement.  Our agreement says my son’s dad gets him every other weekend from Friday after school until Sunday at 6, and for a few hours on Wednesday evening.  There is something about alternating holidays thrown in there too, because it’s really important to drive your child to another town to spend Groundhog Day when the rest of the weekend is designated to you.  I don’t think we’ve ever followed that schedule to the T, not one single week.

According to a majority of people, I should tell my ex that my son can’t stay this weekend till Monday, that it is not in the papers.  Well, that is, unless I’m getting extra child support in return (to cover his costs while he’s not even with me) or an exchange for a particular day or if he pays all the school tuition or sends me on a spa vacation. 

Why?

Child custody is not about you.  It’s not about your ex.  It’s not about a lawyer or a judge or what a bunch of strangers on the internet think.  It’s certainly not about a piece of paper.  It’s about your child.

It is important for my son to spend time with his dad, so I let him go extra days if he chooses.  It’s important for my son to get to baseball practice and games and school and to attend events he wants to go to, so his dad lets him stay home with me when the schedule makes that more conducive.  Sometimes our work schedules make us have to shift things around.  The courts don’t know, we don’t file papers every week to accommodate the schedule.  No one is checking up making sure he is home every Sunday at 6 or that he has left for his dad’s after school.  My ex and I do not owe each other anything for doing what is best for our child.

And I don’t even care about the money.  It’s just money.  I had to convince a judge to order less than the state ordered amount, and I had to fill out a bunch of extra paperwork to do so.  I did so because I want my child to be able to have experiences with his father, for his father to be able to afford a nice place to live and a car to drive and gasoline to get to the places he needs to go without being so stressed out about it he can’t enjoy the time with his child.  I want him to be able to buy him gifts, to take him out to eat.  He occasionally gives me money for extra things, but that is his choice, not something he owes me.  The relationship with his dad is something that has no price.

I made the decision to be responsible for a child the moment I chose to engage in an act that could create one, no matter what might happen in the future.  I chose to put him in private school, I cover the costs.  I chose to let him play travel ball, my financial responsibility too.  I don’t want to make my child miss out on opportunities because his dad may not be able to pay part of it.

If you share a child with someone you no longer have a relationship with, please, make your decisions based on your child.  I know there are some jerks out there that just want to make it hard for their ex’s, and sometimes you have no choice, but if you ARE the jerk parent, I hope you can change for the sake of a much younger person who looks to you for guidance.

Last night when I asked my son if he wanted to stay an extra night at his dad’s, he said he didn’t know what to do because he didn’t want to hurt anyone’s feelings.  I questioned him on who he thought he was hurting, and he was afraid his dad would be upset if he stayed home, or his stepdad would be if he went.  (My feelings, he’s good with those being hurt, apparently!)  I explained to him that we are grown ups, it’s not about us, and if our feelings our hurt that is something WE need to get over because he is not responsible for how we feel. 

If he was feeling that way when we allow him to make choices and focus on him, imagine how a child feels who has to do whatever the paper says, no matter what.  They don't need added stress.

My son chose to go to his dad’s, and told me he loved me, and added that I should be happy I was getting rid of him.  I’m not.  Well, maybe for a couple hours.  He knows I’m just happy if he is.

That’s why they have wine.

The Devastation We Pretend Doesn't Exist

The death of Robin Williams is sad, very sad.  But I’m having trouble getting past my anger to feel anything but annoyance with everyone talking about it as if it is something new and unique.

Were you this upset when the mom down the street committed suicide?  The teenager at your child’s school?  When your spouse or your child or the clerk you see every week at the grocery store is feeling hopeless and full of despair?

Depression is very common, but we don’t like to talk about it.  Why?  Are we afraid to think it could happen to us?  Or even worse, afraid to admit it HAS happened to us?

Robin Williams feeling so low that he thought it was better to end his life is awful. It’s unbelievable.  It’s heartbreaking.  But it is also just as devastating when it happens to anyone else.  It’s also something that can be helped, and we need to educate ourselves about the true illness that it is.  It is not a character weakness, a personality flaw, a reason to look down upon someone.

It is a disease, just like diabetes or cancer or hypothyroidism or asthma or the multitudes of other physical things we accept as being something a person has, rather than something that defines a person.   Just like a cancer patient needs support and sometimes assistance from loved ones (and even strangers), so does that person with Depression.  There are treatments, but many times people are afraid to admit they need them.  That fear is often because they also fear being ostracized, discriminated against, or even just talked about.  That doesn’t happen to someone with diabetes, should it happen to someone with depression?

In my family, there are a lot of those diagnoses that get talked about.  There is Autism, ADHD, Alcoholism/Addiction, Downs Syndrome, Depression, Anxiety Disorder, Social Phobia.  And those last three are mine.  Years ago I took medication and had regular therapy, which I felt I had to hide because I was a mental health professional and rather than people thinking that might give me some insight, they were more inclined to think I was unfit to do my job.  That treatment, however, along with some amazing supportive friends and the birth of my child who gives me purpose, was lifesaving, and I have learned ways to overcome the symptoms and no longer need active treatment.  I still have a hard time making myself get involved in social situations, and stress over things way more than the average person, and  I’ve had some setbacks, particularly when the youth pastor I worked closely at church died suddenly and when my dad died, but I’ve been able to make it through.  I have been fortunate to have supportive people around me, and to have a stubborn attitude when there are those who aren’t, but not everyone has that.

So be one.  Be that person that someone might need.  Educate yourself.  Understand.  Care.  Love. Support.

That’s why they have wine.  Cheers, Robin, now that your illness can no longer affect you, I hope you can see the amazing person you are.  I hope we can all see the amazing person that we are.

So, What Is Human Life?

So, what is a human life? 

Who decides?

In the United States, legally, it’s the choice of the mother.  I use the term “mother” because, well, that is what they are.  The female participant in the creation of a fertilized egg, a fetus, a BABY.  The terminology really doesn’t make a difference. 

Well, not really, but we seem to interchange terms anyways, using “baby” when it is wanted, and “fetus” when it is not.

I’ve shared my story here on this blog.  I had no intentions of being a parent.  I cried when I found out I was pregnant.  Pregnant.  With something that was developing into a fully developed human being.  Not a puppy, not a tadpole, not a non-living blob of tissue.  A child.

Luckily for the amazing kid sitting in the next room watching ESPN trying to verify if my favorite baseball player has been traded or not, I never felt like my life was more important than his.  I still don’t.  He may not always be the easiest kid to raise, he costs me lots of money, he has issues which require medical specialists and educational accommodations, he can drive me absolutely crazy (and enjoy doing it) and, well, I may just not have enough patience to be the greatest Mom in the world, but I am responsible for him.  I have been since the moment he was conceived.  There was no other “choice,” that is just how it was.  I created a human being, and it is my job to help make him the best human being he can be.

Unfortunately, there are a lot of amazing kids the world never got to know. There are kids whose father’s may have wanted them, but who did not have a say in their fate.  Here, in the US, you will be lambasted as being irresponsible and uncaring and just plain scum by people for taking your dog or cat to the Humane Society because you cannot care for them, but celebrated, many times by the same individuals, if you choose not to carry your human child to term.  If a third person harms a child in the womb, they are charged with murder, but if the mother does it, she is just taking control of her body.

My heart bleeds for all those children who never got their chance.

And that’s why they have wine.

The Unintentional Head Spinning Properties of Viagra

I just have to say this because it has made the Sheldon Cooper side of my personality come out…. If you want to have a meaningful argument, PLEASE use an apples to apples comparison, it can get hard to get past it otherwise.

Viagra is a medication that is taken to help someone, usually an “older” man, to be able to perform the necessary bodily functions to HAVE sex.  Birth control is not necessary to having sex, the purpose is 1. To prevent an unintended consequence of sex in “younger” women, being pregnancy or 2. To regulate complications from a hormonal imbalance, etc.  (I've used it for both.)  They don’t serve the same functions.  Birth control for women is comparable, well, to birth control for men, otherwise known as condoms or a vasectomy.  Birth control as a hormonal regulator is comparable to hormones, such as testosterone injections, in men.

Viagra for men is comparable to hormone replacement therapy for “older” women (and I use that term loosely because I am menopausal and have a prescription for HRT!), both of which help the body to perform functions necessary to have sexual relations.  Though both of these medicines may have other effects, if you want to compare medications for males vs. females, they are the most similar.

If you want to argue that condoms should be free to men if birth control is free to women through insurance, and vice versa, I’m right on board with you.

If you want to argue that hormone replacement therapy should be covered at the same rate as Viagra, I’m right on board with you there too.

If you want to argue that the second reason for birth control should be considered medically necessary and covered, I'm down with that too, but for some reason that rarely gets mentioned.

The real issue that the Supreme Court decided on today comes down to money.  No one has lost their right to have sex, no one has lost their right to use birth control, both sentiments of which I've seen posted all over the internet today.  Some people might have to pay for it out of their own pockets, that is all.  Not an unheard of concept with other things insurance may or may not cover. 

Ever known someone who was allergic to several classes of antibiotics?  You sure?  Well, just in case, I’ll tell you about it because I’ve been familiar with it my whole life…my mom, sister, and I all have antibiotic allergies.  If I get a strain of strep throat or a sinus infection that does not respond to a Z-Pac, I’m out hundreds of dollars for 10 days worth of medications that could potentially save my life because all that will work that I can take is not a “formulary” medication.  It has been that way all my life.  It’s just how it is, and it’s something I’m willing to pay for because it is a priority to me.  Would I love if all my antibiotics in my lifetime were free?  Heck yeah!  Do I think that the rest of the world who does not have antibiotic allergies is discriminating against me and hates me and is just trying to keep me down in society?  Hmm, let me think about this…NO!  Do I have the choice to work for an employer that provides insurance that covers all antibiotics?  Yes, I do, but I’ll never find one, unlike those who find it important to have birth control covered.

Have you ever had trouble filling your birth control prescription because a pharmacy has reached their legal dispensing amount of it or been required to drive to the doctor’s office each month to pick up a paper copy each and every month so you can get it filled, and then have to have the prescription reported to the DEA?  No?  Well thousands of kids with neurological disorders do, you can read my past blog posts if you want to know the frustrating details.

In other parts of the world women aren’t allowed to drive cars, are stoned to death, are only allowed to have one child, are not allowed an education.  In THIS country women are raped, abused, intimidated, and looked at as sexual objects.  Can we put as much passion into those issues as we do about having to pay for readily accessible birth control?

Insurance covering birth control is not what is going to help all of the above problems. I know this is not what the popular opinion among many women is, and that those that hold my opinion are often called names and no one even wants to understand what we are saying, but that doesn’t change what I think.  I do think that there is so much positive energy that could be used in other women’s causes, and other “unfair” causes in general, instead of all focusing on this one.

Life is such a bigger picture.

And that’s why they have wine.

 

 

Calm Down, It's Just Anxiety

A few days ago, I woke up looking forward to a day with nothing pressing at work and a weekend with no plans, with pain in my chest and back and felt a little short of breath.  “Ugh, I better not be getting bronchitis!” I thought.  Took some Robitussin and went on with my day, dropping my son off at school and heading into the office.  Throughout the day, I started feeling worse, chest was very tight and I started feeling like I could not breathe, though I did not feel sick.  Took a shot from my asthma inhaler and it did not help, so started worrying a little.

A short while later, I left to pick my son up from school, and on our way home I started having unbearable pain with each breathe in.  I had tears running down my eyes and I actually screamed a couple of times.

“What is wrong, Mom?” my son worriedly asked?

“You know how my chest hurt this morning, it really hurts now.”

I then did not take our usual turn to head home.  “We are going to the hospital, aren’t we?”

“Yes, please get my phone from my purse and call your stepdad and ask him to meet us.”

The grace of God was with me, and not only did I make it there with no traffic lights, I got the last parking spot in the Emergency Room parking lot.  At that point though I could hardly do anything.

“Please run inside and tell them your Mom might be having a heart attack.”

His eyes filled with fear, and he raced out of the car.

And this is where the story starts making me mad.

I managed to stumble out of the car, crying and visibly in pain, past the “Valet” for the ER who didn’t even blink an eye, and got through the door of the hospital just as my son was running back out with the only person he could find to help him…another patient in the ER who was in the waiting room.  She helped calm my son and helped me to get to where I needed to for someone to check me in.  When I was asked what brought me there, I said I was having unbearable chest pain, tightness, shortness of breath, and was afraid I might be having a heart attack.

“So, have you ever had an anxiety attack before.”

“Yes, as a matter of fact I have, that is not what this is.  I hurt.”

“Calm down, you are just having anxiety.”

“No, I am not.”

They did an EKG and I was not having a heart attack.  This just reinforced to them that it was anxiety, and that is actually what they wrote down on my official medical record as my official complaint.  “Anxiety.”

When the nurse finally came into see me, she looked at me questioningly and said “Are you feeling better?” 

“Not really.”

“It says here your complaint is anxiety, you don’t look anxious.”

“I’m not, I’m in pain.”

To make a long story short, there is a tear in my diaphragm and my stomach is protruding through it.  I have a bad hiatal hernia.  Did I have some anxiety?  I’m sure I had the normal amount anyone with some kind of unknown painful medical condition had, especially considering it happened as I was driving down a busy city street with my child in my car.  But the fact is, I had a true medical issue, one that was poo-pooed as anxiety.  What if it had been something more severe, and I got worse while I was sitting alone in a little room with only my child, with no one checking on me for quite a while because they wrote me off as having anxiety?

Trust me, I know stress.  I have it every day.  I know what anxiety feels like, and I sure as hell am not going to go to the ER and pay over $1000 insurance copay to have people treat me like a crazy person if that is my only issue.

My son was looking through the prescriptions they gave me.  One was for Xanax, because they still had the “anxiety” complaint down.  I filled it, told my son I might need it to go on the plane to Cooperstown in a couple of weeks, that will me make me anxious.

He replied, “Yeah, I might need one too.”  Sorry kiddo, you are out of luck!  Yes, we are a family who understands what anxiety is. 

And what it isn’t.

That’s why they have wine….even though I’m only supposed to have limited amounts with my medical condition!

I Love You, Mom

“I love you, Mom.”

In this house, that has a lot of meanings.  It, of course, means the obvious, but it is also the catch all phrase for many other sentiments, including the one meant just now as my son is eating his dinner, “This is a good chicken.”

When we are out somewhere doing some activity, it means “I’m having fun.”

When I give him permission to do something, it means “Thank you.”

When a few minutes has passed and he’s calmed down from discipline, it means “I’m sorry.”

When he is in the middle of homework that he is able to do without help, it means “I’m glad you put me in a new school.”

Lately, I’ve picked up his habit.  After years of dreading emails and calls from school because they were always about not turning in homework or failing a test or talking to much or being defiant,  years of dreading that moment in the evening when he would vent all his frustrations on me,  years of judgments from others because we didn’t go to dinner after activities or attend parties or engage in other social activities, after years of sometimes just needing to sit down and cry, so much has changed and I find myself expressing my joy in the improvements in four little words, “I love you, Aiden.”

He is one amazing, strong-willed, tough little kid.  He’s had some obstacles in life and has never given up, never stopped fighting, never been any less than the most perfect imperfect child you could ever hope for.

The child who last year was just trying to get an F to a D is now trying his hardest to bring his math grade from a B to an A this quarter, because that would mean he had all A’s, all year.

The first time I received an email from a teacher this year, my heart dropped and I dreaded reading it, and when I realized it said that the teacher just wanted to tell me how much he enjoyed having my son in his class, I cried for 20 minutes.

While other parents may have been frustrated at the score of a baseball game this weekend, I was proud of how well my son was able to walk away from any mistakes and not only have fun at a party, but to spend the entire time with the other kids instead of coming to sit next to me.

Aiden, you’ve come a very long way.  I am so proud of you.  I love you, Aiden.

And that’s why they have wine, to celebrate the great things in life!

An Unforgettable Middle School Field Day

Today I had the honor of attending Field Day at my son’s school.  Yes, I’ve attended such events before, but it was the first at this school, and was an experience I will never forget.

While the younger kids were in the fenced area adjacent to the school building, the sixty middle school kids, you know, those pre- and young teens that can be a particularly scary group, had run of the entire unenclosed field across the street.  Supervision was provided by 3 teachers and 3 teacher’s assistants, and there were just a handful of parents who came to watch.  For the entire 2-1/2 hours out on the field, I never once heard a swear word, saw no one excluded by other kids, no defiance, no one tried to sneak off, no incidents that required any adult intervention.  No one laughed at anyone else, though there was a lot of laughing WITH everyone else.

My son chose to play kickball.  The kids divided themselves in two teams, and one team went to line up to kick.  There was no shoving to be first, no getting mad that someone was before them, no name calling, they just happily got in line in the order they arrived, which for some was at quite a casual saunter.  Some of the children were not particularly athletic, but no one made fun of their performance or told them what positions they could play.  If someone dropped a catch, no one yelled or pouted or even sighed, they just went on with the game.  Kids came and went from the game to go do other activities, and the remaining kids very peacefully would move around to the other team to make the sides even.  There was a lot of silliness, like picking up a base so someone could not make it to it, or doing silly dances as they crossed home plate, and one boy even had to be everywhere my son was, and no one got upset.  Every single kid was having fun.

There was a bounce house and face painting, and rather than complaints that it was babyish, almost every child participated in one or the other or both.  Everyone helped pick up trash at the end (water bottles galore!) and everyone listened when it was time to line up to go.  The respect for the teachers was outstanding.

When we sat down to eat lunch, kids, though speaking to their tablemates, were quiet and polite.  A few asked me if I was my son’s mom, introduced themselves, and told me about classes they took together and fun things they did at school.  Lots of “please” and “thank you” and no inappropriate subjects.

The kids all seemed to instinctively know how to treat each other according to their personalities.  When sitting on blankets watching a game, they knew who needed space and who they could crowd in with.  When making jokes, they knew who would find things funny and who wouldn’t understand, and acted accordingly.  They coaxed the others to activities they knew were just being too shy to join in, and they paid no mind to someone chattering to themselves or needing to sit alone for a while or exhibiting a tic.

My child attends a school for kids with learning disabilities – kids with ADHD, Aspergers, Autism, specific learning disablitities, developmental delays, and so on.  Kids that often get seen as difficult or as just being their disabilities, but who are actually pretty amazing.

Special Needs is a misnomer.  These kids are just plain old Special.  And I had the honor to enjoy the day with them.

That’s why they have wine, cheers!

 

Just Because We Can...

As Americans, we have a lot of freedoms.  Freedoms that make our country what it is. Freedoms we should be grateful for. 

But just because we can, does that mean we should?

In the everyday world, on social media, in the news, just observing people, sometimes I get the feeling that people just think “I’m important, I can do what I want with no consequence, and people aren’t allowed to think bad of my behaviors, and if you do, well, you are just uncaring.”

On the contrary, I care.  I care what my child learns.  I care how you are affecting others.  I care  that this nation has created not only math problems that our children can’t figure out on their homework, but that it has created the idea that the lowest common denominator is what we should strive for.

I care that we have demonized the meaning of the word “judgment.”  Yes, I said it.  Yes, I judge.  I judge everything.  I judge the quality of the food I eat.  I judge the priority of issues at my job.  I judge what is correct behavior from my child.  I judge where it is best I spend my money. 

I judge people.  We all do.  We don’t all admit it, but we all do.  All of us, every single one.

And I will form opinions based on the language you use, the clothing you wear, your life choices, and how clean your car is.  Everything you do tells something about you, and you know what, that is life, and that is OK.   I will tell you right up front, if you have to pepper all your arguments with curse words, I will not take you seriously because you can’t argue without trying to offend.  If you go to work in a skirt you can’t bend over with, I will think you have some self-esteem problems.  If you think you have to have a fistfight with anyone disagreeing with you, I will stay far, FAR away from you because you are too narcissistic for me.  My opinions may be correct, maybe not, but we’re all allowed to have them and part of the choices you make are deciding what people will likely think about it.  If you are OK with that, that is the most amazing thing.  If you are not, then maybe you need to figure out your priorities.

I’m allowed to decide I don’t agree with you, that I don’t like you, or that you scare me.  And you are allowed to do the same towards me.  That is what freedom really is.  It is not actions without judgment.  Everyone judges, and, well, that is an awesome thing to be able to do.

Don’t like it?  Well, just because you can, does that mean you should? That’s why they have wine.

Through the Eyes of My Crazy, Somewhat Weird Child

When my child was a preschooler, he was often a great source of entertainment in the things he would say, but I have to admit, it was nothing compared to today.  Despite other issues middle school age may bring, he has never made me laugh more.

Today alone he has been a constant mood-lifter. 

This morning, on the radio, there was a bit about how many years of our lives we spending doing things like sleeping and working.  He has been thinking about this concept all day.  When we got home this afternoon, a salesman knocked at our door and after was able to interrupt him and tell him no thank you and closed the door, Aiden said “We only have like 4 months of free time, we don’t have time to hear about windows!”

His new thing, on the way home from school, he wants me to let him out of the car about ½ mile from home so he can try to race the car.  Yes, sure kid, you will someday win.  Not!  But hey, it’s even better when you tell him you saw an alligator as you let him out, right next to the river.

During baseball practice, another parent was talking to him and said something about him being about 4’6”.  “I AM FOUR FOOT NINE!”  God forbid you short him some height.  He now has a new nickname, “Four Foot Nine of Awesomeness” (Thanks, John!).   I have been calling him that all night.  He said the name is too long, we might need to shorten it.  I asked, “’Four Foot Nine’ or ‘Awesomeness?’”  He replied, “Of.”

Before he went to bed, we watched tonight’s Big Bang Theory which we had DVR’d.  His favorite character is Sheldon.  I’m pretty sure that is because he is the preview of my child as an adult.  If you want to know what my life at home is like, watch a few episodes.  (And then you’ll understand the name of my blog!)  I had to pause it so that he could go into his own diatribe of how he completely agreed with Sheldon on the naming of the Xbox One.  And then I had to hear all about it again when I went to tell him goodnight!

And that’s why they have wine.  Because even the best moments in life go better with a good Pinot Noir.

The Comfort of Routines

Every weekday morning it is the same thing….starting out at 7:45 for my hour and 15 minute commute taking Aiden to school and driving to work.  And the routine is always the same.

About 10 minutes into the drive, Aiden yells, “Horse crossing!”  A little way further, “Donkey!”

Around the time we turn the corner, “Mom, shhhh, the funny guy is on,” referring to the Earl Pitts short on the radio.  As that is ending, “Dream house!” closely followed by “Mini dream house!” and “Truck crossing!”

When we get to the intersection where we inevitably have to wait at the red light, it’s “Middle school high school!”

A few minutes later we are almost to school, as we turn the corner onto the street the school is on, he checks to see if the cows are in the field and the German Shepard is in the yard, and expresses his disappointment if they are not there.  And on we go…

“One…..”

“Two…..”

“Three….”

“Four….”

“Five….um, I think, Five, right Mom?”

“Six….”

“Seven….”

And lastly, in a sing song voice, “….And that’s all the speedbumps in the road!”

Today Aiden started Spring Break so I didn’t have to take him to school.  My drive took half the usual time and I didn’t have to listen to the monologue.  And it just wasn’t the same, I truly missed the morning tradition. 

And, well, I still had to go to work while he was on vacation!  That’s why they have wine.

Just Say No

Earlier this evening I went outside to take out the trash, and Aiden’s friend asked, “Hey, can Aiden play inside my house for a little while?” 

“Sure, if your mom says it’s ok.”

His friend then replied to him, “See, she’ll let you.”

Aiden then ran over and whispered to me, “I don’t want to play inside, can you say I can’t?”

“No,” I quietly said back.  “It will be dark in 10 minutes, you’ll need to come in then,” I then said out loud, and went back in the house.

Five minutes later, he came in, and I got on to him for asking me to lie.  I told him that if you don’t want to do something, you have every right to just say “No.”  I told him that his wants and needs are just as valid as those of someone else, that he doesn’t need to explain his reasons, that what he wants is OK.

I explained that we say what we mean, that’s how we roll.

Or is it? 

How many times do we agree because we are afraid someone may not like us if we don’t?  That they might talk about us behind our backs?  That they may think something bad about us?  Hmm, yep, I’ve done that recently and the reason I was mad about it was because I was mad at myself.

Thank you, kid, for making me realize that sometimes I need to practice what I preach.  Our opinions and our needs and our wants, they are who we ARE, and we don’t need to justify them.  And in this house, we are people that say what we mean, because we are perfectly OK with who we are.

Sometimes we just forget.  That’s why they have wine.

What Is ADHD?

ADD or ADHD are terms that people tend to casually throw around.  Most of the time, they are thrown around as jokes or insults, but in reality it is a difference in how a brain works.  To someone who has it, it is certainly not a joke, and it is very hurtful when it is used as an insult.

I am not a doctor, and my psychology training only goes as far as a BA degree, but I do have a son with this diagnosis, and from there I do have some expertise.

ADHD and ADD used to be two separate diagnoses, but ADD is no longer “official.”  It is now called ADHD-Inattentive Type, and that is what my son is diagnosed with and treated for (along with dyspraxia, dyslexia, and sensory processing issues, things that often go hand in hand with the ADHD disorder).  This is what I can talk about.

Most people define ADHD as “hyperactive.”  It is so much more than that.  In fact, ADHD-Inattentive type literally means ADHD without the hyperactive component.  People diagnosed with this disorder may still have some impulsivity, but if you were to observe them in a classroom, they would not be jumping up and disrupting the class, rather they would probably not be noticed at all because they would be sitting in the back, just quietly staring out the window.

So what is living with ADHD like?

While there are a lot of things that make day to day living hard, there are also some benefits.  Many children with ADHD are above average intelligence, have particular obsessions that they actually are hyperfocused on, and as adults become tremendously successful in life by capitalizing on those GIFTS.  My child’s hyperfocus is baseball, both playing and knowledge about it, nothing can make him pay more attention than baseball, and he would easily be able to turn those skills into something great when he becomes an adult – statistician, coach, etc.

Day to day struggles can include?

My child is unorganized.  He can’t find a shirt in the closet that is directly in front of his face.  He forgets to turn in homework that he did.  His room is never clean.  And it’s always a bit of a scary task to see what has been left in the bottom of his baseball equipment bag.

He makes careless mistakes.  He does things too quickly and doesn’t always put all the thought required for a task.  I have had to help him remove, because it’s difficult with the dyspraxia, quite a few Legos put in the wrong place this evening in building his latest creation because he hasn’t thought something through. (But at least he is DOING the Legos, a new skill he has acquired!)

He loses things daily.  Or maybe even hourly.

One evening we were packing for a weekend getaway and I told him “Go to my room and get a pair of shorts from the basket on my bed.”  He went to my room.  He came back.  “What was I supposed to get?”  I informed him, he went back, but 30 seconds later, “Where am I supposed to get the shorts from?”  Yes, instructions can get overwhelming!

His friends all tend to be several year younger than him, as his interests and emotional maturity level are also “behind.”

And the baseball thing, even though he is obsessed, he can still sometimes forget.  Yesterday, while playing, he forgot what signs used at every game meant, he had what he called “sign overload.”  There was just too much going on in his brain.

He can get so overwhelmed with frustration at all these things that sometimes he has meltdowns.  A meltdown is like a temper tantrum on steroids, one of the main differences being that a child can control a tantrum, but a meltdown actually turns into something that controls the child.  Luckily as he has gotten older, and started taking medication which helps diminish the other symptoms, these are few and far between and he hasn’t had one in over a year, but when he was younger the meltdowns (and trying to avoid them) consumed our lives.

Basically, ADHD is a processing disorder.  We all take information from our environment in, process it, and then spit it back out with an appropriate response.  With ADHD, sometimes not all the information makes it in.  Sometimes, what does get dropped off in the processing portion because there was just too much.  The end result is that it the response then becomes skewed, and thus not always appropriate or the correct action.

ADHD is not a lack of intelligence.  It’s not bad parenting. It’s frustrating, and that frustration can just sometimes compound the response.

My child takes medication.  He does not take it because he has bad behavior or because I can’t control him, it is because he gets extremely unhappy and frustrated when he can’t process things correctly.  He does not do well in school.  He loses all his confidence.  He struggles each and every day.  The medication makes that processing accessible, and thus helps him to be successful and happy and confident.  This may not be the solution for everyone, but it certainly helps with my child and I think to withhold it would be equivalent to abuse.

In my personal life, ADHD is a brilliant, funny, quirky, amazing kid.

…Who can sometimes frustrate the heck out of me!  But that’s why they have wine.