Uppercase Woman

The Sun Will Come Out...

Ah, I'm feeling much refreshed today. It's going to be 65 degrees here and sunny, and that always cheers me. Plus we think we've finally taken steps to at least make a dent in our money problems (and in a way that won't ruin our lives). Charlie is relaxing more and more into the reality of our lives, and is much happier about where his mom is living since meeting the weekday nurse (who is totally awesome). I got some really great news on the pro-blogging front and am feeling like there might come a time when my dream of making a living doing the writing I love is a reality. And I just wrapped up a work project and might have a bit of time free to work again on my book proposal (free time is bad money-wise, but good personal project wise). As a final bonus, The Aitch is going to redo my blog design for which I am eternally grateful cause when I tried to do? It sucked. It sucked ass.

Whew! Lot of good news in one paragraph, no?

As you can see my head is still somewhat of a jumble. So to accommodate the various subjects floating around in my head, I'm going to do one of my annoying lists. Heh.

Top Ten Things That Are Making It Difficult For Cecily To Pick A Single Topic Today

1. Sarah's show. On Friday night we got to go to the gallery where Sarah and Christy had their two-woman self-portrait exhibition entitled Self Indulgent Crap [SIC]. Their work looked absolutely amazing on the walls, and it was so wild to see some of my favorite of Sarah's photos in print rather than online. If the giant no-money cloud hadn't been hanging over our heads that night we would have totally bought one or two. Plus, it was totally awesome to see adults and have conversations with people I haven't seen in a while and I think we managed to keep the talk about Tori to a minimum (meaning only about 75% of the time). Saw lots of people I don't get to see often, and that was great. If you are in the Philly area and near South Street, go check out the show. It's at the Made By Hand gallery between Front and Second on South Street.

2. That damned octuplet mom. Oh honey. Just stop talking. Please stop talking. You are NOT helping yourself in ANY way.

3. The damned octuplet fertility doctor. Should have known it would be that guy, right? A scumbag that promised "guaranteed implantation" yet had the lowest success rate in the state. I hate bastards who prey on us infertiles.

4. Groceries. As in, I need them. Yet one of the two of us seems to go to the store EVERY SINGLE DAY yet we never have anything for dinner. We are just not doing smart meal planning. On the up side? Found a local store that sells pretty decent sushi for two for $5 after 5pm. BONUS.

5. The dog. Poor Bubba (also known as Hammer, The Best Dog Ever TM). He's been getting the short end of the care stick lately. He's missed some walks, he has a tumor on his eye we can't afford to get removed (not invasive or really even irritating, promise), and he just generally is moping. In the last few weeks he's stopped coming upstairs with us at night; he sleeps on the couch instead. He's developed a strong terror of common noises--such as my putting my glasses on my bedside table or drinking water in the middle of the night. This literally causes him to cower across the room. As a result, he stays downstairs rather than be tormented by my touching of items on my end table. Gah.

6. The cat. Why the fuck doesn't she use the litter pan? Why oh why oh why?

7. Tori. Our entire lives are now about threatening and cajoling her into behaving. We threaten to leave without her when she won't start walking. We threaten time out when she won't stop doing something bad, like pulling on a cord. We put her toys in time out. We threaten to put her to bed without lullabies (her current favorite lullaby is Good Night Irene; she especially likes the gambling verse) if she doesn't get! in! her! jammies! right! now! This is good parenting, right? Sigh.

8. The house. Trying, very very hard, to keep ahead of the curve of filth. I cleared out about 1/3 of Tori's toys (donated, of course, unless broken) so we are doing better with toy storage. Can't seem to keep up on the dishes, however (oh, how I miss our dishwasher. It broke two years ago and we can't afford to replace it). It always gets ahead of us though. One positive note: I did manage to repair the back gate so that it's not dragging on the ground anymore. Go me! Oh, and I totally fucking hate our couch and have no comfortable place to sit and watch TV now because it is broken. Four years old, this couch. Fuck.

9. Vacation. As in, we haven't had one in a year (I know, join the rest of the country). But am excited to go camping this summer with Tori. She's old enough now, right? She'll be three. (Don't tell me different. Let me keep my dreams.)

10. Travel. I will be traveling again next week and I'm very excited. I can't tell you about it yet, but should be able to in a couple of days. Am now starting to feel guilty about time away from Tori, even if it is for work (blog work related, anyway). This will be my fourth two-day trip away since last July. Mommy guilt SUCKS. We're working hard to prepare Tori, and I am going to make movies of me singing lullabies to hopefully help Tori when she wakes up in the middle of the night and demands me and only me.
...

So, what's on your mind today? What's keeping you from focusing? Do tell. :)

Stress, Loans, Medicaid, and AM I CRAZY YET?

I feel chaotic and scattered, and if you've been reading Charlie's blog (particularly entries like this one) you'll have some idea as to why. I've had roughly 8,000 blog topic ideas drift through my head in the last few days, but alas, I am too scattered to remember them or even to remember to write them down when they happen. Oops.

Charlie is working hard to cope with the stress of his mom's medicaid situation (or lack thereof, we shall see), but his way of coping makes me crazy, and I've been Cecily-the-unsupportive-wife as a result.

Did you all read this Newsweek article about how different people cope with crisis? A scientist puts forth following theory: there are three ways to cope in a crisis. Here is the quote:

"...around 10 percent of us will handle a crisis in a relatively calm and rational state of mind. The top 10 percent are leaders, like a few passengers on the US Airways flight [on the Hudson River] who took charge and guided others off the plane.

Leach says the vast majority of us—around 80 percent—fall into the second category. In a crisis, most will "quite simply be stunned and bewildered." We'll find that our "reasoning is significantly impaired and that thinking is difficult." We'll behave in "a reflexive, almost automatic or mechanical manner." We'll sweat. We'll feel sick, lethargic, numb. Our hearts may race. And we'll experience "perceptual narrowing" or tunnel vision. We'll barely hear people around us."

This theory basically explains the different ways Charlie and I are handling the crisis with his mom (and on the crisis scale, we realize it's pretty low--she is safe and cared for, and mostly we're just dealing with paperwork and bureaucracy). I'm not too proud to admit to being in that leader category--if there is a crisis happening, you totally want me to be there. I am a person that copes and processes information quickly and comes up with solutions in a flash. I am absolutely able to set aside anything other than the most critical and immediate need, and postpone the stuff I can't do anything about for the moment.

Charlie, on the other hand, is in that majority (hope you don't mind me assigning you to that category, baby--heh). Charlie attempts to deal with these feelings by getting as educated as he can about the crisis--but that causes a further problem: information overload. He gets both bogged down with information, and sometimes the new info can restart the whole anxiety cycle again without bringing him any comfort or reassurance.

This? This makes me NUTS. And it's totally unfair of me--I can't possibly ask Charlie to be a different kind of person than he is, just like he can't possibly understand why I don't look at the big picture and see how TERRIFYING it is. This leads to fights, yelling, and ultimatums (yes, I am the proud owner of the "if you google this one more time..." ultimatum) and me feeling like he just needs to calm down and Charlie wondering why the hell I'm not on his side.

Not good.

We're doing a bit better these last couple of days. I am working hard to be patient and loving, and to remind Charlie that I am on his team and I will fight with him as long and hard as he needs me to. And he's trying to limit his googling. Meanwhile, right now we're in that "hurry up and wait" phase; the paperwork has gone out to the folks at Medicaid, and we are trying to get a loan (oh boy) to pay the lawyer and other expenses. Once we complete the loan application, we again will just wait.

Sometimes the hardest thing to do is just sit here.

It's funny; we survived the loss of the boys much more easily than we are handling this current crisis. Why is it that any issue surrounding money is so fucking difficult?

32 Months

My Darling Tori Anne,

Yesterday you turned 32 months old. It feels like we're hurtling up the on ramp to you being three; it's just a few short months away. You, of course, have already decided you are three years old and have begun telling folks that. I think it's mostly because you can't quite figure out how to hold up two and a half fingers.

You've been quite charming this month. You sing a lot these days, you use your imagination quite often, and you love to count. You sing along to the theme songs on your favorite shows, particularly Caillou, and I have to tell you that when you are older I hope you'll understand how much I hate that bald little four year old jerk, and the six episodes that are currently available on demand. Because you won't watch anything but Caillou these days (although once I bribed you with a Barbie movie, and honestly, Barbie kicked Caillou's ass). It's a toddler form of OCD, I suppose. It's slightly worse for your father than it is for me; I can tune the show out, but your Daddy has memorized every line. Poor guy.

We do work hard to turn the television off. It's tough sometimes, like when both of us have work deadlines and your day care seems to close for any old reason they can think of (so far this month it's been two snow days, a parent-teacher conference day, and MLK day). Considering the fact that you only go three mornings a week, well, you might have watched more than a healthy amount of television recently. I hope you can forgive us.

The theme of the month for you has been jumping. You LOVE to jump. You jump off the stairs. You jump off the sidewalk into the street (supervised, of course). You jump around the altar at church when Mommy rehearses with the choir. Your Daddy brought home his Daddy's chair (it used to live with your Omi Hertha but she can't have it where she is now), and it has an ottoman that you LOVE to jump from. I could honestly fill this whole post with just photos of you jumping. You will jump, over and over, for an hour at a time. At the pool, you jump into the deep end, over and over, fearlessly. You always surprise the lifeguards at the Y. (You do wear arm floaties, so you always pop back up to the surface; but I don't imagine those will make it through the summer.)

We finally had our first actual snow of the winter, about six inches. Plenty to take you out in the GIANT toboggan your silly mommy bought for you (I swear it looked smaller on the box), and to play in the snow. Sadly, it wasn't good snowman snow, but we sure had fun trying. You loved playing in the snow, and letting Hammer, the best dog ever TM, drag you around in the toboggan.

Just in the last week you finally had your first non-traumatic haircut. I've been telling you about going to get a princess haircut for weeks now, and you finally said you wanted to go. By some miracle, the young woman that cut your hair greeted you by asking if you wanted to get your hair cut like a princess. It was as if the skies opening up and sweet little angels came down to cut your hair. Thank God, because you were starting to look a bit Dickensian and raggedy.

The other big news is that you, FINALLY, have become cuddly. I'm not sure if it's a natural thing or it's in response to either my trip to California (where I had to use Gmail's video chat to sing you lullabies when you wouldn't let Daddy soothe you to sleep; Daddy actually put me on fullscreen and put the laptop in the crib with you) or just the high level of stress in the house because of what's going on with your Omi Hertha, but you have suddenly been all about cuddling with Mommy. One thing that's very interesting: whenever you are threatened with a time-out, and continue to behave badly, you suddenly "need a cuddle" very badly. Very, very interesting that.

You have been delightful this month, my darling girl. I wish things weren't so crazy right now; you need to have a calm, peaceful household and it has not been that way here recently. I know that things will get better, and you won't have to yell at us to stop yelling at each other. Because that breaks my heart.

Tori, you often call yourself a "big girl" and you are, these days. I see less and less baby in you and more and more kid. You are cute, cuddly, funny, and charming--you make my days sing with joy. Please don't ever stop being who you are. I love you, my silly adorable girl. And so does your Daddy.

Love, Mommy

"Pro-Choice? Quit Crying About Your Miscarriage"

Ha! That got your attention, didn't it? A post by that same title sure got mine when I followed the link sent to me by PIUGoddess on Twitter. Here's the original article, but I'm going to quote it here entirely so I can tear the author a new asshole respond point-by-point, so you don't need to give them the link love unless you'd like to. I will say this: it was published at MomLogic.

This article was written by a woman named Gina (I couldn't find any other information about her, like is she really a man or maybe just a 22 year old idiot?). So let me address this post to her.

Dear Asshat Gina:

First, let's start with that title. The most polite thing to say, I suppose, is that you clearly don't get it. What is it you aren't getting? Let's start with the top line, Gina:

"I respect women's right to choose, but I have little tolerance for pro-choicers who expect sympathy when they have a miscarriage."

Really? You respect women's right to choose? Unless that choice is to actually try to have a baby and then mourn the potential when that baby is lost? Then you have "little tolerance" for us. Well, guess what, honey? WE DON'T GIVE A SHIT ABOUT YOUR TOLERANCE. We don't ask for it, we don't need it, and we sure as shit could fucking care less if you don't have any tolerance for us.

Ahem. Moving on.

"These are women who put pro-choice buttons on their backpacks in college and ridiculed pro-lifers for being backward, repressive religious freaks who want to control the world's uteruses.

Ten years have passed and lo and behold, these women have grown up, gotten married, and now have the itch to have a baby of their own. Suddenly the monthly visitor that they were relieved to get when they were 20, now, at 32, plunges them into the depths of depression."

OH MY GOD. I'm sorry; when we grow up and (as happens quite often!), are we supposed to no longer want to control our own 'uteruses' (actually, Gina, UTERI is the plural of uterus), by, you know, trying to have a baby? SOMEHOW I MISSED THAT MEMO. And let me provide an analogy for loss that perhaps you'll understand... So, say you have a pretty good job you like a lot but then you find a listing for an even BETTER job. You interview for the better job. More than once. You get excited. You start to make plans about what you'll do at the new job, maybe make plans for that salary increase--then, suddenly, you DON'T GET THE JOB. But you still have the one you started with, so don't fucking cry about losing the potential new job, you self-centered little asshole. See? Do you get it now? I didn't think so. Because I think what you really are saying here, Gina, is that we women should be punished for either a) wanting a child in the first place or b) waiting so long to have a child. Interesting. Sooo not your typical Pro-Choicer stance.

"Like vegetarians who eat chicken but not beef, many pro-choice advocates want it both ways. It's a baby when they want it to be, it's a bundle of cells when they don't."

Has anyone ever met someone that called themselves a vegetarian and ate chicken? Because I haven't, and that's a stupid fucking analogy.

Secondly, not like you'll get this: when an early miscarriage happens to a woman, she understands that she haven't lost a VIABLE baby. You might be surprised to hear this, but we actually are kind of smart and educated about the realities of pregnancy. Shocker! I know! But that doesn't mean she hasn't watched some dearly held hopes and dreams go down (literally, usually) the toilet. And part of being pro-choice in my mind is thinking women are allowed to have feelings about that loss of hopes and dreams.

And then there are some of us that have lost what is actually physically recognizable as a baby. We are somehow allowed to grieve when our sisters who suffered early miscarriages are not? What kind of "supporter" of women are you if you've decided who ranks on the grief-o-meter and who doesn't? Oh, but you address this in your next section.

"If you believe that pregnancy doesn't produce a baby until some magic number (13 weeks? 20 weeks? 40?), then you must also agree that it's ridiculous to break down in hysterics, set up a memorial website for your "angel," and seek out a grief counselor when you start bleeding in your first trimester. After all, you're simply talking about the loss of a conglomeration of microscopic cells, right?! That's hardly something to cry about."

You know what I think is fucking ridiculous? You getting to decide how women get to feel, you judgmental asshat. Grief is grief is grief. When your cat dies (because somehow, I just know you have a cat), are we supposed to say to you, "It's just an animal. Get over it already! That's hardly something to cry about." How about your grandmother? When she dies, should we say, "Well, jeez, she was old and you already had a lot of time with her." See? YOU DON'T GET TO CHOOSE WHETHER OR NOT WOMEN HAVE SADNESS AND GRIEF.

"Advocate all you want, but don't come crying to me when your hypocrisy hits you like a ton of bricks. If you are going to defend the right to abort babies, you don't have the right to be upset when yours dies."

HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA... arg. Oh, honey. I can't wait until you get a little bit older and this whole hypocritical post comes back to bite you on the ass. And, once AGAIN, you--whoever you are, anonymous poster at MomLogic that only provided your first name and no additional information--you claim to support a women's right to choose, yet you claim we don't "have the right to be upset."

And here is where I lose all sense of decency and reason and say, simply, GO FUCK YOURSELF.

What gets me the most, anonymous Gina, is that the Pro-Life people I know wouldn't be this cruel to a woman that has experienced a loss. Even if they secretly think that we are hypocritical, they understand the reality and intensity of love we women can have even at the very first moment we realize we are pregnant with a WANTED child. So you, advocate of choice, are actually more nasty and judgmental than a Pro-Lifer. What do you think about that? And I would never dream of telling you how to feel about that accusation. I'm nice like that.

And lastly? I sincerely doubt, my dear, that you actually believe in a woman's right to choose. Because if you did? You would never have said, "defend the rigth to abort babies." Cause you know what? Pro-choicers never use that kind of language. EVER. I think you are a young and inexperienced gung-ho Pro-Lifer that is donning a hat to make a point, and you didn't do it very well.

Not that I have a leg to stand on; I'm being all kinds of bitchy judgmental asshat over here myself. And maybe MomLogic posted this entry by you just to be salacious, and chances are, I am responding to it for the same reason.

It's either that or the fact that your article made my head nearly pop off in rage.

One or the other.

Good luck, Gina, in life--and may no one ever judge you like you've judged those of us that have suffered pregnancy loss yet support a woman's right to choose. Because it SUCKS to be treated the way you just treated me.

Love,

Cecily, who is feeling just a tad snarky today.

Snow Day

We finally had our first real snow here, and we tried to enjoy it. Sadly, Charlie is off to see the Elder Care lawyer (actually, he's on his way home, and there is no good news. Anyone got a spare $25K?) so tension is high. But we tried.

I'm also under deadline today, so you get photos and video only. Sorry, but I hope you enjoy it. :)

Remind me later why we bought that giant fucking toboggan, will ya?

Does she look like a big kid there or what?

And, of course, the video (includes Hammer pulling the toboggan):

John Howard Rutz, Rest In Peace

Four years ago yesterday, my father died. He died, in my opinion, as a result of addiction. His addiction to cigarettes led to his emphysema, and his need for oxygen. His addiction to alcohol led to his impaired judgment. Judgment that told him it was okay to light a cigarette while his oxygen was cranked to 100%.

He died in the subsequent fire, as did his dog. His girlfriend at the time escaped with minor burns.

I'd forgotten that yesterday was the day, although I knew it was coming up. My half-sister Brigetta sent me a text message reminding me. I know I should call her, as I should call my other sister and my brother Johnny (all my father's kids from his second marriage). But for some reason I can't seem to pick up the phone. Maybe it's because they get to grieve him in a way that I don't; as a real presence in their lives, a true father, a Daddy.

This is not my story.

Charlie and I went this weekend to see The Wrestler (a brilliant movie, but I digress). There is a wrenching scene in it between a father and his daughter where he fails, once again, to show up when he was expected.

My mother did not want this for me. When my father could only manage to show up sporadically, she told him to be reliable or not to bother at all. Of course, he remembers that she told him to stay out of my life. She remembers it differently. Two people, two stories, two memories.

I grew up with a vague sense of something missing, but no clear memories of my father. I thought that made my loss easier to bear, but as Tori gets older, I know that is not true. When I see Tori and her father I see how deep and substantial the loss of my father actually was. When I told my mother once that sometimes when I'm changing Tori's diaper and she doesn't want me to, she cries out for Grandma. A wisp of pain crossed my mother's face as she told me, "You used to do the same thing, but crying for your Daddy."

I cannot imagine, now, how shattered Tori's life would be if Charlie were to vanish. After we left the movie on Friday night, Charlie said he never wanted to see Tori suffer the way the daughter in the movie did. I know I've picked the right man to be the father of my children. He will always be there. Tori will never lie awake, crying for her Daddy in vain.

Sometimes I hate my father. I hate the fact that his other children mattered more to him, and I hate the fact that they got pieces of him that I didn't, even the bad ones. I learned stuff about my father at the funeral from my siblings that I didn't know, like why he'd stopped emailing me years ago; I'd thought he'd just decided I wasn't worth it. Again. The truth, however, was no comfort, and when my sister told me, my other sister tried to shush her because apparently my father didn't want me to know the truth. As if he imagined that I had an idealized version of him my head that he didn't want to tarnish.

Nothing could be further from the truth. I have no image of my father in my head. I have photographs, I have a memory of a gravely voice on the phone, and there were two awkward visits in person. Other than that, I have the gaping hole he left in my heart, and his amazing blue eyes and wavy hair.

I know I've written about this before, but the pain of my father's loss grows almost acute the more I see Charlie and Tori interact. Will this pass? Will I end up jealous that my own daughter has what I don't? Right now I feel nothing more than a fierce protectiveness that she not lose the relationship with Charlie, no matter what. I hope that as time passes, the ache in my heart will lessen.

But this post wasn't supposed to be about me. It was supposed to be about my father. There were good things about the man. He was a veteran. A volunteer fireman, including being fire chief. He spent hours on the internet building an extensive family tree, even creating a book with photographs (I am so grateful for this; it's information about that side of my family I would not have without it). He built an amazing pond at his last house in New Mexico. I know he cared for my siblings through some trying times with their mother. He told me he loved me each time I spoke with him, even though I never believed it. He loved his third wife passionately, and she was a wonderful woman (as far as I could tell from the one time I met her). He loved his dogs.

I think I will try to remember that. The fact that it was possible for my father to be an honorable man, even if he didn't do the honorable thing with me.

Goodbye, Dad/John. I hope you are resting peacefully. I hope that my siblings are holding up this week while missing you even if I don't call. (I am thinking about you guys, I promise.) I still miss you, Dad.

I have missed you for 38 years.

Spiderman Underwear and Octuplets

I've got two bees in my bonnet today. Ready? *smirk*

First of all, the underwear. This came up because we are at the beginning stages of potty training. We'd bought Tori a seat ring (Dora, of course) a while ago and she'd occasionally ask to sit on it, but from watching a couple of potty training videos on YouTube she decided she needed a SPECIAL potty, so we bought her a lovely little pink potty. She LOVES her potty. It's charming.

As further incentive on the potty training front, I followed up on the advice I've gotten from you guys and allowed her to pick out a special package of underwear. Her choice? Spiderman. Do they make Spiderman for girls? NO.

There are few things that make me spontaneously combust anymore (really--I'm more of a slow burner these days), but assigned ideas of gender is one of them. Of course she can wear the boy's underwear. I don't give a shit. But what about a boy that want Dora underwear (of which, according to my friends on Facebook, there are many)? That is a problem because potty training boys need their fly (I assume).

Sure, I can buy neutral underwear that doesn't offend. But that misses the point entirely. The physical design of the underwear is all the nod to gender they need to make--because of course the mechanics are different. But I have worked hard to accept all the "identity" aspects my daughter shows me--both her princess side (thanks to you guys, I am better about this) and the side of her that wants to sleep with her basketball and play with trucks.

But if I want my daughter to be a consumer of pop culture (this is an issue I am a bit sensitive about, but that's another post), she can only do it in strictly controlled ways. According to those that manufacture everything for children, girls like mermaids and princesses and cute animals, and that is what is on their clothes/underwear/bicycles/backpacks/bedroom sets reflect. Boys like dinosaurs and sports and action heroes of all kinds. END OF STORY.

It is not possible to buy a pink Diego backpack, or a pink t-shirt for a boy with a friendly Koala bear on it. Not only is this completely and utterly fucked up to my feminist sensibilities, but it is also fucked up on a capitalism front. Why on earth would the companies that make those objects want to restrict themselves to kids of one gender?

I happen to be raising a little girl that will probably play soccer while wearing a princess dress, and I'll bet there is a little boy out there that would love to do EXACTLY THE SAME THING. Why can't he? Why wouldn't that be cute too? Arg.

Maybe I'm not articulating this well, but I have to say... when I marched with my mom at all those Women's Rights marches in the 1970s, I really thought we would have come a bit farther than this sort of gender shit. Makes me nuts.

__________________________________________

On to the Octuplets. Sigh.

I was going to just ignore this story, but after receiving about 100 emails, twits, and comments on Facebook (what is it with Facebook lately? That shit has exploded), I am finally going to say something.

THIS IS SOME FUCKED UP SHIT, PEOPLE.

Here is a small list of what I've read or heard about the story so far (please note: Who the fuck knows what is true?):

• She was expecting seven babies and doctors were surprised by the eighth.
• She already has six children, and lives with her parents
• She used frozen embryos that she had left over from a previous IVF
• The man who contributed the sperm was a known donor and begged her to NOT have any more children with his genetic contribution
• She is a single mother.
• Her parents believe she is mentally ill.
• She is hoping to earn free diapers for life plus $2 Million dollars by giving interviews.
• She claims that only a few embryos were transferred and the rest all "split."
• She now has 14 children under the age of seven.

That list makes me too tired to even tirade about this. So, first of all, read what Julie said.

Then, for those of you that have undergone infertility treatments, please take a moment to tear out your hair at the continued use by the press of "implant" when they really mean "transfer." (Someone pointed out to me that the definition of implant does include "insert" or "place", so it's technically correct. WHATTHEFUCKEVER. Those of us that have actually been through IVF know that IN THE ART FIELD transfer means placing the embryos in the uterus, and implant means they've stuck and you are now ACTUALLY PREGNANT. So those of us ART veterans STRONGLY prefer that people get it the fuck right.)

Secondly, does anyone think this woman is fooling anyone? Really? Because I don't know anyone that is buying her story.

Thirdly, give her the diapers and the money. It's the only way those babies are all going to be okay.

Lastly, I just want to heave a big sigh in the general direction of the wave of anti-ART (that's assisted reproductive technology, people) shit that is going to now hit everyone out there still trying to get pregnant with medical help. Don't fight the wave, people. Just ignore it, and move ahead with your life. And good luck.

I wish I could work up a fuller head of steam on this subject, but mostly I just feel tired, and I don't know how much is true. I feel saddened by this group of babies that is never going to get all the love and affection they need from their mother (it simply isn't possible). I feel saddened that a possibly mentally ill woman was allowed to go down this road because of the greed of one (ONE!) particular doctor or fertility clinic. And I worry that some of the negative feelings that this story stirs will touch my amazing little girl, who once spent a year of her eight-celled life as a popsicle before she was transferred into me. And that really pisses me off.

Your thoughts? Feelings? On both the underwear and the octoplets. Dying to know.

Half Resolved: Nursing Home Down, Medicaid To Go

Today started off with two parents who didn't get enough sleep. Charlie and I got up, got ready, packed up Tori to go to morning care and... discovered today was "Parent Teacher Conferences" and there was no day care (I don't mean to quibble, but seriously? Preschoolers need conferences? Really?).

So, in a true "sandwich generation" moment, we had to take Tori with us to pack my mother-in-laws' things for her move to the nursing home. This went fairly smoothly; Charlie did the mother wrangling and I did the toddler wrangling and Charlie was able to get his mom packed while Tori charmed the staff and residents of the assisted living facility.

Then we got my MIL into the car and drove the mile or so to her new home. The nursing home is massive, and of that particular kind of architecture that is an exact middle point between school and prison. But it's safe, has a great reputation, a high patient-staff ratio, and my MIL went off quite contentedly to her new room (she has the "pleasantly confused" version of Alzheimer's, thank God).

Charlie then had to face down the business staff. They, of course, wanted him to sign his life away but his lawyer* told him DO NOT SIGN ANYTHING until the lawyer gets a chance to review it. The business folks (understandably) pushed him hard, and Charlie stayed strong (although there was a flurry of calls to the lawyer, the arrival of a manager, and a bit of a standoff for a moment) and we left without signing any papers related to anything other than medical care. Just so you know, that is possible (at least in Pennsylvania) so if you ever find yourself in similar straights, GET A LAWYER.

Poor Charlie. He's wiped out. Did you read the poem he wrote the other day? Poor baby. I wish I could do more than I am. Thank GOD my mother is healthy right now and we're not facing anything like this with her. Sigh.

Next week he meets with the lawyer and hopefully gets the Medicaid approved so that we can finally put this issue down and start worrying about other things like, oh, taxes. Ye Gods!

This parenting-your-parents stuff? It really sucks.

I am horribly behind in my work (I'd planned to work this morning until it was clear that Charlie needed me). So I'm keeping this short. Enjoy your weekend, folks.

*Just have to do another thank you to Calliope who suggested the hospice social worker, who in turn referred us to this lawyer that is SO on the ball, supportive, and for not one penny so far has handled four calls from Charlie. Thank you, Calliope, THANK YOU. I fucking love me the internets.

25 Things (that I have realized in the last 24 hours)

So I've been tagged by something like 80 people on Facebook to do the "25 Things" meme that is going around. Since I've already done 7 Things (twice) and that agonizing 100 Things, I am having trouble excited about yet another useless-facts-about-me-that-you-probably-already-know meme. If I wasn't such a "naked" blogger these things would be more interesting.

But I'm still a bit mentally drained from our recent stressful events so, I'm using the topic in an stupid and annoying clever and ingenious way to make my Facebook friends happy (since almost all of them read here, hello!) and be moderately relevant. So. Here goes.

1. That if you buy the child a potty, she will poop in it.

2. Or next to it.

3. That baby wipes mean it when they say "do not flush in toilet."

4. That we do not own a plunger.

5. That the Drano Charlie told me he bought was not in the car.

6. That it is very icy out at 7:30am.

7. That if you don't notice the ice, you fall on your ass.

8. The Drano, it turned out, was cleverly hidden underneath the kitchen sink.

9. That you can't put Drano down toilets.

10. That old trick I used to do in my drinking years with a wire hanger does not unplug our toilet.

11. That the best way to wake your husband up is by telling him if he wants to take a shit today, he needs to get the fuck up and help you.

12. That your neighbors have a plunger, and are willing to loan it to half-asleep and alarmed husband.

13. That potty training is gonna be AWESOME.

14. That Calliope is fucking AWESOME (to totally change the subject).

15. Because Calliope suggested Charlie speak with a Hospice Social Worker about his mom and Medicaid.

16. That apparently Hospice Social Workers are GOD/DESSES and know everything, including the fact that the lawyer Charlie was working with is a loser.

17. That once someone actually answers Charlie's questions, he calms down completely.

18. That when he is calm like that, I can propose we have two 15 minute chat sessions a day about what is going on and then table it for the rest of the day so I can concentrate on work in the little time that I do not have a clingy toddler draped on me.

19. Because sometimes I just need a break, and it's okay to ask for one. Really, it is. Especially when I'm trying to plug the toilet myself use the bathroom.

20. That I need more hours in the day, or more child care if I'm going to work this hard.

21. That working this hard is really important to me and actually makes me happy. Now, could someone just start paying me?

22. That I must, simply MUST start selling my own ads on this site. BlogHer Ads revenue is down 80%. Yes, really. That was my electric bill and internet and cable money (all the ads you've been seeing are non-paying remnants and PSAs).

23. That unless the planets align in a certain way or I stop sleeping, the book proposal will not happen anytime soon.

24. I should not sit in the super comfy chair at my recovery meeting, because apparently I will just doze. And lightly snore. Which is rather rude (luckily, I was awake through the speaker).

25. That when all else fails, it's an awesome thing to think that somewhere down the road we will no longer have diapers to change in this house, and today Tori took the first step (of many, I imagine) down that road. Yeah!

10 Things

1. I probably should have reminded everyone that my office is in the basement. So those of you picturing me huddled by the litterpan weeping, be sure to add in a comfy chair to that image.

2. Today is a snow day. HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA ug.

3. I have not yet had any caffeine today because ice/snow makes it hard to run to the store. How long do you think I can hold out?

4. Japanese potty training videos are hilarious. At least I think it's Japanese. Tori found it FASCINATING. Yep, we are boarding the potty train around these parts.

5. God Bless YouTube. Seriously, is there anything you don't have a video of?

6. Even though Jon Stewart called my city a shit hole the other day, and made fat jokes about MLK III, he has really not lost a step since Obama took office. Still my TV boyfriend.

7. Maybe I should have done a list of five things. Huh.

8. I should be working right now. Just so you know.

9. I think I'm going to have go get caffeine soon. Seriously, I am half asleep at the keyboard.

10. I am very excited about Sarah's upcoming exhibition of her photographs. If you are in the area, you should be sure to come to the opening!

11. I almost forgot! I picked a winner in the contest at my review blog. Go SK!

So Much For Flexibility

I just got home from a meeting (supposedly to give me serenity) and a quick stop at a store with Tori (trying to buy her a mini-potty to kick start potty training). The store didn't have one (but they did have tights, which Tori also needed) but then Tori ran away while I was paying, then refused to hold my hand in the parking lot, and then I walked in the house and Charlie started immediately talking about the papers for his mom and...

*kaboom*

That was the sound of the last thread of my patience and sanity breaking and my head exploding right off my shoulders. Now I am hiding in the basement even though I'm hungry and I need to pee (I'm seriously considering peeing in the utility sink). I'm not coming up until Tori is napping and Charlie, I don't know, runs an errand or something.

I am trying. Really, I am. I want to support Charlie through this incredibly painful and humiliating process of getting his mom into a nursing home and getting her on Medicaid. He's stressed to the point of exhaustion because every bit of information he gets tells us that he managed her money incorrectly and he's so afraid we will either end up with his mom living here (and possibly wandering away because of the Alzheimer's, and adding another diaper that needs changing to the house) or with her nursing home suing us because we can't get her on Medicaid. He's a wreck, and I don't blame him--it's a huge amount to deal with. I feel heartbroken that I can't offer much in the way of help.

Tori is also going through a very intense clinging-to-Mommy phase; she wants to cuddle with me constantly (yesterday she even seemed a smidgen sick but is fine today), she wants only me to put her coat on/take off her shoes/put her to bed or nap/make her lunch, etc. I love the cuddling, I really do. I don't mind helping her if she wants me too, and Daddy is a little preoccupied too.

But I have articles due for Savvy Source. I have 13 articles of SEO work due by Monday. I want to blog here (yes, I know you all forgive me for taking a day off, but sometimes writing this blog is the only thing I get to really enjoy during the day) every day, I have reviews to do for these guys, and I have things I need to write for other projects I've got my fingers in.

I just feel like I can't catch a breath, and that's why I hid today.

Part of my reaction is normal. I know that. But I also have an abnormal part, a part of me left over from childhood that is a little bit broken, a part that gets really pissy and cranky when everyone around me NEEDS me so damned much. It's not my mom's fault, or the world's fault, and I think it's possibly rooted in the inherent selfishness that comes with being an alcoholic, but... sometimes I just hit a wall. And I want everyone around me to take care of themselves and leave me the FUCK alone already.

Not really an option as a mommy.

*Sigh*

Sorry to vomit this all over the internets. But if I don't blow it off somewhere I will never be able to get out of the basement. And I must get out of the basement. At least to eat some lunch. Because I won't be any good doing my work without some lunch.

Um, let's see, how can I wrap this post up with a lighthearted and warm realization?

*taps fingers*

I'm thinking.

*tapping fingers harder*

Uh, well... Ah, hell, I'm on empty. You guys end this post for me.

Balance Vs. Flexibility (a completely stolen topic and title)

So my new buddy Meagan (who was with me in California) wrote the most awesome post on her blog the other day about balance in parenting and here I am totally and utterly stealing her idea. So go read her first so I don't feel too guilty, would ya?

Okay.

I think about balance a lot (I've written about it here and here) and how hard it is to manage work, marriage, self-care and parenting all at once. At times like now when I have a lot of balls in the air... balance feels like an impossible dream. I feel like my whole life is words these days; between my paying job, my posts over at Savvy Source Parenting, the Philly Moms Blog (gee, have I mentioned I'm writing for them now?), and this blog here, it's all writing all the time. I can't even THINK about my book proposal right now. I cannot find a way to achieve anything like balance.

Luckily, Meaghan's post lets me off the hook. She mentions that it's quite clear that parenting, especially parenting of very young children, makes balance an impossible goal. She instead suggests that we shoot for flexibility instead. What a brilliant idea, eh?

I have found the idea of flexibility is working great with my new approach to food. I'm using my "detox" status (no dairy, wheat, or sugar) as my "baseline." But instead of treating it like a diet, I am trying hard to be flexible. So, last night, when we went to dinner to celebrate Sarah's husband's birthday at an Indian restaurant, I ate naan without feeling guilty or like I was breaking my "diet." For years and years my pattern has been the following:

• Follow rigid diet plan
• Do this successfully for a while, lose a bit of weight
• Slip up after weeks of rigidity
• Figure "fuck it" and eat whatever, whenever, for a period of time that might last years

So not effective in any way. It's still a struggle, but I do know I feel better without eating that stuff (particularly sugar; I had some sugar last Friday and it led to a HORRIBLE hypoglycemic crash at the playground where I got all sweaty, dizzy, shaky and pale). But the key has been flexibility rather than recrimination. And it's working. I feel better, and I don't at all feel like I'm dieting (for lunch I ate refried black beans, guacamole, hot pico de gallo salsa, and corn chips. Yummy!). It's been a move away from balance, if you will-- my food plan is random and changeable instead of rigid and "balanced."

So perhaps I'm being foolish to also be working so hard to achieve balance at home. Like I said, I have a lot on my plate these days, which is awesome (I am doing what I love, after all). But sometimes it's okay to let Tori have a bit more television time than I think is ideal to meet a deadline, or to go ahead and put off a work project while Tori and I play with play dough. And sometimes it's not even so bad to post a quick, funny list post here because I really can't focus on a full, thoughtful blog entry. Right? Heh.

Sure, in an ideal world I'd do two hours of parenting, two hours of work, two hours of "marriage" time, two hours of pet care, and two hours of "me" time a day. But the likelihood of that happening is ZERO. Why do I push so hard to try?

It's a small change in my outlook, but one I am grateful for. Because anything that takes off the pressure of being the perfect damned mother, wife, writer and woman is pretty fucking awesome by my book. Sometimes going with the flow--in a responsible way, of course--is the best way to be.

Clarification, and stuff.

I feel like I have a point to re-address in every single post I did this week. Sometimes I write before I have complete information, and sometimes I learn more. So here goes, a post seeking clarity. Heh.

Monday

A couple folks mentioned that they would distrust what I wrote about 23andMe because of the way they wined and dined us while we were there. I just want to point something out; the job I'll be doing for them is NOT about reviewing them or their service, and I am not a journalist. I will tell you all about what I will be doing when I can. And besides; have you EVER known me to be less than honest here? :) They know what (and who) they signed up with.

Tuesday

No real clarification needed here, but I do feel perplexed by folks on the right "side of the aisle" claiming that those of us expressing joy in Obama's stepping into the job of President are somehow assigning him the title of Messiah and we're all drinking the Obama kool-aid. I have several points to make about that. First of all, it's amazing that we live in a nation that has a peaceful transition of power every four or eight years, and that alone is something to celebrate. Secondly, yeah, I did feel personally oppressed while Bush was President (hard not to, when he legislated my uterus) so Obama feels like a breath of fresh air and I want to celebrate that. Thirdly, HE IS THE FIRST BLACK PRESIDENT! And that is awesome, and amazing, and a joyful thing that we should be celebrating. Why is everyone thinking that because we are celebrating, we somehow have assigned Obama magician status? We all expect to be disappointed in him at some point. Really. But we get to be happy now.

Someone mentioned to me the "songs, tshirts, and other cult status" items that have come out. Does no one remember songs like this one? And all those damned jingoistic country songs under Bush? Republicans partied just as hard when Bush won. It's our turn now. Stop shitting on our parade.

Wednesday

Apparently there is some dissension in the scientific community about the whole water flea helmet thing. For a different perspective, check out this awesome entry at a blog by PZ Myers, a biologist and all around cool dude that I like because he got banned from a screening of that dumb ass Ben Stein movie.

Thursday

First off, I am sorry I asked anti-choice people not to comment. I was cranky and didn't feel like dealing with it, and that wasn't fair, and is not the community I like here on the blog. Sorry.

Secondly, Suzanne had some questions about the bill in Virginia. She noted that it was already a law in Virginia to report any miscarriage, as it is in several other states. However, those laws all apply to miscarriages past 20 weeks, and this new law being proposed in Virginia is for miscarriages AT ANY GESTATION, even five or six or ten weeks. Which means you've already had all your hopes and dreams fall into the toilet, and now you have to pull out the "evidence," call the cops, and have them come file a report about it because most early miscarriages happen at home and are not much more dramatic than a typical monthly period. THIS IS ALL KINDS OF FUCKED UP. Don't let it happen. Find out who your rep is in Virginia here and contact them and tell them to not let this happen.

Friday

Hey, wait, today's Friday! I have nothing to clarify yet today. Perhaps you'd all enjoy Tori doing some singing? Here's her singing Itsy Bitsy Spider, ABCs, the Wonderpets theme, and Twinkle, Twinkle (I think the ABCs is the cutest, even though you've already seen her sing it). Enjoy, and have a most excellent weekend.

URGENT

Hey everyone that lives in Virginia: remember when they tried to criminalize miscarriages? They are at it again. The hearing is tomorrow. TAKE ACTION ASAP!

Thank you.

Anniversary of Roe V. Wade

Today is the 36th anniversary of the beginning of freedom for women*.

OK, I can already see certain people rolling their eyes here. And I'll admit with the complete joy that I feel about Obama being President (this morning I burst into tears when I heard NPR casually say, "President Barack Obama"), I really don't much feel like rehashing the whole abortion debate again here, whether or not I've willingly donned the mantle of "Internet Poster Girl for Partial Birth Abortion." It seems unlikely that I have anything new to say on the subject since I've already said so much. But I didn't want today to pass by without my acknowledgment.

But there are some things I am going to say first that are particular to Roe V. Wade. For instance, I don't particularly give a shit if Roe V. Wade was a flawed decision with shaky legal standing. Nope, don't care one fucking bit. No matter how it happened, abortion is legal now, and for that? I'm completely, utterly, profoundly grateful.

I also don't particularly feel that the woman originally involved with the case has said she regretted her abortion and wishes she hadn't had one has any particular weight or symbolism. Maybe you think that means I'm insensitive--and maybe I am. But the truth is for every woman that has regretted terminating a pregnancy, there are a dozen that are relieved and happy they ended theirs.

I wanted to take a moment to thank a hero in the war to keep abortion safe and legal; Dr. Susan Wick land, a doctor that actually performs abortions in her rural area, traveling from clinic to clinic. She often has to use disguises, wears a bullet proof vest daily, and now carries a gun. Her life and the life of her daughter and husband have been routinely threatened (just a side note here--does anyone know of any pro choice person that has issued death threats? just curious). Why is she so committed? Because she had an abortion in 1976 and the doctor was a bastard and it was a horrible experience for her. Instead of being galvanized into outlawing abortion as a result, she decided to go to medical school and focus on women's reproductive health to make sure such horrendous treatment didn't have to happen to other women.

I, for one, am grateful for doctors like her. Sadly, even though abortion remains legal, in 2006 87% of counties in the United States don't have an abortion provider. Hurdles such as 24 hour 'waiting' periods (hard for women that have to travel to get an abortion) and parental notification routinely block access to this safe and legal medical procedure. Medical schools often don't bother to teach the procedure to doctors, and of course, in a last minute power push, former (squee!) President Bush pushed through the "conscience" law allowing doctors, pharmacists and other medical practitioners to refuse to perform their jobs abortions or dispense birth control if it conflicts with their beliefs.

When I was dying, I was extremely lucky. My obstetrician happens to be one of TWO doctors in the Philadelphia area--liberal, liberal Philly--that performs intact dilations and extractions. He doesn't do them often, and he only does them in cases of dire need, and in my case he described it as "the worst day of his professional career." But I'm here, and Tori is here, because of this man (who incidentally has also gone to Africa as a volunteer to repair fistulas in women there--he truly walks the walk for women's health). It shouldn't take luck to save a life like mine. It really shouldn't.

But I digress. I want to honor Susan Wickland. She said in her interview on Here and Now that when she told her grandmother about her book and how she was going to be on 60 Minutes talking about it (her grandmother never missed the show, and she wanted to prepare her), her grandmother sat her down and told her a story. A story about her best friend when she was a girl who got pregnant (her grandmother suspected it was incest). A friend that she tried to help with a "sharp object," an object that caused her friend to bleed to death. Her grandmother thanked her for being an advocate for choice, "So women like me don't have to murder their best friends."

Exactly. Thank you, Supreme Court thirty six years ago, for making abortion safe and legal (at least for those of us with access). Thank you for putting women first. Thank you for saving my life, thirty two years later. And thank you to Susan Wickland and doctors like her for continuing to keep us safe all these years later.

If you are strongly anti-choice, just refrain from commenting today. We already know what you think. I know this post is a rambling one that goes from point to point and offers you many, many bones to pick. Don't bother. I know I usually am happy to tolerate dissent on my blog, but I am not interested in arguing this point with you all again. Not a bit. You can comment, and I won't delete it, but I won't respond either, and I'm going to ask my readers to not respond as well (hear that everyone? Don't engage. Please). If you want to dissect this post, please feel free to do it at your own blogs. Thank you.

*I say that legal abortion gives women freedom because without control over our own bodies, we have no freedom--in my opinion.

Irritating Vs. Adorable, plus random notes

Tori is entering a new phase. She is alternately completely and utterly maddening, or completely and utterly adorable. Seriously. Here's the list:

Irritating: When required to get into car to go ANYWHERE including places she loves and WANTS to go, Tori does one of the following: hides. Refuses to put on shoes. Refuses to put on coat. Takes off shoe, takes off sock, and makes sock into a puppet.

Adorable: Makes sock puppet say, "Hi, Mommy. How are you?"

Irritating: Kicks your face and laughs while you change her diaper.

Adorable: Grabs a wipe and starts wiping her self.

Irritating: Takes teeny, tiny, impossibly slow steps when walking to car. If picked up or rushed in any way, screams at top of lungs for entire ride, "Turn around! Go back! Go back! I wanna do it!"

Adorable: Yeah, there's no flip side to this one. It's just fucking infuriating.

Irritating: Insists I sit while she watches whatever show is her current favorite (right now? The Armadillo/Itsy Bitsy Spider episode of the Wonder Pets).

Adorable: Has finally, finally, become cuddly. Grabs my arm and puts it around her. Seriously, the cuddling erases every single irritating thing she does. Sadly, she only cuddles with me. Charlie* feels left out.

If anyone has any advice about curing the dawdling? I would seriously love it. At this point, I don't think much short of a taser would work. I try very, very hard to allow for extra time but sometimes... arg. (Dudes, do not call the police on me. I do not even OWN a taser. Yet.)

____________________________________________

Why is it that everyone that doesn't like Obama is convinced that those of us that DO like him believe he's the Messiah? Seriously, folks, I'm not convinced that JESUS was the Messiah, much less OBAMA. Cripes. I think the good feelings about Obama are summed up brilliantly in the comment left here yesterday by Hanlie:

I think a lot of people are still missing the point... Barack Obama is not a miracle worker or the Messiah, nor has he ever claimed to be. His supporters are not behind him because of what he is going to do, but because of what he inspires us to do. Rebuilding America starts in the homes of the people of America and when a leader can give the people the desire and courage to be the change they seek in their own lives and spheres of influence, great things, yay miracles, happen!

I think it's time the nay-sayers start examining the areas where they can change and improve, like the rest of the country, and stop waiting for Obama to make a mistake.

As for me, I'm ready to be the hero in my own life and do my part for the greater good.

MY POINT EXACTLY.

____________________________________________

On a completely unrelated note, do you all remember that scientist we were supposed to laugh at in biology class? The one that said that giraffe's necks got long because they stretched toward the food on the trees? 

Turns out he might have been right. Check out this article in Newsweek about water fleas--apparently, if the moms are attacked by predators, the babies are born with spiny helmets to fight off the predators. No, really. No genetics required--water fleas WITH spiny helmets are genetically identical to those WITHOUT.

I find this fascinating on multiple levels, not the least of which come from learning at 23andMe that mothers actually provide more DNA to babies than fathers do--it's all in the mitochondria, baby! Sorry, dads. (Although I have lost certain genetic details about my ancestry because I don't have a sample of my father's DNA.) So I'm finding the whole "mother's role in kid's makeup" kinda fascinating.

I probably wouldn't have even read this article before my trip to California. Am I becoming a science nerd, simply because I learned how to separate a strawberry's DNA? 

___________________________________________

I must wrap up this post because I have work to do. Yes, actual work. Squee! Have a great day, folks, day two of Obama. O2, if you will. Heh.

*Hey, did you know that Charlie has committed to blogging every single day this year? Including weekends. Seriously. If you haven't checked him out lately, please do. Subscribe to his blogs--he's doing full feeds now too. You'll be glad you did. Seriously, Charlie is the funniest man I know, and a great writer. And I totally love him. :)

A Widening Pool of Light

I just finished watching the Inauguration Ceremonies with Charlie and Tori, although I will admit that Tori wasn't too impressed. She kept begging for a mermaid movie or Dora the whole time and even went so far as to turn the TV off for a moment. She hastily turned it back on after we scared her near to death with our screaming.

Maybe this makes me a crappy American-- and I'm sure some of you think that is true-- but I have never felt so wonderfully, amazingly, spectacularly patriotic as I do today. I thought Obama's words were perfect. I thought Elizabeth Alexander's poem was perfect (obviously, as I used a quote for this post's title). I thought Aretha Franklin's hat rocked. I even stood, in my own living room, with both my hands over my heart for the Star Spangled Banner.

And I cried! I cried with joy to see this day come, and I cried with relief for finally, at last, being out from under the dark shadow of Bush and Cheney. When Bush's helicopter flew away it felt quite literally like a weight has been lifted off my shoulders.

Such joy! Such amazement!

What I find the most astonishing is the fact that Tori will never remember a time when there wasn't a black President of America. Can you imagine? She will always grow up with just a touch (God, I hope!) wider a world view than I had.

Now? Time to get to work. Time to actually change some shit up. Time to shoulder some of the burden. I am going to see what I can do that is good work, try to do a bit more of my part. President Obama (squee! President! Obama!) makes me think that way.

How about you? How did you feel watching today's momentous events? Were you excited? Happy? I know some of you must be feeling a bit left out. I'm curious. :) For those of you that were unimpressed, you'll find comfort in Tori's disinterest. Enjoy Tori singing a love song to Diego while Obama spoke. Heh.

(On a totally unrelated note, please check out my review blog today. I'm putting up a new contest today! And it's a HOT one. *giggle*)

California is, like, AWESOME

My darlings, my dearests... I am so sorry you haven't heard from me. I had no idea that my little jaunt to California (ha! as if one "jaunts" 3000 miles) would be far more exhausting and intense than I anticipated and I barely managed to toss out a few random tweets while I was gone and could not manage a whole blog post.

My head is swimming with mitochondria and alleles and the awesomeness of science (we separated the DNA of a strawberry! It was cool!) and plus I think I have a terrible, terrible problem: I am completely in love with the Bay Area of California (I say this after two visits, both short, both of which I saw almost nothing) and I will never, ever be rich enough to live there. Plus, I must confess, I think I'm a bit too fat, a bit too loud, and a bit to fast-talking to really ever be a California girl.

I know you folks reading this (some of you, anyway) are all thinking one of the following: a) oh shit, Cecily's becoming one of THOSE bloggers, one that goes "professional" and gets flown to all kinds of events and/or b) Cecily is becoming too famous (HAHAHA) and/or c) Cecily is talking about blogging stuff too often and not enough about [blank] and/or d) I totally applied for that job and I am jealous and/or e) Good fucking LORD I do not care about your fancy ass California bullshit.

Am I right?

Well, if you feel any of the above, skip the rest of this post because I need to giggle a bit like a school girl about the trip cause it was AWESOME. Okay? Okay.

The folks at 23andMe are, like, RIDICULOUSLY HAPPY. Seriously, they could not be more enthusiastic about their company and their mission, and they are all a complete and utter delight from the founders on down to the receptionist. They were incredibly sweet to me even though I grew more, oh, obnoxious? harsh? annoying? the more tired I was (by the end of the second day I think I was saying the same bad jokes three or more times in a row). They are also smart, informative, and able to impart knowledge to a room full of "mommy bloggers" that are all tweeting and blogging while they spoke. I have the utmost respect for them, and I kind of miss having someone has energetic and cheerful as Lizzie (who kept us in step) in my life right now. Alex and Chaih were also incredibly sweet and kind as well, and managed to stand up even in the force of my gale.

I was nervous heading into the trip because the last time I traveled alone (without a roommate or boyfriend/husband) was when I was 18 and I went to Dallas to be trained on the ticket system travel agents used at the time (I worked for a travel agency as a receptionist and for some reason they decided I needed to be trained, even though I never ended up booking a single trip). I always feel weird sitting so close to strangers on a plane, particularly as a person who takes up a lot of space. It's also been over twenty years since I stayed in a hotel room alone. Plus I knew I'd be meeting a lot of really cool bloggers, and what if they all hated me?

Well, I arrived at the San Francisco airport and found a nice fancy car waiting to take me to the hotel. The hotel was so cool--it was old by California standards, and warm and cozy. Greeting me in my room was a ridiculous amount of (okay, if you are a little annoyed at my good fortune, stop reading RIGHT NOW) swag, including the most awesome Flip Camera! There was also some gorgeous cards and paper printed with my name on it by Lobird, an adorable jacket for Tori by Wati Designs, a starter savings account for Tori at SmartyPig, plus a whole bunch of other stuff made by companies that are going to be really bummed I didn't list them here but I am trying to downplay things. Let's just say that I could barely close my suitcase, okay? It felt like... well, it made me feel very special. Let's just leave it at that before I get a bit weepy about it.

I briefly met Liza while we were checking in and I am totally in love with her baby and right now kind of miss her; the baby was so good the whole trip and I simply loved Liza and think she's awesome. At dinner I got to meet Meghan, who is glorious while pregnant with her FIFTH KID, plus her poor beleaguered and handsome husband;  Vicky who is ridiculously beautiful for someone who just had a baby, and Michelle who has beautiful eyes and is sweeter and warmer than anyone I've met in years; and Nancy who is funny and has curly hair I covet. I was also thrilled to meet the awesome, amazing, wonderful woman who gathered us bloggers together: the co-founder of the Silicon Valley Moms blog, Jill Asher. Jill is beautiful in person, funny, kind, and sweet and organized--exactly the kind of person you think of as a community builder. I know I sound gushy, but seriously, these are all awesome women.

After dinner we all collapsed in our rooms. The next day started early at the offices of 23andMe and then! we had lunch! at GOOGLE! It was like visiting Oz or something. I'll tell you what--I've never felt as important and awesome as I did when I walked up to the table reserved for Mommy Bloggers at Google. Not to mention when we got to meet one of the co-founders of Google himself. We then got a tour of the Googleplex (warm Japanese toilet seats with bidets! They made me giggle), which was fascinating, and then it was back to 23andMe for more science lessons.

We ate dinner at the Flea Street Cafe, and OH MY GOD was that amazing. Seriously, I've never had such teeny tiny portions be so completely and utterly fulfilling and delicious. The truffled potatoes I had with my dinner were like a food orgasm.

Friday morning we had a lovely breakfast at a local cafe, then went for massages and pedicures (OH MY GOD) and then a final brief meeting with lunch at 23andMe. It was a whirlwind, and I really was so exhausted by the time I got in the car to head to the airport that I fully believe I was babbling non-sensically at that final meeting.

The last thing I'll say about the trip is this--the two co-founders of 23andMe are really amazing, smart, beautiful women. Linda and Anne are visionaries, and meeting them and seeing them bring their dream to life felt a bit to me like seeing the promises my mother made to me about feminism come true. Maybe that sounds a bit melodramatic, but 23andMe is women-driven and you can tell. It rocked.

I missed Charlie and Tori something awful, and Tori had a more difficult time with me gone then she did on the previous two trips. On Thursday night Tori woke up inconsolably crying and wouldn't allow Charlie to comfort her. In a moment of pure brilliance Charlie put me on Google video chat, upped my image to full screen, and put the laptop in the crib while I sang Tori lullabies. Ain't technology grand?

I am really excited about getting my genetic data from 23andMe (and you KNOW I'll tell you all about it). I feel almost as jazzed by life and writing as I did after BlogHer--and that's saying something.

This ends my lenghty tale of my very short trip. Heh. If you are still reading now, you win a prize called my UNDYING DEVOTION. I promise regularly scheduled blogging shortly. :)

Sunny California

By the time you are reading this, I will winging my way across the country heading to Palo Alto. Surprised? Heh. I wasn't allowed to mention this until now, but I'm working on a super cool project for a company called 23andMe. Perhaps you've heard of them? They were on a little show called Oprah? Yeah.

I'm pretty excited, and not only because I get to spend a couple of days in California when the Philly area is going to be underneath a huge blast of freezing arctic air. I'm excited because I'll be getting a whole bunch of genetic information about myself! I got to spit in a tube and send off my spit to get my DNA mapped. How cool is that?

I'm looking forward to learning all about my various health and traits issues; of course I'm particularly interested in the things that "let me off the hook" like alcohol dependence and obesity. I'm also absolutely fascinated by the ancestry information; being a typical American, I have only a vague idea where my family roots in Europe are. I'm also feeling a bit sorry for my doctor; how is she going to feel when I show up with my list of genetic predispositions and demand some tests?

Anyway, I'm really looking forward to visiting California again; it's funny--I've been there twice in less than a year. How odd. Apparently they are going to treat us quite nicely while we're there, so I may not have much time to write (grin)--oh, and by "us" I mean I am not the only person working on this thing.

I'll try not to exude too much joy about being allowed to participate in such a cool project; as a writer, it's some damn fine validation, however. I'm pretty tickled about it.

Oh, and if you notice I'm not swearing, it's cause they asked me to refrain from being obscene. Only when I talk about them, though. I promise to get back to my regular awful fucking mouth in a bit. Heh.

Innocence

So, Sarah's daughter turned 13 years old a week or so before Christmas. I know–-poor Sarah, right? Mom to a teenager! But here's the thing; Sarah's daughter is a GOOD kid. She does her homework. She loves school. She's in choir, and plays the hand bells, and does theater. She has friends that aren't troublemakers. She barely wears makeup. She dresses appropriately for her age.

I find myself feeling a combination of a bit of shell shock and some sadness about the difference between Sarah's daughter today and how I was at that age. Not long after my 13th birthday, we moved across the country (from Albuquerque, New Mexico, to East Lansing, Michigan). I started getting in trouble almost immediately, although I wasn't a satisfied kid even before we moved; I already was being accused by my teachers of "not living up to my potential," the ringing cry of my youth.

But by six months after my 13th birthday, I was hanging out with the stoners. Admittedly, things were a bit different--Sarah's daughter is in 7th grade while I was in my freshman year of high school (I skipped 2nd grade, plus I have an April birthday). Plus, it was the 80s, and drinking and drugging were more common and more accepted, I think, then they are today. I spent every class break and lunch time hanging out in back of the school in a tiny section of woods we called "The Hill" (even though it was in a valley), smoking cigarettes and occasionally getting high (although I wasn't a big fan of pot back then; it made my blood sugar crash too fast and I got sick).

I was also dating older boys; my first high school boyfriend was 18, my second one 17. I was already planning to have sex. And, of course, I was drinking. Pretty much every day. By Christmas of my freshman year of high school, I was arrested for stealing a car. (That sounds much more dramatic than it was; I was house sitting for some people and we drank all their alcohol and drove their car around and the police were called mostly to scare us. I still remember, though, the dismay on the faces of the owners of the house when they said, "But we trusted you!") On top of all this, I was pretty much ignoring school, and I was lying. Every day I lied to my mother, my teachers, my friends. Before the end of my freshman year, I stole my best friend's boyfriend and cheated on MY boyfriend.

I was horrible.

The thing is, I remember it like I was an adult when all that happened. I felt all grown-up already. I didn't need my mom for anything, and basically viewed her as just being in my way. I watch how Sarah's daughter is with Sarah; loving, affection seeking, and kind. Sure, there's arguing and eye rolling too--she IS a kid--but here's the thing; Sarah's daughter is still, quite clearly, a child. At 13, I clearly was not. I was a teenager, and I felt that I was standing on my own. This was NOT my mother's fault; she was a single mom (as Sarah was, ironically enough), she was earning her PhD, and she did the very best she could. But our circumstances conspired in such a way that I grew up much more quickly than I needed to.

The last time Sarah's daughter was here, she curled her long body (she's already five inches taller than I am) against me and asked me to play with her hair. When I was her age, I would have never asked for that--except, maybe, from a boy. I can see, now, that the affection I wanted was really actually quite child-like; but boy, you could not tell me that at the time.

I don't know why my life took this path. Maybe it was in the cards thanks to my alcoholism; I mean, I was too drunk to attend the homecoming dance my freshman year of high school (and I broke poor Andy's heart; he bought me a corsage and everything and I totally humiliated him, poor guy) and that was in October--I'd only been in high school for two months. Maybe it was my circumstances. Maybe it was moving across the country. Who knows? I was the kid I was, and Sarah's daughter is the kid she is.

But I do know this--I will do everything in my power to make sure Tori is more like Sarah's kid than she is like me. I don't know how much I can influence her behavior, honestly; but I really want her to be a kid for a long, long, long time. I do realize that most of who Tori is going to be is NOT actually up to me; but I do have some control over her circumstances.

I'm not sure why I'm so melancholy lately about my childhood. I suppose it's a combination of parenting and turning forty (gah). I've said it before, but I'll say it again: parenting is hard, and not in the ways you'd expect. So tell me, so that I don't feel so alone in my musings--what is it you hope to change so your kid(s) have a better experience being a kid than you did? Do share. Please.

31 Months

My darling Tori Anne,

So...last, um, Wednesday? Yeah. You turned 31 months old. And somehow, I totally missed it until your Daddy said, "Hey, where the fuck is Tori's 31 month post?" Yes, your Mommy and Daddy talk to each other like that all the time. Sorry about that. So, anyway, here finally is the post.

We had a very busy month. We threw a party, then we sold the trailer in the mountains, then we Christmas shopped really fast, then it was Christmas and we had a bunch of people over, then we had people over again, then it was New Year's and we went to the Mummer's Parade and then it was suddenly time to go back to work and you to school and WHEW. It's no wonder I forgot to do your post. We've barely had a chance to breathe in a month!

We've had some troubles this month. You've been trying to take charge of your life and I've been fighting you tooth and nail. Thankfully, I finally realized that you could be in control of some things – like it's totally okay that you wore your special princess dress three times this week, even when you were roughhousing in it and managed to tear your newest pair of tights the first day you wore them. I think.

You've also been incredibly funny and cute this month, charming us with songs and giggles (see video at the end of this letter for proof). Each day you surprise me how much you know, like the other day when you announced that the polar bears were in trouble because there was "no ice." I really thought we had a big longer before you needed to start worrying about global warming. I really did.

You didn't have school between December 17th and January 5th so we had a LOT of free time to fill. You went with Daddy to the zoo and with Mommy to the local children's museum. We had fun, but apparently the whole rest of the world was equally bored and every single place we went was horrendously crowded. Several times I thought I lost you in the crowd at the museum and those were the longest and most terrifying seconds of my life. Luckily, all the parents worked together and I managed to find you each time. Maybe next month we could work on the running away thing? Thanks. I'd really appreciate that.

You continue to amaze and delight me, and these last few days since I've set down my end of the tug-of-war rope things have been much more pleasant. I'm truly amazed at how easily you'll do what you're asked if you are allowed to make a few of the choices in your life, like eat a meal of just cashews and cheddar bunnies or picking out your own pajamas. When you are a happy child, we are a happy family, and sometimes we have so much fun that I can't believe I ever did drugs to try to feel this good.

Tori Anne, you are my favorite little girl in the whole world. When I tuck you into your crib at night (yes, you are still in diapers so you are still in the crib), I say, "Goodnight, Tori, I love you!" and you say, "I love you too!" and then I say, "I love you more!" and last night you said, "Thank you!" I honestly don't think it's possible for any kid to be cuter. You are the cutest girl to ever walk this earth. Swear.

I love you, bunny-boo. You make me the happiest mom in the world.

Love,

Mommy

Five Things I've Learned This Week

1. That writing my blogs posts at night and setting them to publish the next morning helps me a) write better, more clear posts and b) frees up the next day to concentrate on work and responding to comments. Of course, last night there were new TV shows on, so... I am posting this Friday morning. Oh, and did I say work? Remember that client I lost in October? I got them back. We won't be homeless after all!

2. That Torrie is the one that pointed me down this particular detox road. She wrote about it in this blog entry here. I blame the fog of the detox for not remembering. She is also one of the many, many folks that suggested I use agave nectar instead of splenda, and I tried it this morning in my oatmeal and OH MY GOD it was so much better. There's much chatter on google about whether or not it's a low-glycemic food; it is primarily fructose, according to most folks, and fructose is less glycemic than glucose, however... it's still 60 calories a tablespoon, about the same as maple syrup (the process to make agave nectar is similar to that of maple syrup) so I'm not sure it's really a gazillion times better than sugar, but I will have to see how I feel as I use it. I certainly don't think it's harmful, particularly. And it is delicious--like a spicy cross between honey and maple syrup.

3. This is the big thing I learned, and it's a lesson I keep learning over and over again. You are all terribly wise. I've absorbed everything everyone said in the comments on this post about the terrible twos and have come to some simple resolutions--and possibly even solutions. My first realization was that I say "No" to Tori far too often, and over things that aren't important. I thought I was being a good parent and setting firm boundaries; but you know what?  I was actually being rigid and stubborn (gee, I wonder where Tori gets that from?). So what if Tori doesn't want to wear the clothes I picked out for her? She's getting older, she can choose (we're still sticking to only two things to pick from, but still). As we say in one of my recovery groups, "How important is it?" As a result, I've been stepping out of the fights with Tori and realized that the statement I made both here at over at Savvy Source--"Tori fights about everything"--is inaccurate. It would be more true to say, "I act like a two-year-old too so Tori and I fight about everything." So by slowing down, deciding that if she needs a moment to be her own person about something--it's okay. Obviously, we still broker no discussion on issues of safety-- then my will prevails. But in just two days I've noticed that if I don't argue with Tori over every. single. thing. that we do in a given day, she's far more likely to take my hand in the parking lot without complaint. It's like a mini-miracle. You'd think I'd know better; there are always TWO players in these games, even if one of them is a toddler. Thanks to all of you and your combined comments that helped me see the light. Now we can move on to the next challenging milestone. Heh.

4. Somewhat in the same vein, I need to remember to step back and pause before I write about Internet Mom Controversy (can we just call that IMC?). I also need to remember that some fires do better with less fuel, not more. I get so enmeshed with my online communities sometimes I forget to pull back and see the big picture, and that every story has two sides, and everyone sometimes behaves badly, and no one should be blindly agreed with. I wish healing for everyone, including me, and I am praying to be more understanding across the board in the future.

5. That my lovely experience at the local cheap haircut place last time was a fluke. I spent three hours getting my hair colored there yesterday and the girl was very, very sweet but GOOD GOD she moved so slowly. And while my hair looks fine, it looks a little less funky now and a little more professional. Not at all what I was going for. Sigh. I desperately wish I was independently wealthy so that I could go to my friend who is brilliant but charges $250 for a cut and color. Sigh.

_____________________________________________

BUSINESS STUFF!

Is anyone that reads this going to the Mom 2.0 Summit? I desperately want to go but can't get there unless I win the lottery. I tried to find a sponsor to send me, but I had no luck (that's why I asked about RV companies the other day-- thought maybe an RV rental company would loan us an RV to drive there and I could blog about the experience and they'd get free advertising. Nope. They wouldn't even return my calls or emails. THIS IS NOT A PITCH FOR MONEY TO SEND ME TO THE CONFERENCE. Unless you are a corporation unhurt by the economic downturn and has some mad urge to sponsor a mommy blogger to go to the conference. Grin.

I only have the one conference in my budget, and that's BlogHer 2009 of course. I'd love to attend Blissdom too, and if you can get to it I suggest you go (I'd actually dreamed of driving first to Blissdom, then heading to Mom 2.0). All these cool places to meet up with other women of the internet! Sigh.

As you may have already heard, the fabulous, fantastic Mel of Stirrup Queens--who is not only a wonderful person but is also beautiful (yeah, I've met her--TWICE! Lucky me, no?) is up for a blog award for best medical or health care blog. There is no one--NO ONE--in the blogging community that has done more for the Infertility Blogosphere than Mel has. Please, go vote for her and reward her hard work. Vote early and often.

Last but not least! On Monday I'll be launching a new contest on my review blog. It's gonna be sex-ay, I tell you. We'll be doing a contest with the folks from Eden Fantasys. Yeah, I'm going there. Heh.

Detox

So, on Monday I started doing a simple "detox" food plan. Meaning I've given up sugar, wheat, and dairy for a little while. I got the idea from someone on a blog or on Twitter (and if I were a better person I'd remember who they are and link to them, but alas, I am not).

So, why am I doing this when I've avowed to no longer diet? Well, a couple reasons. I am fucking sick of being sick, first of all: since September, I have been felled with nine different illnesses, two of whom required antibiotics (three if you count the antibiotic drops I'm taking for pink eye right now. PINK EYE. ARG). I'm hoping the detox will help give me back a bit of energy and immunity.

But mostly I'm doing it because since Thanksgiving I've gotten pretty comfortable with eating a sweet bite after a meal, snacking on crappy things, and eating heavy, fatty meals as a matter of routine. Not the mention the huge uptick in fast food meals we indulged in when Tori went on her "I only eat chicken nuggets that come with a toy" food strike (I started making my own nuggets for her at home--foiled that plan). This simple detox is just an easy way to help snap those habits that I'd rather not have anymore. After all, fast food becomes a lot less exciting when you can only have the salads (McDonald's puts sugar even on their fries--bastards), and it's pretty hard to make a meal heavy without dairy or sugar.

This is the first time I've attempted this since really feeling like I've fully incorporated the intuitive eating practices (which for me is part of my HAES philosophy) into my life and, more importantly, into my heart. So there is no feeling of "diet" to this detox; for instance, while out to dinner the other night I forgot and ordered blue cheese dressing for my salad (remembering that it didn't have sugar from my old sugar-free days, but forgetting it was dairy). When I was dieting (or when I was "abstinent" a concept some of you are familiar with), that would have been the a) the end of the world and b) enough reason to trash the whole detox concept and just go ahead and order that Romano cheese dip and the brownie with ice cream as well as the steak I was having. With intuitive eating practices instead, I just shrugged and laughed. No blame, no shame, no "ruining" of detox program. Best of all, no starting over.

Additionally, the detox came to me intuitively; meaning I saw someone talking about it and thought, "Huh. That sounds perfect for after the holidays." It wasn't at all a 'must lose those holiday pounds!' thing, just a 'I want to feel better' thing.

It's been pretty great, although I admit it's only been a few days. I haven't been feeling deprived at all, algthough I wish I had a sweet bite (raisins or other dried fruit) after dinner; stupid me for shopping poorly. Here's what my day looked like food wise yesterday:

Breakfast: a packet of no-sugar added instant oatmeal with pumpkin spice and vanilla added by me, raisins, and a couple packets of splenda (I'm switching to a more natural sweetener when I have time to go to the store tomorrow). And my diet rock star, natch.

Lunch: 1/2 can of Spicy Chicken Chili on a bed of tortilla chips. Yummy.

Snack: Well, I tried to eat some dried apricots but it turned out they were bad, so I ended up eating a small handful of potato chips instead (silly me--not shopping appropriately)

Dinner: Pounded chicken tenders lightly breaded with spelt flour and spices, fast fried, with steamed broccoli and baked hash-brown-style potatoes (cooked with some oil, salt, and a little bit of onion soup mix I had left from Christmas dinner).

Snack: I'll probably have an apple with some natural peanut butter.

See? Not so bad. After all, on this detox potato chips and peanut butter are allowed. It's hard to complain. It's also the first time I've made a diet modification that didn't also include monitoring volume; I eat when I'm hungry, I stop when I'm full. Clear evidence that I have actually become able to listen to my body came on Christmas day when I wound up uncomfortably full for the first time in months; I'd filled my plate just like everyone else but I no longer really wanted that much food. It was bizarre, I tell you, to actually eat less than Sarah did for the first time ever.

I started talking about intuitive eating on this blog nearly two years ago. It took a year for the concept to sink in and then a year for my own experiments and attempts to actually level out into what has become for me the first time I've ever had a healthy relationship with food. Sure, if I'd had gastric bypass two years ago instead I would be skinny now (possibly), but knowing me and my personal experience with diets? I'd also be absolutely fucking nuts and unhappy as hell and, worst of all, probably on the road to gaining it back.

Now instead I have a chance to keep working on loving the body I have instead of dreaming of the one I want. I still have a long way to go, but I no longer have food yelling at me constantly and distracting me from my ability to love myself. It's glorious. Does this mean I don't wish I was (my dream of perfection) a size 12? Of course not. If I woke up thin tomorrow I'd be totally fucking thrilled. It does mean that at long last I've come to terms with the fact that I WILL NOT wake up a size 12 tomorrow. No matter how hard I wish or pray. Tomorrow I will wake up in this body, I will move it, I will feed it, and I will love it.

It's not a bad place to be. I'm eager to see where this journey takes me from here.

So... they weren't kidding when they called the twos "terrible"

In the spirit of yesterday's post, I wrote this entry over at Savvy Parenting Philadelphia about Tori's latest, oh, let's call them antics. Yes. Antics. If by antics you mean BEHAVIOR THAT IS DRIVING ME FUCKING BATTY.

Ahem.

That was the sane and healthy Cecily talking in that entry. The one that didn't watch her two and a half year actually cross her arms over her chest, say "Humph!" and turn her back on her because she didn't want Tori to throw the (hard and painful) toy at her head. The one that didn't have to drive to her meeting this morning with Tori shrieking non-stop the whole time, "GO BACK! GO DE UDDER WAY! GO BACK! I WANNA GO HOME!" for twenty minutes straight because she wouldn't let her leave her car seat partially unbuckled. Or the one that had to pick up her fat ass and carry it into the parking lot before a car squished her kid because the kid broke away from the hand that was holding her. Or the one who, when she did catch up to the runaway kid, had to pick the suddenly boneless child up off the wet, soggy pavement in order to put her in the car seat, and who then had to listen to complaints about wet pants the whole way home.

Yeah, the Cecily that wrote that post at Savvy Source Philly is an awesome lady. I'd totally love to meet her.

I do realize the five things I put on that list, most of the time. I do know that Tori is just a kid who is testing boundaries as hard and fast as she can, and that my job right now is to be the setter of those boundaries. But sometimes? Yeah, sometimes it feels more like I am a fence that is constantly being hammered with a battering ram. And 30 pounds of Tori makes one heck of a battering ram.

Charlie and I work hard with her. Tori does not want, generally, to take no for an answer. But on this issue Charlie and I do differ a bit, and I wonder if this sort of thing goes on in your houses too when it comes to parenting (remember, we are a bit unique in that we are both home, all day, equally parenting-- so you can't accuse him of not pulling his weight). Charlie, it feels to me, often gives in when Tori pushes. He says it's because the issue usually isn't a big deal, and he'd rather not have to listen to the screaming. I, of course, view this differently; I feel like NO is NO, and must be adhered to, or else we teach Tori that if she pushes and pushes and pushes she'll get her way.

Ahem again.

Clearly, this is one of those good issues-- the kind of thing a two-parent family has to worry about. And I think tonight we came up with a compromise, one that I'm hoping will work. Charlie has agreed to say, instead of no, "Maybe later." That way, if he gives in, it's technically later and he isn't saying no and then changing his mind. Right? We sure hope so.

Lastly, on the Tori behavior front, what the fuck is up with the weird attachments? Such as I mentioned in that other entry, the dirty bowl. It was my bowl of oatmeal. I'd finished eating it. Charlie happened to get up before I did and decided to put the bowl in the sink for me. THIS MADE TORI COMPLETELY FREAK THE FUCK OUT. For literally twenty minutes she stomped her feet, cried hysterically, and pointed at the spot the bowl had been saying, "Put it der! Put it der!" She was utterly inconsolable.

I'll accept any feedback you have, but mostly, please tell me this phase will end. Cause seriously? The shit she gets attached to? Is SHIT (she got very upset about not being able to pick up a piece of cat poo). It is not about a toy, or anything that is hers. I do not get it. But then: in this scenario, who is the crazy person? The two year old, or the person expecting rational behavior from a two year old?

Yeah.

We must be doing something right though. I finally tried that whole validation thing and said, "Oh, Tori, I know you are angry." But Tori said, "No I'm not! I'm not angry! I'm sad!"

I guess that's one blessing of being two. You actually know what you feel. I'm 40 and I'm still figuring it the fuck out.

Trials and Tribulations of The Internets (edited to add)

Oh LORD HAVE MERCY. Once more, the Internet has bitten the ass of a mother trying to find some peace and sanity online. Here's the whole sordid story on the victim's blog. Here's Tertia's well thought out response to it. And I totally agree with Tertia.

This is a Twitter story. The short version is, a mom was fighting with her kid as she tried to put her to bed (meaning the kid didn't want to go to bed; gee, has this happened to anyone?) and she joked on twitter about smothering her. Someone that saw the tweet called the police on the mom, forcing the mom to let the police into her child's room at 11pm to verify that she had not, in fact, smothered her.

...

Now, I've said some shit on Twitter I wanted to take back. Stupid, off-hand quips that offended a few folks. Sometimes it's hard to slooooow doooown when you are only talking in 140 characters at a time. Twitter, I've heard it best described, is kind of like walking into a virtual cocktail party and jumping from group to group and conversation to conversation. I'm sure you've all walked into conversations at parties that made you think, "Whoa. What the fucking fuck?" Chances are, you take a minute and find out more before making assumptions about the person that just made the statement, right? But of course, unlike an in-person cocktail party, you can't hear tone of voice online, and sure-- maybe it does get a bit difficult to tell if someone is joking or threatening actual harm. But a bit of research-- looking at the rest of the woman's tweets, which make clear her love for her children, or even reading a few of her blog entries would have clarified the issue. No, I personally wouldn't joke about smothering Tori. I might, however, mention to Sarah that I've considered killing Charlie in his sleep. Wanna call the cops on me?

I remember, long before I had a child, reading in Anne Lamott's Operating Instructions where she wondered whether it be okay to leave her colicky non-sleeping infant outside in the snow for a few minutes just to calm him down. At the time, I was was rather appalled (as only the childless can be). Now? I GET IT. Take these ingredients: some sleep deprivation, a kid old enough to argue with you (oh my GOD, Tori and the arguing lately), the other stressful shit that life throws you and kapow-- you've got a mom blowing off steam by joking about smothering your kid. JOKING.

I think what's really at the heart of the issue here is the Internet itself. The safety the anonymity of the Internet provides allows this kind of public "policing" of parenting (as Tertia calls it). Admittedly, those of us that put our parenting out there-- by blogging, twittering, or whatevering-- are leaving ourselves open to all kinds of criticism. I get that. WE KNOW. Lord knows enough people accuse us of all kinds of things (exploiting our kids for ad revenue, etc, etc, etc; funny how no one went after all those male authors that wrote about their kids-- but that's a whole other discussion, eh?) because we blog, and most of us have made peace with this sort of criticism.

But calling the police? Me thinks that goes too far.

The last thing I'll say is this: I suspect that there might also be a bit of a prejudice against those that suffer from a mental illness going on here. The blogger involved primarily blogs (as she stated in a more recent post) about her personal battle with bipolar disorder and how it effects her parenting. So perhaps the 911-trigger-happy Twitter friend assumed "bipolar = crazy person" and therefore assumed the twittering mom meant it about the smothering. But: this could have been cleared up with a tiny touch of research. And I don't mean find-the-woman's-address research that actually happened.

Come on, folks. We are all moms together. Let's give each other a bit of a break already, okay?

**Edited to add:

As the story continues to unfold, I want to add a couple of points here.

First of all, the woman who supposedly called the police insists that she did NOT, in fact, call. Apparently a lot of people called, but not the one in question. I am going to chose to believe her, because in general my experience with her as been positive. HOWEVER: I do wish she had tweeted the mom who made the smothering statement directly. I also wish she had followed up on the story quietly rather than tweeting and tweeting about it and really making the other mom look bad. A few direct messages (these do not go public) quietly about it would have been much better than smearing another mom's reputation.

That said.

The aftermath coming to the one accused of calling the police is UNACCEPTABLE. People have threatened to report HER to CPS (with not a stitch of evidence, not even a "joke"). This is BULLSHIT, and people need to knock it the fuck off. Others have called her boss, and sponsors on her website, attempting to ruin her. THIS IS BULLSHIT, AND PEOPLE NEED TO KNOCK IT THE FUCK OFF.

Look: she handled it badly, in my opinion. But I do believe that in her heart was genuine concern, even if her response was misguided (and I still think a possible lack of understanding of mental illness is involved as well). If I judged her too harshly, I am apologizing now. At this point EVERYONE involved is fucking overreacting. I like both women, I feel the situation is over and done now, and we need to stop the craziness.

So I will not mention this again, but I did want to try to participate in the effort to set the story straight.

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On to more personally relevant Internet news, some of you might be reading this here entry through your blog reader (such as Bloglines or Google Reader; I prefer Google, myself). Perhaps you are among the vast majority of folks that subscribe to my blog, but do not have the time to click over from your reader for the full feed when I sent just a partial feed over your way. Yeah. I just found out about you folks.

Sorry about that.

I was told that if I don't send partial feeds out it hurts my ad revenue (yes! I have sold out! I want ad revenue! Because I like to pay my mortgage! I am SUCH A WHORE!). But... if you just skip me entirely, what's the point?

So, dear readers, please enjoy the full feed of my blog in your feed reader from now on. Meanwhile, I will be over at Feedburner, scrutinizing my subscriber stats, happy I've found YET ANOTHER THING TO OBSESS OVER (oh my God, do you know about Feedburner? Cause it is AWESOME. I had no idea).

And all those folks who unsubscribed from my blog cause of the partial feeds? Come back! Come back! Puh-lease come back! :)

Lather, Rinse, Repeat

I'm kind of blown away by the frequency with which parenting makes me deal with my old buried shit, over and over again. I was conned invited by Toni of Bring the Family to participate in a daily photo project over on Flickr. I agreed to do it because when I did my year in review photo post last week I was saddened to see how many fewer photos I had in the second half of 2008 than I did in the first half. I figured a daily photo project would help solve that for this year. Plus I really like the community aspect of it.

One of the first photos I put up was this one of Tori's new tea set. I bought it on a whim at a museum shop on New Year's Eve (when we were trapped in the fourth circle of hell at the most crowded children's museum ever and we needed to get out of the throng), and Tori of course loves it. I've already had to drink about 100 cups of fake tea so far. But the tea set, and the ease with which I purchased it-- even in these financially unsteady times, and with Charlie and I needing to really get on the ball with earning money in the coming weeks-- triggered a small emotional earthquake in me. While we're not rich, the impromptu purchase of a $10 tea set is totally possible for us, almost always.

This was not my experience growing up. I remember, as a kid, asking for things and and being told no because we couldn't afford it. I think by the time I was three or four I learned to stop asking, ever, for things I wanted. To this day I have a difficult time saying, "I need this..." and if Charlie (who has his own money issues) starts running through our budget out loud to see where it can fit in, I become that little girl again who doesn't ever want to ask for anything. Better to suffer in silence than be denied. My childhood poverty has left deep and lasting scars.

Now, don't get me wrong-- I do think it's good to say no to kids, and I said no to about a dozen other things in the store-- but to know that Tori will grow up without having this shame about having needs... ah, that is one of the many gifts I want to give her. More than a tea set, I want to give her a reasonable emotional sense about money.

This, among other things, has made me think a great deal about what it was like for my mother when I was Tori's age-- 20 years old, divorced, and poor. God, it must have been awful. Tori is going through a phase where she gets incredibly attached to things--yesterday she had a ten minute temper tantrum over the placing of a bowl in the sink (instead of leaving it on a table). One of the ways this has been highlighted as been when Charlie leaves the house; Tori cries and cries and cries and says, "I need my Daddy!"

It's hard enough telling her that he's gone out and will be back in a couple hours; imagine my poor mother having no soothing answer for me when I asked for my daddy. She had no idea when he'd be back, if ever, and when I look at Tori's honest-to-goodness little heartbroken face, GOD. I almost lose my shit.

I know I've written about this endlessly here (hence the title of this post), but I am just so continually struck by how utterly and completely deluded I was when I was younger, thinking that my father leaving me had no effect on me because I didn't "remember" him. Tori is SO connected to her Daddy, so completely and utterly, that it would DEVASTATE her to lose him. And I was not much younger than Tori when my father left me.

I've come to terms, some, with the "daddy shaped" hole that's in my heart. Particularly now that he's dead (coming up on four years since his death next month). But as I watch Tori grow up, and I watch how deeply her emotions go, I begin to see how much was lost. How big, in fact, that daddy-sized hole is.

I didn't know that one of the hardest parts of parenting would be having to witness, first hand, what the reality of being a child is like-- and how much of what happens to a young, impressionable heart and mind shapes a whole life. I didn't expect to find myself revisiting my childhood losses, again and again, probing the old wounds so much that they open afresh. It's honestly been one of the most challenging aspects of parenting for me.

Well, that and the tantrums. Hers, not mine. I'm fine with mine. Heh.

Next up, I'll get to talk about how Sarah's daughter becoming a teenager is fucking me up. I'll bet you just can't wait, can you?

Oh, and Happy, Happy, Happy New Year. I hope this one is the best one yet for you and yours.

PS: OK, this might seem random, but there is a point. Does anyone that reads this blog work for a RV company, either selling or renting? Or do you know someone who does? If so, leave a comment here and I'll email you. :)

2008 In Pictures

This is all from me today. I'll be off at the Mummer's Parade tomorrow, so... see ya next year!

You can link over to flickr to see these in more detail. :) And thanks to Toni for the idea of the mosiac for this post.

Mush

My brain, that is. My brain in mush.

I went to my normal recovery meeting today and for the first time in a week I felt myself calm down. I managed to actually slow my breathing and my heart rate and relax for the first time in days. I realized while I sat there what I'd hardly had a hint of when I was yelling at Charlie yesterday (and the day before...and maybe the day before that...). I am FRIED.

Since December 13 I have had an open house party, sold a house, done all the Christmas shopping, had a dozen people for Christmas Dinner, had people over again the next day for leftovers, gone to a "Tweet Up" (a gathering of folks on Twitter meeting in person--that was last night, and was actually quite fun), started a book proposal and had almost no childcare. In just over two weeks.

Slowing down at the meeting today made me realize that I feel not angry or irritated but sad. For some reason whenever I feel grief or sadness I always lash out in anger first. It always takes me a while to sort through my wicked-powerful defense mechanisms to get to my true feelings--as we say in one of the recovery programs I go to, I need to remember to "don't just do something, sit there!" I've been spending so much time doing I forget to slow down and do some feeling.

I know, I know, it sounds like a bunch of self-help mumbo-jumbo but what the fuck EVER. This is my head today.

The sadness is so dense. It's a combination of normal end-of-the-year doldrums--you know, the whole "I didn't do enough and another year is over! I'm still fat, I'm still poor, and I'm still short!" But I also don't think I really had any idea how much it would affect me to re-read all the entries I wrote from when I first got pregnant with the boys.

I've read the entries around the time I lost the boys repeatedly since in happened in 2004; the one from a day or two before, and then immediately after. What I haven't read in years and years is from when I first found out I was pregnant, to when I found out it was twins, to when I found out they were both boys. I almost feel like I don't recognize myself in those old entries. Back then, I was funnier than I am now, much more flip, and of course I was still "anonymous"; I didn't say where I lived, and in fact, I don't think I'd even said my first name yet publicly on the blog at that point. I was so much lighter-hearted; I feel older and beaten now... but not necessarily in a bad way. Life, as we all know, shapes us. I feel, now, a bit like a hammered piece of metal. A bit fragile, a bit spread thin, but still beautiful.

OK. That even made me gag a little, it was so pat and cute.

Anyway. I feel like I've grown up and become a better person than the one that would have been the mother to those (living) boys. The loss of my sons has made me a kinder person, one more focused on the well-being of those around me, and a better mother to Tori than I could have ever been to my (living) sons.

I'm going to hold off on the book proposal until after the bells for the New Year have been rung. Today I'm going to go ahead and just sit and feel. I'm also going to work hard to remember my accomplishments from this last year instead of my shortcomings. So maybe we end this post with a positive spin in the comments. What have you done in this last year that you're proud of? What did you accomplish that you didn't expect?

Me? Well, I'm really proud that I went to BlogHer and wasn't afraid. I'm proud that I decided to start thinking about a book. I'm proud that I've worked so hard at my recovery programs, particularly in the last six months. I'm proud my daughter says "please" and "thank you" so often. Most of all I'm proud that I kept this blog going for another year and came more fully into my own as a writer.

See? That wasn't so hard. This post might meander a bit, but at least it gets there in the long run. Right?

OK. I take it back.

No Rick Warren at the Inauguration.

And this is why.

Maudlin

Arg. I have started working on my book proposal--as scheduled (eep!). I've written an introduction, I've reviewed suggestions and tips for putting together a non-fiction book proposal, and now I'm reviewing old blog entries looking for chapter ideas. So far I've made it to July of 2004 (I started blogging in March of 2004).

In case you don't remember, it was in April of 2004 that I did my first and only IVF cycle, then in June of 2004 that I did the embryo transfer and ended up pregnant with the boys.

I'm pausing here because I don't know quite what to say. It's tough, reading this stuff, knowing what is coming down the road. Even though I'd already been through two years of infertility at that point, I was still completely innocent in a lot of ways. Yet I was also oddly prescient; in the entry for June 26, 2004 I discussed how scared I was, how I knew my mother had preeclampsia with me, and that I was worried I'd have it too. Jesus.

I almost want to go back in time to that woman I was and just tell her to hold on, that eventually--two years later--everything was going to be OK. But then I'd destroy the innocence, the simple joy of that woman I was, happy in her first pregnancy.

Reviewing the blog is going to take a lot out of me until I get through 2004. It make slow me down a bit, but I'll get through it. Maybe I'll pause and try to write a sample chapter or two instead.

Sigh.

But on the positive side, I'm really doing it. I'm really taking the time and having faith enough in myself to at least start on a book proposal. And that is something, right?

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Many of you have emailed me and asked me about President-Elect Obama's choice of Rick Warren, the homophobic bigot, to lead the prayer at his inauguration.

Short answer? It sucks, it sucks ass. I wish he'd chosen Jim Wallis instead (a Christian leader that chooses to focus on issues of social justice instead of things like Gay Marriage).

So, I agree with you folks, it's a distasteful and despicable choice. However, it is NOT a particularly surprising one. In fact, I would go so far as to say it's actually a rather politically savvy choice on the part of Obama.

Obama did say he was planning to be the President of the United States--ALL OF IT. And like it or not, roughly 25-40% of Americans (depending on what you read) agree with the likes of Rick Warren. So it's a nod to those folks to choose him.

But remember--Rick Warren is performing only a token act. He is NOT enacting policy, informing policy, or in any fucking way having fuck all to do with policy. I am going to just take this as it appears--as a political move by the man we all elected to be President--and nothing more.

I'm going to save up my rancor for the actual policy fuck ups I am sure will happen while Obama is President. He is never going to be liberal enough for some of us, and he'll never be conservative enough for the rest of us. And frankly, I suspect people are going to remember Ms. Aretha Franklin's performance at the inauguration far more than they will Rick Warren's prayer. Heh.