Katie's Korner

Do More

2012-01-04T09:00:00.001-05:00

New Year's resolutions are so often "do less" declarations (eat less, yell less, etc.). For 2012, I want to focus on the "do more" declarations.

What do I want to "do more" of in 2012?

laugh
play
hug my children
kiss my husband
hike
dance (even if there's no music)
frolic
bike
make time for friends and family
walk in the grass barefoot
sing out loud
stargaze
make kitchen messes, and let the kids help
be kind
take walks with my children
be kind
smile
trust myself
take risks
let go and have fun
visit museums of all kinds
reach out
dig in the dirt
splash in the water
try new things

What will you do more of this year?

Keeping Perspective

2011-09-21T13:23:00.002-04:00

This morning, after Miss Audrey's music class, she and I headed over to Barefoot Books in Concord. I'd been meaning to go there for ages - ever since they moved from Cambridge a few years ago. We have several of their books and enjoy them immensely.

The new store is just lovely. Bright, colorful, and cheerful. There's always a drop-in story time or craft event going on. There are well-designed play areas. Staff were so friendly and welcoming. And they really don't mind kids and parents just hanging out for a while.

Barefoot Books is well-known for promoting acceptance and cross-cultural diversity in their stories and books. The wide variety of stories and fables I saw from Africa, India, China, South America, and so much more was quite impressive. Even within stories, cross-cultural awareness is always a subtle presence. And we were privileged to see this corporate philosophy put into action today.

After Audrey and I had been hanging out, reading books, and doing puzzles for a while, a group (10? 12?) of developmentally disabled children came in (not having prearranged their visit) with their caregivers for a story time. And it was wonderful to watch! The staff welcomed them all with open arms and gave them the space they needed so the kids could be comfortable. The kids clearly all had serious challenges - most were partially (if not completely) deaf and/or blind with severe communication deficits. They were in the 7-10 age range, but were not there cognitively. But they all seemed cheerful and happy and absolutely loved the storytime. Many were singing along as best they could, which was just adorable. And every child was with a professional caregiver who clearly adored their charges. It made me happy that these kids have the resources behind them to have the care and love to thrive within the limits of their own personal challenges.

Which got me thinking about all the children out there who don't have those resources and are left floundering and neglected in sub-standard care. Which is just too distressing to put words to it.

And also got me thinking about my own three children. Yes, they have quirks and can drive me bonkers. But they are healthy. They can see and hear and interact easily with the world at large. They can go to school and form bonds and relationships with a wide variety of people. They will have the ability to support themselves and their families. They will have opportunities to pursue their dreams, whatever they may be, and make choices about how they live their lives. It's so easy to forget that this isn't true for many children.

I started today feeling very grumpy from a lot of whining and complaining around me (I was doing plenty myself). Now, I'm feeling blessed and grateful for what I have and thankful for the reminder about what is, actually, important.

The New and Improved Katie 4.0

2011-08-04T11:46:00.000-04:00

So, I’m 40 now. And I really don’t care. I readily admit my age. Why?

My confidence has never been better. I’ve always had self-confidence issues. But over the last ten years I’ve had three children, and it’s amazing what having three little people completely dependent on your to turn them into responsible people can do for your self-confidence. There are still many situations that severely test me, but it’s getting better.

I am more sure of what I want and what I will and won’t put up with. I’ve been through enough emotionally destabilizing events to have the proverbial revelation that “life is short.” I’ve always been pretty good at letting the things that bother me roll off and never giving a second thought. But my patience for such things is changed, and I like that. I have very little tolerance for the bullshit anymore and will call it out. With anyone.

I am also probably in better shape that I have ever been, despite the extra 30 pounds. My sister and a few friends convinced me to start running last spring. I’d been working out fairly regularly at the gym (aside from immediately post-partum), but that was nothing compared to an hour of running.

So, anyway…

I had a lovely celebration of my 40^th birthday, thanks to my wonderful husband and some amazing family and friends. Brett and I decided to treat a few friends to a nice, adult-only dinner out at the lovely Harvest in Harvard Square. We’d never been there before, but had an amazing time. (Here’s my Yelp review.)

At dinner, I looked around at all these different people from different parts of my life – college, work, family, playgroups. It was really a bit disconcerting to think about everyone making elaborate plans (finding babysitters, dressing up, dealing with the hassle of getting into and parking Harvard Square, etc.) just for my birthday. I guess there’s still the little part of me deep inside that wonders if I’m worth all the trouble. But everyone who was there (and a few who couldn’t make it) hold such a special place in my heart and I was thrilled to spend the evening with them.

I am humbled by the love I feel for these friends (and yes, most of my family counts as friends) and as the years go by I realize more and more how lucky I am to have a life overflowing with good friends, affection, and heartfelt connections.

Which is why I’m proud to say I’m 40!

Visiting History

2010-09-13T08:39:00.006-04:00

4 years ago from right now, the skilled surgeons at Mass General and Mass Eye and Ear were drilling into my head and picking apart the inside of my skull. I am reposting the story of that day. So much has happened since then, yet it still feels like it was just yesterday.
==================

September 13, 2006. A day that will always be seared into my memory. The day of my surgery to remove my acoustic neuroma (aka, head booger).

Believe it or not, I had little trouble sleeping the night before my surgery. We did have to get up at 4am to check in at the hospital by 6am, but I slept quite soundly up until then. I didn’t expect to. And when we got up before the crack of dawn, I still wasn’t feeling nervous.

The drive into Boston was eerily quiet. Not much traffic that early. Brett and I didn’t talk much in the car. I think we were both in our own worlds, thinking about this surgery from very different perspectives.

We get to the hospital around 5:45am, and I need a pit stop before going up to surgical admitting. While my mind may not be nervous, my insides are starting to betray me. We soon go upstairs to admitting. The waiting area for outpatient surgery is already pretty full. I am somewhat envious of all those people there for such minor procedures that they can go home the same day. I check in and we head over to the inpatient waiting area. We are the only ones there. Shortly, another older couple joins us, and then by a younger couple with their young child – he couldn’t have even been 2 years old. I was heartbroken, watching the little boy play quietly, wondering what had gone so wrong in his young life that he required surgery. And I was heartbroken for his parents, having to watch their baby go through something so awful. I tried to flip through my magazine, but it wasn’t working. I couldn’t read the letters on the page. Fortunately, there wasn’t a lot of time to fret – I was quickly called back to the pre-op area. The first among the inpatient surgical patients. Brett has to stay in the waiting room for now.

I follow a very nice nurse, Eleanor, back to pre-op. It is a huge bright, white room filled with curtained off stretchers. My first task is to remove all clothing and change into the requisite hospital garb – gown, robe, and slippers. Eleanor then returns to go through her pre-op checklist. I confirm, three times, that I am there to have a left AN removed, and she uses a Sharpie to write the word “YES” behind my left ear. Don’t want those docs attacking the wrong side! After all the requisite vitals (again, my body betrays that maybe I am a little nervous when my blood pressure is much higher than normal), I sign all the papers saying I will consent to the surgery today.

Finally, around 6:15am, Brett is allowed back to wait with me. But we only have about five minutes before the woman from Transport shows up to wheel me off. Brett and I try to say a decent good-bye, but it’s hard with Stern Transport Woman (STW) watching. And then it’s time for me to be off. STW takes my stretcher and pushes me through the Big Silver Doors, down a hallway, and through another set of locked doors. I am now in the surgical wing. I try to look around, but it’s hard with no glasses and I’m starting to feel a bit queasy and shaky (it doesn’t help that I haven’t been allowed to eat or drink anything since the night before). I do notice that both sides of the corridor and lined with surgical suites, and all available hall space is occupied with all sorts of bizarre equipment. STW pushes me, without speaking, for what feels like hours. Finally, we stop at O.R. 27. I’m wheeled around in a small holding area outside the O.R. so my back is to the O.R. doors. STW goes behind me to poke her head into the O.R., announces my presence, and unceremoniously leaves.

A few minutes later, the anesthesiologist (Dr. Kamdar) comes out. She’s young, and quite attractive. It is her job to start some of my IV lines, as well as get my final consent for the anesthesia. At this point, I am starting to freak a little. My stomach is all uptight and I have to remind myself to breathe at times. Dr. Kamdar starts working on the back of my right hand to start an IV (a BIG one), and a nurse comes out to go through everything with me – again. Finally, I sign the last of the paperwork. I guess this is really happening! Now that I’ve signed all the consents, Dr. Kamdar asks if I’d like some medication to help me relax and I agree. It takes effect pretty quickly – I feel kind of tingly all over, like I’ve had a couple glasses of wine. I’m still freaking out, but breathing is a bit easier now.

Dr. Kamdar then shoots my right wrist full of Novocain so she can put in the arterial line. I can’t watch, but try to ask her a few questions (how many people are in the O.R.? What kind of anesthesia do you use?) to distract myself. She’s having trouble with my veins (I’m somewhat dehydrated because I couldn’t eat or drink that morning) so I probably should be letting her concentrate, but I really feel like I need someone to talk to me. She’s been working on my wrist for several minutes when I start to feel very light-headed. I try to ride it out, but finally have to tell Dr. Kamdar that I feel like I’m going to pass out. She quickly pushes a medication into my IV, and a few moments later I’m feeling better. It’s all very unreal at this point. Shortly after, the arterial line is done, and Dr. Kamdar straps my wrist to a soft board so I don’t accidentally move the wrong way and dislodge a large line in a major artery. That could be bad.

Now Dr. deBros, the senior anesthesiologist, comes out. We chit-chat a few minutes, and then he starts discussing the anesthesia protocols with Dr. Kamdar. I listen, amazed that he has a specific protocol he likes to use for AN patients. What really gets my attention, though, is when he describes the dosage of a specific med to push when the surgeon is about to start drilling the skull to put me under a bit deeper – otherwise, he says, the patient can reflexively startle and move a bit from the noise. (I later find out that Dr. deBros specializes in anesthesia for neurosurgery cases.) I actually find myself reassured that this team is so experienced with ANs that even the anesthesiologist has developed a specialized protocol. At this point, Dr. Kamdar has given up on starting the other IVs she needs, saying my veins are too collapsed from dehydration and she’ll finish up after I’m under to minimize my discomfort. Then she and Dr. deBros disappear into the O.R., leaving me alone in the waiting area.

I have no idea how much time passes, but I don’t think it’s too long. A nurse finally comes out, and says it’s time to go in. And just like that, I’m wheeled into the O.R. I wanted to remember to look around and really take it all in and remember it, but I think the meds are starting to play with my brain. I note that the O.R. is very large, and there are lots of large, white, shiny pieces of equipment all over. And enormous lights over the operating table. My stretcher is wheeled over so that it’s right next to the operating table. I hear someone say out loud “In the room at 7:45am.” Then a couple nurses appear right next to me. One asks if I can slide myself over to the table, or if I need them to do it for me. I reply that I can do it, and proceed to (somewhat awkwardly) move myself over. The nurse remarks how strong I am, and quickly covers me with warm blankets and puts towels under my elbows on the little armrest jutting out from the table. To my right, I see someone I think is one of the surgeons pacing back and forth and muttering to himself. In a very disconnected way, it again hits me that this is actually real.

Dr. Kamdar is back, near my head. She places a mask over my nose and mouth, telling me they’re starting to give me some oxygen. I’m grateful that she just holds the mask a bit away from my face – I somehow know that I’d freak with claustrophobia (though I’m not usually claustrophobic) if the thing were strapped down tight. The air in the mask suddenly starts to smell different and I wonder if Dr. Kamdar is starting to put me under, hoping that she’d tell me if first if she was.

*********************
There’s a hive of activity around me. I can hear it. I will myself to open my eyes and they do for a brief second. I see a woman standing to my right, writing on a clipboard, before my eyes decide they really don’t want to be open. I lose sense of the activity. Then it comes back, though I have no idea how much time has passed. I hear people talking about what I think are medication doses. My head hurts, A LOT, and I say so. But I don’t know if I actually say the words, or if it’s just in my head. Somewhere back in the deep recesses of my brain, I finally realize I must be in Post-Op Recovery. And I’m convinced it’s 5pm, which is good – it means the surgery went faster than expected. And then I pass out again. Suddenly, I’ve got the dry heaves, which is exceptionally miserable and kills my head, and them I’m out again. (Looking back, that’s probably when they took out my breathing tube.)

*********************

My stretcher starts moving. It’s not a good feeling. I really don’t want the world around me to be moving. I feel like I’m spinning. I close my eyes and try to pass out again, but it’s not working. After what feels like a three-hour trip through hell, I stop moving. I’m in a room – ICU. My brain is working enough again to realize what’s going on. The room is buzzing with nurses, doctors, and other people. I look around a bit and see the clock on the wall – it says 9:00. For a minute I’m very confused. Is it 9pm or 9am? I thought I was only supposed to spend an hour in Recovery. Did something go wrong?

The doctors notice I’m alert and start talking to me and asking me questions. I’m actually pain-free – good meds! I pass the initial neurological assessment, which is great. I can actually feel both sides of my face moving – is it possible my facial nerve wasn’t damaged? That would be amazing. But my left hand is numb. I tell this to the doctor, and he looks concerned. He examines my hand and arm and finds that I have a pressure bruise on my elbow that is causing problems with the nerve going down to my hand. He seems disappointed, but not concerned.

I ask to see Brett. But, again, I’m not sure if I say the words out loud or just in my head. I think I’ve been given IV morphine, and it’s starting to make me very sleepy again. I start to doze off, and then Brett’s suddenly standing at the foot of the bed, talking to the ICU nurse. Everyone else has left. Brett and I talk for a few minutes (about what, I have no idea) and then I’m dozing off again. By the time I can get my eyes open again, Brett has gone and I’m left in the ICU, with a wonderful nurse, to recover.

*********************

Day by day by day… I feel a little better every day. And I never did figure out why I thought it was 5pm when I was in recovery. Trick of the meds, I guess.

The Stuff of Memories

2010-08-21T23:28:00.001-04:00

The beach. There's something indescribably primal about being at the beach - the rhythm of the waves, the infinite cycle of the tides, the call of the birds, the salt on the breeze, the isolation of realizing how minuscule any one individual against the vastness of the water.

We're exploring the beaches of Cape Cod, up near the end where there are fewer people and more conservation areas and wilderness marshes. It's very minimalist here. And it couldn't be more lovely. We can walk to the marsh and low tide and marvel at the sheer distance the water travels between the tides.

The boys loved walking over the sand dunes. This part of the Cape is just one big sand dune covered with sea grasses. And tiny holes in the sand providing homes to tiny hermit crabs.

We arrived late in the afternoon, so we were only supposed to be scoping beaches to see where we wanted to come back to set up camp for the day. But when you put kids near the water, the lure is just too strong and they must go in.

And what is it about boys and the wet sand of a beach? If their feet are touching sand, they must drop everything and dig in it. Now. Don't get between a boy and his sand.

There is Hope

2010-05-06T14:05:00.000-04:00

A conversation in the car this morning. ("T." is J's preschool teacher, who got engaged last weekend.)

me: So, T. is getting married! That's exciting!

J: Yes, it is! She shared her celebration cake with us at snack today.

me: That was nice of her to share.

*pause*

me: Do you remember going to the wedding in New Jersey in January?

J: Yes.

me: Well, now T. is planning for her wedding so she can do that next year.

J: I've never met who she's marrying.

me: True. I've never met him either.

J: It could be a her. I don't know because I've never met them.

me: You're right. But I heard T. say "him" today, so I'm pretty sure she's marrying a boy.

It struck me that J. has no pre-conceived ideas about weddings and marriage. Over the winter, we spent time explaining what a wedding is and what it means to make that pledge in front of family and friends in preparation for the wedding we went to in January. But as far as he's concerned, any two people can get married. And I'm happy to keep the politics of that away from him as long as possible. Because, at least where we live, he's absolutely right.

And that makes me happy. It gives me hope that we can raise a generation that thinks the gender of the people getting married is irrelevant.

A Bucket of Tears

2010-05-01T23:28:00.000-04:00

It's so hard to understand post-partum depression. I certainly didn't. Not until it happened to me. And even after it happened to me, I find myself at a loss for how to describe it.

It happened again this week. My third baby is 1 year old and I had almost no issues with PPD after she was born. It was the easiest, happiest recovery of all three of my births. But a few days ago I was hit hard.

It was late afternoon and I was helping the boys clean up their rooms and vacuum upstairs while Brett finished up outside. I was in a bit of rush because the downstairs was still a disaster and my in-laws were coming over with dinner to stay with the kids while Brett and I were going to a play. I left the boys to finish and went to start on the downstairs.

A few minutes later, I went back upstairs to check on the boys. They had finished up, and then proceeded to pull stuff back off the shelves to play. And I broke down in tears. I did the best I could to choke out the words admonishing the boys and directing them to pick up again. They knew something was very wrong and jumped right on board. And that's when I heard Brett and his parents downstairs.

I lost it. Utterly and completely. I locked myself in my bathroom, sat on the floor, and sobbed. And sobbed. And sobbed. For no real reason. (Because the boys did what I asked them to and then started playing? Not a real reason.) It was beyond any control I had over myself. The tears would not stop coming. And I knew with absolute certainty that I would NEVER be able to go downstairs for dinner (ever again!) and that I was NOT going out of the house that night, and that I would NEVER stop crying and that I would NEVER feel happy ever again. Everything was a shambles.

So I cried nonstop for a good 40 minutes. Every time I even thought about trying to pull myself together and interact with other people, even my children, the tears came stronger. And after I was cried out, I crawled into bed and fell asleep for 30 minutes. When I woke up, it suddenly seemed like it might actually possible to see another person and not break down into tears. I might not be happy, but I could function. An hour before, I didn't think that would ever be possible again in my lifetime.

So I survived dinner. Brett and I went out to the play (which was phenomenal, though I probably would have enjoyed it even more on a different night). And when we got home I went straight to bed. By the next morning, life seemed to be returning to normal. And by the end of the next day, I was left wondering if I imagined the whole thing.

I felt it for a few hours this time. I try to imagine what it must be like for the women who live with those feelings for days and weeks and months on end. I remember it a bit from after my first was born. I still can't talk about some of the thoughts that lived in my head during those dark days.

May this give you just a touch of insight. It's not a fun place to be.

Audrey at 1 year

2010-04-14T11:36:00.000-04:00

Audrey's first birthday was last week. We had a very enjoyable family party on Easter Sunday, where we also celebrated the birthdays of her brother, her cousin, and her uncle.

She's now 19lbs 7oz, and 29 1/2". That means she's grown 10 3/4 lbs and 9" over her first year (8lb 10oz, 20 1/2" at birth).

She's now standing on her own as long as she wants and taking a few steps at a time. Though her funny scoot-crawl is too efficient to make walking very appealing yet. She talks a blue streak - we just can't yet understand most of what she says. But when she really needs to, she makes clear what it is she wants.

And she very much enjoyed her cake!

A Rant about Breastfeeding

2010-04-12T22:23:00.001-04:00

OK, I'm pretty sure I'm going to piss some people off with this. I'm going to make someone feel guilty, even though that's the last thing I want to do and is not my intention. But there's been a lot of talk flying around the Internets the last few days because of the study published online last week in Pediatrics (the official journal published by the American Academy of Pediatrics).

I hear a lot of moms defending their use of formula instead of breastfeeding using a lot of different reasons. But they mostly boil down to an inability to produce enough milk and/or returning to work making it too difficult. I will never, ever, ever judge the decision that an individual mom has to make for herself and her baby. They have to live in the here-and-now. No mom should ever be made to feel guilty about the use of formula vs. breastmilk. Formula is NOT a bad word.

But we, as an entire society - women and men, parents and childless, singles and couples - don't support breastfeeding like we could. And that's on all of us. The idea that women have the legal "right" to breastfeed anywhere they are is just a tiny drop in the proverbial bucket. It's so much bigger than that.

Why aren't women given a year of paid leave after having a baby? Why aren't lactation consultants readily available at every pediatrician's office the same way nurses are? Why aren't workplaces set up for moms to have access to their nursing babies instead of relying on pumps (which don't work well for many, many women - myself included)? Moms should be able to bring their babies with them to work or be given onsite care where they can go to their baby to breastfeed every few hours. If we, as a society, were willing to make the investment this could be done in just about any type of workplace. Yet companies are still complaining that having to provide a non-bathroom private room for their employees for pumping is too costly and too much of a burden. What a supportive culture we have here.

Why is breastfeeding seen as an all-or-nothing proposition? Why do we not talk more about using a combination - nursing when you can, and using formula when you can't?

And, why is formula the only alternative to a mother's own breastmilk? Why do we not have easily accessible milk banks available to all women? I personally have many, many, many bags of breastmilk in my freezer that my now-1-year-old baby won't use (she only wants it straight from the tap) - why am I thought to be deviant for wishing I could give that to another mom and baby that could use it? Wet nurses were the norm until not very long ago (if a mom didn't have enough milk, you found another nursing mom who could also feed the baby), yet our society now thinks that's disgusting. Despite a few stories over recent years about groups of nursing mothers banding together to provide breastmilk to dads who tragically lost their wives in childbirth and are left to care for a newborn on their own. Why is formula considered better than breastmilk from someone other than the baby's own mother? Why is formula the only option other than a mother's own milk?

Of course, the formula companies will say that they're pouring all that money into research to make their products more like breastmilk to make life easier for moms. What would happen if all that money went to finding ways to pasteurize breastmilk without affecting its nutrition? But there's no profit in that...

These are the kinds of large-scale societal shifts that would have to happen to change the percentage of mothers still nursing at 6 months. It's not just about giving us the freedom of "choice" - most of us aren't even thinking about the choices we don't yet even have the option of making.

http://www.cnn.com/2010/HEALTH/04/05/breastfeeding.costs/?hpt=T2

http://www.cnn.com/2010/HEALTH/04/09/breast.feeding.society/index.html?hpt=C2

http://thefeministbreeder.com/when-it-comes-to-breastfeeding-we-cant-handle-the-truth/

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/melissa-bartick/ipeaceful-revolutioni-why_b_208697.html

Original published study in Pediatrics (the official journal of the American Academy of Pediatrics)

Over the Past 10 Years

2010-01-01T20:34:00.007-05:00

This is inspired by a post my sister wrote in her blog.

Over the past 10 years, I have (in no particular order):

made three incredible children
lived through most of the 4th decade of my lifetime
felt time stop when the Towers crumpled and stood in shock as the hospitals rose as one to help the victims, but no one came
said good-bye to my adventurous grandmother, my feisty great-aunt, and my beloved father
been diagnosed with a brain tumor
sailed through brain surgery with the unwavering support of my husband, family, friends, and AN community
completely lost the hearing in one ear
adopted feline furbabies - first Guinevere and then Arthur a couple years later
visited London and Scotland
bought two new cars
watched my husband transform into a father, and fell in love at a whole new level as it happened
graduated with a Master's degree in Training & Development
created a career in technical training
gave up my career in technical training to be a stay-at-home mom, with no regrets
found a new career working with other remarkable, supportive women with young families
discovered the joy of volunteering in ways that help families
made some amazing friends who have enriched my life and changed me for the better

Happy New Year!

Mothers of Just Boys

2009-06-21T16:10:00.007-04:00

Did you know there's a club for Moms Of Just Boys (MOJBs)? There is. It's called It's Good To Be The Queen. And I was a proud member. Until April 6th, 2009 when I unexpectedly lost my membership.

There's something about MOJBs. When you meet another mom and tell them you only have boys, you see the glimmer in their eyes. If it's another MOJB, that glimmer says "I understand." If it's a mom of girls or a mom of both, it says "Wow, you have a tough job." Now, I don't really understand this. Parenting is a hard job, regardless of the gender of your children. And children are individuals - some are more easy-going, and others give their parents more challenges. Some girls are easy to parent, some aren't. Some boys are easy to parent, some aren't. But there still something different about being a MOJB. I felt it every time I talked to other moms.

But now...

Don't get me wrong - I'm thrilled to add a third child to our family. And I'm so excited to have a daughter. (Though honestly, I would've been equally excited to have a third son.) I went through a grieving process after my second was born and we discovered he was a boy. (Read about it.)

I'm no longer a MOJB. I feel like the secret handshake was changed on me. Things are different now, and maybe it's just me. Maybe it's not. Though I know of at least a few other MOJBs who feel the presence of the invisible bond between them. They give up their dreams of buying frilly dresses for their daughters and instead fill their homes with trucks, play referee to the nonstop physical wrestling between brothers, and make space for the never-ending menagerie of slugs, frogs, and worms that are brought home in loving hands (and pockets). To a mother that has a daughter, this seems a daunting task if you don't have "girl" things to balance it and make it tolerable.

There's no big insight here. I'm still trying to adjust to the idea of another girl in my house.

Spring has sprung

2009-04-22T17:02:00.003-04:00

While I was driving back from my appointment this morning with the midwife, the sun was shining brightly for the first time in several days. It was warm out, but not hot. And I was noticing that it was really springtime - grass was suddenly green everywhere, the trees have a haze of green across them from the leaf buds, the magnolia trees and forsythia are blooming in bright colors, the daffodils are up. After all the rain yesterday, the air actually smelled fresh. And I was happy. Truly contented, down to my core.

And I was surprised to feel so happy. If you'd asked me a few months ago how I'd be feeling right now, I'd have expected to be in the middle of post-partum depression or at least a serious case of the baby blues. It hit me hard after each of the first two kids.

But I'm not feeling it. In fact, I feel like I'm still on a euphoric high that won't end. Maybe the hormones are different this time. Maybe it's the multitude of life trials I've weathered since Jonah was born 4 years ago that give me a different perspective. Maybe it's something else completely. Maybe it's a little of everything. But I'm not taking it for granted this time.

I'm just grateful to finally feel the bliss that's supposed to come with a baby. I feel so lucky and blessed to have the family that my husband and I have created.

The story of Audrey's birth

2009-04-10T23:24:00.001-04:00

Due date: Friday April 3, 2009

For weeks, I’d been having days where I’d have contractions 5 minutes for hours and hours, but they’d never progress in intensity or frequency. It was very frustrating, never knowing if the contractions were “real” or not, and always waiting on pins and needles to find out. I felt like I’d been walking around for weeks, ducking under everything and peeking around every corner because I was waiting for the other shoe to fall on my head.

And then my due date came and went with no baby. I was shocked and so very tired of being pregnant. Never in a million years did I think I’d actually get to my due date still being pregnant.

Sunday April 5, 2009
Spent the morning at Beth’s for the family birthday party for Elliot (4/8), Anna (4/6), and Sean (4/3). I had been expecting to bring a new baby to the party, not still be pregnant. I was incredibly uncomfortable and grumpy and not very social. But it was a very nice party and in the end I’m really glad I got to be there with Elliot.

I spent the afternoon resting after the party, catching up on email, and watching tv with the boys. I noticed that I kept getting back pains like I’d pinched a nerve going across my hips. It felt kind of like how I remembered labor contractions, but my uterus wasn’t contracting at all so I assumed it was the baby hitting nerves. That had been happening a lot. At this point, I fully believed that I'd be pregnant until my scheduled induction on 4/10.

That evening, I made Elliot's lunch for the next day and got the kids' school things together. That's normally something I'd do in the morning but I had an 8am appointment for a biophysical profile ultrasound, so Brett would be trying to get both kids off to school by himself. I was doing what I could to minimize the morning chaos for him. Around 8pm, my brother Andy arrived after driving up from New York City. He'd spent most of the week down there with my mom (who was still in NYC) helping her deal with Anita's failing health and getting hospice care established.

I set my alarm clock for 6:30am and went to bed around 11pm.

Monday April 6, 2009
I woke up at 4:30am with a contraction (if there were any before that I guess I slept through them, so they couldn't have been very strong). It felt like all the contractions I'd been getting for weeks, but I'd never before been woken from sleep by one. Because of my history of fast labors, I was being very sensitive to any and all contractions and carefully took note of the time and then tried to go back to sleep.

I had another contraction at exactly 4:35am and another at 4:40am. At this point, I got out of bed and started to walk around to see if that slowed or stopped the contractions. It usually had before. At 4:45am there was another contraction, this time with that pinched nerve feeling in my back. I went downstairs and bounced on the birth ball and watched the clock. Another contraction at 4:50am, and the pain in my back was a bit stronger. And another contraction at 4:55am. My gut was now telling me this was real.

I woke Brett at 5am, telling him I was having contractions 5 minutes apart and they were starting to get more uncomfortable. He popped out of bed to get dressed (after confirming that he really didn't have time for a shower). I called the answering service for the midwives and spoke to the nurse on duty. She listened to me describe what was happening and my history, and told me to just go to the hospital and not wait for the midwife to call me back. That's what I expected to hear. Meanwhile, Brett called his mom Sue to come over and get the kids off to school (and I was feeling very glad that I'd already gotten their school things together the night before!). Fortunately, my brother was here so we didn't have to wait for Sue to get here before leaving. I woke my brother to tell him we were leaving and that Sue was on her way over, but we couldn't wait for her.

We left the house at 5:30am. The ride to the hospital was about 30 minutes (though it feel three times as long to me!). By now, the contractions were just a 3-4 minutes apart and lasting well over a minute. Brett was doing a great job staying calm and talking to me to keep me distracted. But I was starting to have to concentrate to stay relaxed through the contractions. I was definitely into back labor, just like with my first two (even though all babies were properly positioned!).

We got to the hospital just after 6am and checked in at the Emergency Room desk, just like we were supposed to. We waited there for about 5 minutes while a nurse from L&D came down to get me, and Brett was rubbing my back to help through the contractions. The contractions were uncomfortable at this point, but very manageable. When the nurse took us into L&D, she completely bypassed the triage rooms and set me up directly into a delivery room. Guess they figured I wasn't kidding! The midwife, Nancy, arrived a few minutes after we did and by the time I was changed and on the monitor she was in the room.

I had my first cervical check at 6:30am. I was about 4cm and was *so* disappointed that I wasn't further along! I'd been 2cm a few days before, so I was sure I'd be further along with all the contractions that morning. I asked the midwife if I still got to stay, and she laughed and said most definitely. I actually felt relieved, though I don't know why I thought I'd be sent home given how I was contracting and my history.

By 7am, the contractions were overwhelmingly intense. I'd had visions of relaxing through the contractions and being able to stay on top of them, just like I did the first two times. But this felt so very different. I was having a very hard time staying on top of the panic and simply could not figure out how to keep from tensing up. I knew I was making it worse on myself, but that knowledge only seemed to make me feel worse - like I was failing somehow. I was on my side in bed (the best of the positions I'd tried), gripping the side rails with all my strength during contractions, and vocalizing a lot - moaning, groaning, chanting. Brett was doing everything I asked him to, but I was feeling so much in both my back and my belly that I didn't know what I needed. Vomiting a couple times didn't help my rising feeling of panic. Nancy was doing what she could to help me relax, too - I think she was noticing that I was losing control.

Around 7:15am, I was at 6cm. At that point, I really started to panic. If I was going to keep on like this for many more hours (that's how slowly I thought I was progressing), I knew I wouldn't be able to do it without pain relief. (Never once, in my first two births, did it even occur to me that I could ask for pain relief. That's how different this one felt.) I told myself to get through just 5 more contractions and then reevaluate.

Around 7:30am, Nancy suggested breaking my water. She warned that it might increase the intensity even more, but it would get things moving faster. I rode through a couple more contractions, and then agreed to let her break it around 7:40am. I was about 8cm.

After another 10 minutes or so, Nancy said she wanted to reach in and help stretch my cervix the last cm or so to get the baby moving down. I'd been starting to feel like pushing at the top of the contractions, so I agreed. (I found out after that the baby's heart rate was dropping much more than they like during contractions - though still rebounding fine after - and she really wanted to get the baby out sooner rather than later.)

Shortly before 8am, I started pushing. For the first pushing contraction, I wasn't really coordinated yet. I pushed out a bunch of poop (which Nancy quickly cleaned) but felt like I didn't do anything for the baby. We were also trying to figure out positioning. I wanted to push on my side, but Nancy wanted me on my back. We finally compromised on me being kinda in between, but it apparently took several nurses to hold me legs apart far enough (I don't really remember that part). For the next contraction, I pushed with everything I had and I felt the baby move down and start to crown. The crowning scared me, so I backed off pushing because I just wasn't ready to go there. Then Nancy told me that with the next push she was going to help stretch me around the baby's head (apparently this little maneuver is called "midwife's forceps"). I barely had time to process what she said when I was pushing again, this time really crowning. I felt the baby's head pop out, and then took a moment to gather courage to push the rest of the baby out. As I started pushing, I heard Nancy say "It's a girl!"

Wait a minute! I thought the rest of the baby was still inside! Nope. She was on my belly, getting rubbed down by 2 or 3 nurses, and I hadn't noticed. Born at 8:09am, just over 3 1/2 hours since I'd woken up. I was completely shocked that I hadn't even realized the baby was born! Then it took a moment for me to process what Nancy had said - we had a daughter! I was honestly surprised! I hadn't realized how deeply I believed I was having a boy until right then, but I was also truly thrilled to have a little girl. She was 8 pounds 10 ounces, 20.5" long and we named her Audrey Celeste.

Brett and the baby nurse took the baby over to the warmer to do the assessment. Nancy waited with me to deliver the placenta. While we waited, she showed me the baby's perfectly formed curly cord and told me it'd been wrapped around the baby's neck and was getting too tight during the contractions - thus the urgency to deliver at the end. And then we waited, and waited, and waited. I one point I commented that it seemed like this was taking a lot longer than I remembered, and Nancy agreed it was taking a long time. After a few more minutes, she checked internally and found that my uterus had already clamped back down and my cervix was back to 2cm dilated. The placenta was pretty well trapped, and was going to need some help to come out.

First, Nancy tried to just reach in and see if she could gently nudge things enough to make the placenta come out. Despite having just been through what I would call a very hard labor, that was worse. They practically had to scrape me off the ceiling after Nancy tried that (unsuccessfully). The next step was to inject Nubain into my IV to see if that would relax me, and my uterus, enough that she could pull out the placenta. But again, I ended up on the ceiling with no progress for the placenta. At that point, Nancy called in the oncall OB, Dr. Merens, (who was in the hospital) for a consult.

After talking together, Nancy and Dr. Merens came to talk to Brett and I. Dr. Marens was very warm and supportive and tried very hard to make sure I was comfortable with everything that was happening. I really appreciated it! At this point, I had a fully retained placenta and my body was not going to do what it should have. It was not a complete emergency, since I was not bleeding. But it needed to be dealt with. They called down the anesthesiologist to do either a spinal or general (needed his consult to decide which).

The anesthesiologist decided he couldn't do general (because I'd had a banana to eat before leaving for the hospital) so we went with the spinal. I was wheeled into the OR around the corner from the delivery room. I'd been told the procedure would have to be done in the OR, in case they needed to use instruments or in case I started bleeding. What I wasn't expecting was a flood of memories as I went through the OR doors - memories going back to the last time I was in an OR 2 1/2 years ago for my skull/brain surgery. Very odd sensation, but it quickly passed. Brett waited back in the delivery room with Audrey.

Nancy and Dr. Marens were great about holding my hands and talking me through getting the spinal (which seemed to take forever!). They were friendly and warm, and distracted me from what was happening in my back. Within a few minutes of getting the spinal, my legs started to go numb and very quickly I could feel nothing. Nancy then went to work trying to manually extract the placenta, and I think I'm really very glad I had a spinal at that point! Unfortunately, she couldn't quite get it. So Dr. Marens took a turn. He worked and worked and was about to give up and get the instruments, when he got the grip he wanted and was able to pull it out successfully. Then he went back and made sure to scrape the uterus really well to ensure everything was out.

Nancy then finished up with a few stitches (I had a shallow 2nd degree tear) and we were done. As I was wheeled back down the hallway, Brett and Audrey joined me and we all went to a recovery room. After an hour of monitoring (and finally getting to nurse Audrey) we went to the post-partum room to begin the full recovery.

And I'm now quite certain that I don't want to do that again!

7 Things About Me That Have Nothing To Do With My Life As A Mom

2009-01-06T09:00:00.004-05:00

My sister oh-so-nicely tagged me with a challenge to list 7 things about me that have nothing to do with whatever my primary job is. For me, my primary job is being mom to my 2 kids (soon to be 3 kids).

1. This won't be a big shock to anyone who knows me, but I LOVE to cook. I'd hate to cook as a profession (too much pressure), but I love to cook for my family and friends. If I had time and resources, I could see myself planning elaborate (yet always casual) dinner parties every weekend.

2. I'm horrible at making new friends. Always have been. (Just ask the people who knew me in elementary school and high school.) I don't like approaching new people or talking to them. I get all self-conscious and uncomfortable, and it often comes across as if I'm haughty or egotistical. But every once in a while I find someone who won't let me get away with that and gets to know me in spite of myself, which sometimes results in a friendship. Once I do have a friend, I'm fiercely loyal and would do anything for them.

3. I desperately miss playing in an orchestra. I started playing violin in 4th grade and kept it up until I was about 25. I always had a panic attack anytime I had to play alone (which makes for difficult auditions!), but I adored playing classical music in a symphony. I wasn't a great musician, but I was decent. One of the highlights of my Phoenix-based high school musical "career" was playing at Carnegie Hall in NYC with my city-wide orchestra. In fact, the orchestras I played in through junior high, high school, and college gave me a sanctuary and friendships that I would've had trouble finding otherwise at the time.

4. I would love to go back to school to become a labor and delivery nurse. My mother (a nurse-midwife) thinks I'm crazy because she's come to hate the politics of medicine and the health care system generally - and I don't disagree with her on those points. The industrialized world, and the U.S. in particular, has definitely developed some incredibly wacky viewpoints about pregnancy and birth. I don't see me ever going back to school at this point, as I think my life is on a different path, but it's a dream.

5. I think the education system in the U.S. (from infant day care all the way through college) is deeply, deeply flawed and needs to be rebuilt from the ground up. I would love to get involved in education reform and "do something about it" but I'm at a loss for where to start. So instead, I'm very active in my son's public school and advocating for micro-changes where I can. (Oops - is this too closely related to my life as a mom?????)

6. My husband first asked me out on a date when he was a freshman in college. We met through the Pep Band (he played saxophone, and I was recruited to play bass drum since band music isn't really written for violin). He thought I was a sophomore. If he'd known I was actually a junior he never would've asked me out. And thus goes the course of history.

7. I love to travel. Domestic or international. I could sit on a beach on a tropical island or tromp through all the sights in Rome. Tourist trap or off all paths. I would try it all. I credit my late maternal grandmother with instilling that love in me. She brought me to New Zealand when I was in 6th grade and to China the summer before 8th grade. I've been hooked ever since.

I’m supposed to post the rules, so here they are:

Link your original tagger and list these rules in your post. (She's at the beginning)
Share seven facts about yourself in the post.
Tag seven people at the end of your post by leaving their names and the links to their blogs.
Let them know they’ve been tagged.

OK, I'm not going to follow all the rules. Consider yourself tagged if you want to be. Otherwise, have a great day!

Save Handmade

2008-12-13T15:42:00.001-05:00

 

Text below taken from Cool Mom Picks (http://www.coolmompicks.com/savehandmade/):

Overview

We're all for strengthening the safety standards of mass-produced toys, clothes, and accessories made in China, and banning toxins like phthalates and lead. But this year, the CPSC passed the ill-conceived Consumer Products Safety Improvement Act which goes into effect in two months and will absolutely decimate the small toy manufacturers, independent artisans, and crafters who have already earned the public trust. The very same ones that we often feature here and in our yearly special edition gift guides.

With this act going into effect February 10 2009 so many people we love will be affected: Moms who sew beautiful handmade waldorf dolls out of home, artists who have spent decades hand-carving trucks and cars out of natural woods, that guy at the craft show who sold you the cute handmade puzzle--even larger US companies who employ local workers and have not once had any sort of safety issue will no longer be able to sell their goods. Not without investing tens of thousands of dollars into third-party testing and labeling, just to prove that toys that never had a single chemical in them still don't have a single chemical in them.

How to Get Involved -- it only takes 5 minutes of your time!

-Find your congress personand senators and write a letter like the sample here.
Particularly if they serve on the House Subcommittee on Commerce, Trade and Consumer Protection or the House Committee on Small Business.

-Send an email directly to the CPSC.

-Vote for amending the law on Change.org, digg style: With enough votes it will be presented to President Obama in January!

-Place the Save Handmade! button on your blog or website to help spread the word to everyone you know who cares about protecting the little guy and preserving beautiful items made with love for our children.

Fantastic Resources

-The Handmade Toy Alliance (check out their proposed changes, a lot of which make a whole lot of sense

-CPSIA Facebook Group

-CPSIA information group on ning

-Fashion Incubator

-The Smart Mama

-Etsy business forums

Press, related posts and late-breaking news

Patriot Ledger Editorial: "New law to put thousands of out work"

Boing Boing: "Consumer safety rule could drive crafters out of business"

Mothering.com: "Good intentions lead to catastrophic results for the natural toy industry"

Wall Street Journal: "Vendors urge relaxed lead safety rule" (despite the misleading headline)

DaddyTypes: "Is CPSC's new lead regulation going to wipe out the baby non-industrial complex next February?"

Eco Child's Play: "New consumer safety laws will make handmade, natural toys illegal"

Mom-101: "In support of work-at-home moms and other reasons to defeat the CPSIA act"

Have some news for us or want more info?

Contact Liz and Kristen at info@coolmompicks.com with SAVE HANDMADE in the subject.

Babies and Dreams

2008-10-31T10:34:00.002-04:00

This is Baby Bonner #3. I'm due around the first week of April, and we don't know if it's a boy or girl.

One of the hardest things about this pregnancy is knowing that my dad won't get to meet this child, and that this child won't know Grandpa John, who died in January 2007. He was an amazing grandfather to his four (at the time) grandchildren, and adored them all. When I told my mom I was pregnant, it just felt so wrong to not be able to tell my dad at the same time.

But then, a few days later, I had a dream. A very vivid dream. I was sitting down to a family dinner in my dining room. I don't remember who exactly was there, but it was something like a traditional family Thanksgiving meal with kids, grandparents, etc. I looked at the head of the table, and there was my dad - sitting back, very relaxed, watching everyone around him get ready to eat, clearly loving being in the midst of family. I turned to him and spoke, and it was like no one else could hear me. What I was saying was just for his ears. And all I said was "I'm pregnant." He looked at me, smiled a very gentle, caring smile, and raised his glass in a toast to me. He never said a word. Then he faded away. And I woke up.

I know my dad would be thrilled to welcome another grandchild. I know he would be so very happy for me. And I got to tell him - he knows. It doesn't make me miss him any less, but I'm happy he knows.

Happy 3rd birthday!

2008-03-10T09:23:00.002-04:00

Jonah's 3rd birthday

Reminds me of home

2007-11-06T13:49:00.000-05:00

Every once in a while we get a sunset here in Massachusetts that reminds me of my desert home.

Funniest thing I've seen in a long time...

2007-09-27T13:53:00.000-04:00

This video on YouTube was sent to me from a friend today. Man, does it hit home!

The Difference A Year Makes

2007-09-13T10:12:00.001-04:00

One year ago today was my surgery. That was the beginning of a very long and difficult year. It's hard to believe how much my life has changed since then and how different I feel.

I think I'll be reflecting a lot today...

Happy Dance!

2007-08-23T22:36:00.000-04:00

It's gone, it's gone, it's gone!

A 1 year post-op MRI revealed absolutely no enhancing areas. That means there's nothing left. Nada.

:-)

My surgeons are gods in my book.

Let's Try Again

2007-07-07T21:44:00.000-04:00

Last summer, I lamented getting my hair cut before my AN surgery. I was trying to grow it out for Locks of Love, as inspired by my sister. It's now time to try again.

I have a haircut appt on Tuesday next week. After that, my hair will be all even again from where it was shaved last September. And it will be time to reset the clock and grow out the locks again. I'm determined to do it this time!

One for the Birds

2007-06-20T17:23:00.000-04:00

My online AN cohort Bruce recently put up a webcam trained on a mama cardinal that set up a nest right outside her window. This morning, the eggs hatched! In about 10 days, the chicks should be able to leave the nest.

Take a look for yourself! Be patient - the link in popular enough that bandwidth is sometimes a problem. If you don't see it right away, try again in a few minutes.

See the mama!

Thanks, Bruce!

Happy Father's Day!

2007-06-17T16:07:00.000-04:00

I miss you, Daddy.

"We never know the love of our parents for us till we have become parents."
-- Henry Ward Beecher

"You know, fathers just have a way of putting everything together. "
-- Erika Cosby

"To her the name of father was another name for love. "
-- Fanny Fern

"My dear father; my dear friend; the best and wisest man I ever knew, who taught me many lessons and showed me many things as we went together along the country by-ways."
-- Sarah Orne Jewett

"Old as she was, she still missed her daddy sometimes."
-- Gloria Naylor

"The love of a father is one of nature's greatest masterpieces."
-- Unknown

“My father didn't tell me how to live; he lived, and let me watch him do it.”
-- Clarence B. Kelland

“My father used to play with my brother and me in the yard. Mother would come out and say, "You're tearing up the grass"; "We're not raising grass," Dad would reply. "We're raising boys";”
-- Harmon Killebrew

"My father was my teacher. But most importantly he was a great dad."
-- Beau Bridges

"Becoming a father isn't difficult, but it's very difficult to be a father."
-- Wilhelm Busch

"I love my father as the stars - he's a bright shining example and a happy twinkling in my heart."
-- Adabella Radici

"Dad, your guiding hand on my shoulder will remain with me forever."
-- Author Unknown

My Meme

2007-06-15T15:18:00.001-04:00

My sister tagged me. Though I'm having a really hard time coming up with 8 factoids about me that you may not know, I will try. Here they are, in no particular order:

1) I have performed at Carnegie Hall.
2) I have a huge crush on Scott Bakula.
3) I have small shopping-addict problem when it comes to coats and bags.
4) At 11 years old, my 8-year-old cousin and I flew as unaccompanied minors from Los Angeles to Auckland, New Zealand.
5) I have two dream vacations: spending a month touring New Zealand now that I'm old enough to appreciate it; and spending a summer in a house rental on Kauai.
6) Every watch I have ever owned (both cheap and expensive) has come to an untimely demise due to an accidental mishap I caused. I don't buy or accept expensive watches anymore!
7) I met my now-husband when I was convinced to join the marching band in college, despite the fact that I didn't play a band instrument!
8) At 5 years old, I named our new standard poodle puppy Pom after one of the characters in my beloved Babar books.

Mom of Boys

2007-05-20T17:18:00.000-04:00

I like what the Reluctant Housewife says about finding out she is a Mom Of Boys...

An Interesting Book

2007-05-16T22:11:00.000-04:00

I just finished reading The Worst Hard Time by Timothy Egan. Fascinating book. It's nonfiction, which is not my usual reading material. But it's a very engaging, readable account of life on the Great Plains during the Depression and the dust storms that ravaged the area. It includes a description of what happened prior to the collapse of the area and how that helped create the problems to come, as well as how FDR worked to pull the farmers out of their desperation.

While the book is worth reading on its own, what fascinated me are the parallels that you can draw between the times described and some of the world's current events. Like the long-standing American culture of arrogance and flippancy about running ramshod over nature. Like the very rapid damage society can do to the environment. (Sound familiar?)

We never were a society that could learn from our past mistakes...

Yucky movie

2007-05-10T17:24:00.001-04:00

Last Friday, I went to see Spiderman 3 while I was in AZ. My brother-in-law had managed to get 4 free tickets for opening night, so I went with my brother, my sister, and my brother-in-law. We lined up at 9pm for a 10:15pm show. The previews finally started at 10:30pm. The first part of the movie wasn't so bad, but then it went downhill fast. It would've been a better use of my time to stand in line for 90 mins, then turn around and go home. Wasn't worth the price of the free tickets.

Your 10-year-old son may beg to differ! ;-)

Happy Mother's Day!

2007-05-10T15:19:00.000-04:00

Mother's work is priceless

Column by Ellen Goodman
Thursday May 10, 2007

BOSTON - It's become a Mother's Day tradition on a par with candy, flowers and guilt. While advertisers wax poetically about the priceless work of motherhood, economists tally up the paycheck for the services she performs.

This year, salary.com estimates the value of a full-time mom at $138,095, up 3 percent from last year. The monetary value of a second-shift mom is $85,939, on top of her day job.

But, alas, the check is not in the mail. Nor will mom find it next to the maple syrup on her bed tray. Motherhood is what the economists call a monopsony, a job for which there is only one employer. And it's a rare child who's saved up to fill mom's piggybank, let alone a 401(k).

The real story of the Mother's Day economy is less rosy. This is what to expect when you are expecting - expecting to be a mom and a paid worker at the same time. You can expect to be mommified.

Mothers are still treated as if they were a third gender in the workplace. Among people ages 27 to 33 who have never had children, women's earnings approach 98 percent of men's. Many women will hit the glass ceiling, but many more will crash into the maternal wall.

Here's a Mother's Day card from a study just published by Shelley Correll in the American Journal of Sociology. Correll performed an experiment to see if there was a motherhood penalty in the job market. She and her colleagues at Cornell University created an ideal job applicant with a successful track record, an uninterrupted work history, a boffo resume, the whole deal. Then they tucked a little telltale factoid into some of the resumes with a tip-off about mom-ness. It described her as an officer in a parent-teacher association. And - zap - she was mommified.

Moms were seen as less competent and committed. Moms were half as likely to be hired as childless women or men with or without kids. Moms were offered $11,000 less in starting pay than non-moms. And, just for good measure, they were also judged more harshly for tardiness.

"Just the mention of the PTA had that effect," says Correll. "Imagine the effect of a two-year absence from the work force or part-time work."

If this is true in the lab, it's true in real life. Joan C. Williams, who runs the Center for WorkLife Law at Hastings Law School, says discrimination against women may have gone underground but "the discrimination against mothers is breathtakingly open. Mothers are told, 'You belong at home with the kids, you're fired.' ''

In the stories from the center's hot line and in the growing case law they've accumulated on family responsibility discrimination, you hear about women overtly denied promotions for having a child, told to have an abortion to keep a job, or rejected for a new job because "it was incompatible with being a mother." Family emergencies are treated differently than other timeouts. And things are at least as bad for dads when they take on mommy's work of caregiving.

I'm not suggesting that mothers quit the PTA, hide the kids or even sue, although the 400 percent increase in FRD suits has, um, raised some corporate consciousness. But at the very least, we have to turn the story line around.

No, mothers are not actually a third gender. More than 80 percent of American women have children and 80 percent of those are employed by the time their kids are 12. The reality of the workplace affects us all.

The much-touted mommy wars are as useful in solving our problems as a circular firing squad. And tales of women "opting out" of professional careers squeeze out the tales of women being pushed out.

As for the idea that women's lives are an endless array of choices? Williams says ruefully, "An awful lot of what gets interpreted as a mother's choice to drop out is really a 'take this job and shove it' reaction by mothers who encounter discrimination."

How many mothers would choose to spend more time at home if the fear of re-entry weren't so daunting? How many would choose to stay in the work force except for one sick child, one snow day, one emergency room visit? And how many dads would choose to live up to their own family ideals?

On Mother's Day 2007 there is still a deep-seated bias that puts the image of a "good mother" at odds with that of an "ideal worker." Until we wrestle down the rules of the workplace, our annual homage to the family values keeper will be as sentimental as this year's $138,095 paycheck.

Ellen Goodman is a Boston-based syndicated columnist. Her e-mail address is ellengoodman@globe.com.

Vote For My Sister!

2007-04-26T11:28:00.000-04:00

My sister Danielle is in an "American Idol" type contest to win a chance to host her own public radio show. I'm so proud of her and all she's doing, so please support her!

Vote for Dani!

Since When is Breastfeeding Indecent?

2007-04-26T11:20:00.000-04:00

A Florida mom was recently kicked out of a restaurant for breastfeeding her 5-month-old - while completely covered by a blanket!

And, as this press report points out, Florida law even goes so far as to specifically state that a mother may breastfeed "irrespective of whether the nipple of the mother's breast is uncovered during or incidental to the breastfeeding."

So it's okay for ads to feature models with breasts hanging out all over and for teenagers to wear pants that show off their barely-there thongs, but get rid of that woman nursing her baby!

Horrible.

Beauty in the Unexpected Places

2007-04-11T12:13:00.000-04:00

The Washington Post recently sponsored an experiment with Joshua Bell, the most talented classical violinist in the world. When I was 14 or 15, I got to see Joshua Bell in concert back when he was still a teenager, too.

It's a though-provoking piece. How many of us, in our harried day-to-day lives, can really appreciate what's around us? How many of us take the time to look at the world? Pay attention to the other people around us?

I do agree that art, in all forms, is enhanced by its context - physical, historical, geographical, etc. But there are some fundamentals that stand out as beautiful outside of any context.

As a former violinist, I would hope I would have been one of the passers-by who recognized Bell's genius in the incongrous context. But even more, I would hope I'd recognize the genius simply by being human. He's so good that it's really hard to miss.

But in the context, would even I have missed it? It's disturbing that I can't say for certain.

It's still overwhelming sometimes

2007-04-04T12:38:00.000-04:00

Overall, I think I'm handling Dad's death reasonably well. I miss him terribly, but life has a way of moving forward even if you think it shouldn't - especially when you have small children to take care of. I no longer break down every time I walk past Dad's picture at the end of the hall. Now, I can smile fondly and remember how much he continues to positively influence me even in his absence.

But there are still tough days. Like yesterday. In going through a box of old receipts, I found a check my Dad wrote me in December that I thought I'd lost. He gave me a replacement, so I won't cash this one. I should, in fact, shred it. But I can't bring myself to do that - it's his handwriting, his signature. I'm not sure I saved anything else with his handwriting on it. Just like my mom can't bring herself to replace Dad's voice on their answering machine.

Then, last night, Mom's house (Mom and Dad's house, actually) officially went on the market. She sent me the web site where it's listed. I scrolled through all the pictures, to see the results of all the hard work she's put in over the last couple months to get it ready. And it looks nice. But seeing the house listed for sale threw me over the emotional edge again - I'm very happy Mom is moving up here to be near me and my family, but I hate that she's moving by herself. So it was a rough night - compounded by a lot of stress I'm putting on myself lately (how to fit in time to work, making decisions about my older son's school, hosting 3 birthday parties by Monday, insomnia...).

I'd say "Calgon, take me away!" except that I'd spend all the time in the bath worrying about everything else I *wasn't* doing.

Oy.

A Mom I Can Relate To

2007-04-04T09:25:00.000-04:00

We Protect Kids From Everything But Fear

With hand sanitizer and long-sleeved swimsuits, we're teaching our children a dangerous lesson.

By Paula Spencer

Newsweek

April 2, 2007 issue - Four 11- and 12-year-old girls stood in front of my open pantry, mouths gaping wide. "Look! Fruit Roll-Ups!" "Oh, my God! Chocolate-chip cookies!" "You have regular potato chips? We only get the soy kind!"

After 14 years and four kids, I thought I'd feel comfortable as a mother. Instead, I'm increasingly aware of a prickly new sensation: that I'm some kind of renegade. Who knew that buying potato chips would become a radical act? Or that letting my daughters walk home from school alone would require administration approval? How did I, a middle-of-the-road mom, become a social deviant?

Fear is the new fuel of the American mom. If it's not fear of her child becoming obese, it's the fear of falling behind, missing out on a sports scholarship or winding up with a thin college-rejection envelope.

Apparently I'm not nervous enough. Last summer while I was loafing in front of the TV with my kids, the most benign things morphed into menaces. For example, the sun: long-sleeved, UV-protective swimsuits were all the rage at my neighborhood pool, while I could barely remember to bring the year-old sunscreen. The water wasn't safe either: at the beach I saw tots dressed in flotation belts and water wings—for shelling along the shore. And goodbye, cotton candy and hot dogs! At a major-league game I saw moms and dads nix the stuff as if they'd never eaten the occasional ballpark treat. As if their children would balloon into juvenile-diabetes statistics if a single swig of sugary soda passed their lips.

Half my kids' friends—who already make A's and B's—had summer tutors in order to "keep it fresh." I thought vacation was for relaxing and recharging. What would our pioneer foremoms think? (You want something to worry about, let me show you frostbite, typhoid and bears!) Heck, what must our own mothers think? (Snap out of it! Go worry about something truly scary, like how you're going to pay for retirement!)

I thought that once the kids were back in school, things would calm down. Instead, a fresh seasonal crop of anxiety sprouted, this time over corruptive candy fund-raisers and insufficient use of hand sanitizer. I know one mom who wants to change her son's schedule because he doesn't know anyone in his classes; she's worried he'll be "socially traumatized" all year. Another is afraid of a learning disability she just read about, though her child seems bright and charming to me.

And then there's playground panic. I had to laugh when an Australian study recently found that playground injuries continue to rise despite safety improvements. One of the suspected reasons: the safe new play structures are so boring that kids are taking more risks in order to have fun.

The fears are as irrational as they are rampant. Recently my children's elementary school failed to meet adequate yearly progress goals for a particular minority's reading progress under the No Child Left Behind Act and was placed on a warning list. This meant parents might gain the right to transfer their children to another school in the district. Never mind that this very same school sent more kids to the district's gifted program than any other, or that this entire district has the highest SAT scores in the state. The day the news broke, six different moms (none in the affected minority) asked me if I was planning to transfer my kids. From neighborhood pride and joy to threat to child's future overnight.

It's not that I think parents shouldn't worry about anything. I'm personally petrified of SUV drivers on cell phones. I fret as much as the next mom about how to pay for college. I pray my kids won't wander onto MySpace and post something dumb.

But you can't go around afraid of everything. It's too exhausting! No matter how careful you are, bad stuff happens (diaper rash, stitches, all your friends assigned to another class). And it's seldom the end of the world.

Watching my daughter's friends ogle my pantry, I realized there's one big, legitimate fear that I haven't heard anybody mention: what's the effect of our collective paranoia on the kids? Yes, these very kids we want to be so self-sufficient, responsible, confident, happy and creative (not to mention not food-obsessed). They're growing up thinking these weirdly weenie views are healthy and normal.

Walking out my front door that day, each girl happily clutched a plastic baggie stuffed with the exotic kid snacks that my daughter had doled out in pity. I may be a rebel mom, but at least I'm not afraid of a chocolate-chip cookie.

Spencer lives in Chapel Hill, N. C.

URL: http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/17770831/site/newsweek/

My Baby Turned 2

2007-02-26T16:52:00.000-05:00

Happy Birthday to you!
Happy Birthday to you!
Happy Birthday, dear Jonah!
Happy Birthday to you!

Peace

2007-01-31T13:41:00.001-05:00

At 9:42pm on Wednesday January 24th, my father John Radin passed away, just three weeks after deciding to stop the chemotherapy treatments. It was peaceful, and he was at home with his wife and three children, just as he wanted. My sister lovingly describes the last few days in a way I just can't yet.

Thank you all for the unwavering support over the last few, difficult months. I'm sure I will continue to rely on that support in the future.

Richard Bach: "That which the caterpillar calls the end of life, the master calls a butterfly."

Walter Lippman: "The final test of a leader is that he leaves behind him in other men the conviction and the will to carry on."

Robert Benchley: "Death ends a life, not a relationship."

"Love is stronger than death even though it can't stop death from happening, but no matter how hard death tries it can't separate people from love. It can't take away our memories either. In the end, life is stronger than death.”

A bad day

2007-01-13T13:15:00.000-05:00

It all started when we all overslept Thursday morning. Brett and I didn't wake up until 7:45am, despite his alarm going off at 6:30. Jonah was screaming because he had a mild fever (which started late the day before) and was uncomfortable, and Elliot and his bed were soaking wet because his pull-up leaked. We had to be out of the house by 8:45 to make it to gymnastics. And, since we were going straight from gymnastics to Mom and Dad's apartment, I needed to make sure I had everything for the kids for the rest of the day, including drinks and lunch. Without forgetting anything I was supposed to be brining back to Mom and Dad, since they were driving home to MD the next day. (Of course, I hadn't bothered doing any of that the night before!)

We did manage to get the kids dressed, medicated (Jonah), fed, and out the door for gymnastics. Jonah was feeling much better by then, thanks to the Tylenol. I didn't have time to shower, however, which always makes me cranky. So we get to gymnastics, and Elliot goes off with the instructor. I then spend 15 mins before Jonah starts class negotiating with the gym manager about class times for next session (that's already paid for), since they're canceling Elliot's current class and there's no other time when there's two age-appropriate classes running at the same time. We finally settle on something that mostly works, but Elliot's in a class with younger kids and Jonah's in one with only older kids. Sigh. Whatever.

After gymnastics, we get in the car and drive an hour to Mom and Dad's. Which is very sad, since they're leaving and I don't know how many more times I'll get to see Dad. When we get there, Mom's feeling very overwhelmed about packing everything up, and already has 14 paper grocery bags full of stuff for me to take. So I help her sort through a bunch of other stuff while the boys run around crazy. And Dad can't really be around since Jonah's sick (though the fever's gone with the medicine and he's feeling fine). Mom keeps finding more and more stuff to pile into my car. It's kinda ridiculous the amount of stuff she's bought for this temporary apartment, that she's now wanting to get rid of (food, cleaning supplies, organizational stuff, decor, etc.). So I'm annoyed at being the one stuck going through everything; then I'm feeling guilty at feeling annoyed.

We finally get home at 3pm. The boys play for a bit while I unload the car. In unloading, I discover that Mom's put a bottle of bleach in a plastic grocery bag in the the back of the car, along with some other cleaning supplies. Apparently, though, the cap on the bleach container wasn't quite sealed and has been leaking. I didn't discover this until I heft the bag out of the car, and it starts dripping because the grocery bag also has a hole. So I've now got a small puddle of bleach in the back of the van, plus it's dripping onto the garage floor and splashing up onto my pants. I cleaned up everything as best I could, but there's now a spot in the back of the van, my new blue pants are covered with white spots, and the car smells like bleach. I was so aggravated! And now the kitchen is filled with bags and bags of leftover stuff Mom spent so much money on, and now doesn't want.

When I finally get everything unloaded, I got the chance to call my neurosurgeon's office to see if they have the results of the nerve testing on my hand. But, of course, they've left for the day. And the surgeon in only in his office on Thursdays. So now I have to wait another week.

Then, I pack the boys up in the car again at 4:30 to pick up a urine collection kit at the vet and head to the grocery store, which I hate doing at that time of day. But we're out of milk and some other things, and I won't have a chance to go the next day. When we're leaving the grocery store, Elliot wanted to climb in the back of the van to get to his carseat, which he often does. But this time, when he does it, he manages to find a spot of bleach I missed, so his navy pants now have a pink spot on one knee. It's all I can do to not scream!

All I want to do is crawl into bed, pull up the covers, and tune out everything but my iPod. And I still hadn't showered.

Blargh!!!

A plea to save a life

2006-11-01T11:59:00.000-05:00

My father, who's only 62, has acute meyloid leukemia. He was diagnosed just over three weeks ago. It's a very aggressive, very dangerous disease. My parents are amazing, giving, loving people and it breaks my heart to see my father, who has always been so strong and vibrant, knocking on death's door. And what's amazing is that when I visit him in the hospital he's still just as strong and vibrant as before - at least on the outside. It's hard to believe there's an all-out war being fought on the inside.

Now the only thing that can save his life is a bone marrow transplant, most likely from an anonymous donor through the National Marrow Donor Program. (Unless his sister is a match, but that's only a 1 in 4 chance.) We're all hoping that out there, somewhere, is someone of Eastern European Jewish descent who's not only a match, but willing to take a few days of his/her life to give my dad a second chance.

The process of registering to become a donor is easy and can be done online. All it requires is sending in a swab of cells collected from the inside of your cheek using a kit provided by the Program. If it's ever determined that you are a match for someone, you will have the choice about whether or not to donate at that time. Unfortunately, it does cost $52 to cover the cost of the kit. But if there's any way you can afford it, I urge you to consider registering. I will be. You have the opportunity to directly save the life of someone's father, mother, child, or other loved one.

Thank you.

Anna Quindlen Newsweek 10/16/2006

2006-10-24T17:50:00.000-04:00

Oct. 16, 2006 issue - For anyone who has spent a lifetime listening to the bumper-sticker rhetoric of abortion politics, hearing Renee Chelian describe how she does things at the Michigan clinics she oversees is, no question, a shock to the system. "We're not going to correct a woman when she says 'baby' instead of 'fetus' and 'killing' instead of 'termination'," says Chelian flatly.

"If it's her body, she gets to use her terminology. We have to speak the language of the patients, not of political positions. Women don't come to us and say, 'I'm having an abortion because it's my choice.' They say, 'I'm having an abortion because I can't have a baby.' And sometimes they feel sad about that."

These are some of the honest discussions taking place around America's most contentious personal moral and ethical issue. They're found in places like Northland Family Planning, where the counseling staff may suggest that a woman who is uncertain complete a pie chart with the heading "How much of you wants what?"

At clinics like Chelian's the staff deals with the actual, the difficult, sometimes the terribly necessary. But in the legislative world, it's all about strategy. When South Dakota's governor signed a measure banning almost all abortions, much of the second-guessing that followed could have concerned a tax cut. Would a more moderate approach have been better for the Republicans? Would the legislation push more female voters toward the Democrats? On Planet Spin, it was possible to forget completely that the legislation could change the destinies of many ordinary women. A coalition of nurses, teachers, doctors, ministers and other nonpoliticos finally brought the matter back to earth and onto the ballot for all the state's residents to consider in the November election.

Recently the House passed a bill that would make it a federal crime to accompany a minor seeking an abortion from a state that requires parental notification to one that does not. Like most abortion debates, this one had its stock characters: the grandmother imprisoned after helping a girl impregnated by her stepfather, the young woman victimized by the predatory older man. If those sound like plotlines from Lifetime movies, it may be because none of this had much to do with reality, with almost no chance of squaring the House and Senate versions of the law for a compromise that could be sent to the White House. But voting the bill out now gave House conservatives something to crow about just in time for the midterm races.

The conventional wisdom about parental-notification and consent laws was that they would cut down on abortion, which is why anti-abortion activists loved them. But earlier this year The New York Times ran a jaw-dropping analysis that found the laws had no significant impact on teenage abortion rates. (They also may be way behind the curve; at Chelian's clinic, young women already tell counselors that you can order an ulcer medication online that all their friends swear will cause a miscarriage.) The statutes did, however, have one unintended consequence. "We have parents who come in and want to force their daughters to have an abortion," Chelian says. "Their attitude is, 'If I can prevent you from having one, I can force you to have one.' And we have to tell them that that's not so. The mother will say, 'She's 14, I'm already taking care of her sister's baby, I can't take care of another one.' You know that it will be really hard for everyone."

Public pronouncements rarely make any of this sound hard for anyone, since they're too often based on mean-spirited assumptions. The gay-rights movement has shown over the last two decades that a powerful enemy of such misinformation is personal testimony, that coming out as an individual can combat the big lies about the group. In that spirit the current issue of Ms. magazine contains a list of the names of thousands of American women under the headline WE HAD ABORTIONS. It is riveting, even disconcerting, because telling their own abortion stories seems in direct opposition to the bedrock belief that this decision, above all, is not subject to the scrutiny of strangers.

It's that very determination to stay within the zone of privacy that has made abortion, and the women who choose it, such an easy mark for cheap mythology and easy demonization. And sometimes the triumphant talk of rights has overshadowed the complex responsibility women feel. "Having the right doesn't make the decision any easier," said one of the signatories of the Ms. magazine petition. Chelian notes that while most patients come to the clinic with their minds made up, that doesn't mean they are not conflicted. "Sometimes we're working with a person who feels like she's got nothing but bad choices," she says. "She doesn't want to have an abortion, but she doesn't want to have a baby. That's what I think people need to understand. You can be ambivalent about abortion and still decide to have one. And you can be ambivalent about abortion and still be pro-choice. Lots of people are."

URL: http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/15173072/site/newsweek/

The Story of My Surgery

2006-10-05T09:26:00.001-04:00

September 13, 2006. A day that will always be seared into my memory. The day of my surgery to remove my acoustic neuroma (aka, head booger).

Believe it or not, I had little trouble sleeping the night before my surgery. We did have to get up at 4am to check in at the hospital by 6am, but I slept quite soundly up until then. I didn’t expect to. And when we got up before the crack of dawn, I still wasn’t feeling nervous.

The drive into Boston was eerily quiet. Not much traffic that early. Brett and I didn’t talk much in the car. I think we were both in our own worlds, thinking about this surgery from very different perspectives.

We get to the hospital around 5:45am, and I need a pit stop before going up to surgical admitting. While my mind may not be nervous, my insides are starting to betray me. We soon go upstairs to admitting. The waiting area for outpatient surgery is already pretty full. I am somewhat envious of all those people there for such minor procedures that they can go home the same day. I check in and we head over to the inpatient waiting area. We are the only ones there. Shortly, another older couple joins us, and then by a younger couple with their young child – he couldn’t have even been 2 years old. I was heartbroken, watching the little boy play quietly, wondering what had gone so wrong in his young life that he required surgery. And I was heartbroken for his parents, having to watch their baby go through something so awful. I tried to flip through my magazine, but it wasn’t working. I couldn’t read the letters on the page. Fortunately, there wasn’t a lot of time to fret – I was quickly called back to the pre-op area. The first among the inpatient surgical patients. Brett has to stay in the waiting room for now.

I follow a very nice nurse, Eleanor, back to pre-op. It is a huge bright, white room filled with curtained off stretchers. My first task is to remove all clothing and change into the requisite hospital garb – gown, robe, and slippers. Eleanor then returns to go through her pre-op checklist. I confirm, three times, that I am there to have a left AN removed, and she uses a Sharpie to write the word “YES” behind my left ear. Don’t want those docs attacking the wrong side! After all the requisite vitals (again, my body betrays that maybe I am a little nervous when my blood pressure is much higher than normal), I sign all the papers saying I will consent to the surgery today.

Finally, around 6:15am, Brett is allowed back to wait with me. But we only have about five minutes before the woman from Transport shows up to wheel me off. Brett and I try to say a decent good-bye, but it’s hard with Stern Transport Woman (STW) watching. And then it’s time for me to be off. STW takes my stretcher and pushes me through the Big Silver Doors, down a hallway, and through another set of locked doors. I am now in the surgical wing. I try to look around, but it’s hard with no glasses and I’m starting to feel a bit queasy and shaky (it doesn’t help that I haven’t been allowed to eat or drink anything since the night before). I do notice that both sides of the corridor and lined with surgical suites, and all available hall space is occupied with all sorts of bizarre equipment. STW pushes me, without speaking, for what feels like hours. Finally, we stop at O.R. 27. I’m wheeled around in a small holding area outside the O.R. so my back is to the O.R. doors. STW goes behind me to poke her head into the O.R., announces my presence, and unceremoniously leaves.

A few minutes later, the anesthesiologist (Dr. Kamdar) comes out. She’s young, and quite attractive. It is her job to start some of my IV lines, as well as get my final consent for the anesthesia. At this point, I am starting to freak a little. My stomach is all uptight and I have to remind myself to breathe at times. Dr. Kamdar starts working on the back of my right hand to start an IV (a BIG one), and a nurse comes out to go through everything with me – again. Finally, I sign the last of the paperwork. I guess this is really happening! Now that I’ve signed all the consents, Dr. Kamdar asks if I’d like some medication to help me relax and I agree. It takes effect pretty quickly – I feel kind of tingly all over, like I’ve had a couple glasses of wine. I’m still freaking out, but breathing is a bit easier now.

Dr. Kamdar then shoots my right wrist full of Novocain so she can put in the arterial line. I can’t watch, but try to ask her a few questions (how many people are in the O.R.? What kind of anesthesia do you use?) to distract myself. She’s having trouble with my veins (I’m somewhat dehydrated because I couldn’t eat or drink that morning) so I probably should be letting her concentrate, but I really feel like I need someone to talk to me. She’s been working on my wrist for several minutes when I start to feel very light-headed. I try to ride it out, but finally have to tell Dr. Kamdar that I feel like I’m going to pass out. She quickly pushes a medication into my IV, and a few moments later I’m feeling better. It’s all very unreal at this point. Shortly after, the arterial line is done, and Dr. Kamdar straps my wrist to a soft board so I don’t accidentally move the wrong way and dislodge a large line in a major artery. That could be bad.

Now Dr. deBros, the senior anesthesiologist, comes out. We chit-chat a few minutes, and then he starts discussing the anesthesia protocols with Dr. Kamdar. I listen, amazed that he has a specific protocol he likes to use for AN patients. What really gets my attention, though, is when he describes the dosage of a specific med to push when the surgeon is about to start drilling the skull to put me under a bit deeper – otherwise, he says, the patient can reflexively startle and move a bit from the noise. (I later find out that Dr. deBros specializes in anesthesia for neurosurgery cases.) I actually find myself reassured that this team is so experienced with ANs that even the anesthesiologist has developed a specialized protocol. At this point, Dr. Kamdar has given up on starting the other IVs she needs, saying my veins are too collapsed from dehydration and she’ll finish up after I’m under to minimize my discomfort. Then she and Dr. deBros disappear into the O.R., leaving me alone in the waiting area.

I have no idea how much time passes, but I don’t think it’s too long. A nurse finally comes out, and says it’s time to go in. And just like that, I’m wheeled into the O.R. I wanted to remember to look around and really take it all in and remember it, but I think the meds are starting to play with my brain. I note that the O.R. is very large, and there are lots of large, white, shiny pieces of equipment all over. And enormous lights over the operating table. My stretcher is wheeled over so that it’s right next to the operating table. I hear someone say out loud “In the room at 7:45am.” Then a couple nurses appear right next to me. One asks if I can slide myself over to the table, or if I need them to do it for me. I reply that I can do it, and proceed to (somewhat awkwardly) move myself over. The nurse remarks how strong I am, and quickly covers me with warm blankets and puts towels under my elbows on the little armrest jutting out from the table. To my right, I see someone I think is one of the surgeons pacing back and forth and muttering to himself. In a very disconnected way, it again hits me that this is actually real.

Dr. Kamdar is back, near my head. She places a mask over my nose and mouth, telling me they’re starting to give me some oxygen. I’m grateful that she just holds the mask a bit away from my face – I somehow know that I’d freak with claustrophobia (though I’m not usually claustrophobic) if the thing were strapped down tight. The air in the mask suddenly starts to smell different and I wonder if Dr. Kamdar is starting to put me under, hoping that she’d tell me if first if she was.

*********************
There’s a hive of activity around me. I can hear it. I will myself to open my eyes and they do for a brief second. I see a woman standing to my right, writing on a clipboard, before my eyes decide they really don’t want to be open. I lose sense of the activity. Then it comes back, though I have no idea how much time has passed. I hear people talking about what I think are medication doses. My head hurts, A LOT, and I say so. But I don’t know if I actually say the words, or if it’s just in my head. Somewhere back in the deep recesses of my brain, I finally realize I must be in Post-Op Recovery. And I’m convinced it’s 5pm, which is good – it means the surgery went faster than expected. And then I pass out again. Suddenly, I’ve got the dry heaves, which is exceptionally miserable and kills my head, and them I’m out again. (Looking back, that’s probably when they took out my breathing tube.)

*********************

My stretcher starts moving. It’s not a good feeling. I really don’t want the world around me to be moving. I feel like I’m spinning. I close my eyes and try to pass out again, but it’s not working. After what feels like a three-hour trip through hell, I stop moving. I’m in a room – ICU. My brain is working enough again to realize what’s going on. The room is buzzing with nurses, doctors, and other people. I look around a bit and see the clock on the wall – it says 9:00. For a minute I’m very confused. Is it 9pm or 9am? I thought I was only supposed to spend an hour in Recovery. Did something go wrong?

The doctors notice I’m alert and start talking to me and asking me questions. I’m actually pain-free – good meds! I pass the initial neurological assessment, which is great. I can actually feel both sides of my face moving – is it possible my facial nerve wasn’t damaged? That would be amazing. But my left hand is numb. I tell this to the doctor, and he looks concerned. He examines my hand and arm and finds that I have a pressure bruise on my elbow that is causing problems with the nerve going down to my hand. He seems disappointed, but not concerned.

I ask to see Brett. But, again, I’m not sure if I say the words out loud or just in my head. I think I’ve been given IV morphine, and it’s starting to make me very sleepy again. I start to doze off, and then Brett’s suddenly standing at the foot of the bed, talking to the ICU nurse. Everyone else has left. Brett and I talk for a few minutes (about what, I have no idea) and then I’m dozing off again. By the time I can get my eyes open again, Brett has gone and I’m left in the ICU, with a wonderful nurse, to recover.

*********************

Day by day by day… I feel a little better every day. And I never did figure out why I thought it was 5pm when I was in recovery. Trick of the meds, I guess.

10 Years Today!

2006-08-31T09:17:00.000-04:00

Happy Anniversary, m'love!

Now you will feel no rain, for each of you will be the shelter for each other. Now you will feel no cold, for each of you will be the warmth for the other. Now you are two persons, but there is only one life before. Go now to your dwelling place to enter into the days of your life together. And may your days be good and long upon the earth.

Apache Marriage Blessing

My Surgery

2006-08-26T15:49:00.000-04:00

Yesterday, I had a conversation with friends in which they asked me if I was nervous about my approaching surgery. I said "no" and they looked at me like I had fourteen heads! I couldn't explain it well at the time, but it was (and is) true. I'm not nervous, despite the fact that I'm about to have my skull opened up in an OR. That conversation yesterday afternoon has had me thinking hard since then. Why am I not nervous about this surgery? What kind of freak am I that I'm not?

So I've been thinking. A lot. (This is what I often do at times like this - get very introspective.) And I think it comes down to several factors that I'd like to try and explain, mostly so I have the exercise of putting it into words. And see if it makes any sense to anyone else! :-) So, please excuse the novella that follows!

First, I really think I went through all the stages of grief (shock, denial, anger, grief, acceptance) last summer after I was first diagnosed with an acoustic neuroma. And I truly have Accepted this as part of my life now.

While I really don't think I'm "nervous", I freely admit that this is A Big Deal. It has changed my life, and life for me will never again be exactly like it was before. And honestly, the least of it is the loss of hearing on one side. I assume I will have temporary facial paralysis, and hope that it is not permanent. I assume I will have temporary facial numbness, and realize there is a higher likelihood that this will be permanent (feeling like part of your face is on Novacaine all the time). But I really think these, and other possible, minor physical issues will not affect my overall quality of life. I refuse to submit to that. For me, the bigger change has been internally. I have much less tolerance for any bullsh** from anyone. And I've insulated myself from relationships that aren't as two-way as I might have thought. It's just no longer worth my energy to continually reach out to people who aren't willing or able to give back as much as I give them. And so, as often happens in times of crisis, I've been able to differentiate between True Friends and Casual Friends. There is a real difference between the people who really reach out to support me, and those who say they're thinking about me but I never hear from. All this has made me feel much more centered and focused in daily life.

And while I don't participate in organized religion, this has - in its own way - been a very spiritual journey for me. A lot of re-evaluating what's important to me and what fulfills me. A lot of focus on my family. A lot of weeding out of negative energy (as hokey as that sounds). And a lot of faith in the medical choices I've made, with my husband, about treatment and the doctors I'm seeing. I really feel like I did everything I could to possibly learn about what I'm facing; made well-educated, rational choices about treatment; and put myself in the hands of the best possible medical team. I've done everything I can do, and know that I won't second-guess my choices regardless of the outcome. I have to have faith in that or I have nothing.

The other thing that helps is that I've found an online community (a forum sponsored by the Acoustic Neuroma Association) for AN patients all over the world. It's a wonderful resource, and a true community with people from all walks of life who are facing the same challenges. And I've met some of the funniest, honest, most generous-of-spirit people who are a wealth of information. I can practically touch the support from them radiating out of the computer. And, through them, I think I have a realistic picture of what I will be facing post-op. I've had the opportunity to meet a few of these people who live in the Boston area, and that has only solidified my faith in my medical team.

I also know that I simply *can't* allow myself to be wheeled into an OR if I feel uncertain, either about the surgery itself or the outcome. My life won't be the same after - I know that and accept it. But it will continue to be a wonderful, happy life - with a few accommodations.

So, what all this boils down to is that it's been a long journey for me to get to where I'm "not nervous". It's not as simple as it may have sounded yesterday. And while it's hard for me to put words to these thoughts while I'm in the middle of it, or on the spot, it's been a good thing for me too think about. I don't feel like such a freak now! ;-)

Pickle Count

2006-08-01T12:21:00.000-04:00

31 quarts of pickles now. From 130 cucumbers. And my husband correctly pointed out we have 5 cucumber plants, not 6. Egads!

Do you think I can get away with giving everyone pickles for Christmas this year? :-)

Only on the 'Net

2006-07-31T14:15:00.000-04:00

I had brunch yesterday with 6 other acoustic neuroma patients from around New England. Obviously, we connected online. Where else can you find a community made up only of AN patients (the ANA Discussion Forum)? And the brunch was great! Three of the six had been treated by my team of doctors and had nothing but good things to say. (Of the other three, one is still waiting for treatment, one had radiation treatment, and one flew to CA for surgery.) While I have a ton of fantastic support from family and friends, no one can sympathize quite the same way as someone who's already had the same surgery.

It was also quite amusing watching the conversations since all but one of us is deaf on one side! LOL! Lots of craned necks trying to get the good ear around to whomever was talking!

On a completely different note, we're up to 130 cucumbers picked, 20 quarts pickled, and another 8-ish quarts of pickles to make tonight. Just from 6 itty-bitty plants. Arrrggghhh!

What a weekend!

2006-07-16T15:18:00.000-04:00

Yesterday, we spent a lovely day in Newport, RI. It's a resort town on the coast - the place where gigantic mansions were built in the late 1800s/early 1900s by families like the Vanderbilts and the Astors - as their summer homes. We drove by some (now maintained as museums), and it's astonishing to see that kind of ostentatious display of wealth. Especially considering that these turn-of-the-century mansions are nestled among many, many similar mansions that are still used as *private* residences! I can't believe there are still people around today who find that a useful way to use their wealth.

But anyway...

The trip was brought about by wanting to see the Newport Kite Festival. Unfortunately, the winds were uncooperative so there really wasn't much kite flying. (Though some of the massive kites on the ground were spectacular! I wish we could've seen them airborne!) But we still had a very nice lunch in downtown Newport on the harbor and then, after a brief attempt at kite flying, wandered around the tide pools at Brenton Point State Park. Elliot was fascinated by the streams of water flowing between the ocean and the tide pools, and with the small snails inhabiting one of the pools. Jonah, adventurous soul that he is, simply wanted to run all over the rocks (slippery with seaweed) and stomp through every tide pool he could find! It was a good day.

Last night I had a talk with a very good friend of mine who had some very bad news, so that's been occupying my mind since some. But it's not yet public information, so I can't go into more detail yet.

This morning, I took Elliot to the pool where he'll start swimming lessons tomorrow. He's a very cautious soul, so he needed to go to the pool several times to play before lessons started - that's the only way he'll be even a little bit comfortable tomorrow, which is going to be stressful enough for him as it is. We came home for lunch, and then I spent an hour and a half slicing 51 cucumbers (that's just what ripened in the last 4 days), which I think will make about 16 quarts of pickles. Holy moly! Good thing we like pickles. I hope other people do, too! ;-)

Then later tonight it's off to the local homemade ice cream place to celebrate my mother-in-law's birthday.

Whew.

Not This Time

2006-06-05T15:32:00.000-04:00

Last fall, my sister inspired me. She grew her hair, then cut it off to donate to Locks of Love. And ever since she did, I've been growing my hair to do the same thing. They need to be able to cut at least 10" before you can donate. I currently have a good 6-7". Getting there. But it's not to be.

I will need skull surgery. Soon. To remove an obnoxious acoustic neuroma that has decided to take up residence in my inner ear canal and has started elbowing my brain. Not a good thing. And part of the skull surgery is shaving a good part of the hair behind my ear. Sigh. So, I'm now contemplating getting a short haircut before surgery so it doesn't take 3 years for the hair to grow back out to match the rest of my head.

It's minor, I know. Someday in the future, I WILL donate. It's just aggrevating to keep finding more and more aspects of my life that this AN impacts.

OK, I Admit It

2006-05-24T12:25:00.000-04:00

I'm stressed. I didn't think I was - I really didn't! But, I've been having trouble sleeping (both going to sleep and staying alseep) which means I'm stressed. Even if I didn't know it.

First there's Elliot. He's a great, bright, funny kid. But he's got some mild sensory integration issues that I don't know how to handle. Well, that's not quite true. Within our household, we adapt to his needs pretty easily. What stresses me out is dealing with the school system. His issues aren't severe enough to warrant a special ed plan, so schools aren't (in general) going to go out of their way to accommodate him. Not when there are *so many* kids out there designated "special needs" that the schools are mandated to accommodate. That's fine for kids with true special needs, but I don't like it when kids are labeled as such just for a different style of learning (which definitely happens around here). It seems like any child who doesn't conform to the narrowly defined "normal" is put on a special ed plan because the school systems, and the state, no longer allow teachers the flexibility to treat all their kids as individual learners with unique (but still normal) ways of learning.

Anyway...

I think Elliot has some sensory issues, but not enough to require special intervention by the schools. Which means he's going to be on one of those margins where the schools aren't mandated to do anything to help him, but we'll all be miserable if they don't. So we're at the mercy of individual schools and teachers. And I hate that. And I don't know if a private school would be better suited for him (though that would mean me going right back to work instead of back to school first). I don't know what to do.

And DH is working insane hours (home at midnight or later) so I've been a single parent - even more than usual - this week. At least his deadline is over with next week and then his time should loosen up again.

And then there's me. I'm facing skull surgery this summer because my tumor (acoustic neuroma) is growing faster than expected. I knew this was coming, but I thought I had more time to decide what to do. Which meant I could ignore the whole thing and pretend it didn't exist. But now I can't. Until last week, I could avoid thinking about *surgery* and what that means for my boys, even if everything goes as well as possible (I can't even contemplate what happens if things don't go well!). And I know we have tons of family and friends who will all generously be there to help with everything (babysitting, groceries, laundry, errands, etc.) during my 6 week recovery. But it's still scary. I mean, this is all because I have a tumor in my head! (Well, technically, in my ear canal but growing into my head.) Not something you like to think about. And now I'm being forced to.

No wonder I'm taking a Benadryl to help me sleep at night. Sheesh.

About Family

2006-05-11T11:37:00.000-04:00

Swiped from Heather (thank you!).

It's about adoption and blended families, but the sentiment applies to me and my sister, too.

"Not flesh of my flesh, Nor bone of my bone, But still miraculously my own. Never forget for a single minute, You didn't grow under my heart - but in it" --- Fleur Conkling Heylinger

A Funny Sidebar

2006-04-22T11:37:00.000-04:00

Webmasters who didn't think when they registered their URL

Here's a list of some funny URLs, where the designer didn't think about how people would read the name of the site:

1) Who Represents?, a database for agencies to the rich and famous:
http://www.whorepresents.com

2) Experts Exchange, a knowledge base where programmers can exchange
advice and views:
http://www.expertsexchange.com

3) Looking for a pen? Look no further than Pen Island:
http://www.penisland.net

4) Need a therapist?
http://www.therapistfinder.com

5) Mole Station Native Nursery, based in New South Wales:
http://www.molestationnursery.com

6) Gas central heating anyone?
http://www.gasheating.co.uk

7) New to Milan and you need electric light? Why not sign up on-line with
Power-Gen?
http://www.powergenitalia.com

See Domain Rookie for more.

On Being Mom

2006-04-18T16:54:00.000-04:00

This has been around a while, but it really resonates with me.
------------

by Anna Quindlen

Newsweek Columnist and Author

If not for the photographs, I might have a hard time believing they ever existed. The pensive infant with the swipe of dark bangs and the black button eyes of a Raggedy Andy doll. The placid baby with the yellow ringlets and the high piping voice. The sturdy toddler with the lower lip that curled into an apostrophe above her chin.

All my babies are gone now. I say this not in sorrow but in disbelief. I take great satisfaction in what I have today: three almost-adults, two taller than I am, one closing in fast. Three people who read the same books I do and have learned not to be afraid of disagreeing with me in their opinion of them, who sometimes tell vulgar jokes that make me laugh until I choke and cry, who need razor blades and shower gel and privacy, who want to keep their doors closed more than I like.

Who, miraculously, go to the bathroom, zip up their jackets and move food from plate to mouth all by themselves. Like the trick soap I bought for the bathroom with a rubber ducky at its center, the baby is buried deep within each, barely discernible except through the unreliable haze of the past.

Everything in all the books I once pored over is finished for me now. Penelope Leach., T. Berry Brazelton., Dr. Spock. The ones on sibling rivalry and sleeping through the night and early-childhood education, all grown obsolete. Along with Goodnight Moon and Where the Wild Things Are, they are
battered, spotted, well used. But I suspect that if you flipped the pages dust would rise like memories.

What those books taught me, finally, and what the women on the playground taught me, and the well-meaning relations --what they taught me, was that they couldn't really teach me very much at all. Raising children is presented at first as a true-false test, then becomes multiple choice, until
finally, far along, you realize that it is an endless essay. No one knows anything. One child responds well to positive reinforcement, another can be managed only with a stern voice and a timeout. One child is toilet trained at 3, his sibling at 2.

When my first child was born, parents were told to put baby to bed on his belly so that he would not choke on his own spit-up. By the time my last arrived, babies were put down on their backs because of research on sudden infant death syndrome. To a new parent this ever-shifting certainty is terrifying, and then soothing.

Eventually you must learn to trust yourself. Eventually the research will follow. I remember 15 years ago poring over one of Dr. Brazelton's wonderful books on child development, in which he describes three different sorts of infants: average, quiet, and active. I was looking for a sub-quiet codicil for an 18-month old who did not walk. Was there something wrong with his fat little legs? Was there something wrong with his tiny little mind? Was he developmentally delayed, physically challenged? Was I insane? Last year he went to China. Next year he goes to college. He can talk just fine. He can walk, too.

Every part of raising children is humbling, too. Believe me, mistakes were made. They have all been enshrined in the, "Remember-When-Mom-Did Hall of Fame." The outbursts, the temper tantrums, the bad language, mine, not theirs. The times the baby fell off the bed. The times I arrived late for preschool pickup. The nightmare sleepover. The horrible summer camp. The day when the youngest came barreling out of the classroom with a 98 on her geography test, and I responded, What did you get wrong? (She insisted I include that.) The time I ordered food at the McDonald's drive-through speaker and then drove away without picking it up from the window. (They all insisted I include that.) I did not allow them to watch the Simpsons for the first two seasons. What was I thinking?

But the biggest mistake I made is the one that most of us make while doing this. I did not live in the moment enough. This is particularly clear now that the moment is gone, captured only in photographs.

There is one picture of the three of them, sitting in the grass on a quilt in the shadow of the swing set on a summer day, ages 6, 4 and 1. And I wish I could remember what we ate, and what we talked about, and how they sounded, and how they looked when they slept that night. I wish I had not been in such a hurry to get on to the next thing: dinner, bath, book, bed. I wish I had treasured the doing a little more and the getting it done a little less.

Even today I'm not sure what worked and what didn't, what was me and what was simply life. When they were very small, I suppose I thought someday they would become who they were because of what I'd done. Now I suspect they simply grew into their true selves because they demanded in a thousand ways that I back off and let them be.

The books said to be relaxed and I was often tense, matter-of-fact and I was sometimes over the top. And look how it all turned out. I wound up with the three people I like best in the world, who have done more than anyone to excavate my essential humanity.

That's what the books never told me. I was bound and determined to learn from the experts. It just took me a while to figure out who the experts were....

My Baby... No... My Toddler!

2006-04-12T13:13:00.000-04:00

This afternoon, Elliot told me he was hungry, so I asked if he wanted a snack. Before Elliot even had the chance to answer, Jonah comes trotting over enthusiastically signing "more". OK, so I guess he understood and wanted it known that he was hungry, too! So I asked Elliot to pick a snack from the pantry and I asked Jonah to go to his highchair (which he usually does). Today, though, Jonah went over to the pantry (which Elliot had opened), grabbed the bag of Baby Goldfish, and *then* went over to his highchair. Silly baby! ;-)

I think the problem is that I do still think Jonah is a baby - but clearly *he* doesn't think so! LOL!

The last cord is cut

2006-03-01T09:53:00.000-05:00

I'm pretty sure Jonah nursed for the last time yesterday. He's been down to once a day (at bedtime) for the last week or so and for the last couple of nights he's been getting frustrated and had a lot of trouble staying latched because there's really no supply left. Last night he kinda, sorta nursed for 15 mins before bed (constant fussing and latching/unlatching b/c there was no milk), but he went to sleep at 7pm. At 9pm, he was up screaming (which he doesn't normally do). We tried to nurse, but it was more of the same. So DH gave him 5 oz of whole milk in a bottle, which he sucked down in about 3 minutes! And then he slept until 7am.

So, I think this is it. We've been weaning slowly, so now there's just no supply left (I couldn't even squeeze out a few drops in the shower this morning). It's a little sad, but I'm also ready. My goal was to not use any formula, which I was able to accomplish. And Elliot's last nursing was 4 days after his first birthday, so they're almost exactly the same! LOL!

In the last week, Jonah's morphed quite quickly in skill and temperament from a baby to a toddler, and I'm feeling like my relationship with him is changing a lot right now to keep up with him. So this just fits right in!

I not quite sure what to think about this. The last physiological connection between Jonah and I has been severed. Should I be sad? Relieved? I think the saddest part is the idea that I'll probably never nourish another child with my own body again. It's such an amazing thing to be able to do.

None of the Above. None.

2006-02-25T10:38:00.000-05:00

A few ground rules for standardized testing for members of the House and Senate: test-prep fees can never be paid by lobbyists.

By Anna Quindlen
Newsweek

Feb. 20, 2006 issue - When I read that a presidential commission was considering standardized testing in colleges to gauge the level of learning, I was a little dispirited. I'd gotten a kick out of the fact that my homegrown college students were finally free of percentiles and national means. For what seemed like the first time since they turned 4, they were able to forget about filling in those little bubbles and swap their No. 2 pencils for paintbrushes, props, ancient prose and modern experimental poetry. And parties. Well, never mind that part.

Then I realized that I was thinking small, and so were the Feds. Through their No Child Left Untested initiative, they'd managed to metastasize school testing so that it was everywhere, from the early grades through high school. Why stop there? Why stop at all?

You there, with the plumber's van! Which of the wrenches pictured here is really best for removing this piece of pipe? Wait, wait—not the one that would do a pretty decent job if you held it the right way! The very best one as determined by a government panel of plumbing experts. And don't peek over the shoulder of that guy next to you. He's doing the heating-and-cooling achievement test. That's an entirely different thing.

Miss! Miss! Put down that tray. Dover sole is to flounder as mahimahi is to what? Where exactly are the thousand islands of Thousand Island dressing, and should you serve pie a la mode with a fork, a spoon or both? Mom, stop the stroller. Have you really studied "100 Irrational Fears You'll Have Before She Turns 2"? Are you ready for the multiple-choice questions about introducing solid food and whether or not to use a pacifier? And please don't try that "use your best judgment" excuse. A blue-ribbon panel of psychologists developed this test, which they were able to do because none of them actually have young children.

And don't think you babies are off the hook. For years you've gotten away with nothing more taxing than that Apgar test at birth, which measures stuff like muscle tone and respiration. Anyone can breathe! Keep an eye on that mobile over the crib. Track it... track it... yes! It looks as if there may be an excellent preschool in your future if you can pass the AP potty test by the time you're 3.

Of course, we've made sure some Americans already take government-mandated tests even when they're not in school. Immigrants becoming citizens, for instance, take a test on the history of the United States that most of us born here wouldn't be able to pass. By contrast, people getting their driver's licenses take a written test, much of which could be answered correctly by squirrels:

You are approaching a stop sign when an elderly person using a cane crosses in front of your car. You should:
(a) speed up
(b) slow down
(c) beep your horn
(d) stop

The presidential commission is allegedly concerned about analytical skills, although one of its members runs a big test-prep company, which my analytical skills tell me means he has a vested interest in more testing. But testing the capability of college students surely isn't enough. If, as the commission suggests, colleges and universities are under pressure to prove their worth because they're pricey, Congress clearly has something to prove.

A few ground rules for standardized testing for members of the House and Senate: test-prep fees cannot be paid by lobbyists. No one can accompany the legislator into the testing room—no press secretaries, no aides, no special assistants in charge of health-care policy. Health-care policy won't be on the test anyhow because there are no clear answers to any question. There will, however, be a math portion for those legislators who think you can increase spending, cut taxes and yet still bring down the deficit. They'll be able to use their calculators. Their magic calculators.

The president has a lot on his plate, so he will be asked to take only the same achievement tests that American high-school students already take. European and American history, and maybe biology, so that he can have an introduction to pure science, as opposed to the political kind. He should probably also take the new SAT writing sample: "Benjamin Franklin once said, 'Those who would give up essential liberty to purchase a little temporary safety deserve neither liberty nor safety.' Discuss, using examples from your own foreign or domestic policy."

Think of all the job creation going on here: test writers, test monitors, test graders. And what about the underlying lesson learned, that it doesn't matter if you really resonate to knowledge, only if you can manage to spit it back over the course of a single, long, tedious session? That should be useful in much of the work world. Naturally, the commission must be tested as well, perhaps with this short essay question: "In recent years learning is said to be plummeting while at the same time the use of standardized testing is skyrocketing. What's the point? Discuss."

© 2006 MSNBC.com

URL: http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/11298636/site/newsweek/

Only In Our House

2006-01-28T19:57:00.000-05:00

Cats are supposed to be creatures of grace and elegance. They move with ease and always land on their feet.

Except our cat. Arthur, the King of Klutz Kitties.

Arthur has always been the least graceful cat we've ever met. He regularly misjudges how far it is to a chair or the counter. He trips over his feet when he's running. He tumbles down the stairs. Then, this morning, he was delicately balanced (uh-oh) on one of our wire shelves in the office when he tried to gracefully leap to the floor. But, of course, Arthur can't do that. Instead, he manages to shove a foot between the wires as he pushes off and ends up awkwardly twisting as he launches himself into the air. The result? A broken foot. Our clumsy, graceless cat broke his foot. I've even got the xrays to prove it. Good grief.

So, now we have a cat in a bandaged splint with a cone collar on so he won't chew off the bandage.

Oh, yeah - this is gonna be a fun six weeks!

Top Ten Reasons Geeks Make Good Fathers

2006-01-24T16:45:00.000-05:00

Thanks to this blog for this list that really resonated with me. #2 doesn't really apply to my husband, but that's okay. The rest do! (Thank you, Danielle!)

1. LEGOS. The Geek is really more of a Man-Child than an adult. In their minds, they are still 10. They freakin' still love to play with their legos, and have never grown up. I have one friend, WHO WILL REMAIN NAMELESS, that still has legos in his room. He doesn't have kids. Just legos. Of course, my children love legos and Steve will lovingly spend hours playing legos with them.

2. VIDEO GAMES. Due to the whole Man-Child thing as stated in #1, the Geek loves video games. And he's good at them too. My husband is the hit of all the kids' friends because not only can he talk video games, he plays them too. If my children get "stuck" while playing their Gameboys and bring it to me for assistance, all I can do is feebly hold it and say " Mommy doesn't know how to play this." Daddy, however, can beat the game.

3. MATH. A huge plus here. No matter how old they get, Steve can still help with the math homework. My ability to be of assistance is going to last another few years before *I* end up throwing the math homework across the room in disgust.

4. SMART KIDS. Smart Geeks make smart children. Although for the most part, it's great to have really intelligent children, when your just turned two year old is using the word PREPOSTEROUS correctly, it makes for some difficult times as they get older. I literally spend a large part of my time scheming to stay one step ahead of my oldest child.

5. UP ON TECHNOLOGY. The beautiful thing about having a Geek for a parent is that you aren't wondering what your children are doing online. You *KNOW* what they are doing online and you can limit it if necessary.
It's fabulous peace of mind.

6. SCIENCE FAIR PROJECTS. Children of the Geeks always have the coolest science fair projects. And you don't have to cajole your Geek into helping. You'll find him fiddling around with the science materials whether you asked him to help or not.

7. TOY ASSEMBLY. You will never, ever have to spend six hours of your life, that you will never get back, trying to assemble some 2,000 piece toy at 3 am on Christmas Eve again. The Geek can do it in minutes flat. Usually without the directions. Whereas I have tried to assemble toys and said "Mommy has to go to the bathroom" just so I could escape and scream into my pillow in frustration, if the Geek is around, he can take it right off your hands. I now just say "Daddy is really good at this, let's wait until he gets home."

8. GADGETS. Never again will you have to wonder what that new electronic toy is that all the kids have. In fact, your Geek will probably already own it. The problem arises when the Geek won't share with the children. "Daddy, I want a digital camera." After the child leaves the room: "I'm not spending hundreds of dollars on a digital camera for him, he's too young." I say "Let's get him a cheap one." Steve looks at me as if I just said Aliens are invited to dinner. " To have it take crappy pictures?" He scoffs and walks away in disgust. No sub-par electronics in this house! How dare I suggest it.

9. SMART IS COOL. Having a Geek for a father instills the message into your children that smart is cool. They idolize Daddy. Hopefully, they'll want to grow up to be just like him.

10. BEING IDOLIZED IS GOOD FOR YOUR GEEK. Course, you have to be careful that his head doesn't get TOO BIG. That's why I blog. Gotta keep his ego in check SOMEHOW.

Countries I Have Visited

2006-01-12T13:28:00.000-05:00

create your own visited countries map

Four

2006-01-09T19:20:00.000-05:00

Four jobs you've had in your life:
1. Wendy's
2. Associate at Hancock Fabrics
3. Customer Service Rep for an ISP
4. Instructional Designer/Curriculum Developer

Four movies you could watch over and over:
1. Apollo 13
2. The Red Violin
3. Chicken Run
4. A Mighty Wind

Four places you've lived:
1. Tempe, AZ
2. Champagne, IL
3. Palmerston North, New Zealand
4. Littleton, MA

Four TV shows you love to watch:
1. The West Wing
2. Desperate Housewives
3. Lost
4. Mad About You

Four websites you visit daily:
1. CNN
2. For Better or For Worse
3. Yahoo! Groups
4. Boston.com

Four of your favorite foods:
1. Homemade lasagne
2. Twice-baked potatoes
3. My husband's beef stew
4. Melt-in-your-mouth, top quality chocolate fudge

Four places you'd rather be:
1. Kauai
2. Nantucket
3. Moosehead Lake, ME
4. Scotland

Four albums you can't live without:
1. Marc Cohn "Marc Cohn"
2. "Ragtime" soundtrack
3. Vienna Teng "Warm Strangers"
4. Sarah McLachlan "Surfacing"

States I have visited

2006-01-04T14:55:00.000-05:00

create your own visited states map

Surviving December

2005-12-31T10:24:00.000-05:00

What a month. I'm sad that the year is over, but it'll be nice to have all this behind me, too.

Starting on the 18th, we were expecting 6 of my relatives to come stay with us through the Christmas holiday. This I was actually looking forward to. I don't get to see my family that often, and I actually like spending time with them. But it did mean that the week before was going to be pretty busy getting everything ready for that many visitors - cleaning, shopping, wrapping gifts, laundry, getting Xmas cards out, decorating the tree, etc. And Brett was going to be gone for two days of that week on a business trip to MN. So I was going to have to take care of the two boys by myself - plus get all this additional stuff done those two days. Pretty stressful in its own right.

Then, on Dec 9th, just as this stressful week was about to begin, I went to the gym early in the morning. I wanted to get there and back home before the predicted snowstorm started in earnest. There was barely a dusting of snow on the ground when I went out. And as I was waiting for traffic to clear so I could turn into the gym parking lot, I got rearended. Some guy in a big old van didn't see me until too late and couldn't stop in time. I'm very grateful the kids weren't with me, and in fact I didn't even have a single sore muscle. Pretty amazing given the condition of the car - the whole driver's side on the back was completely crumpled, the back window shattered, and (we think) the entire frame of the car was slightly twisted. I give Honda a lot of credit - that car crumpled all around the passenger compartment, but made sure I stayed safe.

So, the police came and the tow truck (the other guy could drive away!). When Brett met me at the auto body shop, the two of us talked to the owner. The consensus was that the car would probably be totalled. Brett was heartbroken! He loved driving that car and it had absolutely nothing wrong with it. Sigh. But either way, here was something else we had to deal with in the next week in addition to everything else. All the insurance claims and paperwork, plus the possibility of buying a new car fairly quickly.

Then Elliot got sick, but at least that was just a minor cold. Then Jonah got it in the form of a nasty croup. When Brett came back from MN on Thursday, he kept asking if Jonah needed to go to the pediatrician since his cough and breathing sounded so raspy. I figured it was just croup and he'd get over it. Finally, on Friday (2 days before our company came) I said I'd call the ped b/c Jonah's wasn't really feeling any better after four days of being sick (even though I really didn't think he needed to be seen). The nurse asked me to bring him in just to check out his breathing and make sure it wasn't anything serious. Turns out the croup had caused an inflammation in his lungs and he needed a few days of steroids to help him breathe more reliably. OK - big dose of Mommy Guilt for being willing to ignore his symptoms.

So now it's the end of a stressful week - Brett's been in MN, both kids have been sick (so I haven't been sleeping much at all), we're trying to go car shopping, and we're dickering with the insurance companies over paying for a rental car and how much our Accord was worth (it was, in fact, totalled). I haven't been able to accomplish nearly as much as I wanted. And to top it off, Brett came home from his trip with a cold, too.

Thankfully, Brett stayed home that Friday. Primarily so he could go buy a new car. We ended up with a 2006 Honda Accord (4 door this time instead of the fun 2 door that got smooshed). I was a little sad that I didn't get to test drive it before purchasing it, but there was no way that would be practical with the two little ones. And we didn't want to prolong the process by waiting for me to get out there (the dealership is 30 mins away) and drive it. So I got over that pretty quickly - after all, I trusted that I'd like an Accord again. But now I also had to spend time on Friday (before the close of business) moving money around from different accounts so we'd be able to pay for the car as soon as it was ready.

We managed to get enough done that weekend that the house was somewhat presentable by the time everyone arrived on Sunday. The kids were feeling better. The house was stocked with food.

The week before Christmas was not without its challenges. Elliot was wired through the roof with excitement over having his older cousins around to play with. They got quite sick of him at times! But they were both very good with both Elliot - and Allison (8) displayed a level of patience with him quite astonishing for a girl her age. And both Allison and Samantha (5) were enthralled with Jonah. As were their parents! LOL! It was the first time my sister and her family had been able to meet Jonah. We did activities together, played in the snow, and took a trip to see the holiday lights at Edaville Railroad. And we did a lot of just hanging out together. Which was really nice.

The challenges? Elliot had a hard time controlling his behavior since he was just so excited all the time. Plus he was still coming off his cold so he got tired more easily than usual. Jonah was still recovering from his croup and getting completely overstimulated. It was this week that we finally ended up letting him cry himself to sleep some nights. He was so overstimulated that he had a hard time letting go at the end of the day, even though he was completely exhausted. And Jonah's such a social person that if someone goes into his room, he just gets riled up and even more stimulated instead of calming down and relaxing. So many of the evenings we were also dealing with a tired, crying baby and upset, frustrated parents.

A couple days after Christmas, eveyone left. My sister and her family went down to NYC to visit other relatives, and will be back tomorrow for a couple days before flying home to AZ. I'm glad we get a chance to spend some more time with them before they go. I will say that it's been nice to have a few days this week to get the boys back on routines. Jonah's been sleeping much better (though he still will cry for 10 mins before falling asleep at night) though I think he's getting another cold. Elliot's enjoying the quiet time to play with all his new Christmas toys, though I think he's getting bored. It'll be good to get him back into preschool next week. Unfortunately, both Brett and I have been incredibly sick this week. (Isn't there a law written somewhere that says both parents aren't allowed to get sick at the same time? Hmph. Well, there should be.) I spend Thurs and Fri this week barely functional with a nasty sore throat, congestion, aches, and low grade fever. Now I'm entering the coughing phase of the cold (which Brett has been in for several days now) but at least I'm feeling better. I had to cancel a couple of get togethers with friends this week because of our illnesses, and I was really looking forward to touching base with everyone again.

I'm hoping January is a regular boring month. While I've really enjoyed spending all this time with my family, I'm done with the holidays for a while.

Peanuts Philosophy

2005-11-27T20:07:00.000-05:00

The following is the philosophy of Charles Schultz, the creator of the "Peanuts" comic strip. You don't have to actually answer the questions. Just read it straight through, and you'll get the point.

1. Name the five wealthiest people in the world.
2. Name the last five Heisman trophy winners.
3. Name the last five winners of the Miss America.
4. Name ten people who have won the Nobel or Pulitzer Prize.
5. Name the last half dozen Academy Award winner for best actor and actress.
6. Name the last decade's worth of World Series winners.

How did you do?

The point is, none of us remember the headliners of yesterday. These are no second-rate achievers. They are the best in their fields. But the applause dies. Awards tarnish. Achievements are forgotten. Accolades and certificates are buried with their owners.

Here's another quiz. See how you do on this one:

1. List a few teachers who aided your journey through school.
2. Name three friends who have helped you through a difficult time.
3. Name five people who have taught you something worthwhile.
4. Think of a few people who have made you feel appreciated and special.
5. Think of five people you enjoy spending time with.

Easier?

The lesson: The people who make a difference in your life are not the ones with the most credentials, the most money, or the most awards. They are the ones that care.

I made a new friend!

2005-10-29T13:10:00.000-04:00

Why am I still so astonished every time this happens? You'd think, at 34, I'd have the confidence to know that some people do, in fact, want to be friends with me. And my head knows that. But I'm still so surprised every time I make a new connection.

There's another mom at Elliot's preschool who's hanging out in the halls before/after class, waiting to pick up her son. We're both usually there early and end up chatting for a few minutes. And we spent time talking when we were all on a field trip a couple of weeks ago. She's very friendly, we're at the same stage of life with similar aged kidlets, and we seemed to find the same things amusing. So, this week she invited me to her house for a Girls' Night Out with some of her friends.

And it surprised me how I reacted internally. It felt a little like I'd been asked on a date for the first time (not that that *ever* happened much!). I guess I still just don't expect people to make such overtures of friendship to me - a remnant of tough years as a kid.

I really need to get over this. I know I have a ton of friends and there are many women who I like to hang out with and who, I think, like to hang out with me. But it's always nice to have another.

Bracelets

2005-10-20T10:11:00.000-04:00

I've never succombed to getting one of those plastic bracelets that support various causes - a trend started by Lance Armstrong and his foundation. I've been tempted, but haven't actually done it. Partially because I know my husband will laugh, and I just don't want to deal.

But I found one that convinced me.

Breastfeeding Protection Initiative

Really, I don't have a problem with moms that use formula, either by choice or necessity. But I do have a problem with a culture that has a problem with breastfeeding in public. Using my breasts for what nature designed them for is "disgusting" and should be hidden, but using my breasts for sexuality is prefectly fine and even encouraged.

How screwed up is that?

Sleep!

2005-10-20T10:09:00.000-04:00

Oh, my, god. I need some sleep. Jonah's been going through some sort of developmental thing so he's up a lot. And I have a hacking cough that won't go away (probably because I'm not getting enough sleep) that's keeping me up. Plus a touch of insomnia. Not good.

10 hours of sleep in the last 3 days. Oh, plus 30 mins yesterday afternoon while Jonah was napping and Elliot watched a movie.

And I'm supposed to safe to drive my children around. HA!!

1st Day Of School

2005-09-06T09:11:00.000-04:00

(author unknown)

We went to school today,
My little boy and I.

I worried all through breakfast,
Afraid he might cry.

I watched him walk away with pride
and I was quite alone.

The tears I thought would surely be his
Are indeed my very own.

Raising Boys

2005-08-22T08:54:00.000-04:00

a) For those with no children - this is totally hysterical!
b) For those who already have children past this age, this is hilarious.
c) For those who have children this age, this is not funny.
d) For those who have children nearing this age, this is a warning.
e) For those who have not yet had children, this is birth control.

The following came from an anonymous Mother in Austin, Texas...Things I've learned from my Boys (honest and not kidding):

1.) A king size waterbed holds enough water to fill a 2000 sq. ft. house 4 inches deep.
2.) If you spray hair spray on dust bunnies and run over them with roller blades, they can ignite.
3.) A 3-year old Boy's voice is louder than 200 adults in a crowded restaurant.
4.) If you hook a dog leash over a ceiling fan, the motor is not strong enough to rotate a 42 pound Boy wearing Batman underwear and a Superman cape. It is strong enough, however, if tied to a
paint can, to spread paint on all four walls of a 20x20 ft. room.
5.) You should not throw baseballs up when the ceiling fan is on. When using a ceiling fan as a bat, you have to throw the ball up a few times before you get a hit. A ceiling fan can hit a baseball a
long way.
6.) The glass in windows (even double-pane) doesn't stop a baseball hit by a ceiling fan.
7.) When you hear the toilet flush and the words "uh oh", it's already too late.
8.) Brake fluid mixed with Clorox makes smoke, and lots of it.
9.) A six-year old Boy can start a fire with a flint rock even though a 36-year old Man says they can only do it in the movies.
10.) Certain Lego's will pass through the digestive tract of a 4-year old Boy.
11.) Play dough and microwave should not be used in the same sentence.
12.) Super glue is forever.
13.) No matter how much Jell-O you put in a swimming pool you still can't walk on water.
14.) Pool filters do not like Jell-O.
15.) VCR's do not eject "PB & J" sandwiches even though TV commercials show they do.
16.) Garbage bags do not make good parachutes.
17.) Marbles in gas tanks make lots of noise when driving.
18.) You probably DO NOT want to know what that odor is.
19.) Always look in the oven before you turn it on; plastic toys do not like ovens.
20.) The fire department in Austin, TX has a 5-minute response time.
21.) The spin cycle on the washing machine does not make earthworms dizzy.
22.) It will, however, make cats dizzy.
23.) Cats throw up twice their body weight when dizzy.
24.) 80% of Men who read this will try mixing the Clorox and brake fluid.
25.) Women will pass this on to almost all of their friends, with or without kids.

100 Things About Me

2005-08-14T11:40:00.000-04:00

Thanks to Gina and Heather for the inspiration to do this!

1. My name is Katie.
2. I was born in Phoenix, AZ.
3. I grew up in two houses in Tempe, AZ.
4. I left Arizona when I went to college outside Boston.
5. I always thought I’d return to Arizona after graduating from college.
6. Instead, I met my husband at college and we settled in Massachusetts near his family.
7. I lived and went to school in New Zealand for three months in 1982 (6th grade).
8. I toured China for 4 weeks in 1984 in areas that had never seen white tourists before.
9. My grandmother instilled in me a love of travel and learning about other cultures and societies.
10. My parents are my personal role models.
11. I have two children, both boys.
12. I’ve always wanted a daughter.
13. I wouldn’t trade my sons for anything.
14. I grew up with dogs and always assumed I’d have dogs as an adult.
15. With my husband, we’ve always had two cats! ☺
16. My family is scattered across the country.
17. I often wish I lived closer to my parents, brother, and sister.
18. I would love to have a retirement home on Nantucket.
19. I am a Leo, though I doubt anyone would guess that.
20. I can sunburn while sitting in complete shade.
21. I prefer the heat of an Arizona summer to the cold of a New England winter.
22. I enjoy quilting.
23. I’m working on cross-stitching all five of the Celtic season designs by Marilyn Leavitt-Imblum.
24. I love taking tons of pictures.
25. I don’t enjoy scrapbooking at all.
26. I made my own baby announcements when my second child was born.
27. I hated my given name as a teenager, but I love it now.
28. I played violin in a concert at Carnegie Hall.
29. I often wish I still had time to play my violin.
30. I love musical theater.
31. I’ve seen Into the Woods on Broadway.
32. I’ve seen Les Miserables four times.
33. I’m addicted to buying baby things.
34. I’d buy every pair of Robeez available in every size if I had unlimited money.
35. I also have an addiction to buying coats, both for me and my kids.
36. I bought a house at 25 years old.
37. My first car (in 1993) was a 1986 Toyota Camry.
38. My current car is a 2001 Honda Odyssey.
39. I have way too many pictures done at The Picture People.
40. I was born in the year of the pig.
41. I want to have breast reduction surgery.
42. One of my dreams is to go back to school to become a labor and delivery nurse.
43. I already have a Master’s degree in Training and Development.
44. I went to graduate school at Lesley University.
45. I have a Bachelor’s degree in International Relations.
46. I went to undergraduate school at Tufts University.
47. I won several Math and Science awards in high school.
48. I’m a stay-at-home mom and love it.
49. I have no desire to go back to the work I was doing before having kids.
50. The last big splurge my husband and I made before getting pregnant was a 10 day vacation to London and Scotland.
51. I hate wearing pantyhose.
52. I love buying shoes.
53. I own way too many books.
54. I am the first-born in my family.
55. I am celebrating my 9th anniversary this month.
56. My one regret about our wedding is skimping on the photography.
57. I can’t imagine being married to anyone else.
58. I was 25 when I got married.
59. I started dating my husband my junior year of college.
60. I love playing card games.
61. I need some alone time most days or I get really grumpy.
62. I love to cook.
63. I don’t get to cook as often as I’d like.
64. I often subject my family to experiments with new recipes.
65. I collect funky serving dishes and bowls.
66. I had braces from the age of 10 until 13.
67. I need them again.
68. I got glasses in the 6th grade.
69. That was probably a couple of years after I actually started needing them..
70. Fresh strawberries are my favorite fruit.
71. I love my husband’s beef stew.
72. I manage the budget in our household.
73. I have a hard time making new friends.
74. I hate being at parties where I don’t know anyone.
75. I wish I had more time to do my nails each week.
76. I’ve breastfed both my kids.
77. I’m a borderline lactivist when it comes to my own kids.
78. I’d never presume to tell others how they have to feed their kids.
79. I just want to be able to nurse my own kids without hassles from anyone.
80. I can’t pump very well, so my kids don’t often get bottles.
81. I refuse to ever buy any formula.
82. My favorite color is purple.
83. I collect teddy bears.
84. I actually like most of my family.
85. I like most of my in-laws, too.
86. I have a fake eardrum in my right ear.
87. Because of that, I have a very mild hearing loss on the right.
88. I have an acoustic neuroma in my left ear.
89. Because of that, I have a severe hearing loss on the left.
90. I will lose all hearing on the left after the surgery to remove the neuroma.
91. I’m addicted to email.
92. I actually enjoy grocery shopping.
93. I use a Palm to keep my life organized.
94. I also have paper lists all over the house to help me remember things.
95. My favorite book is Little Women by Louisa May Alcott.
96. I’m currently reading the Outlander series by Diana Gabaldon.
97. I enjoy historical novels.
98. I read every opportunity I get.
99. I’ve recently rediscovered our local library, which is saving my tons of money.
100. I’m proud of the person I am.

Jonathan Alter - Newsweek, 8/15/05

2005-08-10T08:48:00.000-04:00

Monkey See, Monkey Do

Offering ID as an alternative to evolution is a cruel joke. It walks and talks like science but in the lab performs worse than medieval alchemy.

By Jonathan Alter

Newsweek

Aug. 15, 2005 issue - A teacher in Kansas, where war over Darwin in the schools is still raging, calls the theory of intelligent design "creationism in a cheap tuxedo." Great line, but unfair to the elegant tailoring of the Discovery Institute, the Seattle-based think tank that has almost singlehandedly put intelligent design on the map. Eighty years after the Scopes "monkey trial," the threat to science and reason comes less from fundamentalists who believe the earth was created in six days than from sophisticated branding experts and polemical Ph.D. s who are clever enough to refrain from referring to God or even the Creator, and have now found a willing tool in the president of the United States.

Lest you think this is merely of academic interest, consider the stakes: the Pentagon last week revealed that it is spending money to train certain scientists how to write screenplays for thrillers related to their specialties. Why? Because the status of science has sunk so low that the government needs these disciplines to become sexy again among students or the brain drain will threaten national security. One of the reasons we have fewer science majors is the pernicious right-wing notion that conventional biology is vaguely atheistic.

Now President Bush has given that view a boost. When Bush was asked about intelligent design last week, he answered, "Both sides ought to be properly taught... so people can understand what the debate is about." This sounds reasonable until you realize that, as the president's own science adviser, John H. Marburger III, admits, there is no real debate. "Intelligent design is not a scientific concept," Marburger told The New York Times, committing a bit of candor that will presumably earn him a trip to the White House woodshed.

Stephen Meyer of the Discovery Institute claims ID uses a scientifically valid "inference to the best explanation" to back up its theories. That might be good enough for a graduate course in the philosophy of science (and the ACLU should not prevent it from being discussed in high-school humanities and philosophy classes), but the idea of its being offered as an alternative to evolution in ninth-grade biology is a cruel joke. Its basic claim—that the human cell is too complex to be explained by natural selection—is unproven and probably unprovable. ID walks like science and talks like science but, so far, performs in the lab worse than medieval alchemy.

It's not God who's the problem but ID's assault on Darwin. Brown University biologist Kenneth Miller (who attends mass every week) says the "unspoken message" peddled by the Discovery Institute is that evolution is the single shakiest theory in science. In fact, despite its flaws, it remains among the most durable theories in all of science.

Even as the president helps pit faith against science in the classroom, popes and other clerics have long known that religion and evolution are not truly at odds. Evolution does not, for instance, challenge the idea that the universe began with a spark of divinity. Darwin himself wrote movingly of God. Only the scientific process—not the scientist—must be agnostic. Long before Darwin, enlightened Christians understood that religion and science are best kept in separate realms. In the fifth century, for instance, Saint Augustine criticized other Christians who "talk nonsense" about the laws of nature.

The most clever thing about intelligent design is that it doesn't sound like nonsense. It conjures up Cambridge, not Kansas. The name evokes Apple software, the MoMA gift shop or a Frank Gehry chair. The scholarly articles are often well written and provocative. But the science within these papers has been demolished over and over by other scientists. As Miller explains, science is perhaps the last true marketplace of ideas. After a decade in circulation, intelligent design has failed the market test. So now its backers are seeking the equivalent of a government bailout, by going around their scientific peers to Red State politicians trying to slip religious dogma into the classroom.

While the Discovery Institute calls God the "designer," to appear less creationist, some of its biggest funders are serious fundamentalists. An internal fund-raising memo leaked in 1999 laid out its theological agenda and intention to use ID as a "wedge" to triumph in the culture wars.

Last week Fox News lent a hand. Bill O'Reilly says that the National Academy of Science is guilty of "fascism" for arguing that ID should not take up valuable class time in high-school biology. (Not to be outdone, Dr. James Dobson compared embryonic-stem-cell research to "Nazi experiments.") These are the same modest gents who decry relativism and curricular inclusiveness in the humanities, where it is far more justifiable than in the sciences.

Bush's policy of politicizing science—retreating from the field of facts and evidence on everything from evolution to global warming to the number of cell lines available to justify his 2001 stem-cell compromise—will eventually wreak havoc with his legacy. Until then, like his masquerade-ball friends, the president will get more clever at harming science while pretending to promote it. Monkey see, monkey do.

Some Nice Words

2005-07-27T15:18:00.000-04:00

This is just another challenge~~a stage of becoming.
It is one of many challenges you have faced.
You will face more and you will get through them, too.
You must accept this.

I have everything.
I am safe. I am loved. I am not alone.
Everything I need to get through this-- it's all right here.
I am strong,
and I am going to lean on the strengths and spirits of others.

I have
Family.
Good friends.
A sense of self.
A sense of humor.
Faith.
Joy.
Hope.
Peace.
Wonder.
Contentment.
Love...

Anna Quindlen

2005-07-20T18:37:00.000-04:00

By Anna Quindlen

Newsweek

July 11 issue - In theory, access to the drug called Plan B should be a no-brainer. It's safe, it's effective, it's easily available in dozens of countries. But Plan B is a drug used to prevent pregnancy, and nothing about preventing pregnancy in America is simple, except for the fact that so many women do it as a matter of course.

Plan B is an emergency contraceptive that works by inhibiting ovulation, fertilization or implantation. It won't work if you're already pregnant, but it will stop you from becoming pregnant if your everyday contraceptive failed or you've had unprotected sex. But because it must be taken within a few days—it's sometimes called the morning-after pill—it's important to have ready access. Canada, Britain, France and a host of other countries allow women to get emergency contraception without a prescription. It's even distributed at public clinics in Peru, where abortion is largely illegal—and an estimated 400,000 illegal abortions are performed annually.

More than a year ago, an advisory panel at the Food and Drug Administration voted 23-4 to allow Plan B to be sold over the counter in the United States. In a highly unusual move, the agency rejected the panel's recommendation. In an even more unusual move, federal guidelines sent to hospitals earlier this year on the treatment of rape victims did not mention Plan B, although one study suggests that the vast majority of women who become pregnant through sexual assault can avoid it by taking the drug.

In a smart and provocative new book titled "Marriage, a History," social scientist Stephanie Coontz quantifies what most of us know: "The relations between men and women have changed more in the past thirty years than they did in the previous three thousand." Education, access to the workplace, assumptions about ability, ambition and attachments: the division of male actor and female enabler has crumbled. And no wonder. As Coontz reports, a 1962 Gallup poll showed American women were satisfied with their lives, but only one in 10 said she wanted the same life for her daughter. There have been many changes in the lives of those daughters, but one of the greatest has been the ability to control when, and whether, they would bear children.

But as surely as the pill led to great freedom, change has produced great outrage. The rise and righteous indignation of the powerful religious right have been fueled by the transformation of women's lives. So many of the objections to legal abortion over the past 30 years have been objections to female sexual freedom. So many of the arguments have suggested that modern women are either licentious or blind, that they end pregnancies heedlessly or don't know what they're doing.

Feminist advocates have always suspected that the anti-abortion movement is less motivated by the sanctity of life than by opposition to women's rights. The fate of Plan B could settle the issue. Emergency contraception is the ultimate middle ground in an issue in which the middle has often seemed to be a black hole. One study has estimated that if Plan B were easily available, it could cut the number of abortions by half.

Yet the American Life League, the far-right wing of the anti-abortion movement, has said the organization is opposed not only to emergency contraception, but to any oral contraceptives or IUDs because they constitute "early abortions." In Colorado, rape victims aren't even told about emergency contraception in the ER. The governor, Bill Owens, said that to require hospitals to do so would raise "serious concerns" for Roman Catholics like himself, concerns more important than those of a woman carrying a rapist's child.

By contrast, Sen. Harry Reid, who also opposes abortion, spearheaded a measure, recently defeated along partisan lines, promoting education about emergency contraception. And there's not a mention of Plan B on the home page of the National Right to Life Committee, perhaps because the nation's most influential anti-abortion group knows that Americans may have a hard time finding a profound moral dilemma in a pill taken just a day or two after unprotected sex.

A bill that would allow pharmacists to dispense Plan B without a prescription in New York sits on the desk of Gov. George Pataki, who is still deciding whether to sign. Also in limbo is the question of whether the FDA will eventually allow the drug to be sold over the counter nationwide. It would be nice to assume that both decisions are awaiting scientific evidence of efficacy and safety, but that has existed in abundance for some time. Instead they are awaiting political calculation: more clout in the middle ground, or at the fringes that seek to push women backward?

If easy access to a pill that has been shown to significantly decrease the number of abortions is not a welcome development, what is the real point of the anti-abortion exercise? Is it to safeguard life, or to safeguard an outdated status quo in which biology was destiny and motherhood was an obligation, not an avocation? America leads the industrialized world in its abortion rate. Perhaps that is because it leads in hypocrisy as well.

I Thought I Could Handle Anything

2005-07-05T18:48:00.000-04:00

I really did. Nothing ever phases me. I'm a truly even keel kind of person. There's very little that ever upsets me.

And then I found out I have a 3.5 cm tumor in my head.

I've known about the acoustic neuroma for a couple of weeks now. Based on my few symptoms, we figured it was small-to-moderate (maybe 1 cm) and not affecting much other than my hearing. I've been doing all the research and this is a benign growth that is manageable and treatable.

Today I got a copy of the radiologist's report from my MRI. 3.5 cm. That's considered large. It's still treatable, but the risks go up. I can live without my hearing on one side - it's the possible facial paralysis that's a bit scary.

Now I'm questioning everything I'm feeling. If I have a headache and feel slightly dizzy at the end of the day, is that because I've been up for 14 hours taking care of two small boys on 5 hours sleep, or is it the neuroma? Is my left cheek really feeling a little tingly and heavy, or is that psychosomatic because I've read about those symptoms? Do I really feel touches of vertigo, or is that unconscious stress about the whole situation?

And now that I know all this, I just want to get in to see the specialist and get this over with. But it's still gonna be a while.

Yeah, this one is throwing me a bit of kilter. And I really didn't expect it. I'm not afraid for my life - truly. But I am gettig into the stage of self-pity and "Why me?"

Sigh.

Have You Met My Companion... Guilt?

2005-07-04T22:22:00.000-04:00

I have an acoustic neuroma in my left auditory canal. This is a non-cancerous tumor growing on or around the nerve that carries sound from my ear into the brain. The tumor interferes with the nerve, which means I can barely hear anything on my left side. This is sometimes merely annoying and sometimes a big problem, depending on the situation. And I'm trying to deal with the fact that I may need to have *brain* surgery while also facing the prospect of being permanently deaf on the left side at the ripe old age of 33. While also realizing that I have had a mild hearing loss on the right side, completely unrelated, since the age of 6.

Today I discovered how this may affect my children, and I'm now feeling incredibly guilty even though there's nothing I did to cause the AN in the first place. But I'm a mother, and guilt is one of the mantras of motherhood.

This morning, Brett got up when the baby did at 6am. He changed the baby and brought him to me in our room to nurse. Brett then went to his workshop in the basement since it's the only time of the day he can get uninterrupted time alone and h's desperately trying to finish our new dining room chairs. I lay down in bed to nurse Jonah and dozed off while he ate. When he was done we both went back to sleep, nestled together. It was quite cozy. There's nothing like snuggling with a 4-month-old baby. However, I was sleeping with my right side on the pillow, so only my bad left ear was open for hearing anything. (Bad Mommy!)

At 9:15, Jonah woke up and starting cooing and grinning at me. We played for a few minutes, then I picked him up and we went down the hall so I could change him. Once there, I discovered the door to Elliot's room open; Elliot was lying on his floor, kinda listlessly playing with some of his toys. And there were tears in his eyes and running down his little rosy cheeks. (God, I'm crying myself as I write this!) Apparently, he'd woken up and come running down to our room as he always does. Elliot found me curled up asleep with Jonah and completely ignoring him - since I couldn't hear him talking to me! Brett, in the basement, couldn't hear anything going on up on the second floor. So Elliot, after giving up on me, went back to his room to cry because there was no one around to pay attention to him and help him get dressed. And I have no idea how long he'd been up by the time I found him.

It breaks my heart that he would think him Mommy and Daddy weren't there for him when he wanted us. No 3-year-old should feel like that.

We're now teaching Elliot to tap my shoulder if he needs my attention. And I just know I'll cry everytime he does it, remembering why he has to.

The Night of the Bath

2005-07-04T21:34:00.000-04:00

Last night was Bath Night. Usually we handle this by Brett giving Elliot a bath in the regular tub while I give Jonah a bath in the baby tub on the counter. That's how we started things last night.

Brett had just put Elliot in the tub when I came in with a naked Jonah. I put him in the baby tub and reached to hang up his towel on the peg board. As I do so, I hear him start to grunt. Now, he hadn't pooped in about 4 days. Brett and I look at each other with alarm, but it's too late. Jonah sighs with relief as the poop starts to float around him. (It's breastmilk poop, so it's very runny. Imagine what that does in water!) Brett quickly grabs Jonah out of the water before Jonah gets the stuff on his hands, since those would immediately go to his mouth. Yuck! Brett holds Jonah, dripping both water and runny poop, over the baby tub as we try to figure out a plan of attack for cleaning both baby and tub. Then Jonah starts grunting again. Uh-oh! Yup, more poop, right into the already yucky water. I clean Jonah's butt so it doesn't drip any more, and then Brett holds him, bottom over the sink, so I can work on the baby tub.

I take the tub and start dumping the water into the toilet. This takes several rounds of dumping water and flushing since otherwise the toilet would overflow. As I'm doing this, I hear Brett exclaim. Not only had Jonah pooped again (into the sink this time), but he'd peed, too. And Brett had only been watching for the poop. So now, we not only have poop in the sink and all over Jonah's butt again, but we have pee on the counter, down the cabinet, and all over Brett's leg and the rug. (I'm
trying really hard not to laugh too hard at this point!) I clean Jonah's butt (again) and start to wipe down the counter to keep yet more from running down the cabinet. And then Jonah poops and pees, AGAIN! Again, I clean up Jonah and the counter. While Brett continues to hold Jonah over the sink, I disinfect the baby tub, rinse it out, and fill it with water again. Finally, we can put Jonah back down in the tub and hope he's all done.

It still took another 10 minutes to finish cleaning up the mess - including the sink, counter, rug, toilet, and Brett's clothes. I don't ever remember a mess like that!

What a night!

Sorry To Have Offended, Your Highness (Yeah, Right!)

2005-06-15T15:59:00.000-04:00

Another case of clueless celebrities speaking when they should just keep their mouths shut. And now Barbara Walters has also lost what little respect I still had for her.

====================================================

By Michelle Malkin

© 2005 Creators Syndicate, Inc.

Have pity on Barbara Walters. Barbara Walters is, after all, Barbara
Walters. And Barbara Walters should not be made to suffer the gross
indignity of flying in first class while a common woman breast-feeds
her baby.

Barbara Walters for those few of you left on the remote islands of
Fiji who don't know who she is is a world-famous, Very Important
Person. She has, according to her official bio, "arguably
interviewed more statesmen and stars than any other journalist in
history. She is so well known that her name and a brief biography is
(sic) listed in the American Heritage Dictionary."

Barbara Walters is the prolific profiler of Hollywood stars. She and
she alone possesses the papal-like power to anoint the world's "Most
Fascinating" celebrities and render the rest to the basement of
dullard-dom. Barbara Walters has interviewed "such world figures as
Russia's Boris Yeltsin, China's Premier Jiang Zemin, Great Britain's
former Prime Minister Margaret Thatcher, Libya's Moammar Gadhafi and
Iraq's President Saddam Hussein." And every American president and
first lady since Richard Nixon. And Fidel Castro. And, uh, Monica
Lewinsky.

So when Barbara Walters gets on an airplane accompanied by her
hairdresser – what world-famous, Very Important Person doesn't? –
you can imagine the distress of being seated next to an ordinary mom
who had the nerve to nurse her child in Barbara Walters' presence.

The nerve! (Or, rather, the newve.)

"It made me very nervous," Barbara Walters complained last month
on "The View," her ABC morning talk show hosted by a klatch of
elitist women posing as your chatty best friends next door. (If,
that is, your door happens to be located in Manhattan or the
Hamptons or Beverly Hills.)

Barbara Walters attacked the offensive nursing mom further: "She
didn't cover the baby with a blanket. It made us uncomfortable."

How dare that hungry baby make Barbara Walters and her hairdresser
feel "uncomfortable"? Selfish child. Don't you know who Barbara
Walters is?

After being forced to endure the insufferable sight of a woman
providing nourishment to her child, the feminist icon Barbara
Walters – winner of the International Women's Media Foundation's
Lifetime Achievement Award, the Women's Project and Productions'
Lifetime Achievement Award, and the N.Y. Women in Film and
Television's Muse Award – reportedly pronounced it "gross and
disgusting."

Alert viewers of "The View" note that Walters' co-hosts have
expressed similar disdain for nursing women on prior shows with Star
Jones Reynolds making puerile faces when the subject arises.

As you may have heard, 200 women from across the country and from
many different backgrounds held a highly-publicized "nurse-in"
at "The View's" studios last week to protest Walters' breast-feeding
bigotry. I'm not the biggest fan of the radical "lactivists" – the
whole La Leche scene is a bit too much for me – but having breast-
fed both my children (one for 13 months, the other for six), I
completely sympathize with their outrage at Walters' remarks.
Nursing a child takes time, dedication and selflessness. No mother
should be made to feel ashamed of that.

Which reminds me: When millions of parents complained about the
outrageously inappropriate exposure of Janet Jackson's breast during
a sexually explicit Super Bowl performance last year, they were
immediately branded as "prudes" by elite liberals in the media. Why
aren't those same supposedly progressive commentators bashing the
ridiculously priggish Barbara Walters and company now?

Barbara Walters, naturally, cannot comprehend what all the fuss is
about: "Nobody here is against breast-feeding," she says with
condescending bewilderment. It's all a "misunderstanding." She is
now reportedly blaming her hairdresser for the mess. And she has
comforted herself by retreating into her sycophantic coven. New
mother and "View" co-host Elisabeth Hasselbeck was wildly applauded
by Walters' coterie when she announced she was giving up nursing her
newborn daughter and switching to bottle-feeding.

No doubt seeking approval from her world-famous, critically
acclaimed mentor (who are we to argue with a woman who is listed in
the American Heritage Dictionary), the young Hasselbeck confessed on
the show that she was "uncomfortable breast-feeding in general."

Working around the nose-crinkling Barbara Walters and her squeamish
hairdresser, who wouldn't be?

------------------------------
Source: http://www.worldnetdaily.com/news/article.asp?
ARTICLE_ID=44783
------------------------------

Just Take a Walk in My Shoes First!

2005-06-09T10:41:00.000-04:00

HOLLYWOOD, May 25, 2005

Cruise Slams Shields' Drug Use
By WENN
............................................
Tom Cruise has criticized Hollywood pal Brooke Shields' "misguided" use of the anti-depressant Paxil, while declaring the actress' career as over.

In an interview with Billy Bush on the TV show Access Hollywood, to be screened on May 26, Cruise speaks of his disappointment to learn Shields used Paxil to fight post-natal depression following the birth of her daughter Rowan.

Shields is currently weaning herself off her medication so she and husband Chris Henchy can have another child.

Cruise, who claims to have helped people fight drug addictions through his controversial Scientology religion, says the Suddenly Susan actress should have used vitamins to help her feelings of despair.

======================================
Y'know, I loved Top Gun. But the arrogance of this man is unbelievable. I'm so completely turned off - I don't know that I'll ever be able to watch his movies again. Let him carry a child, give birth, and suffer through the after effects of hormonal surges and postpartum depression. Then, maybe, he'd have a right to an opinion on the subject. Good grief.

I'm seething!

Something I Can Believe In

2005-06-04T16:41:00.000-04:00

Lifted from my sister Danielle...
------------------------------------

Native American Code of Ethics

1. Rise with the sun to pray. Pray alone. Pray often. The Great Spirit
will listen, if you only speak.

2. Be tolerant of those who are lost on their path. Ignorance, conceit,
anger, jealousy and greed stem from a lost soul. Pray that they will
find guidance.

3. Search for yourself, by yourself. Do not allow others to make your
path for you. It is your road, and yours alone. Others may walk it with
you, but no one can walk it for you.

4. Treat the guests in your home with much consideration. Serve
them the best food, give them the best bed and treat them with
respect and honor.

5. Do not take what is not yours whether from a person, a community,
the wilderness or from a culture. It was not earned nor given. It is not
yours.

6. Respect all things that are placed upon this earth - whether it be
people or plant.

7. Honor other people's thoughts, wishes and words. Never interrupt
another or mock or rudely mimic them. Allow each person the right to
personal expression.

8. Never speak of others in a bad way. The negative energy that you
put out into the universe will multiply when it returns to you.

9. All persons make mistakes. And all mistakes can be forgiven.

10. Bad thoughts cause illness of the mind, body and spirit. Practice
optimism.

11. Nature is not FOR us, it is a PART of us. They are part of your
worldly family.

12. Children are the seeds of our future. Plant love in their hearts and
water them with wisdom and life's lessons. When they are grown,
give them space to grow.

13. Avoid hurting the hearts of others. The poison of your pain will
return to you.

14. Be truthful at all times. Honesty is the test of ones will within this
universe.

15. Keep yourself balanced. Your Mental self, Spiritual self,
Emotional self, and Physical self - all need to be strong, pure and
healthy. Work out the body to strengthen the mind. Grow rich in
spirit to cure emotional ails.

16. Make conscious decisions as to who you will be and how you
will react. Be responsible for your own actions.

17. Respect the privacy and personal space of others. Do not
touch the personal property of others - especially sacred and
religious objects. This is forbidden.

18. Be true to yourself first. You cannot nurture and help others if
you cannot nurture and help yourself first.

19. Respect others religious beliefs. Do not force your belief on
others.

20. Share your good fortune with others. Participate in charity.

Author unknown

Is This Where I Thought I'd Be?

2005-05-23T18:28:00.000-04:00

I find myself with half an hour right now when both my boys are asleep. This is a very rare occurance, and I'm not quite sure what to do with myself.

Is this really what I thought my life would be about?

What I Want To Teach My Children

2005-05-22T11:09:00.000-04:00

I have a list of things that I want to teach my children so that they can function on their own as adults. This list would be the same for boys and girls.

How to do basic household repairs and improvements (plumbing, electrical, decorating, etc.)
How to plant and maintain a garden and lawn
Managing a budget and living within it
Long-term financial planning
How to plan, cook, and serve basic healthy meals
Basic baking
Repairing and maintaining clothes and linens (inc. replacing buttons, sewing a seam, hemming, ironing, and laundry)
Power tool operation and safety
Household cleaning.

Grieving For My Daughter

2005-05-22T10:38:00.000-04:00

No, I haven't lost a child. And I really don't mean to belittle to horrific pain of families that have. I can't imagine that kind of tragedy in my life.

I am the mother of two young sons - the oldest is 3 years and the youngest just turned 3 months. They are both amazing, wonderful creatures. And I am blessed and honored to have the responsibility of raising them. I can't imagine my life without either of my boys. But with the recent birth of my second, and discovering in the delivery room that he, too, was a boy (we chose not to find out the sex of the babies during either pregnancy), I now find myself wondering what happened to my daughter?

As a child, I fantasized about being a mom. I always knew I would be, regardless of what else I did with my life. I nurtured my dolls and a whole jungle full of stuffed animals. They were all duly named and properly cared for. And they were all girls. Every single one.

Unconsciously, as an adult, I always assumed I'd have a daughter. Maybe it's just that I'm a girl, so I was more comfortable with the idea of raising a girl. But I always had visions of braiding her hair, sewing dresses for her, teaching her to wear makeup, helping plan her wedding, and celebrating her own pregnancy and journey to motherhood.

After the birth of my first, I quickly adjusted to having a son. He's an intelligent, thoughtful child whose personality is very much like his Daddy's. And I knew there'd be another chance for my daughter to come into the world.

Then I got pregnant again. I tried so hard to not think of the baby as a girl, because we really didn't know. We picked a boy's name, and a girl's name, but I thought a lot harder about the girl's name, becuase I wanted it to be perfect. We were fairly certain we would stop with two children, so this was my one chance to do right by my daughter.

And it was a boy again. He and I bonded very rapidly, and I'm getting to know him and what he's like now (he is, after all, only 3 months old). So far, I'm pretty impressed with him. But every time someone I know has a baby girl, I feel a tiny pang of jealously amidst my resounding joy for their family.

We could try for a third baby, but I'll only do that if we're positive we want a third child, regardless of gender. And I'm not sure we do. So, now I'm facing the reality that I probably won't ever have a daughter. And I find myself grieving for her. For the mother-daughter moments that will never be; for the daddy's little girl that won't exist in our family; and for the sister my sons will never know.

My friends with daughters talk about the responsibility they feel to be a positive role model. To show their daughters that women are a vital force and are as smart, as strong, and as important as any man. That is a heavy responsibility. I don't have a daughter to do this for; but I will still be a positive role model for my sons. I want them to grow up expecting women to be as smart, as strong, and as important as anyone else. I want them to respect the women they know as wonderful individuals. And this, too, is a heavy responsibility.

So I will do my part to provide our society with responsible, active citizens for the next generations.

And kiss my daughter good-bye. I'll love her always for who she might have been.