McBlog

Repost

2008-09-30T20:32:00.000-04:00

This seems as good a time as any to alienate my reading audience, since it's getting so large and the email volume is just exhausting. Oh, wait. That's right. My audience consists of my husband (because he lives here so I have him trapped), my mother (probably the only one reading without prompting), and my three sisters (who may or may not be tuning in periodically). So, hey, where are all the emails? Where's the love? Heeeelllllooooo. Is anybody out there? But I digress. I will try not to wax self-righteous, not to mention self-congratulatory. But it is so hard not to let the general reaction go straight to your head. When I tell people I don't have a tv, I couldn't get a more awed response if I told them that I'd served in a Washington think tank, gone over Niagara in a barrel, or cared for thousands of starving prostitutes in Nepal. My IQ immediately goes up 40 points in the respondent's estimation, along with my eccentricity quotient.

Anyway, here's the story. Some years ago, my husband and I moved to the East Coast to live by the ocean. For God only knows what reason, my husband insisted that we sell everything we owned, including our three tvs. We ended up getting an apartment a half block off the ocean with a friend, who did not sell all her stuff before moving. Now, we didn't really watch much tv before we sold our household, and we watched even less after moving to the ocean. When the lease was up and our roommate moved out taking her tv with her, we decided that instead of facing our new couch (since she also took her couch with her - drat the woman - I loved that couch) toward the now blank white wall, maybe we should turn it toward the big sliding glass doors looking out into the courtyard full of flowers and citrus trees.

This seemingly arbitrary decision has had numerous consequences. For one thing, we learned that if you don't have a tv, you should really have a view. Our next place, a townhouse near the beach, looked out on ... weeds and scrubby undergrowth. I don't recommend it - though frankly, it was still better than tv. But from our next (and hopefully last) place we could see the intracoastal. Our stress level went way down, which was really good since, unbeknownst to us, we were about to have two babies back to back to jack it up again. Our need to buy things (other than dinner), fix ourselves shopping, etc., basically just went away. The amount of memory cells wasted on completely useless information - who was sleeping with whom on "Friends" (the last sitcom we were hooked on) - was greatly reduced, another terrific benefit as we need those cells now to try to remember each other's names now that the children have arrived. Our interior decorating got much better, briefly (see above re arrival of children). And we got more time to play, blog, read, write, walk, hang out, and tune in to each other. At least, I assume we must have. Still, there never is enough time, is there?

Richest 400 people in U.S. increased their wealth by $670 billion under GWB

2008-09-19T22:10:00.003-04:00

I took this whole section (below) from Senator Sanders's article in the Huffington Post. I can't even add anything - the numbers are so shocking, I'm just speechless:

The middle class has really been under assault. Since President Bush has been in office, nearly 6 million Americans have slipped into poverty, median family income for working Americans has declined by more than $2,000, more than 7 million Americans have lost their health insurance, over 4 million have lost their pensions, foreclosures are at an all time high, total consumer debt has more than doubled, and we have a national debt of over $9.7 trillion dollars.
While the middle class collapses, the richest people in this country have made out like bandits and have not had it so good since the 1920s. The top 0.1 percent now earn more money than the bottom 50 percent of Americans, and the top 1 percent own more wealth than the bottom 90 percent. The wealthiest 400 people in our country saw their wealth increase by $670 billion while Bush has been president. In the midst of all of this, Bush lowered taxes on the very rich so that they are paying lower income tax rates than teachers, police officers or nurses.
Now, having mismanaged the economy for eight years as well as having lied about our situation by continually insisting, "The fundamentals of our economy are strong," the Bush administration, six weeks before an election, wants the middle class of this country to spend many hundreds of billions on a bailout. The wealthiest people, who have benefited from Bush's policies and are in the best position to pay, are being asked for no sacrifice at all. This is absurd. This is the most extreme example that I can recall of socialism for the rich and free enterprise for the poor.

This is really funny

2008-09-15T00:22:00.000-04:00

In a sad sort of way - but still, I laughed out loud.

The Family Bed

2008-09-13T23:31:00.004-04:00

This, too, is a repost.

Perhaps this is not a good time to talk about the family bed. It's 11:30 or so and my two year old just went down finally (I think). The 7 month old went down after nearly nursing me into traction about a half hour ago. We started at 8:30 with the baby and at 9:30 with the two year old. The baby has decided that she likes staying up, too. Last night she was up until 2 - or should I say this morning?

We were finally (this week) able to enforce (mostly) a half hour limit for laying down with our older child. Two hour (or more) marathons of cuddle were not unusual. During said marathons, she would fall asleep only to pop up as soon as we moved. This week we put our feet down (and no, not in a stomping tantrum - tempting though it was) and insisted that if she was not asleep within a half hour she would have to go to sleep by herself (horrors). Of course, she's not exactly by herself, she has the baby in there to keep her company. However, she only likes to keep Conner company when Conner is trying to go to sleep; the rest of the time she doesn't want Conner in the same room with her, much less touching her.

Anyway, we had two lovely nights of peace. Then it happened. See the picture at the top? That is Conner. I took it last night at around 10. Conner's bedtime is between 7 and 8:30. At least it used to be. Now it's a crapshoot. Who knows? Though it has only been a year, I'd already forgotten the all out brawl against sleep stage, which has just started with Conner.

Unfortunately, I don't think we will have the half hour limit option with Conner since she claims not to understand us yet and just grins and laughs at us when we talk to her. I've thought about pinning her but it doesn't seem humane. I outweigh her by quite a bit. Still, she's pretty feisty.

What you can't see in the picture is that the bedroom is basically just one big bed: a queen and a single together on the floor (so the little darlings don't have far to fall). So much for interior decorating. It took me until right after Conner was born (I think it was after - it all blurs together) to convince my husband to surrender our decor and go for comfort and safety. Why I bothered I'm not sure. I still sleep in the same foot-wide section, now with one child tucked up against each side so I can't move either arm or roll over. I know. It sounds terrible. But you get used to it.... Unless you're my husband, lucky devil, with the whole single bed to himself (except for a few members of the stuffed menagerie).

I admit that the family bed was originally my idea, I was terrified of crib death, but I would have given up long ago - and I'm sticking to that, it's all his fault. When we put little Maryn in the crib, way back when, and laid down in our lovely big bed in our quiet grown-ups' room, I had about 10 minutes of spreading out, on my back, just how I like to sleep, smiling peaceably, when he said, "I think she's going to be lonely and cold in there. We should go get her.""Do you realize what you're doing?" I asked."I know, I know," he said, "But she shouldn't have to sleep by herself. We don't. I want her in here."And just that simply it began. But you know what the funny thing is? I can't sleep without them, now. They sure do smell good, all cozy and soft.

Gaahhhh! It's 12:45 and Conner's up again!

Land of the Pink Flamingos

2008-09-13T23:08:00.001-04:00

This is a retread, but it was funny and the timing is right, so I'm posting it again.

I was working on another post, but this one takes precedence. In fact, this one takes the cake.

Late last night, Scott and I were half-heartedly arguing about whether or not I was insanely over-protective (or just insane) because I insist upon reading the package inserts before dosing my children with prescription medication, which usually results in a decision not to follow the doctor’s instructions and another $20 wasted on unused medication (I come from a long line of brilliant diagnosticians – my mother was steadfastly treating her leukemia as an iron – or possibly a vitamin k – deficiency right up until she was admitted to Major Southern Cancer Institute, by emergency transport I might add).

In last night’s case the argument was over Conner’s wheezing. Scott talked me into giving her the nebulizer before I’d read the insert. Afterward, when I read said insert, I was furious – not to mention convinced that she was in dire peril – because she’d been prescribed (and given) twice the recommended dose for 6-11 year olds. Danged prescription happy doctors. In any case, while I was keeping Conner up to monitor her for an impending heart attack, we both noticed two cars moving slowly down the street in front of our house. A bit later, as the great debate continued, I heard young voices from the street then noticed what seemed to be figures dashing to and fro in my yard. I watched said activities for several minutes before mentioning them to my husband, as my exceedingly sharp deductive powers have also been ridiculed by the aforementioned heckler.

On his behalf, I should mention that my last bout of detective work resulted in a few nights without sleep and the effort of purchasing and installing a full set of motion detectors around the house. Scott still curses me for the extra work every time we pull into the driveway and he’s blinded by the still unanticipated light. In fact, now that I think of it, the motion lights were blazing at the time I noticed the activity in my yard. “Honey,” I finally said, “I think there are people walking around in our yard.”

“What??”

“Yes, I think they may be toilet papering our house.”

“What???” And he went bolting for the garage.

About that time, I noticed a familiar tall dark shadow near the electric pole.

“Wait a minute!” I said, “those are our people!” just as he ran onto the porch yelling and waving wildly.

And lo, they were our people.

My mother, two of my sisters, and four of my nieces and nephews were toilet papering our house. They were also populating our lawn with pink flamingos, about 60 of them at my husband’s guess, a new twist courtesy of my mother’s innate sense of goof, a trait my sisters and I have all inherited.

Welcome to the land of odd traditions. In my family, we toilet paper each other for Halloween. Try to explain that one to your neighbors! We served everyone lattes (or juice depending upon the age of the perpetrator) and homemade pumpkin muffins and hung out until about 1 in the morning, then they all drove home.

Scott couldn’t sleep he was so tickled by the whole thing. He couldn’t believe they drove 5 to 7 hours round trip just to toilet paper our house. We did clean up the toilet paper this morning, but the flamingos are still hanging out; they were too cool to take down.

2008-09-12T22:17:00.002-04:00

Really well done post from a friend of OTJ on John McCain and his war service and what exactly that has to do with how well he would do as president.

I'm probably going to get my ass kicked for this

2008-09-06T22:24:00.002-04:00

But this was my comment on a post:

I'm way in the minority - and I'm headed out on the limb. I am disconcerted to see so much agreement here. Hang with me for a minute. I realize this isn't going to be the popular opinion in this group and I am not at all trying to be disagreeable or controversial. I'm talking about something I truly feel I have a solution for in the hope that someone might like something in my idea and adopt it to suit.

I know not everyone can do what my husband and I are doing, but more people could than are. We consider raising our kids and keeping them safe our most important responsibility and we've changed our lives to do it. Anyway, we're homeschooling - in large part because we feel there's just too much violence and too little supervision in schools. There are other options too (co-ops, communal tutoring, flexible work schedules), for people who couldn't do things the way we do if you're willing to think outside the box a little.

Imagine you're at work. In front of all your co-workers, you get big kudos from the boss for the great job you did. As all of you are filing out of the office, your co-worker, the bully, gives you a hard punch in the arm or shoves you down the stairs. Do you beat the crap out of the guy or do you just call the police because, "Hey, man, I don't have to take that kind of stuff." We have laws on our side - if, as a grown up, you're so poorly adjusted that you have to use your fists to express yourself, you're pretty much doomed to spend a lot of time in a very small space.

My kid doesn't have those same protections. I'm my kid's protector. That's my job. My kids don't hang out with kids who are bullies. My kids don't watch television (unless you count the very occasional Kipper the Dog dvd) and are not subjected to violence they're not equipped to handle. My kids know they're safe, they're cared for, and they're loved - as all children should. I have a theory. My theory is that kids are rough because that's what they witness - or how they're treated - and because they're left on their own to figure out ways to handle things that they shouldn't have to. I've been in the same situation you described. I've been just as direct with the parent as you were, or, if the parent wasn't handy, with the kid. I don't hesitate to tell someone else's kid to settle down. Plenty loud enough for the parent to hear. And then I move my kid out of harm's way. Really, it's not "use your words" - it's "use your head" - and not as a battering ram. Violence begets violence. Take a good look around.

Made for Reality TV

2008-09-05T23:28:00.002-04:00

I was sitting at breakfast today with some friends and the news was on. It was all about Sarah Palin's fashion sense. Now I don't deny that she's attractive and she can do a darn good job reading a speech someone else wrote from a teleprompter (sportscasting really paid off on that one), but what the heck does that have to do with leading the country? We're going to elect the leaders of our country based on a fashion show and a lot of invective? We are in the worst times, economically, ethically, and environmentally, that I've seen in my lifetime and everyone's excited about a cheerleader? I mean, someone's "elite" because he can write his own speech? I don't want a puppet for president - we've already had one and we're in a serious pickle because of it. Anyway, here's an interesting little article from one of Sarah Palin's fellow townspeople.

The Fall of Rome

2008-09-02T01:18:00.006-04:00

Stand back, people. We are witnessing the fall. Has anyone watched Idiocracy? Because I believe it may be coming to pass. The next reality tv show? Sarah Palin makes it to the White House. Who could have imagined this election would provide so much fodder for the Jerry Springer show? And did anybody get a load of that picture of the McCain and Palin families on the cover of People?

And how about this quote from the Huffington Post?

Gov. Mark Sanford of South Carolina said that he had heard no discussion about removing Ms. Palin from the ticket. In fact, he said, he thought her daughter's pregnancy would not hurt her with voters.
(Wait for it - here's the good part!)
"People are looking for real," he said in an interview. "Real means blemishes, real means warts, real means real. These family imperfections make people say, 'That family isn't so different from my family.'"

Yep. That's what I'm looking for in the White House - just a regular Joe, like me.
Oh - and hey - where is the McCains' other daughter? The only picture I've seen her to date in this election was one in The Huffington Post. What's up with that? To give them the benefit of the doubt, I told myself that she must not be there - maybe she was away at school or something and they were strict about education. But there she is, right there at the convention. I wonder how she feels about that. I've seen a hundred pictures of Trig sleeping to this one picture of her - the first one I've ever seen, btw. And since I mentioned little Trig, did you know that babies sleep when they're over-stimulated? Yeah, the little guys just shut right down. Huh.

It's the Economy, Stupid

2008-08-30T22:10:00.000-04:00

Anyone see this? Here it is - just as I've been saying to anyone who'll listen for the last 8 years. And doesn't it sound familiar? Clintonesque even? What I can't figure out is why we seem to keep forgetting it. You'd kind of think we might have an ounce of self preservation - not to mention common sense. So, say it with me folks (And don't worry - it isn't blasphemy. God won't strike you dead. I'm sure He/She wants you to be able to eat and pay bills at the same time.): Reagan was not a hero. He was not a good leader. "Trickle down economics" does not work. "Trickle down economics" is a trick!!!

2008-08-30T10:15:00.005-04:00

Okay - this is just a total rant. There's no logical order and there are too many topics to count. Though they all seem related to me.

Does McCain think the country is full of idiots? And does he look like his shoes are too tight, or what? I mean, how superficial can you get? As in, yeah, she looks like she’s female. (She totally looks like a beauty queen, too: "I want whirled peas and a bear skin rug.") May as well put up some facades and call it the wild, wild west.

So in no particular order, what I really want to know - well, actually, there are so many things I really want to know - but one of them is how a person can call herself right to life - or even Christian - while supporting the death penalty and unprovoked war (or really, that should just be war, period). I don't recall any exception clauses to that commandment: Thou shalt not kill – except when people really piss you off. And anyway, aren’t Christians supposed to follow the teachings of Jesus Christ? Which, btw, in case anyone is wondering, are in the Sermon on the Mount – not the Old Testament.

So, Palin, gun-toting member of the NRA (oh, that’s just so sexy – let’s just dress that beauty queen up in leathers and hike her butt over a Harley in center field during the Daytona 500), has a dead bear carcass in her office. That's so civilized. Did she eat that bear? Is that bear skin providing warmth to her freezing family? I wonder how that felt, to pull the trigger on one of God's living, breathing, beautiful creatures for no other reason than the sport of it. I’m sorry, but what the hell kind of mother shoots something? And just why is shooting anything considered sport anyway? Is it any wonder this country is a mess? Does anyone see any possible correlation with shooting for sport and kids walking into schools to take out the bullies who've been taunting them? Tell me, how do you explain to a kid the distinction between sport, self-defense, retribution, and murder? How is a kid going to understand that all life is sacred when he and his peers see violence on television every day and play violent video games – while his mother’s out shooting down the lovely caribou? What else is a kid going to do but go put on a uniform and go do some shooting himself? And while I’m at it – is it only the proud to be an American’s kids that should be saved? I guess we could sacrifice a few dozen kids in Afghanistan for the cause? They’d probably just become terrorists eventually anyway, right?

If you want to impress me with your Christianity and your stance on the sanctity of life, why don’t you tell me about your work in sub-Saharan Africa with starving children? In 2005, “5 million African children under age 5 died … 40 percent of deaths worldwide.” Right to life? Tell me about what you’ve done to help Iraqi orphans. Have you adopted any little Chinese girls lately? Saved any 8 year old starving Filipina prostitutes? Worked to improve the air quality conditions for NYC ghetto children – or even to get them some inhalers so they can breathe? If you’re so pro-life, tell me – how can you support oil drilling while these children can’t breathe – or while your own children (and everybody else’s, for that matter) are accumulating a heavier and heavier toxic load of mercury, lead, BPA, rocket fuel, and pthylates? When our addiction to oil just cost the lives of 60 children in Afghanistan last week – and the parents of somewhere around 5 million Iraqi children to date? Excuse me, but are we concerned with all children, or just American babies?

So, back to my point (whatever it was), John McCain is going to give us a woman president when he croaks mid-term of old age. A heartbeat away from the big button and trigger happy? This is who he sees representing women in the U.S.? This is his idea of a stand in for Hillary? I just want to know – how can McCain talk about change while presenting us with G.W. in drag?

But, yeah. I bet she’d be great fun at a tailgate party.

Conversating with the Kiddies

2008-08-25T23:01:00.004-04:00

Before anyone calls DCF.... Here we go round the mulberry bush, the mulberry bush, the mulberry bush....

Stardom is so wearying....

It's not really a post, exactly, Chrissie. But still, cute.

Conner, age 2 (nearly 3), as she's eating little organic chocolate bunny shaped crackers with milk:

Oh no! I'm wet. I'm all wet! (In a high pitched voice after she's dunked the little fellow into her milk)

Yeah! You sure is wet! Now I'm going to have to get a new one! (In her own voice before she eats him and moves on to the next little drama)

Conner: I love you the whole world! You're the best mommy more than anything.

Maryn, age 4: You have such pretty skin, Mom. And such pretty eyes. ... Because they're blue.

Maryn: Well, act-choo-a-ly, you see, it's because .... (fill in the blank with lots of hand waving and emphatic head nodding)

Conner: Oh no! The poo poo! You flushed him! Bye bye poo poo.

Maryn: I feel sick, Mom.

Me: You're probably just hungry.

Maryn: No, Mom, that's not it.

Me: How many noodles did you eat?

Maryn: One.

Me: How many sunflower nuts?

Maryn: One.

Me: You're just hungry, honey. Go eat.

Maryn gives me an ironic smile, "How do you know this stuff, Mom?"

(Umm. Because you tell me you feel sick three times a day, every day? You say, "I feel sick," when you have to go potty, when you're tired, and when you're hungry. And perhaps because you've been carrying best friend bucket around with you every day for the last two years and off and on for the last three and have thrown up one time in the last ... umm ... yep, that's right - two years.)
Me: Just a guess.

Pusher Mom

2008-07-18T22:43:00.002-04:00

Three days ago, Conner handed me her binky at nap time. I don’t need it Mommy, she said, and smiled a scared little smile. I wasn’t sure if she was trying to reassure me or herself. I’d been on her about the binky. It has to go, honey. It’s making your teeth crooked. I’m going to give you some time to do it on your own, but it has to go. You don’t want crooked teeth, do you?

Putting it on her, as if it was her shortcoming, her fault, as if I hadn’t pushed that binky on her – first to give me aching tattered nipples a break and then out of my terrible fear that something would happen to her after reading that binkies might stave off the dreaded SIDS. Yet one more talisman to insure against the possible loss of her. Then, later, through 1 and 2, it kept her from putting things in her mouth, or kept her quiet, or put her to sleep when we were driving. No matter how you look at it, it was all pretty much for my convenience. Pusher mom. That’s me. As I write this, I wonder how many other ways I’ve altered, marked, or damaged them permanently. Parenting is beyond hard. It’s a maze with devastation at every turn, impossible to navigate without loss.

Anyway, she hands me the binky and says something to the effect of, Can I have a birthday cake if I’m a big girl without the binky. Conner, if you go three days – both day and night naps without that binky and you give it up, you can have any kind of birthday cake you want, I told her. I want chocolate, with sprinkles, and a little bear, she said. You got it. I’m very proud of you, honey, just for trying. What a big girl thing to do. You are very brave.

And she slept without it. Maryn and I made a big deal over her when she got up. Then we called Scott, who was getting the organic vegetables from Natallia’s, and he made a big deal about it, too. She wouldn’t go without the binky that night, though, or the next day or next night. Then today, Maryn went to Nana’s and skipped her nap, as she usually does on Thursdays. It was rainy – a tropical depression had formed right off our coast over the morning – and grey. My favorite naps, me and Conner in the rain. We were giggling as we snuggled under the covers, we were so happy about our nap. It dawned on me, that it might be a good day to try to go binkyless again.

What do you think, Conner? You want to try it without the binky today?

No.

Are you sure? It seems like a good day for it. We’re all cozy and it’s nice and rainy out.

No.

Okay, honey. And I handed her the binky.

She put it in, then pulled it out again immediately. I don’t want crooked teeth, she said, in that dramatic, light voice she often used to convey a joke. We don’t want that!

Right! I said.

I don’t need my binky, Mom.

Good for you! You brave girl. I’m proud of you for trying. You’re such a big girl.

Well, it went from cozy and snuggly to ornery and chaotic in short order. Flipping, banging, hollering. The kid was all over the place. She knocked into my head twice, banged under my chin. Flop, flop. Bumped her head into the wall. Twenty minutes and several warnings later, I lost it. Conner, if you don’t stop it, I’m getting up and you can sleep by yourself. Toss, stuffed animal thrown from the bed, kick in the ribs, toes ground into my leg leaving little odd looking bruises. I got up and walked out, closing the door behind me, and counted to sixty while she whined at the door. All right – are you going to get in that bed and go to sleep? (In my own defense, I should mention here that this is a relatively common occurrence even with the binky.) Uh huh.

Get in that bed and lie down.

Kay.
We had less than a minute of quiet, then the whole shebang started up again. Fifteen minutes later: Conner, I’m going to get up if you don’t stop it. It’s nap time. She didn’t stop, which was not the usual. Conner, what on earth has gotten into you? I am really getting frustrated. I was totally looking forward to cuddling up and taking a nap with you. It was so cozy and nice in here. What is going on?

She stopped and looked right into my eyes. Plaintively she said, I don’t know how to stop, Mommy. God! Dagger right through the heart. I’m such a cad!

I understand, honey. It’s very hard to break a habit. Very hard. You’re doing a great job at it. I’m sorry I was impatient. I didn’t realize. Want me to tell you how to stop?

Uh huh.

Okay, lay your head on my shoulder and cuddle up and close your eyes. Listen to the fan and the rain and think sleepy quiet thoughts about how nice it is curling up and how peaceful the rain sounds on the trees.

Uh huh.

And I stroked her hair until she fell asleep and thought about rotten parents who hook their kids on binkies and then have to detox the little fiends later and just how hard it is to detox, and I heaved a great sigh. Detoxing sucks. I oughta know. I felt horrible. We slept like that for about 40 minutes, or rather she slept. Every time I tried to move, she whimpered and mumbled that she wanted to sleep on my arm. She woke up crying. Poor baby.

My comment on a post, because I'm a slacker

2008-06-06T23:50:00.002-04:00

Here Mom and Chrissie, my comment on this post:

OMG, I'm laughing so hard I think I hurt myself - at both the post and the comments. I actually do the family bed (and did the sling), not to mention organics and the chemical free thing (yeah, ok, I'm totally crunchy - it surprises me as much as anyone), but I do keep a little bitty tv with an Angelina Ballerina disk in it in the bedroom, and on mornings when I'm really tired, I have been known to bring in a bag of honey nut o's (organic, of course) and hand it to the kids dry (not even in a bowl, mind you) along with a cup of juice to share and call it breakfast while I go back to bed. The youngest started fending for herself on the cereal/cracker shelf before she was 2. So move over, baby, I like it hot!

Okay, I know it isn't much, but at least it's something.... Here, here's a picture to go along with it.

The Man Is Holding Us Down

2008-05-29T12:23:00.003-04:00

I’m not buying from Exxon anymore. Listen to the quote - print just doesn't do it justice. "Like, we don't care if we're polluting your air, water, and food, Dude. You WILL buy from us for at least the next 30 years and this is what we're selling." Cue the creepy music. The arrogance, man, good grief! I just pray the guy is wrong – like really, really wrong.

Sound familiar?

2008-04-24T12:00:00.002-04:00

Hey - don't we already have a compassionate conservative president who believes government isn't the answer? I mean, unless it suits him, like, you know, if we need to torture someone or listen in on their phone conversations.

http://firstread.msnbc.msn.com/archive/2008/04/24/941292.aspx

Hillary: Hard Drinkin' Gun Totin' Mama

2008-04-16T11:30:00.004-04:00

Okay, this is just what I needed to move me into the Hillary camp - her sincerity and humility really comes across here:

Because a president who sips whiskey with a beer chaser is so much cooler than a president I'd like to have a beer with - and we all know how important that qualification has been to our current leader. I mean, what's next? Quail hunting with Cheney? Fishing? Is that the reason for that sly dog smile under those mirror jobs? Maybe she'll pal up with the NRA and start talking about the importance of gun owners' rights. Oh wait, she did that already. Man, what does it take to get a little attention around here....

Our Children's Stewards

2007-11-09T15:49:00.000-05:00

Hello to all. This is an email I sent to my family and friends and a post I made on Barak Obama's website. I just joined his campaign – which is really beside the point, but this post (below) generally sums up what I think is the most important issue we are facing today. Something that I’ve sort of been aware of on a sub-conscious level has really broken through the surface. I happened upon a story about perchlorate (in rocket fuel) and PBDEs, among quite a number of other toxins, in our babies’ blood and breast milk, our food supply, our water supply, our soil, and fish. And I lost it. I’ve been crying for nearly a week now, because I suddenly and fully realized that I cannot protect my children from this. I have fed them organic food, dressed them in organic cotton when I could, thrown out all of the toxic chemicals in our house including cleaning supplies, perfumes, toothpaste, shampoo, soap, etc. And still, I am feeding them poisons – from my very body, and from every other source available to us. Frankly, knowledge of the magnitude of this problem and its ramifications is overwhelming and I forgive myself for not being able to pull my head out of the sand to face it for so long. This is not a subject for granola people, treehuggers, liberals, democrats, and environmentalists. This isn’t a case of “wouldn’t it be nice if …” – the perfect world syndrome. This is real. This is a disaster. It affects us all. We are stewards for those who come after us. We must do something. Among other things, I personally am attempting to file suit against the government for failing in its duty to protect us. Please feel free to forward this to anyone you’d like, to copy it, print it, post it on a billboard or anything else you’d like to do with it. Please, please, look this stuff up, read it. It will make your blood run cold. It is incomprehensible. Ignoring it will not make it go away.

Love,

Shannon

I can provide a great deal of legitimate scientific research to verify this if you wish. It is easily available.

We have a number of government agencies assigned the responsibility for protecting our health and safety: the EPA, CPS, FDA, etc. And yet, in mothers' breast milk, babies' bloodstreams and tissues, fish, our fruits and vegetables, our water, our soil, our air are toxic chemicals: brominated flame retardants in our babies' bodies, PCBs, dioxins, perchlorate from rocket fuel in our crops and our babies, organochlorines, cancer causing chemicals from perfumes, shampoos, soaps, and personal care products, lead, arsenic, and mercury, of course – all of these as a result of our own actions through pollution, manufacturing, pesticides, etc.

We know this. We also know that these chemicals cause cancer, say, or brain damage, or reproductive issues. We know that many of these toxins accumulate in tissues and are not naturally flushed from the body. These we know of - there are many more we don't know of yet or are just beginning to find out about. Many, if not all, of these toxins have been banned in the rest of the “civilized” world (for lack of a better term – meaning those who can afford to protect themselves). And lo, the levels of these chemicals in their children’s tissues and breast milk went down.

It is one thing to say that parents have to know the risks to their children and are responsible for protecting them – but what happens when businesses and our government’s negligence have made our job impossible? Our children must eat, they must drink, they must breathe. And what about their children? The levels and numbers of these toxins are increasing. I’m not talking about minute traces of one pollutant in a few babies in isolated locations here and there – not that that would be alright either! – I’m talking about many known toxins at measurable levels in samples taken across the country and around the world before other countries began banning them – not just from children but also from food sources, water, soil, breast milk.

Why are we standing for it? Why do we tolerate it? Business/industry must be responsible. It is all fine and well to set a fair price on a product and to make a profit by setting a price so you can – but a company’s profits are not more important than our children’s future health. It is irresponsible, negligent, and even insane, to say the least, to just “wait and see” – the current EPA motto – what these chemicals will do to our children, our precious, precious babies.

NO ONE has the right to comfort or profit that is gained as the result of harm to another. It is our government’s responsibility to protect us and our responsibility to insist upon it and to do our part as well.

Enough, already with the vomit! But, a bonus photofest

2007-10-15T23:05:00.000-04:00

Catchy title, eh? Welcome to my life of the last few weeks. Oh, and diarrhea, too. Let's not forget that. Thank the heavens for diapers is all I can say, and plastic lego lids. Now usually I would not stoop to stories of vomit for the blog. But this I cannot resist. I'm afraid, tender heart that she is, that Maryn is permanently scarred. Therapy may be in order. This girl is totally her mother’s daughter. (In fact, Scott said to me just the other night, “I used to think you were so neurotic because of your childhood. Now I see that it’s just genetic.”) See the pictures above? These are Maryn's new comfort items: best friend bucket (to quote Cousin Ryan with a twist). She carries them everywhere in case she should unexpectedly yak. Also, she is afraid to eat and drink. Last night I had to take the smaller one out of bed before she inadvertently asphyxiated herself with it as she had her face in it, picture a hyperventilater (or a paint huffer) with a paper bag. A couple of nights ago she had a line in her cheek from sleeping IN the big yellow lego box lid. We have had some very interesting discussions about digestion and bodily systems however thanks to Conner’s midnight upchuck of a number of whole apricots, as well as the places we are and are not allowed to bring best friend bucket. The other two are just for fun: the hillbilly ballerinas and babies in a basket, part deux.

I'm Baaaaack

2007-08-14T23:09:00.000-04:00

I got back from beautiful, beautiful Maine on Thursday. My audience sent me hatemail on Friday for not having posted something already. Here it is Chrissie. Live from Salisbury Beach, CT - or it was live once anyway....

Salisbury State Park – June 27, 2007

Looking out the small window at my neighbor camper, three feet over, I can feel the heat emanating from the ground, from the air, from the tin can I’m sitting in. My neighbor, a woman about my own age, thinner than me, to me she looks older – of course, that’s probably just vanity, ego, and my old friend self-protective denial talking. When it’s too hard to bear, there’s always the ostrich maneuver – I poke my head in the sand. Anyway, she’s moving slow, my neighbor, weakly lifting her heavy hair from her melting forehead. She hauls herself up, unsticking from her chair, to pour more steaming water in the plastic pool for her stationary kids, too hot even to squabble. The pool has seen better days, as have a number of other things around here. Our neighbor’s place looks like some kind of screwy construction site, with long planks of old and new pressure treated lumber stacked next to the pool. There are many other such incomprehensible piles located in close proximity to rusty unroadworthy trailers from the 70s that look like they could use them. The reason for these monuments to Lowes and home improvement is revealed at twilight with a smell like burning electrical wires and a feeling of homeless huddled in boxes under bridges. Though it is easily 90 degrees, our neighbors huddle companionably around the fires, close to the ground so they can breathe below the smoke line. It looks like the New York skyline around here at dusk.

When we arrived, there was a line to get in, trailers and buses stacked to the next intersection, drivers comparing theories in the grass next to their sporty pin-striped Outbacks, Keystones, Big Horns, Cougars, Coyotes, and Jaycos – resembling much more their parking lot origins than anything created by Nature- She’s rolling in her grave of plastic, I’m sure. Some had been waiting for two hours to get in. The entrance was lovely, long marsh and squat pines, wild roses everywhere and butterflies. Our shock when we saw our site is indescribable. We could not figure out the draw, to say the least. Our neighbor explained it, along with the big metal rings sunk in concrete on either side of our home away from home. It’s tradition. He’d been coming here for thirty years with his family and friends. Looking around, extended family surrounded us. Double sets of grandparents slowly walked limp children around in carriages, chatting like the old friends they were. Us? We just fought mostly, and hid in the air conditioning, waiting like lobsters for our time there to end.

Stay tuned for the next installment of EAST COAST RAMBLINGS....

(Sorry, it's late. That's the best I could come up with.)

At last, a post - sort of

2007-05-04T12:16:00.000-04:00

I love this guy. I've loved him for at least two decades, but now I've been reminded of my old flame (the only older one is Spock). It is a mature love and has deepened with time - now I most love his wit....

Alright, Alright, Already

2007-04-17T00:07:00.000-04:00

Ok Chrissie, here it is - a post. Actually it's a comment from here, but still, it's something. And! A bonus picture. Love you.

I came from a childhood so poor we lived in one room with towels and such stuffed under the cracks of the door because we had no heat. Our shampoo froze in winter and our electricity was shut off regularly. As a young adult, I flipped back and forth each month between paying the rent late and paying the electric late (and sometimes paying both late). My car was a gift from my sister, otherwise I would probably still have been driving "the blue cave," a 1977 4-door LTD that wouldn't die - probably because it was hardly ever driven as I couldn't afford to keep gas in it. I know what poverty is, at least in this country. And though my husband just did the whole mock heart attack bit when he paid for veggies from our local organic co-op, I am not poor now - at least not yet.

My husband and I have also decided to give up the corporate way (at least I did, he hasn't been into it much for quite some time) to work for ourselves so we can spend more time with our children. We call ourselves "eccentrics" (a few others call us that as well), in a prideful sort of way, and tell ourselves that if this doesn't work our best earning years are still in front of us (which certainly isn't hard to imagine considering what we earned last year).

In the years we've been married, we've done a lot of the things we wanted to do (except go abroad with backpacks). We had our children late in life. We're a bit old for sleeping on the ground in tents - not to mention the poorhouse. And yet, we've slept in 4 star beds, and frankly, we don't feel like we're missing anything, most of the time anyway. We have the lovely advantage of having had nearly everything we wanted (not that our wants were large though) and knowing there really wasn't much in it.

I didn't have much of a childhood, it was mostly rather grim to put it mildly, and my husband had his own set of early troubles. I don't think our children will be able to say the same, and I believe it likely that I'll remember their childhood far more fondly than my own. Every time I look at them, I know what is important – and what kind of work is important. I’m doing all in my power not to bungle the job.

Poofest II

2007-02-04T20:13:00.000-05:00

This is for my family. I couldn't stop laughing. Breed 'em and weep.com. Why is it poo never stops being funny? Love you guys.

Me

So this is what contentment feels like....

2007-02-04T10:39:00.000-05:00

I'm having a grateful day today, despite at least two or three weeks of being cooped up with a bunch of snotty coughing people. I wish I could say I had days (or hours) like this more often. Unfortunately, my gratitude is sure to be supplanted by bitchiness in the very near future. My husband is stretched out on his side in front of the fireplace in cammo shorts and a plaid flannel nightshirt, sporting his sexy Elvis Costello glasses (he knows my weakness for Elvis). Six of my older daughter's horses are tethered to my husband's calf in some complex scenario divining the nature of human relationships. Little bit Conner is astride his thighs, taking her plastic lion for a walk along his hip. She's wearing a new version of rapster pants, hanging halfway down a diaper barely covering her hiney, a floppy down under hat, and nothing else; the adorability quotient is off the chart. We're a grubby and unwashed lot. It's been a miracle if I brushed the girls' teeth during the day. Watching them, I was struck, as I have been all too rarely, by the fact that I’m part of a real, functioning family. This may be obvious to some. It isn’t often obvious to me. Mostly, I’m so busy watching out for the other shoe and running from my demons that I miss how good everything is. It’s nice here, warming by the fire. Quiet.

The Greatest Dog and Pony Show on Earth - Or Not

2007-01-27T09:55:00.000-05:00

Unfortunately, I did not consider the possibility of poor mistreated animals until I got to the parking garage and saw the handful of protesters. I should have turned around. I knew it, but I didn't want to disappoint my children. Instead, I promised myself I wouldn't support the mistreatment of animals ever, ever again.

As it turned out, however, I did not witness the turning of a profit at the life and expense of defenseless animals - unless you count the two frisbee catching dogs. That's right folks, a real show-stopper. DO NOT MISS IT!!! Truly unique, a once in a lifetime opportunity - these dogs caught a frisbee like nothing you've seen since your last trip to the nearest dog park. And if you've never been to a dog park, by all means, pay big bucks to Ringling Bros. instead of seeing such feats for free at the park.

But wait! There's more! Inside this one-ring (the size of a child's swimming pool) circus, there was a clown. Yes, one clown. Unless you count the one weird guy who walked around or laid on the side in a body bag to be periodically ousted by the ringleader (who served as cannon fodder and a former clown himself during his twenty-six year career – I am assuming his current position is not a high point for him). And let me tell you, this clown was FUNNY! A veritable laugh a minute! He gyrated his pelvis, grunting exceedingly inappropriately to punctuate each thrust – you get the picture. He carried around a doll that peed straight up into the air! Burped loudly! And farted even louder! And he called people STUPID! Whoo! What a knee-slapper! And he kept up these antics for TEN TO FIFTEEN MINUTE INTERVALS THROUGHOUT THE SHOW!!!

There were some vestiges of the circus I remembered. Two guys and a girl did trot across the high wire without a net. Of course, the wire wasn't very far off the ground, but still, at least a remnant of the old circus draw. There were also some trapeze artists, who performed one trick a piece, unless you count falling into the net as a trick. Of the three tricks, one was performed in the dark (why, I do not know), and in another the catcher missed, requiring a do-over (thus the third trick).

Oh, and let's not forget the girl who rode up and down on a trapeze-like swing in between making several horses run around the ring to no apparent purpose. The choreography one was brilliant – I shall paint the portrait for you with my words: the girl ran out , jumped on the swing, went up, came down, ran back, ran out followed by the horses, chased them around in a circle, the horses left the ring, she jumped back on the swing, went up, arched her back, kicked out her foot, came down, called the horses, the horses ran out, trotted around the tiny ring again, stood in a ragged arc and took a few halting steps backward each, and ran out. She took a bow that was met with sporadic confused applause, the audience responding like trained monkeys (of whom none were in evidence here - fear not PETA), far more efficiently than the dogs and ponies.

But really, the best part? The jump-roping tumblers! It was the biggest jump rope I ever saw - no kidding! Just huge! THREE PEOPLE JUMPED AT A TIME!!! It stretched the WHOLE LENGTH OF THE RING! Amazing!

And the dance routines! Beautifully bastardized Disneyesque songs performed by the whole cast. And not one person in time with another! Absolutely no costume or movement in sync - complete chaos! My personal favorite was the jump song, in the admirable spirit of the latest movement encouraging children to exercise done in the flavor of a hip televangical band. Though frankly, they probably should have had the writers of Veggie Tales work with them, as there was a bit too much of the churchy in it.

At the half-time intermission, a kindly and wise looking elderly gentleman said to us, “Great show, isn’t it?” We were astounded. “Umm, yes. Delightful,” I replied, wondering if perhaps a touch of Alzheimer’s had taken hold. My husband could not reply as he was apoplectic. He once saw the Ringling Bros. circus at Madison Square Gardens. My faith was somewhat restored by the fact that the gentleman and his family did not return after the intermission. If only we’d had sense enough to do the same. But the kids enjoyed it, so we stayed until almost the bitter end. My husband, the party pooper, who refused to participate in the dance of interminable exit with two exhausted and grouchy children and the rest of our circus brethren, insisted on departing before the grand finale. Maryn was reluctant to leave, wailing and waving madly to the clown, trying to signal him in hopes of a last minute rescue from her evil parents, bent on dragging her from the cultural experience of a lifetime. We had to buy her one of those twirly eye removal tools with the flashing lights for fifteen dollars to get her out of there.

My husband waxed poetic last night over dinner describing Madison Square Gardens: the dancing bears, the high trapeze, a dozen elephants dressed in the finest blankets marching out in a line, the front feet of each resting upon the back of the one before, innumerable clowns piling out of a car and rolling out in barrels, acrobats flipping this way and that – each new vision designed to cause a collective catch in the audience’s breath, a pounding of that massive animal’s heart, a nearly overwhelming sense of awe and wonder.

Members of PETA may be assured that unless bears, monkeys, lions, tigers, and elephants suddenly appeared in the last five minutes in their circus dress to parade about the teeny tiny ring – a tactical improbability, impossibility even – no animals other than the much domesticated dogs and ponies were to be found. Nor was anything like the drama, dazzle, excitement, pomp, and beauty of the circus we knew as kids. The greatest show on Earth, indeed.