Civil Disobedience: 2009

The late Charleton Heston, civil rights activist offered these words of wisdom nearly a decade ago about the culture war, and I certainly think they apply here [in today's climate]:

"You simply disobey. Peaceably, yes. Respectfully, of course. Nonviolently, absolutely. But when told how to think or what to say or how to behave, we don't. We disobey the social protocol that stifles and stigmatizes personal freedom.I learned the awesome power of disobedience from Dr. King who learned it from Gandhi, and Thoreau, and Jesus, and every other great man who led those in the right against those with the might.

"Disobedience is in our DNA. We feel innate kinship with that disobedient spirit that tossed tea into Boston Harbor , that sent Thoreau to jail, that refused to sit in the back of the bus, that protested a war in Viet Nam .

"In that same spirit, I'm asking you to disavow cultural correctness with massive disobedience of rogue authority, social directives, and onerous laws that weaken personal freedom.

"But be careful. It hurts. Disobedience demands that you put yourself at risk. Dr. King stood on lots of balconies. You must be willing to be humiliated, to endure the modern-day equivalent of the police dogs at Montgomery and the water Cannons at Selma . You must be willing to experience discomfort."

..."So that this nation may long endure, I urge you to follow in the hallowed footsteps of the great disobedience of history that freed exiles, founded religions, defeated tyrants, and yes, in the hands of an aroused rabble in arms and a few great men, by God's grace, built this country."

A run on guns...

Here's your interesting factoid for the day: gun dealers cannot get AR-15 rifles.

Huh?

Apparently, the general public has gotten so frightened by president-elect Obama, and his extreme anti-gun policies, that the factories that make these weapons are unable to keep up with the demand.



What will become of our Second Amendment, and its "negative liberties" under the Obama regime?



Only time will tell.

The 44th President of the United States of America

Well, he did it.

We have finally overcome whatever racial issues/prejudices we have held, as a country, and elected our first Black president*. We've come a long way. I can hardly even imagine: we've come from the 1860's where there were Blacks who were slaves, to the bigotry and prejudice of the pre-civil rights movement America, to today; we are finally beginning to see people instead of color.

Or, are we?

I have such mixed emotions about President-elect Obama. I would like to believe that people elected him based on his merit, his experience, and his political platform. However, I can't shake the idea that this particular election was more about race and prejudice than we want to admit.

Howard Stern proved how ignorant some of us are when he chose to do 'man on the street' interviews in the Bronx. Stern's show was asking passers-by who they intended to vote for, when the people answered "Obama" the interviewer would prompt with questions like "are you voting for Obama because of his pro-life beliefs and platform?" or "Because Obama wants our troops to stay in Iraq?" and the respondents would, shockingly, agree and say things like "yeah...I'm pro-life, and I'm voting for Obama because he's pro-life. And yeah, we don't want to pull out the troops." Essentially, the interviewer twisted everything around and presented McCain's platform, but saying it was Obama's. It was heartbreaking to me to hear it. To realize that so many of our American citizens are uninformed and so proud of their political beliefs/understanding and yet they have an equal vote to those who are informed...I can do no more than just shake my head. It makes me believe that they were voting for Obama not based on his political platform, but more for the pigmentation of his skin.

On the other side of the coin, we have McCain: the typical White Male In Power. By all accounts, if we Americans are as judgmental (racist) as we're portrayed to be, McCain should have won by a landslide. But, he didn't. In fact, he lost. One of the reasons that was brought to my attention was because of his age. "He would be, at age 71, the oldest president elect." To look at his age as a factor that counted against him i.e.(he's too old and doddering to make coherent decisions), isn't that yet another form of discrimination? Prejudice? Isn't it ageism? Does that mean that all older adults are incompetent, and that they should not be considered sentient, cerebral human beings? I sure hope not. That isn't to say that some folks as they get older don't suffer from diseases and 'old timers' that makes their intellect less sharp than it once was.

But, truly, can we say this election wasn't about prejudices? Is this yet another example of the 'Fleecing of America'? Let us hope not.

Let us not take what is evil and say that it is good. Let us not pervert the truth. Let us pray for our leaders that they make right choices for all of our people and the world, and that they do what is right, and good, and just. Let us hope...**





*(I don't like saying African-American, as all of us are equally American. Are we trying to suggest they feel more patriotic toward their ancestors' birth place? By suggesting 'African' first and 'American' second, it somehow seems anti-patriotic. We are all members of the same race: the human race. And, as an example, I don't refer to myself as a Norwegian-American...likely I am un-PC, but I don't mean it in any type of disrespectful way. I am described as 'white' they don't say 'Caucasian'. Sometimes I am referred to as 'Anglo' although, I find them term insulting. By assuming that I am Anglo based on my skin tone, you are completely discounting my heritage, it really can spiral out of control...you get the idea.)

**I hope I have not offended anyone. I don't wish to say one candidate was a better choice than the other. When it comes right down to it, I wasn't particularly impressed by EITHER candidate. I only write to sort out my own feelings and thoughts, that I might look back in the coming weeks and months to see what I was thinking at this time.

Decaf Coffee, and Other Forms of Horror

I survived day 1 and day 2 on the Atkins diet. Whew! Amazing.

For me this is huge. Gigantic. Ginormous! I usually seem to always cheat (myself), and when it comes down to it, I'm pretty far from a meat-atarian. In fact, for many years I didn't eat red meat at all (technically a lacto-ovo vegetarian). That worked well until I wound up in the hospital with anemia. So, even the doctor said that my 'diet' was ridiculous. Needless to say, I was bummed, but I learned to eat a hamburger now and then and I ate chicken.

Many of you have heard that when on the Atkins diet "if it has a face on it, you can eat it." That pretty much sums it up. Truly. And, for yours truly here, a non meat lover, this is tough. Really tough.

While at Yuppie Mecca (Costco) yesterday I about nearly keeled over dead just smelling all the fatteningly delicious baked goods: they were baking those damnable muffins while I was there. Curse you, Costco Bakery!! I even went so far as to be muttering "I'm going to die" under my breath. It is amazing just how fantastic of hearing my child has--the three year old got all freaked out and said "Mommy, you going to die?" I had to assuage his fears that, in fact, mommy wouldn't literally keel over that second. Fun. So, I had to suffer in silence, all while pretending to be happy about purchasing cheese, bacon, and tilex.

I have found, through a little creativity, that I can indulge in veggies--to a small degree. On the 'free list' of foods, salad greens show up. This is a happy thing, as I can have 2c. of mixed field greens topped with shredded cheddar and some grilled chicken breast for lunch, while leaving me an 'allotment' of 1c. of salad greens with dinner. The no fruits part of the diet is proving to be more challenging than I thought.

Just like me to pine away for apples or bananas while on the diet, whereas when I could eat them ad nauseum I could care less about them. I call it the 'Disney World Syndrome': every day of my life I can drink as much free, clean, drinkable tap water as I can handle--consequently I don't want it. I want coffee, soda, whatever, just not water. While at Disney, where the bottled water is roughly $6 a pint, I want nothing more than to chug it by the gallon. Go figure.

On the positive (maybe?) side, I have not had a single, solitary, drop of coffee [caffeine] since Saturday. I am seriously jonesing (bordering on 'triple shotgun murder'), so this morning I went to Wally-World and bought (gulp) decaf coffee. UGH! GAG! RETCH! But, at least I get to smell coffee-scented air, and have that hot, bitter liquid touch my tongue. At least my olfactory bulb is happier.

So far, so good. Keep rootin' for me. It helps (and probably the sub-lingual B-12 tablets, too!).

The last great frontier-

So, a long time ago I wrote about my "new lifestyle". Yeah, ahem, it didn't stick. I have been futzing around all year, and over the course of the summer I managed to gain back basically all of my weight.

Grumble, grr, ugh.

But, what was I to expect? I didn't try, and I had days where I downright binged on junk food. Why, oh why, was I not born one of those people, you know, the kind who whine that try as they might, even after eating the entire pan of brownies, they just can't seem to lose weight. Poor little darlings, someone should just drown them in a sack, like an old crotchety farmer and his unwanted barn cats. Put them out of their misery. (not really, but I do feel like saying nasty things when I hear folks like that; I want to say stuff like "yeah, you really are fat. You should go on a diet. Your cellulite shows when you wear shorts." But I don't...at least not out loud).

Anyhow, I have jumped on nearly all of the diet fad roller coasters, and had some measure of success on each of them--I just fizzle out and get lazy. I decide that the chips/cookie/mocha/whatever really is that important to me right now, and so I deviate from the 'plan' and sooner or later I fail.

I have heard the definition of insanity is 'doing the same thing over and over yet expecting a different result.' Based on that little tidbit of wisdom (and the fact that B.J. is getting fat--I told him only one of us is allowed to be fat, and well, I've already filled that position) I decided I'd try something utterly radical for me: Atkins.

I am and have always been a carb addict. Bread, cookies, cakes, chips, white starchy stuff, you name it, I'll crave and cram it. It is quite sick, actually. I can even trace the exact period in my life when I became severely addicted to carbs, or more specifically any kind of bread: I was just barely 8 years old, and it was shortly after my family's home had burned down (with my father and myself inside of it--it was 70% destroyed), and I found that if I stuffed my gullet with enough bread, I got this high. I suddenly would feel happy. And, let's face it, at the time I was homeless, momless (she had gone to take care of my ailing grandma, and was not home when all this went down), and pretty devastated and, upon reflection, in a deep depression: the bread made me happy. As an adult, I've realized it wasn't really the bread that did the trick, but the serotonin that was released as a result of eating that made me happy, so I guess that technically makes me a neurotransmitter junkie--I digress.

Anyhow, it was pretty much all downhill from there. I began my diet roller coaster of ups and downs, always seeking to be 'thin'.

Ironically, as an adult, I now realize that at the time I thought I was 'fat', at 5' 8" and 121lbs. I was anything but.

Sigh.

How warped we all see ourselves; perhaps, I had a touch of body dysmorphic disorder. At any rate, I talked myself into being fat, whether or not as a kid I really was. Don't fool yourself, I had some pudge in the middle, but nothing compared to today's belly shirt wearing juveniles who have a 'hangover' or 'muffin-top'.

So, in my roundabout-stream-of-consciousness type of writing, here's the point: I've decided to commit myself to 2 whole weeks of Atkins--virtually no carbs, and definitely not a slice of bread in sight.

B.J. has (reluctantly?) signed on with me. He told me he'd give it 2 weeks (all that I asked), and boy did he whine and complain today! You'd have thought he'd been sentenced to a desert island with nothing more than salt and lime to keep him company. I'll admit, I got a little edgy when I was at Life Source buying vitamins and I smelled the fresh apples--they were like a little slice of heaven on earth, I seriously had a tough time not buying a few to snack on.

For our first day, we did pretty good. Scrambled eggs with cheese for breakfast with DECAF (yag!) coffee (Atkins forbids the use of caffeine the first 2 weeks, to establish whether or not we are addicted (in my case, a big fat DUH!)). Lunch was a whopper, sans bun, with a side salad and diet coke. And dinner was fantastic. I made a recipe off of the Atkins site "Cheese N Chili Chops with Cauliflower Salad." It was absolutely delicious. Very easy, quick, and I had all the ingredients I needed, with the exception of cream cheese. Whether or not you are dieting, I would highly recommend this recipe. It is just scrumptious--a little bit of bite, and the pork is so tender, you could cut it with a butter knife.

So ends day 1. Wish me luck for patience, perseverance, and a sense of humor. I need it.

To post, or not to post...is it even a question?

Here we are again, NaBlPoMo.

Already.

I have hardly posted this year...I don't know why, I suppose because I haven't felt it for a while. And, here we are, November 1, 2008: the big question I've been asking myself is 'do I post or not'. And, truly, I'm not sure I've got an answer for myself.

So, in honor of my indecisiveness, I'm posting on 11-1-08, because, let's face it, if I decide to 'toss my hat into the ring' and I don't post this AM, well, it's all for naught.

Today the Peanut and I are headed up to OHSU for our LAST (Hallelujah! Can I get an 'Amen'?) appointment. We've been taking part in the Prosody of Language study for what seems like forever, and frankly, although it is good on many different levels to do it, I'm tired of dedicating all day every Saturday to it. I'm very much looking forward to having Saturdays for fun stuff again, even if 'fun' stuff only means a trip to Costco to spend entirely too much money and reinforce my shopping-for-groceries-once-a-month habit. Ahh, Costco...so much to look forward to.

Welcome aboard to a new year of (possible) posting insanity. Do you have your ticket to ride?

....Tastes like chicken....

This is funny no matter who you are going to vote for. Enjoy.

Why Did the Chicken Cross the Road?

SARAH PALIN: Before it got to the other side, I shot the chicken, cleaned and dressed it, and had chicken burgers for lunch.

BARACK OBAMA: The chicken crossed the road because it was time for a change! The chicken wanted change!

JOHN MC CAIN: My friends that chicken crossed the road because he recognized the need to engage in cooperation and dialogue with all the chickens on the other side of the road.

HILLARY CLINTON: When I was First Lady, I personally helped that little chicken to cross the road. This experience makes me uniquely qualified to ensure right from Day One that every chicken in this country gets the chance it deserves to cross the road. But then, this really isn’t about me.

GEORGE W. BUSH: We don’t really care why the chicken crossed the road. We just want to know if the chicken is on our side of the road, or not. The chicken is either against us, or for us. There is no middle ground here.

DICK CHENEY: Where’s my gun?

COLIN POWELL: Now to the left of the screen, you can clearly see the satellite image of the chicken crossing the road.

BILL CLINTON: I did not cross the road with that chicken. What is your definition of chicken?

AL GORE: I invented the chicken.

JOHN KERRY: Although I voted to let the chicken cross the road, I am now against it! It was the wrong road to cross, and I was misled about the chicken’s intentions. I am not for it now and will remain against it.

AL SHARPTON: Why are all the chickens white? We need some black chickens.

DR. PHIL: The problem we have here is that this chicken doesn’t realize that he must first deal with the problem on this side of the road before it goes after the problem on the other side of the road. What we need to do is help him realize how stupid he’s acting by not taking on his current problems before adding new problems.

OPRAH: Well, I understand that the chicken is having problems, which is why he wants to cross this road so bad. So instead of having the chicken learn from his mistakes and take falls, which is a part of life, I’m going to give this chicken a car so that he can just drive across the road and not live his life like the rest of the chickens.

ANDERSON COOPER, CNN: We have reason to believe there is a chicken, but we have not yet been allowed access to the other side of the road.

NANCY GRACE: That chicken crossed the road because he’s guilty! You can see it in his eyes and the way he walks.

PAT BUCHANAN: To steal the job of a decent, hardworking American.

MARTHA STEWART: No one called me to warn me which way that chicken was going. I had a standing order at the Farmer’s Market to sell my eggs when the price dropped to a certain level. No little bird gave me any insider information.

DR SEUSS: Did the chicken cross the road? Did he cross it with a toad? Yes, the chicken crossed the road, but why it crossed I’ve not been told.

ERNEST HEMINGWAY: To die in the rain, alone.

GRANDPA: In my day we didn’t ask why the chicken crossed the road. Somebody told us the chicken crossed the road, and that was good enough.

BARBARA WALTERS: Isn’t that interesting? In a few moments, we will be listening to the chicken tell, for the first time, the heart-warming story of how it experienced a serious case of molting, and went on to accomplish its lifelong dream of crossing the road.

ARISTOTLE: It is the nature of chickens to cross the road.

JOHN LENNON: Imagine all the chickens in the world crossing roads together, in peace.

BILL GATES: I have just released eChicken 2008, which will not only cross roads, but will lay eggs, file your important documents, and balance your checkbook. Internet Explorer is an integral part of eChicken 2008. This new platform is much more stable and will never crash or need to be rebooted.

ALBERT EINSTEIN: Did the chicken really cross the road, or did the road move beneath the chicken?

COLONEL SANDERS: Did I miss one?

Yes, this is from an email going around (written by ??), and yes I pirated images, however, I seek no financial gain, only to make you laugh.

This little piece of satire is particularly funny and strangely poignant. Please be sure to vote!

Saturday in the Waiting Room

Saturday is typically a day of fun, errands, marathon house cleaning, or what-have-you; it is a day that I typically choose what it is I want to do, with whom, and where. Not so nowadays--or at leas the entire month of October.



Sigh.



At this very moment, I am sitting in a small 12x12 waiting room up at OHSU's Beaverton Campus. Prior to these appointments, I had no idea OHSU even had a 'west' campus. The things one learns and how.



Why, you ask, am I up here in a waiting room on a Saturday, or all days? Well I can sum it up in one word: Peanut.

Yep. We're here in order for Peanut to be a guinea pig of sorts for a research study. Yes, we are contributing to the greater good of society by participating in a research study. But, before you fill yourself with warm and fuzzy thoughts about me or my progeny, I (and my girl) am not as altruistic as this scenario may sound.

See, we're taking part in this research study on the prosody of language for two reasons: 1. for the betterment of mankind, and, 2. (the real reason) so that I can have copies of the numerous and exhorbitantly priced testing that they do as a part of the study which I could not afford on my own.

And. on that note, and with a whining little brother who wants to comandeer my laptop in the name of DVDdom, I must sign off. More to come...maybe.

Dear Kauaiian Diary

NOTE: I will be editing, spell checking, and filling in names, photos, and other details later on. :O) As for now, here's my personal notes to remember our visit.

Stay tuned...

Kaui Vacation 2008

Friday June 20:
Good flight from P. to Honolulu; probably the smoothest take-off and landing that I’ve ever experienced. Both kids were excellent on the plane ride. Chubber got a little grumy toward the end of the first 5 hour leg, but B. took him up and down the aisle a few times and it seemed to help a lot. The short, 30 minute, flight from Honolulu to Lihue was also very smooth, in spite of the fact that we were on a very small aircraft.
Rented a Chevrolet Impala SS (B’s choice), and was amazed that the trunk comfortably accomodated all of our luggage (1 large suitcase, 1 small suitcase, 1 wheeled carry on case, 2 backpacks, 1 large dive bag, 1 computer briefcase, 1 DVD carrying case, and a partridge in a pear tree).
Drove through the 'Tunnel of Trees'--a naturally formed tunnel made by gigantic trees that arch over the road--to Poipu (Po'ipu) to get to our lodgings. Found our condominium with minimal trouble (we got lost once). It is a beautiful condo with 2 bedrooms, small living room, dining area, kitchen, 2 bathrooms and laundry closet. From the front balcony porch and master bedroom we have stunning views of the ocean and the mountains. There is no a/c, however with the windows open the ‘trade winds’ blow a strongly enough that it keeps us cool and comfortable.
After settling in, we went to the pool and swam for an hour or so. The kids had a blast, and we had fun too. Interestingly enough we were talking to a man who was at the pool, and through our conversation we discovered that he lives in Ocala, FL and was born in Williston. What a small world! I explained to him that Aunt J lives in Williston, and that S comes from a town called Wacahoota (sp?) and whatnot. The man’s name was L. C., and after we left the pool and called Dad and S, we were able to discover that Mr. C did in fact know S’s family. Again, what are the odds of running into someone from such a small part of the world that we have ties with? I think the chances of winning the Lottery is more likely.
Had dinner at a place called ‘Breneke’s’ that B loved from his first time to Kaui. Nice little open air restaurant, rather spendy, but as we’re discovering: everything in Kaui is expensive.
After dinner walked over to Breneke beach, where as the Kids and I were walking to the playground we discovered a toad hopping in the grass. Kai and Lani both loved seeing him hope along, and I had a tough time keeping them from touching it (I figured it was poisonous like the frogs/toads in Florida). After a short 10 minutes or so at the play structure, we walked over to the surf to watch the sun go down. As we were walking along B and Chub came upon the tiniest of sand crabs—no bigger than a quarter’s diamater. We all had a pleasant walk, barefoot, in the surf and sand.
What a lovely first day in Kaui.

Saturday, June 21:
Woke up at 3am sharp. Wide awake and ready to start my day. Too bad we needed to sleep another 3 hours to make getting up decent. The kids suffered from jet-lag, too. Had a tough time getting them to go back down to bed (including a poop-on-the-floor incident (yuck!)), but eventually they conceeded to play quietly in their room.

Enjoyed a lovely sunrise from the front porch, followed by coffee and breakfast outside, too. Before the kids got up as I was going inside for a refill of my coffee I noticed something little on the carpet. I thought it was a dead, dried-out lizard, but when I got down close to look at it, it was a tiny little gecko! B was so surprised, as he’d never seen on so little before. Me, being who I am, told B to grab a cup from the kitchen so we could scoop the little thing up and show it to the kids. Both kids loved seeing the tiny creature. We let them each hold it in their hand. Even in the kids’ hands it looked tiny—it was about a ½ centimeter wide and maybe an inch and a half long. We’re having so much fun with all the wildlife here in the islands, an enjoying seeing the kids’ sense of wonder and their joy in the simplest of things. I imagine when they are asked what their favorite part about Hawaii was they’ll no doubt say: “the chickens, the baby gecko, and the frog!”
Started the morning searching for the elusive Foodmart that Mr. C told us about (best food prices in the vicinity). En route took a detour down a road to see a waterfall [find name of waterfall from photos taken]. While viewing the waterfall, saw an ancient Hawaiian [prayer sacrifice alter place]. The kids weren’t impressed with

either feature, but sure did have a blast chasing the wild chickens and their chicks. Tried to see { } arborateum, but the road into the actual facility was flooded, and was impassible in a car—though did see a few trucks ‘ford’ the road. The scenery was absolutely amazing. As we climbed up the road and into the lower mountains you could physically detect a change in climate: it changed from beachy type conditions into bonified jungle—humid, close, and about 10 degrees cooler. I am at a loss for words to actually do any justice to describing the lush vegetation. My photographs will have to do the talking.
Finally got round to Foodland. It was similar in prices to the Safeway or Roth’s stores on the mainland. Expensive, but in comparison to some of the closer local shops (Foodland was in W-I [check town name from map North of Lihue]. The local food shops listed a gallon of milk at over $8, whereas Foodland had it for $5. I picked up a ‘club card’ to get the ‘local’ prices. We left $103 lighter in the pocketbook, but I believe we have enough food for breakfast, lunch, and most dinners to eat at home. The cost of eating out is so expensive as to be prohibitive.

It is now 3:20pm, and we have finished our simple lunch of sandwiches, chips, grapes, and water. Well, all of us except Chubbers. Mr. Andersen has been asserting his “two-ness” to the Nth degree for the past week. As soon as he decides to eat ONE single grape, we will be off to Poipu beach. That is how I have time to write right now, Chub is being stubborn, and I’m taking advantage of the down-time. I do hope he decides to eat soon. I really want to go play at the beach!
Finally won. Chublet ate not only one, but two grapes! Went swimming at Brenneke beach. Came home, ate bbq burgers, rice and had chocolate ice cream. Went for a walk over to the Kaui Poipu Grand Hyatt. BEAUTIFUL grounds. Spent 2+ hours. Saw little girls do hula show.

Sunday June 22:
Going to try out church in HI. Interesting service, very contemporary and the kids loved going to the nursery.
Waimea Canyon—see pictures. Picnic in Waimea canyon (PS: don't you just love that guy's butt? Yeah. Me too. Makes it look so classy).

Went to Kaui Coffee Company tour, very cool. Learned a lot about coffee, including that 60% of the WORLD’S coffee comes from Kaui Coffee. Then went to the Salt Pond park, outside of Hanapepe. A lot of fun, full of locals. Big fat undertow, but nobody got swept out to sea.
Came back into town and had dinner at Poipu Beach Broiler—great food, expensive price. For two ‘bar menu’ dinners, one kids meal, an orange juice, and two Mai Tais (plus tip) we were out $50. OUCH!
Then a relaxing evening at home, as we were all bushed.

Monday June 23:
A relaxing day. Visited Kilohana (meaning: unsurpassed) Plantation. In its heyday it was the most expensive and extravagant home in all of Kauai. It was built in the 1930’s by sugar tycoon George Wilcox for his wife, who wanted a house as fancy as any that could be found in Hollywood. In its day 40,000 acres of sugarcane was planted and harvested by the 12 hour work day. Today, the estate is still run by family members but is only a fraction of that. They no longer harvest sugar cane (interesting fact about sugar cane: it takes one whole 6’ tall cane to produce only one tablespoon of sugar), but instead harvest fruits and plants for botanical spa products. We chose to tour the plantation via plantation train. Chub and Peanut loved it! It was a fun way to see a smidgen of what plantation life looked like ‘back in the day.’ To this day, some people who work on the plantation still live in the original plantation ‘shacks’ (small homes) that were used by the original workers.
Inside of Kilohana there is one room (living room) restored to its former lavish glory, with the remainder of the interior open to the public to enjoy: an expensive restaurant called Gaylord’s (think $25+ per plate), and various artisan shops selling Kauai made products.
After visiting Kilohana, we tried to find the Alakoko Menehune Fish Pond. Call us lame or crazy, we found a beautiful lookout point, but no success in actually finding the swimming area of the pond. So, we went, instead, to Nawiliwili Beach to play in the ocean and dig in the sand. It never ceases to amaze me just how content the children can be to simply dig in the sand. They can dig for 45 minutes or more without stopping. Our trip to the beach ended when mother nature decided it was time to water the vegetation (rain). But, that was OK since the kiddies were getting tired, us too.
After a morning at the beach and a nice nap for the kiddies we went to the condo’s pool to splash and play. It was absolutely delicious: the air was warm and humid and the pool was cool and refreshing. Sometimes it is just perfect to hang around ‘home.’




Tuesday June 24:
Went into Lihue to do some shopping. No visit to Hawaii, at least for our family, is complete without a trip to Hilo Hattie’s to get ripped off buying a Hawaii shirt. We spent about an hour or so looking around, and managed to find goodies to take home to family and friends as well as ‘outfits’ for each of us (at 40% discount, whoo hoo!) to wear for our evening’s festivities—a Luau!
Headed out to Wailua around 4pm to go to the requisite Luau. How can you possibly come to Hawaii and not go to a Luau? You can’t. So, we chose to check out the Smith Family Garden Luau. Interesting fact: by booking though ‘Activity Warehouse’ we saved about $130 on our Luau over booking through Smith’s itself. Weird, huh?
Smith’s Luau? Yes, Smith. I don’t suppose you could get any more English of a name if you tried, but we gave it a shot anyway. The grounds boast 30 acres of lush tropical gardens, ranging from local Hawaiian plant varieties to Japanese and Philippino. The gardens were spectacular, in a word. Once we were admitted to the grounds we hopped onto a little tram (think tractor pulling wagons with seats) to take us through the gardens with a narration of the plants. It was cool, because we got to learn a lot about different plant varieties, and I got to finally get a name to put to the most interesting plant that I find everywhere here: spider lilly. The kids loved the tram ride, well, because it was a ride and because they got to throw heaping handfulls of birdseed to the myriad of chickens and peacocks. Yep, peacocks. B’s favorite bird—we weren’t terribly impressed with the royal turkeys because of our old neighbor having them and us constantly finding them on our back porch, driveway, roof…. But, the kids sure got a kick out of them. We also were treated since it is mating season, the males had all their plumes fanned out to impress.
The dinner was good. We were seated next to a friendly single-mom family from California whom we talked to at length. She told us some of the tidbits about Kauai that she found helpful and was, in general, a lovely dinner companion. The food was good, although not as good as other Luau’s that we’ve been to (I rated it about a 6 out of 10 in comparaison to the Polynesian Cultural Center’s –-a 10+). There was macaroni salad, cucumber salad, green salad, sweet-n-sour mahi-mahi, Kahlua pig, bbq chicken, fried rice, mashed potatoes, mixed steamed veggies, and, of course, Poi. (blech! If you’ve never had it, think eating purple Elmer’s glue). Following this spread was a fruit/dessert table: mangoes, pineapple (all that Chubb would eat—nothing else), coconut milk jello, coconut white cake, and Peanut’s favorite: rice pudding. We also got to partake in AYCE mai-tais, but after one, I was sufficiently sugared out and turned to coffee.
The dinner show/hula show was decent. There were dances from Japan, China, Philippines, Fiji, New Zealand, Samoa, and Hawaii. Our favorite dances had to be the Fiji men’s and women’s dancing (the fast grass-skirt hip shaking dances—Hawaii’s hula dances do NOT involve grass skirts, that’s from Fiji). But the bes of all was the Samoan Fire Knife Dancing. It is always the best.
Peanut and Chub did pretty good through dinner and the show. Though, by 1/3 of the way through the dancing show Peanut was begging to go home and go ‘night-night.’ Chubbers was absolutely rivited to the dancing the whole show.
Both little kiddies crashed on the way home from the Luau. What a lovely way to end our day.

Wednesday June 25:
Headed out to the beach again, just this time we went to Lydgate Park, just south of Wailua on the East Coast of Kauai. What a great park! It was just perfect for the kids, and B and I managed (with children in innertubes in tow) to get in some snorkeling, too! We saw all sorts of fish, some of the fish we saw were: Unicorn Fish, Needle Fish, Moorish Idol, Eye-Stripe Surgeonfish, Saddleback Wrasse, Yellowfin Goatfish, Bandtailed Goatfish, Ornate Butterfly Fish, Longnosed Butterfly fish, Convict Tang, Seargeant Major, Blue Crevalle among others! Chub cried most of the time we snorkeled, Peanut loved it! She got such a kick out of being the ‘helper’ to hold the rocks and shells we found.
While in the kiddie area Chub-chub was the master of finding little blue crabs (about the size of a mini-bagel). He has the most amazing little eyes! I would likely have never spotted them, but he sure found them easily. It was fun watching this tiny little boy crawling around the rocks and where the breakers hit standing so still, only to discover he had found marine life all on his own.
B has been obsessed with going to this hamburger joint called ‘Bubba Burgers,’ so after leaving Lydgate park we finally indulged his obsession and went to have lunch at the place that touts that “We cheat tourists, drunks, and attorneys” on its sign (pretty creative, if not honest!). The burgers, drinks, fries, onion rings, and a t-shirt (for B) came to $47.50. Ouch! The food was OK, but nothing to write home about. But, at least B’s itch has been scratched.
Then, a quick trip to Foodland for provisions, and back to home. We are just loving the beach and the laid-back atmosphere here. This white girl is getting less white (think: I don’t look like like the milky-bluish color of skim anymore), and Brent…well, another few days and he will be as dark as a local. The kids? I’ve been doing well by them with the SPF 50 (they have a tiny bit of a tan, and no burn!).

Fear of Flying....

Long time no post. Yeah, yeah, yeah. My bad. Actually, I've wanted (a little) to post, but overall with the end of the work-year and all the wrapping up activities I've just been too lazy/tired/busy to post (select your excuse).

But, alas, here I am. Posting on a Thursday night. Nothing particularly special about this Thursday, except that in less than 24 hours I will be 'cruising at an altitude of 30,000 feet'.

YIKES!

I hate flying. I don't know why, or how but I have an irrational fear of flying. Not quite a phobia, but not too far off. I just don't like it. I keep hoping that they will invent the Star Trek transporter--for real! I'd just love it. I'd gladly play triple fare to go on the instantaneous transporter. You want to go to Korea? Sure. Push the button **whoomp!** you're there. That's what I keep hoping for. In the meantime, I'm left with good ol' fashioned jet propelled transportation. It is kind of ironic that I'm afraid of flying: I suffer from wanderlust, and truly, the two just don't jibe. Sometime in my early twenties I just had one flight where I suddenly felt my mortality stronger than I had ever felt it, and so began my dislike of aircraft.

Every flight for about the first 20 minutes I sit ramrod straight in my uncomfortable little seat, white-knuckling the armrests and praying, fervently, "please don't let us die, please don't let us, die, oh sweet Jesus, please make sure all of us get safely to our destination without incident or trouble..." and it begins again. It is really quite embarrassing to be the only one in my entire row who is near hyperventilating, and who breaks out in slick little beads of sweat at the first jostle of air turbulence. Yeah. That's me. Then, after that initial 'take-off' and things get to 'cruising altitude' I'm fine. Well, that is until it is time for our 'final descent'. Then, I begin to tense up again, begin my 'breath prayers' and pretty much sit petrified in a state of utter terror until we stop moving on the tarmac and arrive at our gate.

Tomorrow, I get to experience this lovely scenario. With children. Small. Squirmy. ADHD. Two Years Old. Children.

Lord, Help me.

I'm off to Kauai until the end of the month.

Wish me luck. Say a prayer for me (that I don't freak out and that the kids are at the very least better behaved than I am). I'll see if I can post some pictures and tell you the tale of how I survived my first family trip to Hawaii.

Aloha.

5 years old...

Dear Peanut,

I can hardly believe it, you're 5 years old today. Five, as of 2:53pm.

We've already had quite a few adventures. I've learned so much from you, about you, and even more about me. I had no idea all those years ago just how drastically my life would change. The cliche is that once you have a baby 'normal' ceases to be. It is also said that it takes about a year to 'recover' from having a baby. Well, baby, I'm still recovering, and I know that my life will certainly never be the same.

On that glorious April day so long ago, you were forced into this big old world earlier than any of us imagined, nearly a month premature. The doctors watched my pregnancy with you as carefully as any other mommy-to-be's. Everything went just about as you would expect. I felt sick and miserable the first few months after you made your presence known. Then, life started to 'normalize' again, and I felt better. In fact, we were cruising along at quite a good clip. I got a new job, and your daddy and I moved to a strange new city, all alone, and looking forward to the adventure that was to be you.

Then, about 7 months into my pregnancy, the doctors spotted some abnormalities: you weren't growing. You were so tiny. I had to go on bed rest, and the doctor considered putting me into the hospital to rest, in order to keep you safe. It turned out you had a condition called 'intra-uterine growth restriction (retardation)'. It meant that for reasons unknown you just stopped growing the way you should. Because of this, the doctors decided that you could 'cook' inside of me no more: it was time for your eviction. Should you stay inside of me any longer, the chances of you surviving got smaller and smaller, and we'd hoped and prayed for you and wanted you so badly, that just couldn't be. So, your introduction to the world was scheduled: you would be born on April 28, 2003.

And so you were.

I labored to give birth to you for exactly 5 hours and 23 minutes. I pushed for a total of 10 minutes, and two pushes until you came out. You see, the doctor was worried about your little heart and all the stress that being born would put on you, so she told me that we were going to have to have you via cesarean delivery. I would have done anything to protect you, and the doctor knew it. I think she saw the silent tears slide down my cheeks, she saw I was so worried and scared for you, that she said to me, "you're going to have this baby right now. Now push!" And so I did, and so you were born.

You were such a tiny little thing! Only 5 pounds 12 ounces, but so long--19.5". You breathed right away and I heard your tiny little mewling cries, and I knew we'd be OK.

Your first days in this world were tough: You wouldn't eat, and you had jaundice so badly you were as yellow as a squash. You had to sleep under bilirubin lights (like a tanning bed!) to help your little body break down the excess iron in your system, and we had to measure what you ate in cc's (that was to be the way of it for the next few months, you so disliked eating!).

Your daddy and I drove you home, all by ourselves, and walked into our tiny little home thinking to ourselves, "oh my. What do we do now?" Life was pretty hard. We were all alone in a new city with nobody to help us and nobody to call to ask advice. Our introduction to being your new parents was a real trial by fire. It is by the grace of God alone that we made it.

Both your daddy and I were out of work by the time you were 2 months old, and so your daddy went to school to learn to drive commercial trucks. Soon, he was done with school, and headed out on his new career. It was hard for us, because your daddy was gone for as much as a month at a time, and it was just you and I; no family and few friends. It is a wonder to me, as I look back, how we ever made it at all. I suppose it was due to how stubborn you and your mommy are.

Time has gone at such an erratic pace over these years. We struggled with you every day. Your little body was so weak, and you were so tired all the time, you didn't make your 'milestones' when you should. I took you to a big city, an hour's drive away, to the physical therapist's office, to help you learn to roll over, sit, crawl, and eventually at 17 months of age, to walk. It was a long and emotional journey.

As a baby, you hardly made a sound, and you didn't much care to be held. I always thought it was because I did something wrong, or that you were rejecting me on some level. It left me with many 'hard' feelings. But, we learned why you acted this way much later on.

You didn't talk when you were 'supposed' to talk, so we took you to doctors and specialists to try and help you out. You didn't talk until you were about 3.5 years old! And, when you did talk it was only your mommy who could understand you.

It turned out the reason why you didn't talk, and why you didn't like to snuggle was because of a disorder you have. It is called PDD, and it is on the Autism Spectrum. Your doctors said because of this, you learned from the world in a different way, and you would interact in a different way. It doesn't mean your way is wrong or better than my way, it is what it is: just different. We work each and every day to make your world more understandable to you, and to understand you better, ourselves. It is a journey of a thousand steps, and we're only 5 steps into it.

We've come so far, together, you and I. Despite all your challenges, from birth-on, you've come through far better than anyone could have predicted. You laugh, and smile. You sing and dance. You love to go to gymnastics and swing on the bars, and bounce around in the 'cheese pit'. You're learning how to swim! (and to think, you used to scream and cry if any water so much as touched your head) Just last week, I watched you do 40 'dunks' under water, with nary a tear! You have your bad days (and boy are they bad) but, the older you get, the more your days seem to be good, really, really, good.

You are an amazing little girl, and you amaze me each and every day. Just when I feel like your challenges are insurmountable, you do some sort of little, ordinary, every-day miracle, and in that instant the sun begins to shine, and all the little challenges and struggles we face, melt away for that glorious little instant.

Happy birthday, my precious little miracle. You are my bestest girl; always.

Love,

Mama

Friday, bloody, Friday (or the day from Hell)

Where do I even begin? Well, for starters, if you've got a squeamish stomach, skip this one; if you're not into listening to drama, skip this one; if you're just not willing to listen to me whine and rant and rave, just skip this one and check back another day, like on one of the days where I post goofy pictures (like the peeps) or photos of slumbering, fuzzy kittens in the sun.

Warning: Today was a bad day.

Things were going 'swimmingly' up until about 11am. That's when my dear friend, who was watching the kidlets, calls me at work to let me know there's been an 'incident' with Peanut, but that she was ok. Whenever someone says there's been _______ "but such-and-such is OK" you know it is bad. What they're really hoping is that they can be responsible and let you know what happened, all the while silently praying 'Oh dear God, please don't let them freak out. Please don't let them freak out'. You know that prayer. The one you say when you're certain all of it (and then some) is going to 'hit the fan.' Yup. That one.

Well, after the phone call, it is pointless to say, I immediately left work, and headed out to get the Peanut and do damage control. En route I phoned the pediatrician's office, silently thanking God for the invention of cell phones and the affluence of my family to be able to afford one. The receptionist clicks onto the line: "Dr. K's office. Can you hold for a moment?" Uh, lemme think about this for a nanosecond: 'No, not really." And then I explained my situation. Thank goodness the receptionist was having a good day or had taken her happy pills or taken a huge hit of meth or whatever--she was so pleasant, and was willing and able to put up with my mild hysteria.

By the time I finished talking with the pediatrician's office I arrive at my friend's house: there's peanut, sitting on the couch with my friend's sweet husband, ice pack on her little head. She doesn't look any worse for the wear, but the truth is: My little monkey had been jumping on the bed (no, really) and she fell off and hit her head (we think it was on the foot board of the bed), mama (me) had already called the doctor and the doctor said: "tell me just exactly what she did to her head!". Poor little peanut had managed to get quite a gash on the back of the crown of her head, about one inch in length and I'm guessing 1/2 a centimeter (???) in depth--deep at any rate. It had mostly stopped bleeding by the time I got there, and amazingly enough she wasn't in any pain and wasn't complaining.

Whew!

My poor dear friend, on the other hand, was a wreck. She was so upset, and worried over Peanut getting hurt, and worried about how I'd react (normal reaction, I'd be the same way). I felt so bad for her because she was so upset she was in tears, and even though I wasn't (and still am not) mad at her, nor do I find she did anything wrong, I couldn't reassure her that I understood, and that it was just a freak kid accident--it could have just as easily happened at my home as at hers, or with any other kid. I do hope that she feels better tomorrow.

At any rate, I decided yes, Peanut did need stitches, so off my friend, my Peanut, and I went to: The Emergency Room. (duh, duh, duh). There we sat. And sat. And we sat some more. We sat, with a bleeding four-year-old child in the waiting room for the upwards of almost 2 hours before they took us back.

I guess the old saying is true: you could, technically, bleed to death while waiting to be called back into the emergency room. Huh. Who knew?

After a short visit with the E.R. doctor and a nurse, they decided we needed to suture up her head, as my friend and I figured, and that they were going to use staples.

What?

We went to the E.R. for the purpose of letting my girl be sedated a bit for her stitches because we didn't think she'd be able to handle it 'the old fashioned way' (given that on the 7th of this month it took 3 adults to restrain her for a single blood draw--that is a story unto itself). Well, the sage doctor decided we'd try the staples first, and if that didn't' work, then we'd do sedation. At this point in time I was like "whatever will work. Let's just get this over and done with." All the while, Peanut has been an excellent patient--no whining, crying, or acting up (that was her mother who was doing that!!).

So, there we were, in the E.R., Peanut on my lap, my legs wrapped about her waist, holding her in a 'bear hug' while the gentleman nurse (a fantastic human being, I might add) held her head steady and the doctor stapled her scalp shut.

Ca-chunk, ca-chunk, ca-chunk, ca-chunk, and one final ca-chunk.

And it was done. Nearly 3 1/2 hours after we arrived, and $100 lighter in the wallet later, the girl was sutured up and we were on our way.

And to think, we could have had the same results, at the Pediatrician's office, and been in and out in less than 30 minutes. GARG!

Then, back home again. Peanut was feeling frisky and fine (the child was doing somersaults on the couch (getting blood everywhere-eew!) and had to be told to calm down and relax, so her sutures wouldn't be disturbed), and mommy's blood pressure was through the roof. Not the way I'd wanted to spend the afternoon.

At least my little girl was 'good as new' and feeling fine. That was the most important thing.

After both children were fed, and the boy put to bed, I headed out to run the last of the birthday errands I had left. Originally, I'd planned to do all of the errands and 'to-dos' this afternoon, but the trip to the E.R. disrupted that train of thinking, so it had to wait until after dinner.

I wound up taking care of all of my errands, with a little insult added at the gas pumps ($20 for 5.45gal. of gasoline! ***#$@@@$*$*$* insert expletive), only to walk back into the house, ready to frost the cupcakes for Peanut's party tomorrow, to discover my darling husband had only bought one can of chocolate frosting--to decorate 54 cupcakes in 'rainbow' colors. So much for being prepared the day before the party.

Needless to say, my evening ended on a truly aggravating note. But, the silver lining to this cloud is that the Peanut is OK, she's feeling good, she's going to be five, and has five staples in her head, someday this is going to make a great story to retell; and, hopefully my little monkey has learned her lesson: 'no more monkey jumping on the bed!'

Patsy Cline said it best: "Crazy"

Here I am, 2:31pm, home and already had my second cup 'o java for the afternoon (I had 2 this morning before leaving for work, and I cheated and had a small (6oz.) cup of BLACK coffee at work...). Apparently I'm working my addiction up to a full pot of coffee a day. And, to think, I'd been doing so well at only having one measly little cup (black!) in the morning before going to work. I've tried to quit coffee, go it the 'tea' way...but let's call a spade a spade: living among roosters as I do, working, having the PEANUT (note: the caps is on purpose)...facing the day without waking up to the smell of syrupy thick espresso strength coffee, to be guzzled by the 12 oz. mug, is like asking me if I'd like a visit from Jack Kevorkian (life without coffee? yes, pencil him in at 3...). So much for the reduction of caffeine. On to bigger things:

I love my Peanut. Peanutzilla; the Chubber calls her "peanut-butter", B.J. often calls her a pain in the _________ (fill in the blank: neck, butt, etc...). I do. I love her so much, I often go into the 'red' caring for her and all of her various needs. I do without, so does B.J. and the Chubb, though the latter doesn't yet realize it. Ask me how long it has been since I had a whole-hog, pull-out-the-stops-vacation. I'll tell you: I don't rightly remember. Far. Too. Long. Ago. After all, I'm the girl who buys (bought) airline tickets to Europe or Hawaii on a spur-of-the-moment 'this price is too good not to buy it' whim. Sigh. Those days are looonnng gone. I'd like to be able to go to the salon every 6 weeks and get my highlights done without my mental abacus going into guilt and worry about bills overdrive, and so I don't look like the bus driver from South Park; I'd like to be able to go shopping once in a while without feeling like I'm going over the precipice and landing us into debt. I'd like to stay in the black, but it just seems like it isn't gonna happen.

Already, this month alone, we're up to about $200 in medical co-pays for Peanut, and it isn't even the end of the month yet. Not to mention, the $2,000 invoice from OHSU that we received the other day that we may be 100% responsible for (maybe the insurance will pay it, maybe it won't. I think that BCBS uses a 'magic 8-ball' to decide on what it pays out on.).

Back to the Peanut, and, more specifically our current situation: Her psychiatrist has recommended we take her to a psychologist (main difference: the former is an M.D., the latter is a Ph.D.) for 'neuropsychological evaluation....[to] rule out other neuropsych dysfunction; to include IQ/LD'. Blah, bluh, bla? Yes. I know, it is partly Greek to me, as well. Basically, we want to find out a baseline for Peanut's cognitive performance. The psychiatrist doesn't do that kind of testing, the psychologist does. So, off I go with referral in hand.

Cha-ching.

The referral we've got in our hot little hands is for an out of network provider. Translation: mucho dinero. I, of course, don't have to have this testing done, but being the compulsive problem-solving mama that I am, I am going to. Because, after all, if this sheds more light on Peanut and how to deal with her 'quirks' I'm all for it. But! It all comes at a price.

The evaluation Peanut needs will run the gamut of $1,200-$2,000, quote that the psychologist gave me over the phone.

Choke-to-death. [insert gagging and vomiting noises here]

The insurance will pay up to 70% of what they deem 'usual and customary fees' (after I've paid my $300 deductible). In normal human being speech that means they will decide what a doctor should charge, and based on what the insurance deems to be the 'appropriate' charge, they will pay up to 70%. So, if they say this type of testing should cost, for simplicity, $10, then 70% of 'usual and customary' would mean they pay $7, leaving me to pay 30% of the balance, or $3. Sounds relatively simple, but when you're dealing with multiple zeroes after the numbers it gets a bit more...hmm...how shall I say it...distressing. Furthermore, if Peanut's psychologist doesn't charge $10 for the testing, but charges $17 for the testing, the insurance still only ponies-up $7, and I'm left with the balance of $10. So, basically I'm a bit on the screwed side.

What is a parent to do? What I always do: try to do the best I can by my peanut. I continue to mumble and grumble over medical costs--but I'm lucky: I at least have insurance. Some folks aren't so lucky, and once upon a time in the recent past I was one of those folks who didn't have insurance...and by God, did I pray I didn't get sick.

I continue to be more and more political; I follow the insurance legislation for my state. I send letters to my representatives and legislators. I've been scheduled to testify in front of the legislature before (though the meeting was cancelled). All in the name of providing my daughter with the necessary medical care she needs to live the fullest and most productive life she can live. So that my husband and I can have some semblance of normalcy in our family: we know and remember all to well what life was like before Peanut had the appropriate therapies and help; life with an untreated child like my girl is sheer hell.

So, the song that plays in my mind's Mp3 player, today, would have to be Patsy Cline's "Crazy," because I'm crazy in love with my girl.

Guilt

I haven't posted in a long time. This, I realize. While things have been humming along in my life, as always, I haven't felt particularly inspired to 'put pen to paper'.

Ironically, I started up this site as a means of purging my thoughts and maybe lessening the mommy-guilt load that all of us with offspring and who are of the X chromosomal variety experience, and in doing so, (tee hee) and not posting I have felt this cumbersome guilt hanging around my neck: I am not posting, hence my reader (singular) will become bored of my site, and fly far, far away. (I do have that bit of vanity, sorry to say)

A quick recap: Spring vacation--good, fast, over and done with; April: seductively waltzed into our lives like an innocent little lamb, only to sink its deadly lion-like fangs into our jugular and let us know that this spring will be a bumpy ride.

My Princess Peanut will soon be five years old. I'm majorly freaking out over this life milestone. She's in a preschool cum elementary school ecstasy "I'm going to be FIVE!" When did this happen? When did that yellow, squalling, doesn't want to eat and you can't make me, 5 lb. 12 oz. bundle of pain turn into a school age child?!? I'm utterly blown away.

We're planning her party for this Saturday at NWKC, so, I guess that means the games have begun. I know some people will think it a bit bourgeoisie for us to pay that much for her party, but let me tell you, the price is chump-change for the sanity! Last year we had her party at the carousel, and it was beautiful: the kids (the few who could make it) showed up, they rode the horses in circles enough times I wanted to puke, they ate cake, peanut ripped into the gifts, the mess stayed there, we went home to peace and quiet, voila! perfect.

For something new, and to (hopefully) take some of the focus off of the gluttony of gifts, we've decided to have a book exchange in lieu of gifts. I've requested each child who comes bring a gender-neutral, wrapped story book (not labeled to Peanut) and when we get to the 'open gifts' part each child will get a book to open--that way everybody gets to open a gift, and I get to get out of goody-bag duty! (I know its sneaky, its cheap, I love it!) I hope that this exchange works out well. Truthfully, Peanut doesn't need a single new toy, but I can't see her not getting to open something at her party, and I'm not so altruistic (yet! working on it...) that I can tell my daughter's guests to simply make a donation to a favored charity...so, maybe this plan works? I'll let you know. If you have any feelings, good or bad, please post a comment--I'd love to get some thoughts on the idea.

Well, it sounds as if my sweet little terrorists are waking/no longer content to play in their rooms, so I must sign-off. Having major daycare crisis right now--my poor dear babysitter has injured her back in some excruciating manner, and as of now: I have no back-up care, hence I am home from work today (B.J. was home yesterday) so among the many things I must do today, finding a backup daycare provider is pretty high up on the list. Sigh. It never ends.

Dipping Sauce

I've been pretty quiet lately, hence the lack of posts. I wanted to get in at least one more post for March, as it charges out 'like a lion' so here it goes:

Tonight, for dinner, I served my family the most healthful, organic, locally produced farm-fresh foods...what? You don't believe me? OK, I admit it, it was frozen fish sticks, but here's the fun part, and, as you can guess it involves children, or specifically the boy child:

Chubbs is smacking away at his fish sticks and noisily slurping his milk, blowing bubbles intermittently for good measure, when I notice that he's dipping. My chubber loves to dip his food. I don't know what it is, but I think most kids have the same affinity: food is just somehow better if you can dip it into something before cramming it into your mouth. Chubber is my 'little dipper' and tonight was no exception. He chose to have a small blob of ketchup on his plate, sort of a little decorative garnish (heaven forbid he ever actually use his ketchup for anything other than a viscous substance with which to 'drive' his 'food-car' through as a means of vicariously living the life of a monster-truck driver...), but fish sticks just aren't as good if you don't actually dip them into something.

Well, tonight, folks, the Chublet has reached a new echelon of grossology: he devoured his fish sticks after liberally dunking them (repeatedly!) into his apple sauce.

Y-U-C-K-Y!

Can you even imagine a more disgusting combination than frozen fish-sticks dipped into organic (for real!) no sugar added apple sauce? That was just way too nasty for me. Ranks right up there with the Scottish delicacy of a deep-fried Mars bar. (shuddering in revulsion, here)

So, tell me, what's the nastiest thing your sweet little offspring has decided to 'dip'?

Happy Easter!

Wishing everyone in the Blogosphere a happy and reflective Easter.

As the most important holiday in the Christian calendar approaches, let all of us reflect on what was done on our behalf. We don't deserve grace or mercy, yet it is freely given to us (John 3:16).

It isn't about astrobright plastic eggs, candy (even peeps!), or pretty dresses on Sunday. Sometimes we lose sight of what it is all Truly about.

Give thanks for the grace that He has extended to us, and let's all of us work on extending the kindness, grace, and love He gives to us, to everyone around us.

A lofty goal, I know. I will continue to work on it, and perhaps, in time, I will come closer to achieving it.

Happy Easter.

More about ma' Peeps

Taken from the April 2008 issue of Parenting magazine:
by: Deborah Skolnik

4 Ways Kids are Like Peeps


1. They're sweet, though almost always a bit sticky.


2. You can give them a little squeeze if they're yours--but not if they're a stranger's.

3. They're a known cause of stubborn belly overhang.

4. It can be hard to stop at one, but after two or three, the mere thought of having another may make you queasy.







Lovin da peeps and lovin, y'all, ma' peeps!

Parental Advisory: Explicit Content

In honor of my all time favorite Easter basket treats:

The Peep Show

Get on the bus...

Breast Cancer Petition
Urge Congress to stop "Drive-Through" Mastectomies!

"Desperate Housewives" star Marcia Cross joined Lifetime, Senator Landrieu (D-LA) and Representatives DeLauro (D-CT) and Moran (R-KS), at a Capitol Hill press conference on Wednesday, January 23, to give voice to the 20 million signatures collected on myLifetime.com urging Congress to end the practice of “drive-through” mastectomies, when women are forced to leave the hospital following their physically and emotionally difficult breast cancer surgeries before they and their doctors may feel they are ready to go home. Senator Landrieu and Representatives DeLauro and Moran are championing the bipartisan Breast Cancer Patient Protection Act of 2007 (S.459/H.R 758), which includes no mandates but allows a woman and her doctor to

Please visit the website, if you're so moved, sign the petition, and help keep women healthy.

Sign the petition.

Thanks.

PS: this is authentic and verified through Snopes, and your information will not be used for any other purpose than to sign the petition.

PS2: After you sign the petition, treat yourself to a little procrastination and fun by creating a 'be my bra' character. Hey, it's free, fun, and goes to support a good cause.

Little Bathing Beauty

Last night I gave the Peanut and Chubber a bath. Yes, I know, what a surprise: a mom bathing her preschool children. Well, ya kind of have to, its in the job description, and--after about 4 days or so they really start to smell.

So, upon pulling peanut out of the tub she says:

"Mommy! (looking at her naked arm and little tummy) I have DUCK BUMPS!"

Translation: Goose bumps.

I just thought that was the cutest little thing.

Jury Duty

I wound up being called for jury duty, and actually had to show up at the courthouse this morning.

See, this is how it works: One day you check your mail and contained within its junk mail, and bill confines is this innocuous little piece of paper informing you of your summons to appear for jury duty. No biggie, just sign the page, return it, and let them know you'll show up (unless, of course you have a valid reason to defer).

This morning, I got to sleep in until a whopping 6:20am! Whoo-hoo! The reason being, I had to report for jury duty by 8:00am. I did not have to wrangle my sweet little children (like the usual 7am morning madness), as dear sweet B.J. was home to watch them (my babysitter is sick, but that's another story unto itself!). So, it meant I didn't need to leave the house until about 7:40am to make it to the courthouse on time.

Upon arrival to the 'Jury Duty Reporting' entrance, I walked into what appeared to be the bowels of the courthouse. A downward sloping sidewalk led me to a door into an institutional white hallway complete with post-9-1-1 security screening. After being screened, I was admitted to yet another bland and cheerless room where I filled out two forms: one to give my name, juror number, and whether or not my employer would pay me for my time away from work to serve on the jury; the other form was a general survey of who I was--my age, marital status, educational background, and hobbies. With those two forms filled out, I waited in a short line to be counted 'present' and be accounted for, to fulfil my charged duty.

What followed was approximately two hours of sitting in a rather uncomfortable chair alongside the perimeter of the dour, fluorescent-lighted space. Thankfully I had my copy of Eat, Pray, Love by Elizabeth Gilbert. While I was fully diverted by my choice in reading material, the only excitement I was to have while in the Jury selection room was a $1.50 discount coupon to be used at the courthouse espresso bar (which got me a skinny coconut latte-yum!), and listening to Pam, the juror coordinator (I don't know her actual title, but she was the one who made the announcements and herded us around the bowels of the courthouse like a well work-worn Australian Shepherd moves his flock with so little effort). Pam was great. She was as entertaining as watching BBC America, that droll, dry sarcasm and dark humor that I so appreciate.

Toward the end of the 2 hour period I, along with the others, became restless. We wanted to know if we would see 'action' or, if not, could we please just get a move on and get out to live our lives!? Finally, the the announcement came: There would be no jury trials today. We had fulfilled our civic obligation of 'jury duty' for the interim next two years--so, should we receive a summons, we would be able to check the handy little box that states 'ineligible: jury duty in the last 2 years'.

So, while I wasn't exactly thrilled to go, I was able to get out early, having done my 'job' and was able to go and enjoy the remainder of the day with my husband and children.

To celebrate, we made our very first pilgrimage to Chuck-E-Cheese. It was very fun, and the kids had a blast, and, surprisingly enough, they actually make a pretty good pizza.

The great American Justice system and Chuck-E-Cheese. What more can I ask for?

...the blind will see...the lame will walk

Life has a funny way of coming at you--especially when you least expect it. One of the great promises in life is that 'you'll never be given more than you can handle.' I love this promise, because when I'm gasping for air, and the life-ring is too far to reach and the waves are crashing over my head, threatening to pull me under for good, something comes along and buoys me up just long enough to grab that ring, and I make it to safety.



Autism is often that sea that I find myself sputtering in and desperately trying to tread water in order to stay afloat. Peanut has a form of Autism, PDD-NOS (there is debate as to whether or not PDD-NOS is under the 'Autism umbrella' or if Autism is under the umbrealla of PDD-NOS...but, for what is is worth, if you've got either label you're seeing and experiencing the world in a different way.). And, one of the characteristics of PDD that she has is speech and language development delay (communication disorder). She wants to talk to us, tell us things, but the way she can communicate is not always the conventional way that we can and do communicate--leaving both she and us frustrated and incommunicado.



I, just this very hour, read a wonderful article about a 13 year old girl with Autism who was unable to speak (she has apraxia--as in NO language at all) whom, for the first time in her life, has found a way to communicate with her family, and , consequently, the world. Before, the family and 'specialists' thought her to be possibly low functioning cognitively and unable to communicate--other than in non-standard ways (screaming, hittng herself, banging on furniture). She found a way to talk. To commuicate; and, she does so very effectively.



You can read all about her miraculous story of hope here.



Please read it, and file it away in your memory for the next time you're out in public and you see a person having a 'melt-down' or a 'fit' --self-injurous behaviors, screaming, yelling, and the like. Maybe, like the little girl in the article, they just haven't found a way that we understand to communicate with us.



God works in mysterious ways. This article was one of those ways He worked for me: I've grabbed hold of the life-ring, and am being pulled into safety.

Plagiarism....and stuff

So, if the MLA or APA folks come around, just 'X' out this window...because I stole it! It is from an email forward (anonymous), and is too funny not to share. That, and I got lousy news at work today: My partner is being transferred to another location--executive decision by the top brass. I'm completely and totally bummed. We both were in tears. So, with that in mind I'll cheer myself (and maybe you, too!) up.

For your consideration:

If you are 30 or older (or close to it) you will think this is
hilarious!!!!

When I was a kid, adults used to bore me to tears with their tedious
diatribes about how hard things were when they were growing up; what
with walking twenty-five miles to school every morning ... uphill
BOTH ways

yadda, yadda, yadda

And I remember promising myself that when I grew up, there was no
way I was going to lay a bunch of crap like that on kids
about how hard I had it and how easy they've got it! But now that...
I'm over the ripe old age of thirty, I can't help but look around
and notice the youth of today.

So here it goes . . . . .

When I was a kid we didn't have The Internet . If we wanted to know
something, we had to go to the library and look it up
ourselves, in the card catalogue!! There was no email!! We had to
actually write somebody a letter .with a pen! Then you had to walk
all the way across the street and put it in the mailbox and it would
take like a week to get there!

There were no MP3's or Napsters! You wanted to steal music, you had
to hitchhike to the record store and shoplift it yourself! Or
you had to wait around all day to tape it off the radio and the DJ'd
usually talk over the beginning and mess it all up!

We didn't have fancy crap like Call Waiting! If you were on the
phone and somebody else called they got a busy signal, that's it!
And we didn't have fancy Caller ID Boxes either! When the phone
rang, you had no idea who it was! It could be your school, your mom,
your boss, your bookie, your drug dealer, a collections agent, you
just didn't know!!! You had to pick it up and take your chances,
mister!

We didn't have any fancy Sony Playstation video games with
high-resolution 3-D graphics! We had the Atari 2600! With games
like 'Space Invaders' and 'asteroids'. Your guy was a little square!
You actually had to use your imagination!! And there were no
multiple levels or screens, it was just one screen forever! And you
could never win. The game just kept getting harder and harder and
faster and faster until you died! Just like LIFE!

When you went to the movie theatre there no such thing as stadium
seating! All the seats were the same height! If a tall guy or some
old broad with a hat sat in front of you and you couldn't see, you
were just screwed!

Sure, we had cable television, but back then that was only like 15
channels and there was no on screen menu and no remote control! You
had to use a little book called a TV Guide to find out what was on!
You were screwed when it came to channel surfing! You had to get off
your butt and walk over to the TV to change the channel and there was
no Cartoon Network either! You could only get cartoons on Saturday
Morning. Do you hear what I'm saying! ?! We had to wait ALL WEEK for
cartoons, you spoiled little brats!

And we didn't have microwaves, if we wanted to heat something up we
had to use the stove ... imagine that! If we wanted popcorn, we had
to use that stupid Jiffy Pop thing and shake it over the stove
forever like an idiot.

That's exactly what I'm talking about! You kids today have got it
too easy. You're spoiled. You guys wouldn't have lasted five minutes
back in 1980!

Regards,

The over 30 Crowd

My Heart On My Sleeve

This is a photo of my parents at our wedding.

The last photo that was taken of my mom and I before she 'got sick'.

Valentine's day is for my mom. I miss her every day, but especially today, of all days.

In loving memory.

Barbara Lee

October 2, 1940 - February 14, 2002

Some day I'll find the courage and energy to post the story of my mom. For now, this is what I've got.

I miss you, mom.

...haven't dropped off the face of the planet (yet!)

Its been a long time since I've posted. A lot has been going on. I don't even know where to start. I guess, I can briefly mention that Peanut had a homicidal moment (not said tongue-in-cheek), and, understandably, I had a near nevous breakdown as a result of it. Safe to say, life is slightly closer to 1 standard deviation away from the mean (i.e. 'normal'), thanks to an emergency visit to her psychiatrist.

It is fast approaching the 6th anniversary of my mom's death, so I'm a bit melancholy, and have been mentally working on a post for the past month--though, haven't committed it to paper-yet.


My goal this week is to get some of my thoughts sorted out and on 'paper' out into the blogosphere for your consideration.

As for now, we're surviving. Day to day.

Fulfilling my Civic Duty (maybe?)

Dun, dun, dun....I've been called for....JURY DUTY!

Ahh!

I have been summoned for jury duty exactly three times in my lifetime. To date I have served on exactly 0 trials. The first time that weighty little letter showed up I was about 22 years old, and, while nervous as 'all-get-out' after dialing the phone-in line, I was relieved of my duty: the trial had been cancelled.

The second time I was summoned was during my year-long leave of absence (read: when I was a S.A.H.M. to my Peanut and Chubbers). Due to the sensitive nature of my living situation (read: heavily lactating-mommy moo-cow who was nursing a 20lb. Chublet every 3 hours), I was able to decline to fulfil my Civic Duty.

It is always said that the "third time is the charm", and with that in mind, this past October, I received my third offical summons to appear as a juror in service of our magnificent American justice system. Unfortunately, at work, I was heavily inundated with offical State business (yet another fun audit or the like...honestly, I can't remember what legal-ish situation was going on, but it was something high-stakes (apparently) or else I wouldn't have been able to defer...) so I was able to postpone my summons until a later time.

Being the industrious little worker-bee that I am, I looked at my handy-dandy calendar and marked which bank holidays occurred in which months, and I zeroed in on February as my choice of month to commit myself to my Duty. Why February, you ask? Well, it is the month with the fewest bank holidays/inservices/out of the office days, of course. And, if I'm going to get stuck doing something I don't particularly want to do, I might as well do it and have a day out of the office, in a month where there are few days away, while I do it. Makes sense, right? Yeah, I thought so too.

So, here in my post box this afternoon what was I to find? I found the Safeway weekly mail insert (yuck--who cares, the poor slaughtered trees and environmental waste is what always pops into my brain), a Discover card advert (who cares? Aren't Americans, as a rule, entirely too far in debt? Isn't the Fed, as we speak, working on contriving a way to keep us out of a recession due to our overzealous spending habits and the poor investment choices of people with NO CREDIT have made? Isn't coroporate America crying 'poor, poor, poor, me...save me! while our Leader has (thank GOD) resolutely refused to dole out yet another form or corporate welfare...aherm...climbing down off the soap-box now). And, tucked neatly between the glorious waste of paper in my box, you guessed it, my Jury summons.

Should prove to be interesting, at the least. I wonder if I will wind up not being needed, as before. Or, will I get stuck on some sort of O.J.-esque media circus where I'll be sequestered (detained, Northern Korean prisoner-of-war style) in a swanky hotel, away from all outside influences and my precious family?

Who knows.

I call into the automated response system on February 24th to see if I will be needed on the 25th.

Wish me luck.