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.

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.

Angst takes a plume and scratches feverishly upon the digital parchment

Tonight I had a lovely phone call with my father, who resides (currently, as in during this season) in Florida. My entire family lives there. I am the lone loony tune on the west coast--or am I? Our phone conversation was exactly one hour, two minutes, and forty-three seconds long. A world record conversation, when it comes to my father--whom, incidentally, when in this state will drive 1.5 hours to my home, talk to me for ten minutes, give me a hug, and leave. Yes, he is rather eccentric. I know no one like that.

At any rate, one of the gambits of conversation rested upon my brother, and upon further interrogation, my nephew: Steven. Ah, Steven. I rarely (if ever) use first names here, due to respect of privacy and the ever present specter of the digital world that threatens to haunt us--should we dare utter something incoherent (I frequently do) or worse something not politically correct. Lord knows, anything in history that has wound up in some sort of public medium finds a way of rising from its musty grave of some twenty-odd years or more, and challenging the speaker's credibility--as if we aren't entitled to change our opinion, or become more evolved and more sentient beings as we age. I digress.

My nephew, Steven, and I are only 5 years apart in age. Yes, my brother is nearly 17 years my senior. In a nutshell, without going into particulars, my family has become estranged from my nephew. He has chosen to take his anger toward his father (my brother) out on the entire family, and has eclipsed reason and decided that his father did him wrong, ergo so have I. It is fallacious thinking, but alas, he is only human. I try not to hold it against him. I try.

It has been hard for B.J. and I because over the years, we have tried to reach out to Steven, include him in our lives, and entreat him to allow us into his life. He would make a few baby-steps toward that end, but then forget to follow through with his end of the deal: take our calls, allow us to see him. At any rate, it is difficult (at best) to try to stay in touch with someone who does not wish to be in touch with you. And so, times went by. Two years, as a matter of fact. And within that two years we find that Steven has had a son, Kade. We missed out on 2 years of his sweet little life. Despite our best efforts (could I have tried harder? I will be honest: yes.) Steven, and now his son Kade, slip through our fingers and are lost to the ever shifting sands of time. We hear nothing...nothing...cannot find them...then they show up! A merciful, wonderful, reunion! We are allowed to have a glimpse at Kade and Steven's life.

Fast forward, again, two years. Steven has made us 'persona non grata' and we have not been in his universe. Not, until I get the horrifying phone call last January (2007) that Kade has been killed. We are devastated. We were denied access to his precious life while he was living, and due to poor choices and (somewhat mysterious) occurrences, he is deemed an 'accidental death'. I rush to Steven, as he has finally allowed us to cleave to him in his darkest hour. We weep, he professes his errors, and we forgive him with open heart and arms.

Again, the sands of time bury him, his addictions, afflictions, and misery. He is lost to us. My heart and soul ache for him. He doesn't know what he does, and I cannot change him. I can only sit by quietly, offering my open arms, and should he choose to run to his family, to me, and clasp him to my breast and tell him that I would choose to never let him go. I cannot change someone unwilling to change. I can forgive him, but I cannot make him forgive himself, his father, or his ways. I must wait.

This evening, while talking to my father, I find out that Steven has surfaced, again. And, again, he has another child. A two-year-old boy. I do not even know this child's name. I am so angry, so broken. How I wish he would grow-up, wake-up, 'get over it,' or whatever it is he has to do to see that, yes, he has a genuine right to be angry at his father. He has a right to be pissed off at his father. My brother was wrong, did wrong, and continues to do wrong. I cannot change that. Steven cannot change that. He is old enough now to realize that I am not his father. His grandfather is not his father. We are here to love him. We want him, good, bad, ugly, addicted, unloved. We want his son. He is family.

Do we lose another precious baby to time, anger, and hatred? Does Steven have the right to deny his son his heritage? His family? Does he? I cannot imagine another loss so profound as this, short of losing my own children. I am so angry. Incensed. Yet, do I have a right to my anger? I do not know. I am sure some would say I have no right to be angry, and that I am being selfish, and immature. You're right: I am selfish. I want my family. So many today simply cast off that which they do not want, that which does not acquiesce to their wishes, and ways. And, as I say this I think, directly, of my brother. But he will face his own sins in this life, as will I. Do we suffer another Kade? Do we live our lives and let time go by, without ever being present? What do I do? I know he is approximately one hour south of where I live. One hour. Yet, the gulf that divides us is more vast than the Marianas Trench, the rings of Saturn are closer than they.

Blood is thicker than water.

Tragedy sent this bright, curious, much-loved boy, Kade, Home far too soon. Will we miss out on his half-brother's life, the way that his all-too-brief little life was lost to us? I sincerely hope not.

And, yet, I wait. With prayers and patience, I wait...

Feeling lazy, feeling blue

I have really been lacking the desire to post lately. So, obviously, I haven't posted much. Duh. I know.

Good news: With my renewed efforts toward a healthier lifestyle I have almost made my first 10% weight loss goal. In my first week (which included quite a few flub-ups, and an unplanned trip to Izzy's to celebrate a birthday--yikes!) I managed to lose...drum roll please...a whopping 5.5 lbs.

Whoo-hoo!

I'm .5 lbs away from my first 10% goal: 6lbs.

I have a lot of weight to lose. If I look at the WHOLE-Bigger-than-life picture I'd just give up and sit down with a pint of Ben & Jerry's and mope while watching some sort of ultimately brain numbing chick-flick. So, to keep me from 'relapse' (as in succumbing to the FTW attitude, and fatalistic thinking that gets me stuck on the fast-track to increased fat cells and binging on whatever high-fructose, sodium laden, deep-fried concoction sure to make my serotonin levels even with those of a meth addict...) I'm looking at my first goal as losing a 'total' of 60 pounds.

Much more doable than the other number that I really am striving for.

5.5 lbs. isn't a whole lot. It wouldn't keep me above the yellow line on "BIGGEST LOSER" but it is a firm start. I'm also managing to maintain the attitude of 'get back on the horse' when I 'fall off' rather than subscribing to fallacious all-or-nothing thinking.

Chalk one up to me.

Now, on to the darker side of life.

Mentally, I'm struggling with Seasonal Affective Disorder. I've not received an official diagnosis of S.A.D., however, I suffer many of its symptoms. The peak of my 'blahs' coincides with the winter solstice--the shortest day of the year. I feel like a plant deprived of sunshine: I've withered (emotionally) into this lifeless, shapeless (figurative and literal--unless you count round for my shape. Ha!), blob who is lacking motivation most days to do anything. I want to crawl into bed and pull the covers over my head. I don't want to do anything with anyone. I am just hoping to hit the 'fast forward' button a la Adam Sandler's movie CLICK. I go through this ever year. I have since I was a child...just my mother and I always chalked it up to missing Florida and the winter sunshine and flowers. Sigh. I can hardly wait for May sunshine and more daylight.

On the Autism spectrum: We've definitely been having our fair share (dare I say, more than fair share....as in the Lion's Share) of 'Autistic moments.'

Peanut has been irritable, defiant, tantruming, and tormenting her brother (and me) without end. I know it isn't her fault, and her psychiatrist concurs, the hoopla and lack of structure over the holidays put her over the edge. Heck, it puts typical kids (and most adults) over the edge. So, how could I expect anything different from someone with cognitive and sensory processing difficulties? Still, it doesn't make it any easier to deal with her. Even though I have a 'special needs child' it doesn't give me super-human strength, the ability to see through walls, or any more patience than having a typical child gives to any other parent. My patience still wears thin, and the decibel level of my voice soars ever heavenward. In truth, I've been ready to murder her. (only in thought---the same way we all say 'I'm going to kill you if you eat the last cookie, candy, chip, etc." ). One of the mentor moms at a MOPs meeting I once went to said something to the effect of:

"You're completely normal if you have the feeling that you'd like to
huck your child out the window. Every one of us feels like we would love to
just toss them out to escape the tantrums and difficult times. You're
normal. You're only abnormal if you never get frustrated with your child
or you actually do toss you kid out the window. Don't do that.
(all while smiling)."

This simple statement has saved me much guilt and shame. I'm normal. Lord, I'm so utterly normal, I'm the poster-child for normal. Ugh.

Chublet has been two. He acts two. He IS two. I don't really need to say much more. I remind myself, often, 'this too shall pass.'

Some introspection:

Going back to the lifestyle change, I have realized I am completely and totally obsessed with food. I figure I think about food approximately the same number of times a day as a red-blooded teenage-boy thinks about sex. Really. I think I am obsessing. Maybe that's one of the reasons why my weight has soared so high. I wonder what Freud would say (I'm glad he's dead...Dr.Phil is bad, I can only imagine how wonderful Freud would be...).

Things I'm looking forward to:

The return of normalcy to our daily schedule, and with it the return of a more sane and less psychotic little girl.

Continuing to renew my commitment (daily, hourly, minute-by-minute if need be) to my new healthier lifestyle.

Chublet eventually aging three-years-old (and my survival through his 'terrible two's').

Spring is coming. It is a long way out, but eventually the crocus will pop their periwinkle and opalescent heads though the snow and frost and herald the coming of new life and the return of sunshine.

Seeking Absolution...

I normally try to make my posts more up-beat and cheerful--we all have enough drama in our own lives without anyone elses', but today I'm in a bad space. So, here it goes:

My kids are acting terribly, I'm tired and cranky, and I'm feeling pretty useless as a human being right now (can you hear the violins playing yet?).

When I'm in this space I think about social movements in history. The women's liberation movement is something that I think about quite often. Strange, but true. I often think that what my grandmother and mother have done for my generation is both good and very, very bad. The Women's Movement created the possibility of independence, a voice, and choices for women; yet it also took away that which we already had. I am grateful for what it accomplished in that I can go into most businesses, doctors' offices, or any other public place and be treated (mostly) in a fair and upright manner. I can complain and have my complaints heard, addressed, and changes made as a result of them. I can drive a car, vote, have a career, a family; I can have it all, thanks to the Women's Liberation Movement.

Or can I?

Today, I feel the crushing pressure closing in on me from all directions. Dolce et decorum est...said Wilfred Owen (one of my favorite poets, whose works were not discovered for the gems they are until well after his death). It is an old lie. You cannot possibly have it all. I cannot have it all, though try I may.

I had the luxury of being a Stay At Home Mother (S.A.H.M) for a year, after my son was born. I about went crazy the first few months--what the heck do you actually do with a toddler and a newborn all day long, with no help? I had never had the experience of being a REAL mother; I went back to work before my daughter turned 4 months old. I have felt extreme guilt over going to work so soon after Peanut was born because of the relief that I felt to be 'free' again. See, I couldn't wait to return to work. Working was so much easier than being a MOM. I got to love on my girl for an hour or so in the morning, and then whisk her off to my daycare provider (whom I absolutely adore--she is a fabulous human being who truly loves what she does) go to work and then pick her up at about 3:30pm. That left me with about 3 hours of being a MOM before Peanut went to bed. Truly, I was only a parent for 4ish hours a day.

That is not parenting.

Then, along came my Chubbers and I flat out told B.J. I would stay home for the year and be a mom. It was hard, but by the time my year was up, I was loathe to go back to work. I wanted to stay home with my babies. I wanted to be a MOM. I loved seeing all their changes and watching Chub-chub make all his milestones (Chubbers is a Typical child, v.s. Peanut having multiple developmental delays, not the leas of which is ASD). It was such a pure joy. It nearly crushed me to drop my babies off at the daycare and head to work.

Well, here it is, summer, and I am 'off' work for a couple of months. My children and I have to get used to each other again. Learn each others rhythms and needs. We're getting there. Slowly. Peanut is having a tough time adjusting. Her attitude just keeps getting worse. She is mean and nasty to her brother; she screams at me and and her brother, and her behavior is just 'ugly' overall. This makes me feel like crap. No, it make me feel like dog crap. Peanut tells me she wants her teacher. I'm glad, because it means she's having a good time at school. I'm also distraught because, she behaves nicely for the teacher and plays well with the kiddos, but for me she is a terror. I feel so ineffectual. I feel like she would prefer to be at the daycare and at school rather than be home. She has told me she doesn't want to 'go home' after school or other outings. How should I take this? What does it mean? Does she hate me? Is being home so terrible? I take it as she would rather be anywhere than with me. It probably isn't true, but on a day like today, that is how it feels.

Which brings me back to the fact that I can't have it all and that the Women's Movement had a dark side to it.

In the past women were at home, to keep house and to tend the children. Men went to work, and made a decent living wage. The roles were sex-stereotyped, but likely worked in most families (yes, I am aware of abuse, limitations, etc.). Today, women are expected to do all of the same jobs that they did before, just they're also expected to pull in a substantial paycheck to go along with it. The Second Shift details the ins and outs of a modern 'liberated' woman. I fall into that category. Men today make less money than they did 30 years ago (adjusted for inflation) and finding a decent job for them is more and more difficult. Women have bridged the gap far enough to make $.70 to every $1.00 a man makes. Men cannot support their families today as they were able to in the 1950's working a single (non college-degree) job. It is so unfair. Are we really further ahead than our great-grandmothers? It seems, to me, men and women are more depressed, more angry, and their quality of life is much lower than it was in my grandmother's day. Is this supposed to be called progress?

I work. Part-time (really my hours total up to between 35-40 per week). My children go to daycare. Daycare dissolves the majority of my paycheck; once my student loan and some of the smaller household bills are taken care of I have virtually no money left. I see my children after work (between 3:30pm and bedtime) during the crabbiest time of day for them and for me. I am in charge of upkeep of the house, groceries, landscaping, laundry, and other miscellanea. I am not complaining about my husband. He does a good job of being a husband, father, and provider. He does share in the tasks of the household. I just wind up doing more, after all, I work part-time.

Why am I working? I keep rationalizing that my children won't necessarily remember me being home while they were infants/toddlers. They grow up so fast. I'll be able to be there for them after school during their school-age years--where it really counts (I can go to all their activities, be active in their lives and know who their friends are, and supervise them when many other people leave their kids to 'fend for themselves' after a certain age--opening the door to pre-marital sex, drugs, and all sort of other fun things). But, WHY? Why do I work? My paycheck is too small to really make much of a difference. I still do everything I did when I was home for that year. I'll tell you why: So I don't lose my license. I cannot afford to stay home with my kids and lose my license. I worked so hard for it (I got a master's degree after it!!). I can't afford to take the exorbitantly priced graduate school classes that would maintain my license (at $500+ per class/term). Someday my children will fly from the nest. If my licensure is kaput, where do I go? I went to school so I wouldn't have to wait tables the rest of my life. My mother insisted I get a degree so that I could take care of myself should the need arise. As one of my collegues has shown me the need arises all too often (her husband is no longer able to support their family). Had she not maintained her license, they would be homeless. What do I do?

I am stuck.

I feel like I can't go back, and I cannot move forward. The proverbial 'rock and a hard place.' What do I do? What do I do?

I need someone to give me their benediction and tell me that I'm doing o.k. That my kids will turn out just fine. That this season in my life won't go on forever. That I'm doing the right thing.

I need to know that it isn't all for nothing. I need to know that I'm not a bad mother.

Life is hard when you're teetering on the razor's edge in a pair of stilettos while trying to be everything to everyone. Again, I think of the Women's Liberation Movement. Was it all worth it? Am I a happier person because of all the work the mothers of yesterday did? Again, I don't know.

Oprah: On Autism

Oprah has Autism as her topic for today. I'm going to carve out that hour from my schedule to watch the show and see what she has to present.

See, I've been struggling with Autism, or rather I've been struggling with my daughter Peanut's (NB) Autism Spectrum Disorder (ASD) lately. I have been really doing well dealing with her diagnosis and being an advocate for her, but the day before yesterday I just lost it. I was sitting in the hot tub with my husband, B., trying to relax, but I wound up sitting there whining and blubbering about how I felt like I couldn't handle Peanut's ASD. See, we've only had a diagnosis of ASD for the Peanut since February 2007. And we're still in that blinding snowstorm that is trying to sort out our emotions, find the best treatment options for Peanut, and be good parents (all at the same moment in time). It is quite overwhelming.

For example, it is like dealing with your taxes and all the government forms that go along with them every day, just the tax laws change daily, and sometimes hourly, and you aren't privy to those changes. Dealing with the emotions you feel as a parent with a child diagnosed with ASD is like: "here, things aren't the same as you expected, they've changed, I'm not going to tell you the changes, and if you screw up, well....that's just tough. You'll get a melt-down for a reward and you'll have to start from square one. Oh, yeah, and your deadline for everything to be dealt with just got shortened by an undisclosed amount of time. You'll have virtually no support from anyone, and, just for good measure, you'll need to beg, whine, wheedle, threaten and shout to get any services covered by your insurance--that is once you've jumped through the proverbial hoops to get the services in the first place. Tootles! Have fun!!!!"

But, to return to my original train of thought: I'm thrilled that Oprah is going to feature Autism. I've already emailed my family and friends about the upcoming show. I hope that some of them will watch. Maybe they'll get a more open understanding of why Peanut is the way she is, and realize that she's not being a 'bad girl' or that we're not 'rotten parents.' Peanut is just hard-wired differently and has a unique perception of the world that no one else has.