The one where I get all preachy and political and stuff….

Dear Rahm Emanuel, et al…I think you’re pretty much a tool.  I elected a progressive, liberal, Democratic President and so far I haven’t seen him, and I blame you, Rahm.  I actually think it’s a pretty brilliant idea to run ads chastising conservative Democrats for going all soft on health care (among other) reforms.  Unfortunately, the first pol I’d target would be your boss — he’s the leader of the party, he should lead by his own progressive, liberal, example.  So when you, Mr. Chief of Staff, characterized that particular strategy as “f**king retarded” I disagreed strategically, but was also aghast at your choice of words….and no, the f-word doesn’t bother me–bombs away on that one.

(So Rahm apologizes to Tim Shriver, who doesn’t accept the apology —God, I love the Shrivers–, but agrees to meet and continue the conversation.  OK, there’s not much more that he can do.  Of course this whole event, following the President’s own gaffe on The Tonight Show with Who the Hell Knows has me a little disconcerted that 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue might need some sensitivity training.

But here’s what really pissed me off — the comments.  Look at the comments section or the tweet feeds on any of these articles, over and over and over again, the word retarded is used — not informationally — but in comments like “making Emanuel apologize is f**king retarded“, and “PC is f**cking retarded.”  I was so mortified when I read the comments.  What in the hell is wrong with people?

Newsflash, you a**hole commenters on Politico, Huffpost, etc….  we don’t refrain from using the R-word because we’re being politically correct, we don’t use that word because we are decent, compassionate human beings (just like we haven’t stopped using the N-word because it’s politically incorrect, usage of that word became a big no-no long before the heyday of political correctness.)

Now, I’m literate, I understand that the word ‘retarded’ has a legitimate definition and use.  But I also realize that today’s professional organizations, medical groups, and psychiatric groups — by and large — try to avoid using that term because they recognize that it was long-ago co-opted by school yard bullies and other a**holes as a put-down, a word meant to taunt, torment, and inflict pain on human beings–often those inherently less-capable of defending themselves.  In every single encounter I have had with a professional since receiving Hope’s diagnosis, when that word has been used it has always–ALWAYS–been sandwiched between apologies….”I’m sorry, it’s the legal term…the legal classification…I wish they wouldn’t use it anymore.”  And I understand that, there was a time when the R-word was just that, a legal classification, a diagnosis — and reams of legislation and policies from bygone eras still exist with that terminology.  Someday, I’m sure that the word will be purged from those areas as well — because we understand that, unfortunately, it is a word we no longer safely own.)

I was 35 years old when Hope was born.  For 35 years I heard the word ‘retarded’ with a completely different set of ears.  But when it applies to your child — believe me — you can hear that word across a crowded room….and it stings.  And that, I suppose, is what people just don’t get.  It doesn’t matter that when you used the word you weren’t referring to a person but to an idea, what matters is that the image of somebody’s child is used to characterize that idea as flawed, horrible, and dumb.  The fact is, when you used that word, you weren’t diagnosing or classifying something in legal terms — you were drawing a picture of a human being, one apparently without dignity or feelings, and saying “it’s as bad as that.”  And I will admit, that as much as I like to think of myself as sensitive and compassionate, I have used that word to describe things….but I don’t anymore–because that word has a face for me…this one:

This is Hope, she is somebody’s child (mine), somebody’s sibling, granddaughter, niece, cousin, and friend.  We’re not asking you to be politically correct, we’re asking you to be decent — to take two extra seconds to think of another term to use when you’re disgusted or angry at someone or something, another word that makes the world just a little bit nicer, a little bit safer, and a little more understanding for her to grow up in.

(And if they can’t do that, they should just resign and/or shut the hell up and stay off the message boards.)

Signs you need to go back on the Zoloft

So…I quit taking my Zoloft.  Actually it kind of happened by accident, I just forgot to take it three nights in a row — and I didn’t even remember during the day that I had forgotten to take it the previous night.  When I realized I’d missed so many nights I was surprised that I hadn’t had any of the bizarre, withdrawal nightmares I usually do when I miss just one or two nights.  Well, I thought, maybe that’s a sign — so I stayed off of them.

I suppose that I didn’t choose the best time of the month for this little experiment, but no matter — I’m back on them now….though my first night back on did provide for an interesting night’s sleep.

I guess I should have known that I was overly grumpy — even for me — but I chalked that up to the fact that Grace has decided to spend her days personally tormenting my existence.  She’s out of control, always tweeking out on chapstick, and demanding to visit our friends uninvited.  I’ve resorted to using completely improbable threats to control the behavior.  This week, she watched the old Willy Wonka and the the Chocolate Factory movie with Gene Wilder — I’ve convinced her that girls who steal turn into blueberries that have to be popped with giant needles and girls who are always saying “I want” will be  thrown into the garbage chute.  I hope when she grows up she has good mental health coverage, she’s going to need it.

State of Mind

“WHEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!”

As I write this, Hope is toddling around the house yelling, “WHEEEEEEEE!!!”

First she was spinning in circles.  Now, mind you, she barely took her first steps two months ago and really only decided to walk exclusively in the last few weeks.  So she’s not exactly moving…well…fast.  In fact it took me a minute to figure out that she was “spinning,” as her circles were a little wide.  But she had the arm movements approximately right, and of course there was the “WHEEEEEEE!!!”

I think I could learn something from Hope on this.  I’ve been “jogging” since October, and I say “jogging,” because much of what I’ve done probably hasn’t really looked much like real jogging to anybody who was watching (which is why I try to run under the shroud of darkness).  Still, I have made progress — I went from doing 2 mile jog/walks (mostly walking) in 35 minutes to something that can actually be considered running.  Two days ago I ran 4.23 miles in a 12:37 mile.  No, it’s not fast — but my form is improving and I am enjoying myself a lot more.

But really, the fact that I am out there at all is worth celebrating.

WHEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!

oh bother…

It has become abundantly clear to me that my world, my life, and — not least of all — the size of my butt — is way too intertwined with food.  I’ve been on NutriSystem for one week and I am so pathetically depressed it’s not even funny.  It’s not the food, the food is fine — I want to eat all of it…right now.  But I haven’t — I’ve behaved, I had an extra protein today but that was really an accident — and it was tofu — so it’s not like I goofed with a double-double.

I knew I was a stress-eater, I knew I was an emotional eater, and to some extent I knew I ate out of boredom — but I didn’t realize just how freakishly boring I am until this past week.  I am going out of my freakin’ mind.  I didn’t realize how isolated/lonely I was until my BFF suddenly became off-limits.  Suddenly I get addiction — oh don’t get me wrong, I’m not going to put myself on par with someone spectacular like Tiger Woods or Courtney Love….but I think I “get” how addiction works a little better than I did last week at this time.  NutriSystem has pretty much cut me off from my life, there’s no going out to dinner, no stopping for lunch while I’m out, no donuts (for me anyway), and tonight when I went out at 10pm “to go to the bookstore” — I actually went to the bookstore and bought…..wait for it….books.

And not even cookbooks.  Books about vampires and the whiny little skanks that love them…..oh, and dog training.

I suppose it’s not entirely fair to just blame food, I also have an unhealthy relationship with the AppStore and Amazon.com too — hence my visit to an actual, physical, bookstore.  But I’m going to have to find a used bookstore pretty soon.  Replacing one addiction…or obsession?…..with another, is bound to get expensive.  Maybe I should start walking to the library, I’m sure that would be craploads of fun with two toddlers.

I’m hungry.  I want more cake.

But here’s the thing that really has me….what I’m feeling now, what I am experiencing as I try to break this dependency on food –is nothing….nothing….nothing….compared to what my daughter will have to live with her entire life and there isn’t a damn thing I can do about it.  And here I am moping and whining about how bummed I am that I have to exercise a little self-control.

Oh irony, you bitch.

So I’m taking book suggestions, please no romance novels — I think I’d rather be addicted to heroin.

Get in Gear for Hope

As you may (or may not) know, Tammy is an avid cyclist and within days of getting our PWS diagnosis for Hope we were already talking about maybe someday organizing a bike race or something to raise awareness for Prader-Willi Syndrome.  Well, that’s still a ways off — the support group we organized hasn’t even met since….I don’t know….last May?  I’ve been slacking — or hiding….probably hiding.

OK, definitely hiding.

Anyhoo, just because there’s no ride organized yet doesn’t mean we can’t raise some awareness!  With the help of a friend who is a graphic designer, Tammy worked with the good folks at PWSAUSA to design the Ride for Hope cycling kit.

Here she is with our good friend, Diana — sporting the kit.  Pretty sweet huh?  So far every time she’s ridden she’s been asked about it.  The company we purchased the kits from also does running and triathalon gear, as well as casual sportswear.  At the present time I don’t think the national organization is stocking any gear but if you’re interested, use the comments or contact form to let me know — we have to have a minimum of 10 pieces per order.

I’m looking forward to wearing a “Run for Hope” singlet this summer!

21 days

If you don’t like something, change it. If you can’t change it, change your attitude. Don’t complain. (Maya Angelou)

Could you go 21 days without complaining?  My pastor challenged us to do just that last Sunday in church.  She even gave us bracelets to remind ourselves (if we decided to take the challenge).  Each time we complain, we’re supposed to switch the bracelet from one arm to the other.  I haven’t had to move mine yet.  Because I am awesome.  It helps that only “spoken” complaints count and that, as Tammy has gone back to work today, I have no one to talk to all day except the kids who really don’t give a crap about my issues so I learned long ago not to trouble them with my business.

I don’t think I’m much of a complainer — out loud anyway.  I do complain a lot in my head though, and here on the blog — which is a big part of why I quit blogging for awhile.  I got tired of listening to myself.  So, I guess the challenge for me is as much, if not more, internal than external.  But the bracelet reminds me either way.

Shopping List

• Tabasco Sauce
• Tabasco Habanero Sauce
• Tabasco Green Pepper Sauce
• Tabasco Garlic Pepper Sauce
• Tabasco Chipotle Pepper Sauce
• Tabasco Sweet & Spicy Pepper Sauce

Praise the baby Jesus that Tabasco is allowed under the NutriSystem.

It all kind of tastes like baby food, or vomit.  I do like the whole meal-in-a-box-thing.  I’ve decided after I lose my 30 pounds I’m going to just live off of Lean Cuisine for the rest of my life.

It’s probably best not to argue with me on this, I’m on day 3 without real chocolate.  I might stab you.

Or eat you.

Seriously.

Should have seen it coming…

Remember this picture?

from this post, way back when?

Well, since then, Hope has gained — oh, I don’t know, about 3 pounds.

Guess how many I’ve gained?

Enough to lead to this….

For the record, the “Giant Book of Tofu” that managed to sneak into the frame isn’t for me, it’s for Hope — since she’s now apparently allergic to dairy and/or lactose intolerant, I’m brushing up on tofu recipes.

Grrrrrrr.

John’s Johns!

"Look Mommy!", says Grace, "Johnny's wearing panties!"

Have you seen my poodle?

Because he is AWESOME!!!

The aerodynamic poodle, designed specifically for running companionship.

The awesome-tastic "poohawk" reduces the effects of "poodle drag"

Johnny goes running with me (if you can call what I do “running” — it’s actually more of a “mom shuffle”), anyways — he needs to be aerodynamic so as to reduce the effects of “poodle drag”.

No really.

Oh alright, he enjoyed being a farm dog so much this past week that despite two baths in 4 days he was too matted.   I tried leaving some around his core, but my mom said he looked like a tampon walking on Q-Tips.  She’s so mean.

But I figured he at least deserved to have a rockin’ haircut if we had to do it.

The more things change…

princess goober

still a goober

Last year’s resolution:  Lose 20 pounds.

This year’s resolution:  Lose 30 pounds.  Yeah, I didn’t do so good on that one.  I probably lost ten, then gained twenty.  I’m a food junkie, Oprah should do a show on me.  I’m joining NutriSystem, my first package has already been shipped.
Last year’s resolution:  Have another baby or give up completely any thoughts of ever having another baby, and to be fine with either decision.

Well, my uterus is retired and I’m generally ok with that decision.  I’m 36 now and oddly comfortable with two little girls instead of the three little boys I imagined.  I have my moments of regret, but I gave the maternity clothes and newborn-12 month clothes away so there’s no going back….right?

This year’s resolution:  Run a half-marathon.  They’ll give me an epidural for that, won’t they?

What a difference a year makes….

Christmas 2008

Christmas 2009

I know, it’s been awhile.

I thought about doing a “Year in Review” — but honestly, I’d really rather not revisit where we’ve been this year so much as enjoy and focus on where we are, but I couldn’t help this little comparison.  Last year Hope was floppy and unable to sit up on her own, just beginning to engage with toys on her own, and not really vocalizing at all as far as I can remember.  This year at Christmas she is a walking, talking, little girl who  loves to play with her dolls and just got her very own kitchen.  Granted, a lot of this progress has occurred just in the last six weeks of this year…but still.

I don’t know if I’d say this year was easier than the last, certainly there were more triumphs — but life is still full of challenges and some days I handle the journey better than others.  For now I’ll just say that though I still have a long way to go in pulling myself together, I am enjoying having a new voice hollering “MOM!” to cheer me on.

Happy New Year!

Chronicity

Ugh, when did this become so hard?  It’s not like me to have writer’s block or any kind of verbal “block” for that matter — and believe me I am sure that there are many people who wish that weren’t the case.  The whole point of this blog was to be totally honest and uncensored.  It’s not that I don’t have anything to say as much as I really don’t want to write the same blog post over and over again.

My life feels less like a roller coaster than a ferris wheel.  I guess I should be grateful for that — life is not a series of herky-jerky ups, downs, twists, and turns anymore.  But I really hate the ferris wheel.  Just being trapped in that little cage in a seemingly endless cycle of up and down…how many times have we gone around now?

It feels like every single aspect of life has become a question of “is the glass half-full, or half-empty?”  I’m tired of having to make that decision over and over and over again.  For once I’d just like the glass to be unambiguously full…or empty, I really don’t care — I just don’t want to always have to make some kind of conscious decision over with what attitude I am going to approach minutiae like the breakfast menu.

Writer’s Block

I don’t know what to say.  I feel bad that I have been neglecting the blog and worse that the only time I’ve written lately has been when something upsetting has happened.  It’s not that life has become a sequence of upsetting incidents, it’s just “life” you know…boring, monotonous, routine.

But that’s not to say that there’s nothing to say.  Hope is 18 months old now, Grace is nearly 3 1/2.  Hope is pulling to a stand, thinking seriously about cruising, and added the word ‘no’ to her repertoire. She’s gaining weight, finally has the sippy cup mastered, but may be lactose intolerant or allergic to dairy or who knows what.  Grace is playing soccer, though “playing” is a very generous term for what she does.

I’m just stumped what to write about.  I blame Twitter.  I can only think in 140 characters anymore.