Last Thursday the 20th I drove over to the next county and picked up a puppy. Just when I felt like I was paying all my bills on time and flossing regularly I threw a puppy in the gears of the house and everything when sproinging and springing out of the box. I can't help but be reminded of my old dog, 'Wednesday', whom I received in October of... jeez maybe 1997? She looked just like this pup. Wednesday was a great dog. I needed a couple of years between her and this one to just be helpless mammal-less.
Lately though I'd been wishing I had someone to bark when the door bell rings, someone to walk the bike-path with me, someone to chew on my shoes. Then Dad came over and brought a friend's dog with him. My young son showed that big old lab around our house like he was royalty. "This is the hallway, this is the bathroom, this is my room... and if you ever spend the night you can sleep right here..." he said. It wound me up in such a way that I knew this boy who's brought a stuffed dog to school with him every day for three years, needed his own dog. My mind was set.
I made myself one promise, I'd not have a house that smelled like dog. So potty training is number one and this pup understood in the first two days where to go and what to do. She's super smart. we taught her stairs, we taught her to go in and out, we taught her how to walk on a leash, tomorrow we're going to teach her to sit. But she's a nipper. She's part border collie and that makes her want to herd things. Including children. We're working on it. I bought books. The kids are helping. She's learning, but her teeth itch and she wants to chew things and every cell in her body is saying run and steer. She can move a soccer ball around the yard like Pelé. My boy says he still loves her even though she chews his pants and his toys. So we're far from having lil' Pelé sleep over in his room, but we'll get there.
***
It's mid-October, the leaves are falling while the wind rustles the trees in the early afternoon. That sweet autumn smell is wafting in the open windows. Dinner is simmering. Both children are at the dining room table working on their homework, and chatting about funny things. Thomas is making tea. The puppy sleeping on her tuffet, rolls over and her fat little belly is exposed as she yawns. The Cubs are on their way to the world series and Hillary Clinton is up in the polls. I stand in the middle of the house sipping coffee and quietly soaking in all of these good things.
If you were trying to explain infinity to a six year old boy, you might say that it's the biggest number that goes on forever. You might say things like you love him infinity much. You could talk about walking around a circle or explaining how small things can be or how far space goes. Then you might hear him explain it back to you by expounding that if you farted two butts and those butts farted their own butts and those butts farted their own butts and it just kept going you would have infinity butt farts.
I haven't left the house in two days. It's glorious. I've been painting and illustrating and watching CNN. I'm at the end of the groceries and just stood in the kitchen figuring what I can still make without adding anything. I have dinner figured out but every day I but a cookie in the lunches of the people that leave the house and I'm out of cookies. We'll be going to karate class tonight and I'll run next door and buy some cookies and coffee, so briefly, for a bit this evening, I'll have to put on a bra and talk to people. The hard part about working from home though is that I'm never really off work and it's always looming there in the room wanting one more line one more swipe of the brush. Though I can go to work in my pajamas I'm still compelled to work after the day is done for just a few more minutes.
Why has no one invented a hand powered mulcher. Seems like it would have gears like crazy so you could really crunch up a good sized branch pretty quick. It'd fit right over a lawn bag and in really high gear you could have your kid crank the handle while you feed in the leafs and sticks. I found a few plans for building your own and I've seen a few reviews for "leaf shredders" that say they stink in general as they're always getting clogged up. But it just seems stupid to fill lawn bags with all this plant material and send it away with the truck once a week and then in the spring go out and buy mulch to replace the natural mulch we all just sent away. I get that it's not convenient to spread because it's not all chopped up into a uniform size... thus the mulcher, but I just want one less gas powered/electrical powered noise machine in the neighborhood. I'm an old fashioned rotary blade push lawn mower and rake kinda person. I did find one vintage shredder called a Rotocrop, but have not found a single one for sale in the whole world wide web. It's vexing.
The Bush administration erased millions of emails illegally sent by 22 administration officials through private, RNC-owned accounts, in order to thwart an investigation into the politically motivated firing of eight US attorneys.
Mitt Romney wiped servers, sold government hard drives to his closest aides and spent $100,000 in taxpayer money to destroy his administration’s emails.
Colin Powell intentionally bypassed federal record-keeping laws.
using his personal computer, hooked up to a private phone line to communicate without it going through the State Department servers, to do business with foreign leaders and senior folks in the Department on their personal email accounts.
I put a new front screen door on with the help of my brother who actually added two inches to both the top and bottom because I have insanely long doors. It's working out pretty well, but I need to order new screens as I don't care for the shape of the screen border on the one I have for it. This makes me feel persnickety - but it's not very often I insist on spending extra money so something can be just how I like it. I'm pretty thrifty and usually if a thing works and sorta fits in I use it. This is how I ended up with mismatched cabinets in the kitchen all painted white. I like them, they're all at differing heights and each one has a good use.
I want to remodel the bathroom. I know I'll have to hire plumbers and electricians and carpenters and tilers. I want to hire a general contractor and just write a check and come home to a new enlarged bathroom but I'm thrifty and coordinating people is something I'm sorta great at. So there will be permits and a full gutting and a wall coming down a reinforcement of the floor to hold an iron and enamel vintage claw footed tub filled with water and I know the project is going to be over budget by 30%. I haven't saved up enough and financing it scares me. I have enough for a new car or a bathroom but not both. In the mean time the current bathroom and the current (paid for) car are just fine, so I'm just in stasis wishing for a washer and dryer in my bathroom.
I still haven't painted a single wall in my house. They're all white. I just can't commit and I have so much artwork and chotchkies, that if the wall was any darker you'd feel like you were living in a little hollowed out portion of a hoard of books and art and music and toys and art supplies.That's not really the case... well just before big art show deadline it can be, but I can't stand clutter and so it's opposed to what I'm trying for. I went to visit the Frank Lloyd Wright - Laurent House here in town last week and got all bummed out about my very full clutter place. In an effort to be uncluttered, I haven't much in my own bedroom, but how this really translates is my room looks like a college student lives here. A mattress on the floor, a dresser, a pile of books next to the bed and clothes flung in all directions. I should at the least get my own nest in order for good sleepings. Maybe after Fall Art Scene, I'll paint a wall.
Last night, smack dab in the middle of a really great, cool crisp September air, fluffy down comforter, whole bed to myself sleep, I was immediately awakened by five sharp and very loud knocks on the door. I laid there for several moments listening to the neighborhood through the open 2nd story window contemplating whether I should get up to investigate or just go back to sleep. My front porch light is always on and I wondered if someone was looking for help in the middle of the night. I heard the usual crickets and nothing else. No wind. No steps on the wooden front porch. No more knocks. No voices. I chalked it up to one of those loud noises that I hear in the night sometimes just before I fall asleep and sometimes right before I wake. Like an auditory hallucination along the lines of feeling like you're falling before you sleep. One time it was someone yelling "HEY!" right in my ear, another time it was an explosion, another sounded like either an earthquake or a truck hitting the house. All episode are followed by utter silence proving to my sleepy self - nobody else hears it, not the dogs on the block, not the crickets, and certainly nobody else in the house.
This morning I looked out onto the front porch and made sure everything as it was yesterday. It was. I decided I ask the internet and about loud knocks in the night and to my dismay the hoodoo is that it's a "death knock". I clicked the link and read three loud knocks in the night are a harbinger of death. Nah, I had five knocks and it didn't seems scary when it happened outside of laying wide awake in bed and having a lot to do today. So I moved on looking for something far more scientific. There's a thing called "Exploding Head Syndrome" in which folks hear an extremely loud noise just before falling asleep or just before waking. The causal theories include small frontal lobe seizure and involuntary movements of the inner ear. I always thought it was an auditory hallucination but either way I was happy to see the phenomenon addressed scientifically. I was excited to read that people who have this happen also complain of their body jerking before falling asleep, restless leg syndrome, insomnia, and a feeling of the entire bed vibrating - all of which I have! So hey all the sleep oddities killed with one stone.
The cure? less stress, yoga, meditation, clomipramine (an older class of tricyclic antidepressant used for narcolepsy.) I don't know about you but just knowing it's a thing and not having to read about ghosts and dead relatives and demons makes me less stressed out to begin with. I think I have to get a dog and then if I hear things and the dog isn't barking I can save a few seconds of laying in bed wondering before stop caring and go back to sleep... or this is a thinly veiled attempt at justifying getting a puppy!
When school starts I'm going to schedule three days of nothing. I'm sure those days will quickly fill with leftover school supplies that are needed and a hundred hours of cleaning summer out of the cracks of the couch and finding moldy swim trunks from behind doors. I will most certainly not have all the electronics that can possibly make noise tuned into to various cartoons and shouty commercial programming.
***
These last two weeks we're trying to fit ALL THE THINGS in. We'll have three concerts including two performances by the kid and one where we just get wear earplugs and scream and cheer at Weird Al. We have a ghost tour, a solo art show, a camping trip, a Pow Wow, a Pokemon walking tour, school supply shopping, two doctors appointments and a dental appointment, three birthday parties and at the very least one sleep over and we still haven't used the free water park or Six Flags passes. Did you get tired just reading all that?
***
I gave in and turned the AC on tonight. It's not super hot it's just humid, it's hard to move through the air, it feels like there are velvety curtains to push through all the time, everywhere you go. At night the sheet feel like they came out of the dryer 15 minutes too early and I'm perpetually flipping the pillow to the cool side.
Life is moving too fast. I think this every summer but it's super true this summer. I've got a solo art show up and I'm teaching two classes and adding a third in August in addition to another solo show at a different place and of course getting ready for art scene and working on layout and cover for another book! We just finished the last one in June. I still haven't sent out all the copies of it. The summer is half done and I just put the air conditioners in the windows for the first time last week. I can't even dedicate the proper amount of time to blogging about any of these things because there are soo many.
***
I took everyone to the Ren Fest and sword fighting has taken priority at out house. It's awesome. I'm inspired to try to find a fencing class but then I remembered I'd much rather find a belly dancing class and then I remembered that I barely have any time already and what the hell am I thinking. Also I'm thinking about getting a puppy because I don't feel busy enough and all the mammals at my house are no longer helpless and so I thought I'd add one. (sarcasm! wooo!)
***
Totally going to see Ghost Busters tomorrow night.
***
The statistics are this - one in five women will be sexually assaulted in her lifetime. Why do we spout this statistic putting the emphasis on the victim instead of saying one in sixteen men is a rapist, or that one in three men would rape if they knew they could get away with it? So after this statistic is repeated we can all look around the room and try to figure out who's perpetrating instead of who the poor victim is. It's time to shift the focus.
***
I love Hillary Clinton. I'll vote for her. I'll work for her if she needs me in IL or WI. This isn't open for debate. My choice is made.
***
I want a puppy this fall. One who is middle sized, smart, dark fur that doesn't shed, barky but not bitey, likes to mostly hang out laying around on the floor, one who's ears stand up and are pointy and has a long tail. I want this dream puppy to be super cute and be a rescue.
"How do dinosaurs drink milk? Do they use a straw?"
"If you had a ballet sandwich in your lunchbox, then you can't eat it. You have to watch it dance." -Jack age 511⁄12
I was out of town last Wednesday. It was garbage day and the cans sat in the garage and grew things. Tonight when I put the garbage out I wore gloves so nothing squirmy could even get close to getting any squirm on me and when I was done dragging two weeks of garbage to the curb like it was uranium slime, I threw the gloves in the can, in front of my new neighbors, who now likely think I'm some sort of weirdo. No words were exchanged.
When I'm trying to lift myself up, I find it useful to do things I think I'm good at. I usually skate (if the weather is good) and I paint and then I clean house and usually by that time I'm feeling pretty cheery.
Twelve Other Things I'm good at:
-Driving
-Cake decorating
-Finding cool and valuable things at the resale shop
-Reading out loud
-Making lists about myself
-Taking snap shots
-Singing pop music in a silly way in the car
-Yelling
-Errands
-Stacking things into a tight space (closet, trunk, grocery bag, Tetris)
-Playing Atari's Break Out
-Remembering colors
***
I almost never talk about the kids anymore on the blog. I'm trying to give them some privacy and not treat them as an extension of myself so much. They aren't here for me to necessarily blog about, it's not my place to tell their stores... in fact my one child has her own blog and barely writes anything about herself, indicating some stories she just wants to keep to herself. When they were young - this was a little bit of a baby book for me and them and the public (weird right?!) but they're getting big and they often ask me NOT to put things on the internet and so.
***
I can talk about Thomas though. I haven't figured out what is appropriate to say yet. I guess first of all he has several blogs that should you want to know about him, you could read yourself. How he fits into the family unit still feels pretty private as it's utterly possible my previous husband and maybe his new partner could read the blog... or maybe not... I really don't know. I try not to talk about how great life is and how happy I am in a way that would make my ex feel bad about it and so there's that. Lastly sometimes it feels like bad luck to talk about how utterly happy you are when you are. That all said, he mentions my name when blogging and so I feel like it's important to write his here. Thomas.
My partner Thomas and I went to New Orleans at the beginning of the summer while the kids visited their dad. It was odd to be able to walk out the door together without going through when we'd be home, where we were going, and how to reach us 'just in case'. It was odd for me and Thomas to go on a date like regular single people would. It was fun and freeing and after a few days we started talking about the kids and the silly little things they ask for and do in a day. We missed them. We still did our best to do all the things we wanted to do in a strange city and I think next time the kids go visit their Dad, we'll get out of town again and see another city.
***
I am obsessed with Cauliflower. It's so tasty. I could have it fried and baked or in a soup every day forever.
***
I felt like I should say one more thing after talking about Thomas to make is seem all very nonchalant and I was overcome by the need to profess my love for Cauliflower. Now looking backwards (just up there) Cauliflower seems stupid and silly but now I'll leave it. So there.
Jeepers, I didn't post anything in May. I suppose it's just been super busy around here with the end of the school year and a vacation as well as three huge projects wrapped up yesterday. The news and this election is draining me. I'm actively trying to tune it out a little more than usual. I'm not in any way advocating apathy, but I physically can't walk around mad at the world and in disbelief about the rift I feel between the two opposing opinions all the time. Sometimes I wonder how we are all going to be able to actually cope with living next to each other with such diametrically opposed views, it just feels irreconcilable these days. I'm trying to limit it to a little NPR in the morning and a little Maddow in the eve but of course I'm on the internet reading all day. I'm genuinely surprised when I find out someone I like (but don't really know very well yet) is on the other side. I try to justify and see why they think what they do and lately it's getting harder and harder. I just can't reason it out in my mind.
I know it's dangerous to see things so one sided. I know it's good to be pliable and accept a compromise, I just don't think I can this election cycle. The differences feel too great.
Civil rights are human rights.
Violence is bad.
Help people who ask.
This doesn't seem like things that should ever be up for debate.
.
I took the day off work and we went to the beach today. I opted for no sunscreen on my legs and cheerfully laid myself out basking in the sun while the kids buried themselves in sand and splashed in the cold lake water. I didn't bring my phone down, for fear of sand in the cracks and so when it seemed like we'd been there awhile I flipped over and pinked up the back of my legs about as equally as the front. Then it seemed, all at once, we were all starving so we left and went to McDonalds.
I never figured out people who bring their whole living room out to the beach. The chairs, the electronics, the snack cooler, the drink cooler, the entire medicine chest with all the sunscreens, the beach blanket, the towels, the flippers and flotations and goggles, the life-jackets and pails and shovels and squirt toys and sand toys and it takes three trips to the car to get it all down there. Then there's the preparation of the children, taking a full half hour to apply all the things to the kids before one drop of water has even reached a toe. I just don't have that kid of time or patience, plus the sand is hot and I like to get my feet into that water right away.
Today, I watched a mom apply sunscreen, then a swim shirt and a life-jacket, swim wings, water shoes, and a hat to her four year old son. He looked like a kid in a snow suit who couldn't put his arms down waddling out into three inches of cold lake water before his mom screeched "Your goggles!" He turned and waddled back and when she stretched the rubber ribbon over his head and let the goggles snap back into his face with a smack noise, I held in a sinful giggle and was glad for the camouflage of my big sunglasses . The kid plopped down on the beach and cried about his face, rightfully so, it sounded like it hurt. I secretly wished his mom would calm the hell down before grabbing my towel and one sunscreen and yelling to the kids it was time to go. They put their flip flops on and we went out to the car where I showed them how to hold up a towel in between the car doors for each other while one brushes the sand of their bum and gets dry unders on.
It all made me feel smug and free and easy. We seemed like the cool kids on the beach, aloof and un-tethered, squatting to check out the soft-shelled turtles and roughhousing with each other. I didn't take a single picture. Not a single "cheese" was uttered until I asked for some on my burger at McDonalds later... and yet here I sit recording the events of the day. sigh.
About Allen Clifton: Allen Clifton is a native Texan who now lives in the Austin area. He has a degree in Political Science from Sam Houston State University. Allen is a co-founder of Forward Progressives and creator of the popular Right Off A Cliff column and Facebook page. Be sure to follow Allen on both Twitter and Facebook. Have feedback, inquiries, criticism or hate mail? You can email him as well.
Read more at: http://www.forwardprogressives.com/author/allen-clifton/
The following comments are from Allen Clifton's Facebook page:
"Once
again, I am not anti-Sanders. Though I know it clearly sounds like I
am.
But
hypocrisy is a huge pet peeve of mine and there's been a ton of it
from his campaign and his supporters.
He
walks on water and can do no wrong - ever, while she's basically
Satan who's held to a standard unlike any other candidate in
political history. Every single thing she's said or done is held
against her without the slightest bit of context linked to it. Hell,
even things her husband or President Obama has done SHE'S the one
who's blamed for them.
Meanwhile,
Sanders has several questionable votes on his record - but, eh, who
cares? He voted for those things so he clearly has his reasons.
Bernie never lies - he's the greatest human being who's ever lived...
ever, ever.
He's
a once-in-a-lifetime candidate!!
Here's
the FACTS: He's a career politician who Politifact proves lies just
about as often as Hillary Clinton, who's benefitted from being a
political figure in a very tiny state where constituents don't really
demand much from you.
Bernie
Sanders would never be "Bernie Sanders" if he were a
politician from New York, California, Florida or any number of other
states where elected leaders are forced to make very difficult
decisions.
He's
benefitted from the fact that, in Vermont, you're dealing with a
state the size of most mid-sized cities.
I
live in Austin, TX - a city (not including the surrounding suburbs)
that has over 250k more people than the entire state of Vermont - ONE
CITY.
And
if you don't think that benefits him immensely to say and do
things others wouldn't be able to, you really need to learn a whole
lot more about politics." - Allen
Clifton
***
"Bernie
Sanders is not all that much different than Donald Trump. By that I
mean both candidates say (and endlessly repeat) their go-to talking
points - then offer almost no real specifics as to how they plan to
do any of it.
Then
if you provide studies that debunk what they want to do, they simply
cite their own findings (clearly biased findings) to dispute anyone
who says their plans are unrealistic.
They
complain about the same things: The establishment, the media, money
in politics and claim that there's some mystical entity trying to
"sabotage" their campaign. They also tend to try to
discredit states that vote against them. To say nothing about their
sudden whining about the primary rules they knew about going into
this campaign.
And
have you noticed how Sanders will NEVER apologize or say anything he
voted on was wrong? Hmm, very Trump-like, isn't it?
Even
when he was busted trying to "quote-unquote" Hillary
Clinton during the "unqualified dust-up" - he admitted that
he ASSUMED that statement based off a HEADLINE - and still never
apologized for saying she claimed he wasn't qualified.
Break
up the banks? Okay - how? Uh, well, you break them up - that's
how.
How
do you plan to pay for all of this? By my modest tax increases on the
middle class and larger ones on the rich!
Well,
then how come in Europe, taxes on the middle class are much higher
than your promising? Uh, well, we need to catch up with the rest of
the modernized world!
How
do you plan to pass any of these big promises? A political
revolution!
Well,
sir, voter turnout is down and you're behind 2.4 million votes. Uh,
um, political revolution! We won Utah, Wyoming and Idaho by YUGE
margins - but those big wins by Clinton in the South don't
count.
I'll
be so glad when this is over. It's no wonder he's largely supported
by young people who've probably been really emotionally involved in
politics since a hashtag told them they needed to be.
I
don't dislike the man, but the hypocrisy I see coming from his
campaign is absurd.
Even
tonight, after MONTHS of trying to paint Hillary Clinton as a shill
for Wall Street, he couldn't name a single vote in her Senate career
where she favored the big banks.
Not.One.Single.Vote.
One
would think a candidate who's spent so much time undermining her
integrity would know her voting record pertaining to Wall Street up
and down. Yet, he couldn't name a single thing.
Oh,
but speech transcripts!
Who
gives a damn? I'm sure she wrote a speech geared to tell them exactly
what they wanted. President Obama took millions from Wall Street and
passed Dodd-Frank. Though that apparently doesn't seem to matter. Why
should it? It doesn't fit the "Clinton is the devil"
narrative being pushed by the Sanders acolytes.
When
it comes to these pro-Sanders radicals, they don't care one bit about
the facts. They want to hate Clinton, cheer for him and reality
doesn't matter one damn bit.
A
supporter of Sanders basically called Clinton a "Wall Street
whore." Well, if a Trump surrogate said that, we would be losing
our minds over how that kind of language is linked to Trump's
attitude.
Well,
I'm sorry, Sanders' rhetoric against Clinton has basically been
calling her exactly what that person said for months. Has he said
those words directly? No - but it's clear that person felt
comfortable enough to say it based on the attitude Sanders has
displayed towards Clinton.
Who
won tonight's debate? Clinton. Why? Because when Sanders was asked to
name ONE thing Clinton voted on to favor Wall Street - he couldn't do
it. And if you've made a massive part of your campaign how "much
of a sellout to Wall Street my opponent is," yet you can't name
a single thing she voted on that favored Wall Street, you lose the
debate.
I
hope Clinton wins by 10+ points Tuesday just to put an end to this
primary. It's already pretty much over, but apparently math and
reality doesn't matter.
Facts:
Clinton is up over 200 delegates and around 2.4 million votes. SHE is
the candidate "the people" want." - Allen Clifton
I gave Jack a bath last night because kindergarten pictures are today. He went to bed with wet hair. This morning he looked like a fresh young shiny haired chicken. So, I re-wet it but just before he went out the door I realized his bangs were hanging in his eye and got the scissors. I did a one snip trim of the bangs before he asked for a winter cap and we headed to the bus. This could go two ways: cute, fresh, shiny, kindergartner or chicken head with crooked bangs and chocolate on his face. yay me.
*2:30 update:
Soooo, I was just informed by my adorable kindergartner, the plain blue t-shirt I dressed him in today was the same color as the blue screen they use behind the kids, and the photo taken today looked like a mysterious floating Jack head. These pics may be even more epic than last year**
**Last year's photo: Jack is in the front on the far right.
I have this headache and when I tug on my ear it feels better.
When I pinch my eyebrow it feels better. While tilting my head all the way to the right, I yawn, and it feels better. I can twist my arm back behind me as far as it goes and it feels better. If I sit on the chair in front of someone and have them stab the spot at the end on my shoulder-blade with their thumb, it feels better. I can't very well go walking around town pinching and yawning and stretching and getting stabbed with a thumb, so I took a pill and a nap. My head still hurts.
I like this day where it's warming up and the snow is sort of melty and the air as all humid and slushy.
Instant coffee all morning.
Cheese.
New (to me) coat from the boy's department at the resale shop is cozy and looks totally cute with my snow pants and slushy snow boots.
Junky tv shows like Bar Rescue and Project Runway Jr.
Misspelled notes from a Kindergartner.
Pretzels and beer.
When I am sitting at karate next to another parent and I say "Did you have The TALK, yet?" we aren't referring to sex. The hard conversation we don't know how to approach is what to tell our kids about police.
The children are pre-teens and some of them are tall. They are awkward and rowdy, able to haul garbage cans to and from the curb and maybe even take the city bus around town on their own soon, certainly big enough to take a dollar into the gas station for candy. These cute round faced children who are thinning out and tripping on their feet will drive soon. We have an egalitarian household where we don't bark orders and one can argue a point for weeks, but I fear there is one realm where irritability and defiance (two qualities pre-teens have in aces) can get you killed. Where being a petulant punk who's not so round-faced and small, can get you tackled and handcuffed or worse. In these United States we're tasering eight year old children, using pepper spray in schools, and shooting twelve year olds on the playground.
I'm not sure what to say about it to my child who sometimes still believes in the tooth-fairy and is afraid to read Harry Potter before bed, but is big enough to steal my hoodies and flip-flops. What do I say to the kid about officer friendly? I've got a rambunctious boy who's deaf in one ear and has a panache for running around pretending he's shooting bad guys. What do I tell him? Do I talk to him about it the same time all the magic of Santa Clause dissolve into the realities of the 5 o'clock news? Exactly how tall does he have to be before he's considered a "possible threat?"
Yeah, this is the discourse I don't have an after-school special for, no pamphlet on how to discuss, no first lady to tell us what to shout. This is the talk that is hardest, because friends and relatives we love wear a blue uniform, because we teeter between just cooperate and 'am I being detained? Am I free to go?' ourselves. And while each parent's 'birds and the bees' lecture is slightly different than the next, I certainly don't want to be the 'abstinence only so we aren't talking about it at all' parent.
When the alarm sounded there was rain and the sun wasn't yet up. I lost the remote and couldn't put Sponge Bob on and so there was no commercial break to tell us to leave on time. A new lunch box had to be located to replace the forgotten one and a cruddier choice of drink bottle will substitute for the one that doesn't leak all over in the backpack. The bus driver was sick and some stranger was driving an odd bus this morning and though the route number in the window was correct, I couldn't help but worry what would happen if he dropped all those little kids off at the wrong school. Perhaps a high school, where all the gang members who eat kindergartners go. Back home I shook off the early morning and set to work inserting a sliver into my left index finger while re-cutting the long side of a canvas whose gesso I am watching dry.
Next week I'm going to take myself to lunch and a movie. I've not done it in decades. Someone is always with me. But after two weeks of art shows and Christmas parties I feel like I need a whole day of not talking to anyone, not sharing anything and making zero compromises. I bet to some people, the fact that I have to designate a day to do that seems alien and ridiculous to them. What a thing.
If I had a restaurant I'd make all the breads from scratch. Pumpernickel and wheat, sour dough and honey, flax and oat, bleached white and brown sugared, then we'd slice them thick and make toasts topped with jellies, jams, and/or different nut butters, local honeys or marshmallows. We'd also serve grilled cheeses with as many kinds of tasty cheese as you can think of with fresh avocados or tomatoes or apples and other neat fruits and vegetables. We'd grill them up and odd combinations of them along side jellies and and at night we'd serve soup with the toasts or the grilled cheeses. We'd have chicken soup, french onion and a very nice tomato locally sourced and from scratch. You'd be able to order anything from just a slice of toast to a sampler plate of all the fun things. And that'd be pretty much it. That's the whole menu. Toast, Grilled Cheese, Soup.
-instant coffee
-banana bread
-roller skating so fast I can barely breath
-sunrises
-answers
-vintage fairy tales
-warm socks that only go up just past my ankles soze I can wear them with skinny jeans
saying "soze"
-websites that don't make one click for each new number on their really incredible list of amazing things that will blow my mind to see (I never make it past three clicks)
-instagram (thanks Ajax!)
-tall brooding poets
-this song (always a sucker for clapping in a song)
I have tax questions and scoured my brain for anyone I know that can come over and have a beer with me and answer hypothetical tax questions. Like "What if I gave clothes that I embroidered to Goodwill? Do I deduct the price of the jeans or the price of the jeans plus the million dollars they are clearly worth after my bleeding fingers were done putting little kitty whiskers on the knees? " and "Am I supposed to pay taxes on tooth fairy money?" But seriously folks, I have questions.
Turns out all I know is artists, beatniks, movie directors and musicians. All my tax accountant friends moved to warmer saner climates (Hi Tracy!) So this also means most of my pals have some sort of show going on just about every weekend, we are almost always selling something on social media as well as trying to oh so subtly yell "LOOK AT THIS STUFF I DO! NOW GIVE ME SOME MONEY!" Some of us have a hard time reconciling what we do, with getting paid. It's never enough, but also it's too much! On any given day my emotions about my work swing from "I'd do this stuff anyway. Here, I just want you to have it." all the way to "I am amazing and I should be getting paid a bazillion dollars for this shiz! Who wants to represent me?!" Which illustrates how bad we are with financials.
I'm making an appointment at a square office today. I'm going to pay someone to answer my questions about sparkly beatnik money. I wonder if they'll let me pay with art?
It's unusually warm this November. I'm told because of El Nino. We're under a tornado watch and there's distant thunder happening right now as the 60mph gusts and the thunder storm we know are coming blow in. It's unsettling. I'm talking about the weather because everything else seems so 'regular' that I don't have much to say. But now that I sat still and looked off into the lower left distance for a minute, I remembered that I wanted to say something about the lovely chicken salad sandwich I had at the Fatt Cat Cafe Rockton, IL yesterday. It was on a very buttery croissant roll and it had fruit in it. I ate the entire thing and the whole cup of soup they brought with it. I wanted to eat more, they have desserts and that was the whole reason I went, but there just wasn't room. They had a bread pudding. I swore I'd come back later in the week for coffee and bread pudding.
At 11:30am today, someone was shot on middle school grounds in my city. The injured kid was then pulled into the school and a lock down ensued. My kindergartner has practiced a hard lock-down more times than a tornado drill. I remember three kids from my own childhood had gun 'accidents', more than anyone hurt playing with matches, talking to strangers, or experimenting with drugs.
I stubbed my toe three times today. The same toe. And it's not even like my toe grew and I don't know how to use it all of a sudden. It's still a regular toe, it just hurts now.
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I've been posting some art and stuff to Instagram.
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I cleaned out the front hallway closet and the entry way to make way for winter junk. Spent a lot of time matching gloves and emptying the hall bench of hats. I don't know why I have 28 baseball hats, I've never bought a one (with the exception of the Superman one I bought for Jack at Metropolis.) Maybe they're like TV's or Stephen King books, they just appear. If you don't have one, someone will incredulously insist you take one from them, there are three of them on the curb right now a block from here you can walk down there and get one.
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We're having guests this weekend and I suddenly feel like we don't have any guest pillows in the house. I need someone to incredulously thrust some wayward new pillows into my possession. Do people still put the guests towels out? Is it possible for people with children to even have nice towels? I'm forgoing the nice towels and spending the money on Mrs. Fischer's local potato chips and booze instead. That's more like the kind bed and breakfast I'd run. You get crappy towels but we make a good martini and then you no longer care about the scrabbly terry-cloth parts hanging down past your knees after you get out of the shower. We're all that and a bag o chips!
I'm watching this video make the rounds on Facebook today, in which a self taught sculptor is carving caves out of sandstone in New Mexico with his hand tools. The man's art is amazing. The reporter makes sure to tell viewers he only makes $12.00/hour and his custom livable art homes sell for a million dollars.
I've been skating the bike-path almost every day it doesn't rain and even once when it did. It's 4.5 miles-ish and it's taking me about a half hour. I enjoy looking at the river and seeing how the waves are. Some mornings it seems to barely move, it's all reflective and glassy. Other days there are waves and I know going into the wind is going to be difficult. It'll feel like I'm a giant kite battling the wind with my legs and I'll hear my heart beating in my ears on those days. I'm enjoying seeing the sames sorts of people each day. There's the regular runners with workout gear and headphones moving on down the road. There are the walkers in business attire and tennis shoes on lunch/break gabbing with each other in pairs and threes. There are the new mom's looking frazzled strollering and pulling and adjusting their clothes uncomfortably. There's a dog who always barks at my skates and at the other end of the leash a pet owner who looks surprised by the outburst. There are the fishermen/women sitting in folding chairs and pop-up tent shades along the banks, they smoke and have some sort of game their listening to and a five gallon bucket for the catch of the day. There is usually a biker looking seriously stoic under a helmet going by in a gust. Then there's me, wearing all of my derby pads because if I fail to jump or dodge an erratic goose and I it takes me out, it'd be a long sore embarrassing walk home covered in scrapes and goose feathers. I'm swish swishing along red faced, sweating and listening to Proud Mary, the Tina version of course.
I have a really hard time not poking the bear. Especially when I'm right, even though I know the bear bites and has crazy huge teeth. It's a life lesson that is hard to adhere to. Sometimes it is important to stand up and fight and sometimes it doesn't really matter to anyone but me, but every time feels like the most important time to me. I lie awake at night obsessing about the perfect stick I could use for poking the bear and even wondering how small of a stick I can get away with before the bear notices me back there jabbing away. Or what will the bear do if I accidentally drop the stick and it rolls down the hill and bounces off a rock flipping through the air landing pointy side down on it's butt?! I take specific delight in watching other people poke the same bear and then getting eaten, followed by congratulating myself for not picking up the trivial-stick at all. What the hell?!
DISCLAIMER: This is seriously long and probably boring to you unless you've been on this particular roller coaster and want to read someone else's story. It's like a birth story that way, you don't really care about until you care about it and then you want to read everything you can about such things.
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I was on a very low dose of Synthroid while I was pregnant. My pregnancy was high risk. I was over 35, had miscarried twice and was on a bunch of hormones and the like to keep things on track. The generic made me itch, and Synthroid didn't- so I was on it. I went off about a month after the baby was born.
Two years later my doc found a goiter and put me back on it. She said if I took the Synthroid the goiter wouldn't grow and turn into cancer and I'd have more energy, probably loose weight, my dry skin would get better (I am a lotion addict) and my life wouldn't feel stretched so thin all the time. Those seemed like wonderful things to fix with an easy pill, plus no-cancer! So I set my alarm at 4am every day and woke from a dead sleep to a tiny round tablet then back to dreamland while the Synthroid flowed through my body re-regulating everything. Finding the right dosage was a slow dance of giving blood every three months and readjusting.
Sure enough I had a burst of energy at first and seemed super happy, then I gained weight and got tired. I told the doc and she ordered labs and upped the dosage, wash, rinse, replete until I had gone from the very lowest dosage to the very averagest of dosages. Over the next two years each time I went in I'd report another symptom or two; I was running/skating 15 miles a week and couldn't loose any weight, I had super dry skin, maybe brain fog, maybe irritability, maybe nervouse like I forgot something, crying at the drop of a sappy commercial, joint pain in my feet. Each time I was met with (in hindsight) a dismissive response;
"Your hypothyroidism will cause that, we'll adjust the dosage and see if we can get you on the right track."
"Well, you are in your 40s now and loosing weight is tougher. Here's an app you should use and track everything you eat"
"You should start walking instead of running, you have to let plantar fasciitis rest and heal."
"Take biotin for thinning hair and weak nails."
The symptoms continued to pile on and worsen, me and the doc talked about life stress - Yes, I was in the middle of negotiating a divorce and raising two kids, buying a house, starting a business and adjusting to a new city. Stress can be horrible on a body. Applied at length, it can cause your body to attack it's own thyroid. This seemed to make sense to me. Instead of upping the dosage again I decided to try to de-stress. I started deep breathing, I put my business on the back burner, I made lists of things that are relaxing, I took note of when my mind was quiet. I let things go, dishes pile up, laundry go unfolded.
The brain fog, the over emotional reactions, the weight gain were all still there. The ritual offering of blood to The Lab continued - and the thing that made me absolutely panic, my hair, wasn't really recovering. Trying to grow my bangs out was taking a year not just a few months.
I doubled down on de-stressing, made an appointment with an endocrinologist (six weeks out) and gave more blood to the lab. This is when my insurance changed and I had to prove I was allergic to the generic. So I switched to Levothyroxine and itched all over my whole body, then I switched to Levoxyl and itched again - even inside my ears! I started paying for Synthroid out of pocket switching pharmacies every month to get the free $25.00 for switching. $50.00 every month was getting expensive. I finally saw the specialist and she was alarmed to find the goiter had grown. A lot. I scheduled an ultrasound and another biopsy. I spent two weeks steeped in extra stress about cancer and extra stress about the extra stress. I read everything on the internet about the four types of thyroid cancer and made a list of questions for each specialist. It was a mess of insurance red tape, worry, and bad sleep.
The biopsy was benign. Thankfully.
My specialist ordered the highest dose of Synthroid I'd ever taken and more labs, then an odd thing happened - the name brand also made me itch. It made my gums itch. I'm sure I looked like a tweaker, scratching and twitching and brushing my teeth as often as I could - drinking water non-stop. The Endo wondered if I was allergic to the die they put in the higher dosage and we talked about maybe taking two pills of a lower dosage... then it occurred to me...
WHY AM I TAKING THIS?
Originally I'd never had a single symptom of hypothyroidism. I was put on it to stop the goiter from growing and it grew anyway.
WHY AM I TAKING THIS?
My family full of thin, hyper, stoic, carb eating Italians, who have always had a thick head of black hair far into their 80s had never had any hormone issues. I was sitting in a specialist's office pudgy, tired, irritable about having given up toast, crying that my hair was falling out, growing a goiter and trying to figure out why my body wouldn't cooperate with these meds.
I asked the specialist the single most important thing I've said in the last month...
"What if I didn't take anything?"
I've been off for 3 1/2 weeks. I have to go get labs next week and of course we're monitoring the dreaded-goiter situation. She warned that I may get tired or gain weight and that if my symptoms got really bad we could try Armour Thyroid tablets (A natural med made from pigs and less reliable in the dosage measurements and so less prescribed.) For the first few days I monitored everything including my pulse. I felt confident in giving it a try and monitoring how I felt.
How I feel after 25 days:
-I feel freaking great.
-Of course I stopped itching.
-I have energy.
-My pulse and blood pressure are way down.
-I'm more patient.
-I'm making less lists.
-I can handle multi-tasking again with lots of background noise.
-My joint pain is gone.
-Having a hard time sitting still (hyper just like old times.)
-Jumpy legs at night again.
-No sneezing hay-fever or snotty head.
-I look forward to skating/running/walking - its fun!
and some unexpected things happened:
-I stopped using my inhaler for the asthma I was diagnosed with about two years ago (the same time I started thyroid therapy.)
-I have more spit in my mouth than I ever remember having - like I could spit on the ground RIGHT NOW an not even have to save it up for a minute first!
-I find things funner and funnier than I did before. The same old corny jokes and dancy antics we have around the house are super entertaining to me again.
-I'm not starving for toast all the time.
-My hands and feet are cold again - all the time.
-My skin cleared up and seems more elastic
-My face seems less puffy.
Some weirdo things that maybe happened - not sure yet:
-I'm wearing silicon contacts today - I thought I'd give them a try and see if they make my eyes itch as badly as they did last summer (I already paid for a month and couldn't use them because of the itching) and they seem just fine.
-I feel less like I'm hanging around above my body with a detached head as an annoyed observer and more like I'm in my body participating in life.
-Whole bits of vocabulary are making their way back into my brain.
-I'm finding life interesting again. Like I suddenly wish I had a good book to read, I am painting more and HELLO BLOG!
When I was first diagnosed I spent hours reading about Hashimoto's and pregnancy and cancers. I devoured everything I could find and especially liked first hand accounts and blog entries that talked about symptoms and dosages. This is my account. Most of the symptoms I listed as better are things that would be better after alleviating a hypothroid situation. Not the opposite. However, it seems taking a dosage not really needed was actually causing my thyroid to under-perform making my symptoms even worse and my number to progressively worsen. Continually upping the dosage was creating a circular problem. I don't really know for sure - I could still be wrong, I have a few more days of 'detox' before I see if I crash into bed an exhausted mess, but right now that seems very unlikely.
What I gathered from years of reading, is that this isn't an exact science yet - it can take years of adjusting to get people where they need to be and most of the symptoms are also symptoms of life and natural aging and stress. They aren't imaginary symptoms however they aren't easily measured. It can also be a lot of pressure for a doctor to look at numbers in a lab test that seem askew and not want to make those numbers fit into a box with an easy pill. Doctors need to listen to how a patient feels and see beyond the symptoms - see the forest for the trees and patients need to be their own advocates reading everything they can and trusting that subtle changes aren't in their heads. I'm not saying stop meds, I'm saying your symptoms are real and there are many options and you have to keep reading and charting and working until you find what is right. Don't be reduced to a number.
I got barfed on. At one in the morning I put a beach towel over the tiny spot that hit the sheet and went back to sleep. Every time the kid rolled over or breathed different, I woke up and asked him if he needed to barf again. He didn't but by 5am my tough little guy who normally rubs dirt in a wound and keeps running, was wincing with belly pains and I could feel the fever radiating off his back. So I warmed up the car and we went to the doc. The nurse got us into a room right away because all the usual trouble makers one finds in a waiting room are still sleeping at 6am on a Saturday, leaving us lone writhing wolves, panting and half crying, to usher into an even smaller room and out of clothes (well, I got to keep mine on.) About an hour of crappy cable TV later a doctor entered in time to witness the very last belly pain of the morning and confirm I would be cancelling all plans for the day in lieu of getting pee on my hand, helping the nurse coax very good tasting medicine into a body, and the longest game of 'Eye spy with my little eye something blue that you're wearing' ever played. Another hour, a can of apple juice, an anti-nausea pill, a Motrin, and a Popsicle went by. The kid slept and I read the entire internet on my tiny screen while sipping the bitterest burnt hazelnut coffee in Illinois. Then we went home with instructions for Acetaminophen and rest (neither for me, I'm sure.)
Did you know they have anti-nausea pills? I just always thought you had to ride it out and barf all the barfs you could barf - like a helpless shrimp, squirming on the cold tile floor of the bathroom.
It's Autumn again and the leaves are crunchy in the yard. The giant spider web is up on the porch and the kids are planning and plotting costumes. I'm doing the giant purge of things as the flip flops and shorts that will fit next year get packed up and the sweaters come out. Likely this weekend I'll stand on a small ladder and carefully balance seven giant wooden storm windows into place and seal up the house for the winter, but I like to seal it up first smelling clean. So I've begun the moving of couches to rid the living room of old Cheeto smell. Next I'll slather all the woodwork in lemon oil and make it all slippery to the eye.
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My ten year Blogoversary came and went. I don't know what to say about ten years. But I keep going. Markedly less because of my recent personal life changes. I just didn't feel like I wanted to share anything during my divorce process. There was plenty to say, but I spoke it out into the air where it would dissipate. This is the place for some permanence. (Unless of course the Internets implode and the Robots take over Earth and erase all previous evidence of human kind and my ten years of droning on about Cheeto crumbs and unmatched socks gets blinked out of existence, or if Blogger gets phased out by Google... whichever comes first.)
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I'm soo out of style I can't care. It's only become apparent to me because I have a middle schooler in the house and she keeps getting taller and so I have to make trips out into the world and spend money on clothing in stores where I could also be buying flouncy sweaters with extra yards of fabric knitted in the front ready to billow out like a lovely fuzzy jellyfish if I choose to spin, arms outstretched to the world whilst autumn leaves fall all around my pumpkin-spiced knit knee-high socks barely peaking out of my slightly worn leather boots fashioned in which the fit forces me to continuously stand with my toes coyly pointing towards each other. While this bohemian chic seems like something made just for me all flowey and cozy and comfortable and quirky, turns out I like jeans and a hoodie paired with tennis shoes and I like standing with my feet planted firmly under me and my hands on my hips like Wonder Woman. It's efficient and also I am ready at any time for a child to fling themselves at me, or to run after a ball before it hits the street, and to shove my pockets full of phones and water bottles and stretchy gloves. There's no catching a kid falling out of a treehouse in that flouncy sweater - we'll both be tangled in a boho nightmare of woolly yarn and leather buckles and choke to death in a snarling gypsy scarf heap.
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My Gentleman Friend is taking me to see The Rocky Horror Play on Friday night. I've never seen the movie or the play. When I told our friend who is in the production this, they rubbed their hands together called me a virgin while cackling with anticipation. I'm slightly nervous about this whole thing now... I feel like I am about to be the only person in the front row without a rain poncho while Gallager gets his Sledgeomatic out - only I've seen enough Rocky Horror pop-culture snippets to know the proverbial Sledgomatic could involve lingerie and or dancing.... or toast and I looooove toast. So it might even out.
"These Toys are Eat Soap Separately" "I'm drawing skella-bones, they protect your heart"
"when you twist things beginst each other the get mixed up" "EMERGENCY! Cold bread! Cold bread"
I painted things when my little ones were coaxed to the creek to catch craw-daddies and get mud behind their ears. I had the sun on the back of my neck when I stretched it looking over the rise of the little road to see the corn reaching up from the glen with golden fingers into the August sky. I rested my paintbrush in the dirt when my son ran back to camp with a tiny dead fish in his water wrinkled fingers. He asked me to cook it for him. When I told him it was too small to cook and made him throw it back into the creek I saw him steal a taste. He licked it's white belly and then threw it overhand into the clear water where I'm sure it settled to the bottom and found it's way into the bellies of the craw-dads. All the while behind me, my daughter changed from her soaking wet mud-shoes into my dry sandals and was charmed away to another campfire by intriguing musical instruments.
I asked the kids to get themselves ready to run a few errands with me today. A mere three hours later, my eldest had taken a full shower, was coiffed and ready to go. My youngest was also dressed and ready making sure to wear his plastic fake monster teeth, an inside out long sleeve hoodie he's outgrown with the hood up, matching blue socks under flip flops, and plaid shorts. Great job kids, thanks for getting yourselves ready. Yes, we went into the store like this, luckily he tired of the teeth.
I took the kids to see the TMNT movie in the park downtown last Friday. To the disappointment of the people in the lawn chairs behind us, Jack rolled, kicked, ran and did somersaults for 90 minutes. I'm not even sure he actually saw any of the movie.
These are the thick days of mid July filled with humid sunscreen and stinging bug spray. Every cool pool of water has tiny feet begging to sneak in, though the well worn swim suits, sun faded, stretched from chlorine and slightly grayed on the underside from lake mud are at home on the floor of the front hallway. Left over fireworks and grilled beer soaked meats waft through the neighborhood replacing the tiger lilies and lilacs sweet redolence. There is barely time for the free waterpark ticket, the theme park coupon, the ten hour air conditioned sleep and the last canoe trip. Back to school supplies loom in frigid grocery store aisles.
I put them in the dirt and it took three nights for something to come buy and eat them. I'll plant more, I want these flowers this year and last year I gave up too easily. I'm off the get chicken wire.
Aug 11, 2015 Bombadee's Garden will be ten years old. Ten years of posts, links, rants, photos, artwork, bad poetry, videos, books, lists, and comments. I feel like there should be some sort of celebration. Maybe cake, dancing and a top ten or something...or a bottom ten (haha!) I'll have to think about what such an events warrants. Maybe I'll finally update my Blogger Profile Picture...
I tried all last summer to grow giant sunflowers next to the deck. I wanted the flower faces to be at eye level during midsummer dinners so we could watch the birds fly in and eat the seeds. But some asshole from the neighborhood wildlife community kept creeping by in the middle of the night and digging up the seeds for a late night snacks. After loosing another row of seeds this spring I planted some in an egg carton in the house. Every day I put the seedlings outside for a day of sun and then I bring them back in at dusk to keep them safe. They're a few inches high now and I think I have to put them in the dirt or watch them suffer from not enough root room. I'm going to try to devise a screen or some sort so they don't get bitten off at the base and munched late in the night. It makes me anxious. It's scary to send my sprouts out into the backyard... Imagine when I have to send my actual children out into the world!
He's going to be five. I went to his preschool graduation today where he won an award for being among the top ten kids who've had the most books read to them over the last month. Jack likes the same books over and over.
He likes:
I Will Not Ever Never Eat a Tomato
In the Night Kitchen
Ahoy Pirate Pete
We're Going on a Bear Hunt
Go Dog Go
Any Curious George
Any Sponge Bob
Roli Poli Oli
No David
I know most of these by heart, so does he.
It was an emotional graduation as it was a very tough year. Jack will freely tell you he doesn't like school. When I drop him off the teacher has to peel him off my hip or my leg and tell him he has to stay and he buries his face in his hands and sobs while I try to get out of the room as fast as possible. It really puts anything I do while he's at school under a big wet cloud. When I pick him up, he's happy, playing and smiling and runs up ready to go. I ask him if school was fun and he says yes. Sometimes I ask why he doesn't like school and he says he just misses me and being home. I ask him if he played with any one and he always says "I just played by myself." I know other kids like him and are happy to see him, as I drop him off and pick him up every day and I see their reactions. The kids even recognize me now as "Jack's mom" - so he is not ignored or disliked, he just doesn't feel he has any pals at school and he doesn't look forward to it. Repeat this day 180 times. So to see him today, march up and get a medal and wear his square hat and sit with his class was a joy and a relief.
I was relieved that soon I won't have to watch him bury his face in his hands anymore. I was relieved that they won't have to peel him off my leg anymore. I was proud we made it - he and me. I have a box of Valentines he makes for me at school. They each have a heart and say "Mom" & "Jack" on them, sometimes "Ella" is in there too. On particularly hard days, he'd make two for me at school. This awful school year where we read together and worked on a little homework together and were separated fr a few hours each day and we lived. We made it. He's taller. He can write my name and his. He can speak better. He can do his own seat-belt. He knows the days of the week. He has life experiences that don't have me in them now.
I hope Kindergarten is better. I keep wondering what the drop off routine will be. Will I have to walk him all the way to class? Will he like it? Will it be worse? Will he find a friend he likes? I have a good deal of anxiety about it. I know there's nothing that I can do until next fall when we see how it will go. For now we just count down the last ten days of what I thought was the easiest part of a school career, but for Jack (and me) may have been the hardest.
