Happy Holiday I Never Heard of Before

True Story: Sometime in the early nineties, when 90210 was in its heyday, and I was in the 7th grade, my best friend and I convinced my mom to take us to a local mall where Ian Zearing and Luke Perry were going to be appearing.

To this day, I have no idea why we did this: Because it was on the radio? Because some of our friends were totally rabid Luke Perry fans? Because it seemed like this huge deal at the time? I am honestly not sure - neither she nor I were huge fans of those particular actors, (although I did have a crush on Jason Priestly in his pre-90210, Teen Angel and later Sister Kate days) even though we liked them well enough, and neither one of us remembers being particularly enthusiastic about the show as a whole. We weren't super fans or mega fans, or anything more than "I know all about Brendan and Kelly, think Brenda should get back with Dylan, and don't care about Donna and David" followers. We watched the show, but in the pre-everybody has their own TV in their room days, weren't guaranteed to even catch it every week, and it wasn't that big of a deal because everybody in school would be talking about it the next day anyways. All I can come up with was that some of our friends were going, so we wanted to go too.

So we talked my mom into getting up at 7:30 on a Saturday morning (no easy feat) to drive us the 6 minutes to get to the mall. (I was not allowed to take the bus back then. You too can roll your eyes over the injustice of it all with my 12 year old self if you'd like.) When we got there, it was packed. Shockingly, worse than any Christmas shopping day ever, overly packed. There must have been hundreds teenage/tween girls there, and they didn't even let us inside the mall.

Instead they rounded us all up on the outside concourse, behind the mall, around a little lake - which up till then I hadn't even known existed - with a path that was cut directly from the Charles River. I remember standing there shivering, although I can't recall exactly what season we were in - Cold. That's about it. Covers everything from November to April in Cambridge, so I can't narrow it down. Just that it was cold and brittle, and that teenage girls who had taken all morning to get their hair just. right. in anticipation of meeting the dreamy Luke Perry had their hopes crumpled when the wind whipped around and gave everybody the same "I've just lived through a cyclone" hairdo.

My mom had her coffee, smoked her cigarettes and muttered under her breath about how she let herself get talked into these things. My friend and I, unable to find any of the other girls who'd sworn they would be there in the midst of the huge crowd, mostly shifted from one foot to the other trying to keep warm, talking about nothing in particular and dreaming of hot chocolate and donuts when this was all through. I don't even remember being excited. Just cold. And bored. And not particularly happy about this waiting outside nonsense.

And then there was an announcement, and the lady from the mall must have said something about them coming, because there was a huge cheer. We didn't hear what she said, but the excitement in the crowd amped up a lot, and I know my friend was starting to feel it, because she started to do this tense little hop. Other girls started to pop up a little bit too, trying to see over the crowd, and for some reason, this made me feel anxious as well. Something was coming. Somebody was coming, and it was somebody famous. And that started to get a little bit exciting.

We waited like that for a few minutes, things getting louder and more intense, until finally we heard a boat's engine coming in from the river. From where we were standing, I could see the water pretty clearly - everyone had assumed they'd be in the mall, so those of us in the back actually wound up having the best few when we all had to turn around.

And now girls were screaming, and there was a lot of noise, and the boat was zooming around the little waterway (pond? maybe.) and the two actors were on the boat waving grandly. Smiling, waving, on their parts; cheering, screaming and clapping from the crowd. I have to admit, the noise was slightly overwhelming. I do not remember contributing to the noise really, but I must have: I was big on fitting in, so I can't imagine I just stood there and made a "Why the hell are we all making so much noise?" face, even if that's what I was feeling. I probably cheered and clapped, and I do remember hugging my best friend back when she was so excited that she hugged me.

And then Luke Perry took a megaphone, thanked everyone for coming and said what great fans we were. And Ian Zearing had his turn and said something very similar. And then the boat went around the little waterway again, and it zipped back out on to the river, two actors waving as they left, hundreds of girls standing there cheering.

The entire experience had lasted ten minutes, tops.

Now, I had not really even been all that excited. I had not even particularly wanted to meet the actors. But I can remember being more than a little bit pissed that all they did was zoom around the water twice, say "Thanks for coming" and then zoom off again. I know I wondered what the hell I had gotten out of bed early for. And I definitely remember being more than a little upset that they never even let us in the mall (I wanted hot chocolate!) Other girls, girls who'd brought posters or hats or t-shirts for them to sign were probably more than a little upset, and I don't really blame them: I'm pretty sure we had all been told that there would be a signing, so I can imagine more than one tweenage girl left with a broken heart. (Probably through no fault of the actors themselves, but rather some bad public relations, but still.)

So that is my one and only "I've met a celebrity" story, and it contains no actual meeting, and makes me sound like one of the Twihards who pass out at the mall when a certain sparkly vampire (or rather, the actor playing him) shows up. In reality, my brush with celebrity was cold, disappointing (no hot chocolate!), short and rather unimpressive.

But still: It did give me a story to tell on 9-02-10 Day. :)

Look at that little smile :)

Here's the part of this post where I could go on and on about how big Baby B is getting, and how much growing little guys do in the three/four months between the times I get to see them, but that's not very entertaining. It's true, but not exciting enough to babble on about in a post. Instead, I'm just going to say how adorable he is, and show you my favorite picture of him during this past visit.



And then I'm going to send you over to Tracey's for some birthday happiness and more Best Shots.

Checking it twice...

I have found the most amazing advice columnist ever, and gone back and read every single one of her columns. She is wise and sweet, and witty and sharp, and her pointed corners are covered in that nice fabric/foam stuff so they don't poke you too hard. She's reasonable and realistic; her commenters are (for the most part) also wonderful and present and fabulous; and she's not the least bit shy.

I want her to be my very best friend, but in lieu of that, I'm just glomming all her advice, and I thought I'd share one of my very favorite bits here:

In response to someone who was wondering what to do with their life, and lamenting the overwhelmingness of choices and forever and ... the whole wide world being out there, she suggested:

Option 3: Stop asking yourself what you want, what you desire, what interests you. Ask yourself instead: What has been given to me? Ask: What do I have to give back? Make a list. Make the list very long. Then give it, my addled friend. Give it.

I'm definitely going to be working on my list: it'll be nice to focus on the things I have, for a change, instead of things that I'm lacking.

I be back

Hey everybody: I know it's been a little while, but have no fear, I have not (as Crazed Mom has worried about) been a part of the blog-apocalypse or anything like that. Nope, it's just regular, end of summer, everybody has their vacation at one time, trying to cram experiences into the last few weeks before school starts mayhem.

I told y'all we'd be having some visitors, and boy howdy*, did we have visitors. My sister and her boys came for about a week, and Lil Girl and her brother decided to stay with us most of that week too, because their cousins were here. Which is awesome and wonderful, and I'm so happy that they (mostly) get along because there is such a wide range of ages (8 months to 14 years), and that could be bad news, but (mostly) works for them. One of my most cherished memories of my childhood summers is the week in August that my Virginia cousins would visit... I can remember crying every time they left and almost holding my breath every summer till it was time for them to come back. I'm so glad that my niece and nephews can have the same kind of connection (and, since Sister S's boys only live in New Hampshire, get to have more than one visit a year).

But that's not to say that it didn't take a lot out of me, and really made me realize that I am still - three months post-op - definitely still in a recovery phase. I just didn't have (what passes for) my normal level of stamina or strength, and, by the middle of the week, I was getting lots of concerned questions from both Sister S and Oldest Nephew. They kept asking if I was mad, which is the question I tend to get asked a lot if the pain is showing up on my face. I had to keep reassuring them that I wasn't mad (because I wasn't), just really, really sore. Since I have had 15 years of practice in covering up how badly I am feeling (particularly around the kids), it has to be pretty horrible for that much to be leaking out. I also don't necessarily think it was bad for it to be showing - Sister S, and her oldest boy, to some extent - still don't really "get" the whole chronic illness thing, mostly because they only briefly lived with me while I was ill. They don't quite understand how bad it can get, because I mostly hide it when they are here, so as not to put a damper on the visit. Which is possible on a weekend visit, or a day trip, but for a whole week? Never gonna happen. Eventually it catches up with me, and in this case, it was definitely sooner rather than later.

While they were here, we managed to get most of the whole immediate family crew together (minus Sister K who went to Montana with her boyfriend) for a little trek to a local old timey amusement park. It's a place that holds a lot of memories for most of us, as Nana (5th grade teacher extraordinaire) used to take her classes there on a field trip every year. She and the other chaperones would bring beach chairs and park under a giant willow tree, while the kids ran across the parking lot to the arcade with the warnings of "Absolutely no one goes to the beach!" and "If you don't come when I blow this whistle, we leave without you and you can explain to your parents why you didn't make the bus" ringing in their ears.

This trip we all had a great time, we took lots of pictures, and I will talk about it some more in a later picture filled post. But it was a really special day.

Added to that, I got a visit from College Roommate/ Best Friend, and her two little girls, who I haven't seen since before Christmas, because of various illnesses (on my part) and busy social calendars (on hers). We had a very nice visit, and definitely won't go so long this time in between. And then one of those fore mentioned Virginia cousins - who now lives in Maine - came down with her mom, husband and little boy and we had lunch together at Grandmother's house, with her kids and the kids my heart says are part mine running around in the yard while we - the grownups!?! - watched from the porch. It was pretty awesome, although I still really, really don't feel like a grownup.

So that's where I've been: visiting with sisters and brothers and nieces and nephews and best friends and their kids and Virginia cousins that now live in Maine, and taking field trips down memory lane. As exhausting, punishing and painful as it has been physically, it was definitely worth it. Although I am still recuperating - from both the summer and the stupid surgery - I'm glad that we got a chance to get everybody together, and that so many people I've been missing managed to make their way to me this summer.

Plus, now I have a ton of photos to edit, and some of them I actually love, so it's bonuses all around.

*I have no idea where the Southern accent came from: I apologize for the "boy howdy."

Wish me some energy, please: I'll need it!

I want to thank everybody for their condolences and well wishes: I really appreciate it. And now, like I said, I'm going to try to get back to normal a little bit, and post about something totally different.

I'm working on a pretty full week of visits, starting this weekend and going right through next weekend, as SisterS is bringing her boys down, and staying for a while; and then my cousin from Maine and her family are coming in for a day; and College Roommate/Best Friend and her kiddos are finally going to make it over here again (I say finally because I have literally been moving her kids Christmas presents from one box to another for eight months). I don't like to have everything crammed in all together like that, but I wasn't the boss of other people's vacation plans (shocking!), so what can you do? Plus, it's been a while since I've seen any of them, so I don't want to beg off unless I really have to, healthwise.

(Also? Having some positive interactions at this particular moment in time is going to be hard to pass up.)

So the plan for College Roommate/Best Friend and my cousin from Maine and their families is just "hang out... eat food, maybe? Let children roam and stuff while grown ups have actual grown up conversations?" Very low key. Low pressure, with a dose of "here are your Christmas/Birthday presents: I hope you have not outgrown them, because I wrapped them so long ago, I no longer remember what they are" thrown in.

SisterS, however will be sleeping over for four or five days, with an infant and a teenager: both Creepers, just in different ways. (And also not quite as low pressure for me.) BabyB is trying his hardest to crawl, and Oldest Nephew is just one of those kids (when do you have to stop calling them kids? 14 isn't it, but I know it's getting there) who is always just... There when you turn around. Not in a spooky way, really, just more of a 'Holy Shit where did you come from?' type of way.

And when Oldest Nephew sleeps over, that means (No Longer) Youngest Nephew will want to sleepover. And when her big brother gets to sleepover, Lil Girl will definitely want to sleepover as well. But, as much as I might like to, I can't handle four kids - of four really different age and maturity levels (14,10,4,and 9 months)- for five nights and still expect to be a functioning member of reality at any point during their visit. And I want to have some fun too, so I'm putting my foot down at a one - two night Lil Girl and her big brother sleepover visit, which still gives them a chance to all hang out together (hanging out with my visiting cousins was always the highlight of my summer, and I'd love it if they had the same opportunities!) without it being too much for me to handle.

On Sunday, we're taking the whole lot - plus everybody else except SisterK who is on vacation in Montana with her boyfriend and won't be back in time - to a local old-time amusement park. There's no adult rides, although I think there used to be a Ferris wheel, and only three or four kiddy rides: The place is mostly centered around it's video games, it's arcade, and it's skee ball. (Mum is a skeeball fanatic, so we never have to searching for her when it's time for lunch.) There's also lots of great food, and it's right on the shore, so we'll be able to have a nice picnic lunch.

The overall goal for me this week is to a) try to take it easy and enjoy myself as much as possible and b)take a TON of pictures, which is something I haven't really been feeling inspired to do lately, with all the heavy stuff. But I know, with all of these fabulous people - not to mention more than a few adorable kids - around, I'll be itching to pick my camera back up.

Plus, since I'm promising to post a few of the best ones, I'd better get busy.

*Caution: Very Sad Post*

This blog has always served as a kind of venting place for me - Good or bad, if I'm feeling it, chances are, you know about it. I've written too many times to count about my worries, my health issues, my family and how they are making my brain hurt (see tag "Making Me Crazy") or how they are making me smile (check out "Love" or anything tagged nephew or niece). I've tried to tell the stories of my life, as honestly as I know how - positive, negative, or somewhere in between. It's not always the easy thing to do, but I feel like that's the kind of writing I want/need to do: To share my experiences with all of you, to know that I'm extending my own community, just by living my life and talking about it.

But, like I said: it's not always easy to do, and I am now going to type a sentence it had never occurred to me it would be necessary to type... This past week, our family suffered a tragic loss: my cousin's baby was born still, three days past her due date. I ordinarily would have no compunction about talking about it here (the myriad of posts about the loss of my Nana should prove that), but every time I've sat down to do just that, I come back to this single fact: I don't feel like it is my story to tell.

It's effected me, yes: it's effected our whole family: It is a terrible and shocking sadness. And yet, my story is about how I had to sit, helpless, and listen to my uncle rant and rave about fairness and unfairness and if our family could be expected to bear anything else. My story is about how that little white box was the single saddest thing I have ever seen in my life and how I (who doesn't really believe in god) found myself praying for everyone in the church to keep standing, just so I wouldn't have a view of it anymore. My story is about how incongruous it seemed to be watching my other cousin's two year old twins at the hospital, making them giggle and reading them stories, knowing that a hallway away their entire family - my family - was being swamped with pain.

In this instance, my story is basically that I am unable to help with their story - that, aside from letting them know I love them - I can think of nothing to do to help the couple whose story is that they just buried their first daughter before she took her first breath; to help the grandparents and aunt whose story is that they never got to dote on the first baby girl for their side of the family; to help any of us because I can't answer the questions of why something this horrible could happen, why the word stillborn is still in our vocabulary in the year 2010, why nobody ever told us that being a grown up was going to this unbearably painful.

And yet: I couldn't say nothing here - I couldn't just let it pass by unremarked. I've tried to write about sixteen other posts since then as well, and each of them falls apart in my exhausted brain. So do blog comments, and Facebook status updates: I can think of nothing, really, besides: "I am sad." "If I am this sad, I do not understand how my cousins are breathing." "Did this last week really happen? Why isn't there some undo button, because last Friday is looking spectacular, comparatively?" "I wish I could help you. Please talk to me." or "Please don't talk to me, because I don't know what to say, but know that I love you. A lot."

And not mentioning it, well it seemed like lying: I am going to try to write other things this week, to post a best shot tomorrow, if I can, or point you to something awesome or funny if I should happen to be able to concentrate long enough to read it. I'm going, in short, to try to get back to the things I enjoy, and see if I can't try to enjoy them again. But it's not going to be simple, and I'm going to be dealing with this grief for quite a while. If I didn't mention it - as easy as that seems, to just not say anything, to let all of you continue to live in a world where stillborn is just a word from the ancient past - it would also feel dishonest of me and disrespectful to the stories of the people I love. I wouldn't feel like I could share my truth, my life, and if I can't do that, what's the point of this whole blog thing anyways?

So I'm going to write when I can, and I'm going to try to crawl out of the melancholy that has - rightfully so - enveloped us here this past week. And I might need your help, so I'm thanking you ahead of time for listening.

*Since I have been trying to weed through my Google Reader, attempting to read only things that might cheer me up, I've been wishing that there was some sort of warning system for posts that start out good, and then take a dramatically sad turn. So I could skip them for now, come back to them when everything in the world - including a damn LOLCat - isn't making me cry. So, I figured I'd better warn y'all, just in case.

Oops...

In the course of reading why Feminism is a tool of Satan (really), and how it's a horrible thing for our society, I came across this older article from December 2002. Written by Phyllis Schlafly, it's about "Feminist Fantasies" and how feminist organizations are out to ruin the world with their nefarious "equality" plots and demands - words like emasculating, sabotage, and radical litter the entire thing. It's pretty nauseating, actually. (Schlafly's public record - being one of the chief opponents to the ERA, her pro-death penalty for minors stance, and her paleoconservate views - weren't exactly benefits to the article's cause either, for me.)

At one point she's talking about the National Council of Women's Organizations fight to make the Augusta National Golf Club (home of the Masters tournament) truly a coed organization. She, of course, disapproves and is lauding the efforts of the club's owner to prevent this from happening. In the course of the discussion, she says (emphasis mine):

The feminists tried to use Tiger Woods, who won the Masters in 2002 for the third time, as a prop in their publicity stunt to advance their special-interest agenda. When asked what he thinks about Augusta National's rules, Tiger replied with the good sense that has made him a star and a role-model: "They're entitled to set up their own rules the way they want them.

Don't you just hate it when something you've written comes back to bite you on the ass? I wasn't buying anything she was saying up till that point (shocker - I actually think feminism is a good thing!), but after that, I just couldn't help laughing. Really, really hard.

Yesterday I went floating in a pool

you will think that this is no big deal, until I tell you that the last time I owned a bathing suit was 1997, when I went to Disney World with my friends after I graduated from high school. I still do not own a suit, and went floating in the pool wearing a skirt, my bra, underwear and a tank top. It did not matter, because it felt heavenly.

I never really learned how to swim: When my mom signed me up for lessons at the Y (at my insistence), I was ten years old, a slightly chubby brainiac that frequently still wore my hair in pigtails, played with School with her sisters and was completely useless without my glasses. Of course, the first thing they did was tell us to change, and to stow our personal gear - "This means glasses too!" - in the lockers. My best friend was also taking the class with me, and was kind enough to lead me out of the locker room and into the shallow end of the pool. To say that my vision without my glasses is hazy is a major understatement. I can see shapes - people sized blobs of mushed together colors, fuzzy colors with no defined edges. I could see my friend's face, if she was the one bobbing in the water next to me, but I couldn't have picked her out of the line of young bodies that floated around. We had our own secret game of Marco Polo going on, even before the lessons started.

And what an illuminating and educational lesson it was: A large man - the high school swim coach - came out of the locker room and sat in a lifeguard's chair. Then he threw a bunch of plastic rings into the pool and told us to go get them. "Dive if you want to, tiptoe over if you don't, but go down there and get them." End of lesson. I spent the entire time trying to see a darker blue blob at the bottom of the moving lighter blue blob, failing over and over again to retrieve my ring because A) it was at the bottom and I was at the top not knowing how to get to the bottom without drowning and B)the blob that I thought was a ring was in fact paint on the bottom of the pool, so I just wasted all my breath to get down there for nothing. For one hour every Friday for six weeks, my friend tried to drag me around to the location of a ring, I would claw my way down to get it, bob back up and then we'd hold on to the edge of the pool for dear life, waiting for the class to be over so we could go home. Between that and my uncle throwing me into a pond and telling me I'd pick it up once I was in the water, I figured I'd never be able to swim.

Eventually though, I put together the basics on my own - arms and legs both need to be moving, try rotating your head so you can breathe every now and then - but swimming will never be my forte.

But yesterday I waited until the sun went away and the shade covered the yard, after the kids had finished all of their major splashing and the adults had had their pool time as well. Then I slipped into the middle of my sister-in-law's pool, (to the shock of my brother in particular) laid on my back and floated. It was the most peaceful I've felt in a very long time, and I was reminded that I used to like the water (initial swimming experiences excluded). It's so quiet and calming, and honestly, my body feels so different in the water.

The weightlessness is part of it, sure: it's easier to move all the stiff and sore parts of me - they feel more connected to each other and less likely to rebel: It's almost as if I've got my dancer's body back - one that responds to the moves I want it to make automatically and with little protest. I'm still in pain, but it's just like someone turned it down a notch, and if I could've stayed in that water all day - every day - I would've.

I splashed around a little with Lil Girl (who is a fish), and floated as long as I could, but even though the pain had dimmed a bit, other issues were still making themselves known. I got a rash from either the chlorine or the sun, just one big patch of it on my thigh, who knows why (it's itchy as all get out today). And my pulse was hammering away the way it does when I try to stand up - being upright, even in water makes all the lovely blood pumping away slow down and my heart tries to speed it back up, and the ultimate conclusion to all that is that I pass out, which I really didn't want to do in the pool, so my peace was short lived. And the getting out reminded me of why it's been so long since I've been in a pool. Because all of that freedom and flowing stops as soon as I put my butt on the steps and try to scootch out... I'd rather live in the water forever than try to do that again.

Add in an unexpected breathing issue that popped up - Lil Girl kept making me go all the way under so she could show me her flips and wave and whatever. I forgot that I can't hold my breath very long anymore. (Hello: Asthma!) I had to use my inhaler twice yesterday, and today my lungs are wheezing and my chest feels like I got kicked by a mule. "Call the doctor" my mom suggested. "And say what," was my reply: "I held my breath too long and now I'm hurting?" Even I can't tell them that. It'll go away eventually, but it's another harsh reminder that everything I do has a price.

So it had it's drawbacks, but I'm not sure I wouldn't do it again. It was worth seeing Lil Girl with her goggles on and a mile wide smile. To float on my back and feel dainty and delicate and like nothing in the world could be heavy. To look up at the clouds and remember that the world is going to keep turning whether I'm participating or not. It was nice to participate, and since I have all week to recuperate, I'll deal with the consequences.

In the meantime, want to see a fish?

Let's talk a little

My mind lately seems to be going at about triple it's normal speed. Frantic, speed-brain, for some reason. It's strange, really, because things are relatively calm (or what passes for it in my family anyways), and yet I can't get my stupid brain to slow down long enough for me to grip on to anything. Or - alternately - I get hold of something and just can't let it go.

July started off OK - I even took the month off from doctors, because all the news was bad and painful and just more of the same and I couldn't think about it anymore. But of course it hasn't stopped me from thinking about it: At the very least though, by taking the time off, I couldn't be poked or prodded or asked stupid questions about it anymore.

And then my brother and sister-in-law took the kids to the Cape for a week, and were too lazy to drive them up for a few days before that, and all of the "good summer fun with the kids" I had planned to cram into my month (and my mind) instead turned into "days of doing nothing but sitting around thinking about my life." These days were not nearly as much fun as the ones I had anticipated. Left with entirely too much time to ponder at least two major family situations (one of which has blown over and another that continues on without any solution to be seen), my own non-improving health and relationships situations, and the fact that yesterday was the anniversary of my father's death (not to mention a very rude person who treated it as if, because my father and I did not get along, this anniversary should be pretty meaningless to me); it's been an unexpectedly emotional time. There's just all this stuff, and I feel like I need energy to sift through it, and I haven't got the energy - emotional or physical - that god gave a gnat, so it's all heavy lifting.

It's all heavy lifting.

And I don't, as usual, realize how heavy, really, until I sit here with my fingers tapping away trying to explain why I haven't posted anything lately, or taken pictures of the gorgeous kids or why I've signed up for at least three projects this summer that I haven't even begun to consider, let alone start. Until I sit here and let my fingers start talking, I let my brain rev itself up into a frenzy, and don't realize that not saying anything, not posting anything is part of the trouble.

So here's some more of what I've been toting around, this week particularly -

We've been attempting to clean out Nana's storage: Yes, 2 years is a long time to pay storage fees, but when you roll up that door and the smell - her smell - hits you, I would gladly pay for another two years just to not have to sit there and sift through the contents of her life while my uncle - who is clueless - natters on about "Goodwill" and "Junk" and my mother and aunt try to move as quickly as possible so we can just leave already, and all I want to do is sit there with a box of stuff opened around me and absorb it into my skin. I've been taking pictures and saving things from the scrap bin; trying to hold all my emotions in in case my mom needs to let hers out.

I'm in that tiny little hallway, with it's concrete floors and neon orange doors, watching as box after box after box comes out. When my uncle pops out one of the windows on my grandmother's dollhouse (they're plastic and pop back in), I bite my tongue and control my need to scream about how important it is to fix it Right Away! I watch my aunt take a box of china she shouldn't be lifting and wrap it up so clumsily that it's sure to be in pieces the next time we open the box, but I don't say anything: I just wait till she turns around and slide the box in my direction, re-wrap it when she heads out for a cigarette. When my mom opens a box with baby shoes in it - shoes that Nana had lovingly wrapped in tissue paper, for her 'baby' who died twenty years before she did - mom doesn't cry, so I don't cry.

See, I know that this stuff is not my Nana, and that - in all honesty - she couldn't really have cared about the majority of it: glasses that lived in cabinets, tea sets made of gold that never made it to the table, knickknacks from places she never traveled to, lots of things that said 'grandma' because stuff that said 'nana' was so much harder to find. She wouldn't mind if we tossed all that out, would actually have done it herself if she'd have thought about us having to do it now.

But I also know that there are memories to be found here - not just my memories, but everyones - and so I feel like I have to safeguard them - for my mom, who isn't thinking anything except "get me out of here"; for all the grandchildren who can't be in that dark little hallway with me, and for all the great grandchildren - here now and to come - who never got a chance to know just how awesome a lady they missed out on.

So I sit there, allergies acting all renegade and body too sore to take breaths, it seems, setting aside a porcelain cat for one sister, a rogue leprechaun for my brother, a picture of himself that my cousin has probably never seen. Some of this stuff means something to me, some of it doesn't but I'm determined not to let the "one thing" that somebody would have wanted get tossed in a box for Goodwill. I feel like the only person there capable of remembering that this isn't just stuff, it has value to someone, and they should at least have the chance to say "No, you can toss that" or "Oh my god, I totally remember this!" So I click the shutter on my camera again and again and again, hoping that I'm capturing the something somebody wants, before I repack the boxes and watch my uncle roll his eyes again.

It's just heavy lifting.

And I try to be gentle with myself, try to say: Even though it doesn't seem like right now is a busy time, you are doing a lot of work. But it doesn't always sink in, because part of my heavy lifting is the way I think about myself, the way I don't give myself credit for the things that I do, the way I beat up on myself for all the things I don't do. It's a tricky line, I think - to hold yourself accountable without tearing yourself apart. (At least it is for me.)

I read, somewhere, in a recent blog post of somebody's, that one of the rules to remember in blogging is that your blog is not your best friend. If you feel like you need to vent, pick up the phone, don't complain to your audience or they'll stop coming back. I think that's probably good advice, but I don't know that I can follow it. I appreciate it, honestly, with my whole heart, that you people come back time and again to read things like this, where my head is a spinning top and my heart feels cracked open.

I won't say that I don't have people in my life who would listen, if I started talking, because I do, but it's different to write it here, freer somehow. Saying what I need to say to get my head back on straight is a large part of what's kept me writing for so long at this blog, and - while it may be the reason I don't have a zillion followers - it's also part of the reason that I cherish the followers I do have.

So, now that I feel somewhat normal again, what's going on with you all? I know somebody has a new job (YAY Ms J!!!) and other people are dealing with their own brands of chaos (Hope the bed rest is going well, Laurie!). I hope that you're all enjoying your weekend, come what may, and I promise to write again soon. (And less emotionally jumbled, hopefully.)

Reading Round-up & Linkage!

Here are some Very Interesting Posts & Quotes I have read in the last little while. I thought I would share some accumulated wisdom, and if you have any to share, please feel free to post it in the comments:


Future Feminist Librarian-Activist has written a fabulous post about seeing parenting not as a project or a job, but as building a relationship with another person -

I say, just quit. Quit your job and go find a relationship. With that person who you're interested in being intimate with as they grow and discover the full strength of their humanity. Who knew this would be such a radical suggestion?

Kate Inglis, over at Sweet/Salty shares her wisdom on things NOT to say to others:

For the sake of humility, do this. Do not presume we influence our fates in a way that implies the failure of others to influence theirs. Let's respect change, either way, and do our best to walk towards it and accompany one another through it with dignity.

Havi, at The Fluent Self, has been talking about being stuck in the middle, (which is where I often feel I am languishing), and how to get unstuck. This line in particular struck home for me:

You meet yourself with love. Or: you meet your inability to meet yourself with love.

That second part? Is me all over. Which reminds me of this -

Sometimes I can hear my bones straining under the weight of all the lives I’m not living.

- Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close, Jonathan Safran Foer

Hope you are all out living your lives today, if you've got something I should read, leave me a link!

Best shots - 2 for the price of 1

Here are two of my best shots from the last little while -

Here's Lil Girl, down at the beach. Since Auntie and sunlight are not friendly, we sat up under the bandstand and blew bubbles that floated down to the ocean. Then the kids collected shells and rocks, and we ate pizza and drank Shirley Temples. It was the very definition of a fine summer day.



And here's another recent favorite - (No Longer) Youngest Nephew, reading along with the Harry Potter and The Chamber of Secrets book on tape. I love this picture for so many reasons: The fact that he was voluntarily reading; The fact that he'd never used actual tapes before and I had to instruct him on how to flip it over and press play (even though it made me feel ancient); The fact that, since the spring, he's powered through three of the books, and he's as excited as I am about part one of The Deathly Hallows coming out in November. It's just an all around favorite.



So there are the two kids I'm spending most of my time with this summer; Don't forget to head over to Tracey's place to check out who she's spending her summer with, and the rest of the Best Shots.

It's been weeks and weeks,

actually probably closer to two plus months, since I've participated in My Best Shot Monday, but I'm planning on contributing tomorrow. Our new days with the kiddos mean I won't get a post up till after they leave, but I'm determined to post something. Hence this really useless post that only serves as motivation for me not to 'forget' or be 'too tired' to post tomorrow. Commit to an action publicly, they say, and you're more likely to follow through. I tend to agree, when it comes to myself, that if I haven't said "I will do...." then I can convince myself to just put in on hold indefinitely. So: Tomorrow a picture! Of something! Or someone! Let's all be surprised together. :gulp:

Points of order

Point the First - This weekend is a Harry Potter weekend on ABC Family. I am 31 years old, and I have already seen all of the Harry Potter movies, multiple times. I own them, and could watch them without commercials, whenever I so chose.... I will still have channel 26 on in the background for the next three days, and may or may not be reciting lines as I go from one room to the other. (Am. Can't help it: "Even in the wizarding world hearing voices isn't a good sign".) My sister, the one who reads my blog (at least I think she still does: it isn't as if I've been writing all that much lately), said the other day that she thought maybe she was "over" the Harry Potter movies, or something similar to that. I, on the other hand, am trying to convince one of my sisters - any sister, really - that we have to go to the midnight show of the next movie (and maybe the last one too). I've also watched the trailer for The Deathly Hallows Pt1 approximately 14 times. I am pretty sure I will be heartbroken when all the movies are finally out and there are no more new ones to wait for: I was with the books. ("The Boy Who Lived, Come To Die.")

Point the Second - Since this is the Summer Of No Whining, I am only going to briefly mention that it is quite hot in the northeast at this present time. That's all - it is quite hot, no additional comment necessary.

Point the Third - Tomorrow I am going to try scrapbooking, for the first time in many, many (too many) months. I am quite far behind, and know I will spend a great deal of the day reorganizing my equipment and stock and stuff, before I will get to any actual creating. That is my least favorite part, because every time I think I have it all sorted out, I buy something else that there is no spot for, and then I have to start all over again. (And other times, I am too exhausted to do this organizing, so I fall further and further behind.) But I do have about 10-15 ideas on my scrap list, so if I get to the point where I can start, I have some good beginnings to work from.

Point the Fourth - I have no point the fourth besides: Have a great weekend, everybody.

Oh - and Point the Fifth: Congratulations to Ms. Janice on her brand new job! We knew you would find something, and that you'll be awesome at it! Best of Luck, chica!

I know the internet doesn't care

about the heat, but my body does. Other things it cares about that I would rather it didn't: the smell of food cooking in neighbor's yards; the smell of photos that have been living in a smoking house for 30 years; the smell of low tide, over a mile away; any smells, ever, in my immediate vicinity; our new summer schedule with the kids (MWF); the damn sun; every movement I have to make; about a thousand other things.


I find that I am easily, easily frustrated right now, and I hate it: I feel whiny and petulant and ungrateful. Nothing is horrifically wrong - nothing new is happening, and yet, the fact that my face isn't better, the fact that I'm too exhausted to help the kids check things off our "Stuff we want to do this summer" checklist, the fact that the incessant humming drone of the air conditioner is driving me batty - it's all making me feel cranky.

We don't have the kiddos till Friday this week, since their parents have some vacation days this week, and so I've little distraction from my crankiness, and that makes me feel even more ridiculous, because I'm depending on a 10 year old and a 4 year old to distract me. They are a great distraction, though...

You wouldn't know it by this post, but we've had to declare this the Summer of No Whining at our house, because Lil Girl is smack in the middle of a very whiny phase. (Says the woman who just whine-typed for five minutes straight. Does it count if it's on the internet?) She's catching on pretty quickly - since we can't hear whining, she doesn't get what she wants, so she changes her strategies swiftly.

Aside from the whining - and fights over who gets to sit where in the car that I remember all too well from my own childhood, and NOW I get why we all eventually had assigned seats - they've been great so far. They usually are, but now that they're getting older, we're trying to schedule more outings... having them (and us) all cooped up in the house all day everyday is just asking for trouble.

Last week I sat on the bandstand at the beach while Mum and the children wandered around looking for shells and rocks (They brought home quite the collection). We watched planes come in (Logan's right past the beach), had lunch, blew bubbles, and decided to come back for ice cream next time.


It was a pretty great day.

I was going to add a "but" to that last sentence, but I'd rather not: No more whining. Besides, it was a pretty great day, and I need to remember that part, let the rest of it all go. Let the Summer of No Whining commence, and help me to remember that it applies to grown ups and not just four-year-olds.

From the Random Files in my brain

Here's an interesting article about "dystopian fatigue". The author discusses her need for happier slanted movies and TV shows, leaving her looking for a little Glee or a Modern Family to brighten up her viewing habits. I agree with much of what she's saying, and hope that programmers are listening - I am so far behind on the heavier things that are sitting in my DVR, but I watched ABC's Comedy Wednesdays live, every week. (Except for Cougartown, which I refuse to watch because the title makes me want to puke.)

That said, I also just read a fabulous dystopian YA book that I can highly recommend - The Forest of Hands and Teeth by Carrie Ryan. It's gripping and moving, and I read it in an hour and a half, and am going to read it again, with post it flags and pencil at the ready, as soon as I can get my hands on the sequel. I chose it based on some great reviews, so I know it's not exactly an unknown book, but if you haven't read it, then you are missing out on something special. There were parts of this book that were ridiculously difficult to read, which I know some people shy away from, but, for me, it just shows what an exceptional writer the author truly is. Set in a far distant and horrifically frightening future, it could have been one of those books that was just a good read, but doesn't feel likely or truthful. Exactly the opposite is true - this book is REAL, zombies or no - and makes me want to gobble up anything else Carrie Ryan has written.

Bits and pieces, like I said.

33 days post op,

and I am starting to finally feel like I might actually be a human-type person again. I'm not springing into cartwheels, or feeling the magical special cure that I had, deep down, obviously, been hoping for, but I no longer feel as if someone decided to whack me in the face with a mallet, while at the same time letting some sort of giant lizard claw its way down my throat. You can imagine that this is a bit of a relief.

I managed to catch, in these 33 days, at least one sinus infection (either inadequately quashed the first time and capable of rebounding, or a party-bug who invited a friend over; impossible to tell) and a case of thrush that made me want to rip my tongue out and use sandpaper on it. Thankfully, the thrush has cleared up, and the infection(s) are on their way out as well. (She says, trying not to jinx herself this time.)

So I'm going to talk a little bit about a couple of things now, and I'm going to warn you that the very first thing I'm going to talk about is exceedingly gross. As in "Are you really about to tell the internet that...?" level gross. But here is where I talk about things that I can't discuss in real life/make my family understand, and so, you lovelies have a bit of forewarning that you might want to skip item #1.

Item #1: Every week since my surgery (and twice the first week immediately following the surgery), I have had to go to the ENT surgeon for a check in. During these check ins, he pokes at my face a little bit, looks up my nose, down my throat and in my ears - in short, all the things you expect the ENT to do. And then things take a dramatic turn for the worse, and I break out in the kind of flop sweat usually only experienced when the dentist turns around with that huge needle in his hand. Luckily, the ENT does not start poking me with needles, but, rather unluckily, he instead decides that now is the time to insert things up my nose.

UP my NOSE, people. My very tender, and much abused nose. First, he sprays a little numbing stuff, which is about as useful as tap water would be, and then he uses a long thin strip of cotton ball, doused in decongestants, and his looooooong metal pliers, and he stuffs the cotton ball up my nostrils. He leaves it there for a minute and disappears behind me, while the medicinal tasting decongestant drips out of my nose and down the back of my throat.

The first time this happened, I was a little bit shocked: I assumed that when he said he was going to use a decongestant, that he meant a nasal spray. And that was going to be bad enough, because my nose was already swollen and sore, and now he was going to spray stuff up there? Bah. So I was sitting there all shocked and drippy, waiting for him to take this gross stuff out of my nose when, all of the sudden, there's an unexpected noise behind me. A mechanical noise, a little hum that is entirely out of place. And then things go way downhill, way too fast.

Because the mechanical humming noise is coming from some sort of vacuum, not unlike an elongated, metal version of the doohickey that the dentist uses to suck spit out of your mouth during a cleaning, and the ENT is telling me that this damn thing is going up my nose to "clean out what's left."

Are you freaking kidding me??? This was not mentioned during the numerous pre-op discussions we had about surgery and aftercare; This was not mentioned in my aftercare instructions; This was not mentioned anytime during the previous 15 minutes I've been sitting here talking to you: NOW you are telling me, as you approach me with that goddamn thing, that you're going to suck stuff out of my sinuses? I am so not on board with this.

But, what choice did I have, really, since this is part of the after care - I'm going to go through all the pain of the surgery, and then have it be a waste because I didn't do the necessary follow up? I don't think so. How bad can it be, really?

Oh, it can be really, really bad. *I should put a disclaimer here that this was my experience, and the whole sucking out of sinuses might not be a big deal for other people: I can't really say. Except for another guy who was having the same surgery/procedure done on my first post-op visit who yelled really loudly from inside the room while I was waiting for my appointment, so he obviously didn't enjoy it either (if only I had known why he was yelling before I went in...). I can only say, that for me? It was a gigantic deal. Not just because I was already in a lot of pain, although I was, but because, to me, it feels like drowning.

The sensation of not being able to breathe through your noise is bad enough, but you add in the forced pressure of that little vacuum, and the fact that you can feel it not just in your sinuses and nose, but in the back of your throat? And it adds up to a completely overwhelming and painful experience. I cried, the first time, and (Mum told me later) was also, from the waiting room, quite audible in my distress. I cried the second and third times too, and I'm not even the tiniest bit embarrassed by that fact. (It was a little bit less traumatic the last two times, thankfully.)

It hurt, and I am already hurting enough.

But it was the panic that it caused me that was most distressing... the doctor actually told me to "breathe through your mouth" (as if I had any other options) "or you're going to have a panic attack". That is because you are cutting off my air supply, and my body, for some reason thinks this is a bad idea. He also appeared shocked that I would find this so upsetting, only adding to my impression of him as completely out of touch with reality ("7-10 days and you'll be good as new!"; "No patient has ever had a sinus infection so soon, post-op: are you sure that's what it is?"; "You should chew more gum to help stretch those muscles, did I forget to tell you that?").

The only good news is that I now don't have to go back for another month, baring additional issues, and that time, he may not even have to use the vacuum. Fingers crossed! End of totally disgusting and barbaric Item #1.

Item #2 - I have missed out on a lot of things in the course of the 33 days: a cousin's wedding (which apparently included much celebrating), my birthday, a college reunion I wasn't going to go to anyways (but I would've liked to make the my-girls dinner pre-party), Lil Girl's end of school celebration, No Longer Youngest Nephew's school report (which I have never been invited to before :( ), and more than a bit of family drama that I'm still trying to catch up with. Everybody in my family had issues during this period, and I feel like I am a page or two behind on the stories, which is a feeling I truly hate. I also feel like this lag in my understanding of things has caused new drama, which I have to figure out how to fix, but can't till my brain is back at full power, which sucks. This is one of the things I tried to factor into my decision to have the surgery - knowing I would be so far behind/out of the loop, and trying to make it be ok, but I absolutely hate not being there for people when they need me (and we can talk about why I don't expect people to show up for me when I need them some other time, thank you very much). It has been hard, playing catch up, apologizing for the gaps and lapses, the gaffs and digs I've delivered unknowingly. Or trying to, at least.

But at the same time, I'm trying to be realistic about this - I had the right to do something that, hopefully, is going to lead to a real improvement in my health. It wasn't selfish to do this, even if I don't get the outcome I wanted. Or, if it is selfish, only in a good way. This is one of the things I have decided to work on, about myself - that I don't cut myself enough slack about important things. Yes, it is vital to be someone that my family and friends can depend on, and it stinks when my health issues get in the way of that. But that doesn't mean it's not something that people should try to understand, and that doesn't mean it's something I should feel badly for (at least, not excessively so). So, I'm working on that. It is much harder done than said.

Item #3 I would just like to state, for the record, that I am through thinking about my weight. Because I ate nothing but soup broth and mashed potatoes, slush, bananas, and jello for, let's say 27 days, discounting the first two days (when I could only eat slush), and the last four (when I've been expanding into other, actually needs to be chewed types of food). And I think I gained weight, to be honest with you. So if I can't lose weight on three weeks of vegetarian, non-chewable mush, then I'm just not going to lose weight. So I better figure out how to like the size I am right now.

I think that's about it for now, before this post turns into a novel. I'll be back pretty soon (certainly more frequently now), and we'll talk about something completely different, won't that be nice? Please also know that I am, slowly but surely, catching up with my Google Reader (yay: The Collective is back in my Google Reader!), but it's taking me a while. If you have clicked through a new comment of mine on an older post of yours, welcome! Sorry to be so late to the party! I'm getting there.

Some more off-topic, lighthearted linkage to share, since I'm still not feeling awesome. As I was sifting through my Google Reader, I found a link I thought I'd share. These are from a pretty hysterical site called "Dear Girls Above Me", and are a couple of my favorite lines from a downstairs neighbor to the ditzy girls upstairs.

Dear Girls Above Me,

I’m sorry you sprained your ankle and “aren’t hot anymore” but Chanel crutches don’t exist…yet. Thanks for another golden idea. 6/1/10

Last night u held something called a ‘trash mag partaaay’. Is that like a book club for the illiterate? 3/2/10

Our building doesn’t have a ghost “trapped in the walls on Thurs & Fri.” Its just street cleaning. 2/18/10

Just because a guy looked at you funny on the street, doesn’t mean you’re living in The Truman Show" 1/13/10

Well, so far,

this operation has not been as big a success in the whole "preventing multiple infections" genre as I might have hoped. I'm on my way back from my second infection since the surgeries, all though I will say that (so far, knock wood, cross fingers) the duration of this infection is hopefully of an atypically (for me) short duration. That is the hope anyways.

I've been pissed off because I told Lil Girl's parents to keep her at home last week when she was sick (which I hate to do) and I specifically did not go to my cousin's wedding this weekend because I was trying to take the safe road and keep myself away from germs and rest up and recover. And then, by Monday morning, I was sick as a dog. Again. So it really didn't matter that I didn't do the things I wanted to do; I got sick anyways. Realistically, I know that there wasn't a connection, but still: pissed.

I am recovering, though: my voice was coming back before I coughed it away this week, and my face wasn't as painful as it had been (before it took on it's new infection throbbing). One strangely unanticipated side effect from my septum repair is this odd tingling in my front teeth/roof of my mouth. The doc says this is because the nerve that runs there begins at the base of my nose, and I say it would've been nice if he had mentioned that before the surgery, but since it's supposed to go away, I'll just keep spraying Chloraseptic on it and drooling like I just got "woot canal".

I can't really judge how healed I might be, what with the new issues, but I'm working through a course of antibiotics (and got back from yet another horrid visit with the surgeon), so hopefully, by this time next week I'll be doing better and will be able to say "I'm healing" without all the caveats. Thanks for your support, in the meantime.

I do have a lot of things I want to do this summer, so keep fingers crossed that this is the END of summer infections for me.

Took me a while

but I'm finally posting to let you all know that the surgery went well, and I am recuperating. It is a process, which I hate (I'm much more in the mood for a recovery of the 'flip a switch' variety), but since I'm finally seeing/feeling signs of progress, I suppose it'll do.

I will say that it was a much more painful prospect than I had prepared myself for, the probable cause of which includes me getting an infection, and thrush, and being hideously nauseous to the point of dry heaves, and not realizing that this was not just a normal post-op situation, and trying to 'push through' it like a big dope. But, now it is starting to get better, and today I ate noodles (my first meal other than mashed potatoes, slush, jello or soup broth), so I know it must be improving.

The pain meds are killer, in that I find myself constantly loopy: Today is my first day back on the computer, and I have spent an hour and a half writing the three paragraphs you see here in the hopes that they will be logical and legible. I do not like this sort of high life, and am trying to cut back on the pain meds as much as possible, so that I can function.

Worst of all, probably, is the fatigue. This is not unexpected either, since the CFIDS makes exhaustion my constant companion, but I always forget how much energy recovering from illness/stress/operations takes, and then am shocked when I can barely life my head from the pillow sometimes. We had two weeks without Lil Girl, and I think my incapacity has shocked her too, now, which I hate. I don't like for people to see how weak I can get, and for her to see it (because I see that it worries her) makes me want to cry.

Or punch things. If I had any energy to punch things, but I can't cry because Did you know? That crying? After sinus surgery? Will HURT??? Well it will: Trust me.

So there's the update: Am doing better. Would not make this decision again if I had it to do over (but should probably reserve judgement until I see if it actually helps things). Need a large, large nap. And less woogy drugs. Miss you all, and will try to check in again really soon.


Love, NTE

O...K: that's different

Here are a couple more things that have caught my eye (via my Google Reader):

I don't care much for Russel Crowe, but I kinda have a crush on Scott Grimes, from way back in Critters, so I thought this was cute.

If you are not reading Sleep Talking Man, you are really missing out on some high quality, English-accented cussing. While asleep.

I want:

Some things to keep us busy

Since I don't know when I'll be posting next, I've got a couple of random posts in the queue to share... Mostly stuff that's popped up in my Google Reader that I think you should be aware of. The first is the latest batch of MLIAs that have caught my attention:

I'm a student teacher for a kindergarten class at a local elementary school, and today the lesson plan was about honesty, so the head teacher asked one of our students, "George Washington not only chopped down his father's cherry tree, but also admitted it. Why do you think that his father didn't punish him?" The student replied, "Because George still had the axe in his hand." That was epic. MILA

Old aunts used to come up to me at weddings, poke me in the ribs and giggle, telling me, "You're next." They stopped after I started doing the same thing to them at funerals. MLIA.

Today in class, my professor had stapled McDonalds applications to the tests of all the people who failed. MLIA.

Today we had silent reading time in my sophomore english class. Ten minutes it, I notice that nobody else was reading and the entire class was staring at me. I was then informed that when I read silently, I'm really reading out loud with accents, facial expressions, and different voices for each character. My teacher has decided that we will no longer have silent reading time, and I have been volunteered to host "story-time" for the first 30 minutes of each class. MLIA

In my Ecology class I sit in front of this guy whom never talks. ON this particular day he was staring at the fish tank. Then he looked up at me said said with a serious face. "you think i would get in trouble if I slapped the teacher with that fish?" MLIA.

Today, I was on a flight. One of the three flight attendents said before taking off, "Hello, I'm Cindy, I'll be one of your flight attendents today. The others serving you are my ex-husband, Steve, and his new wife, Becky. We are going to turn the lights off now because Steve looks so much better in the dark. Have a nice flight!" I could not stop laughing. MLIA.

Today I walked into a horrid break up, I was really upset for the girlfriend when the boyfriend said "Im dumping you because Im too good for you." But I couldnt stop smiling when she replied, "I'd like to see things from your point of view but I can't seem to get my head that far up my ass." Whoever you are, I salute you. MLIA.

Today, I was in my American History class, and the teacher was auctioning donuts to prove a point. The bidding was up to sixteen dollars for a dozen when one guy yells "My eternal soul." To which the teacher responded, "I don't think you understand that I'm looking for something worth more than sixteen dollars." Not only is he now my favorite teacher, he also just earned a spot amongst my hall of fame of awesome people. MLIA

Today, I had to sell chocolate bars for my school club. Instead of calling them chocolate bars I called them Dementor Bars with the slogan, "Your best deference against Dementors!". I was the top seller. MLIA

Today in class we were watching the 6th Harry Potter movie when it came to the part where everyone raises there wands cuz Dumbledore died my whole class raised there pencils including the teacher who looked like she was going to cry and my best friend had the most serious face ever. i love my class MLIA


Today my mom was reading through my 13 year old sisters disclosure document for one of her classes. One part of the document asks parents to tell the teacher a little bit about their child. My mom proudly wrote, "Paisley believes she is preparing for the Zombie Apocalypse and spends her extra time building tunnels from our house to Costco, Wal-Mart, and Home Depot so she will be fully prepared." MLIA.

Last year, a girl I babysit was graduating from preschool. When up on stage, they asked her what she wanted to be when she grew up, and with a smile on her face she told the whole audience she wanted to work at Mcdonald's. After the presentation was over, her mom asked her if that was really what she wanted to do and she replied in all seriousness "No, I really want to be a paleontologist but I just wanted to see the look on your face!" She was 3 at the time. I was proud. MLIA


Well, I hope those gave you some chuckles. I hope to be back soon, but enjoy the filler (entertaining filler! I promise!) in the meantime.

Reasons to cancel the surgery

(via my screwed up, please let me cancel the surgery! brain)

- Because the Lost series finale is on Sunday, and it is like a total pop culture moment (that I will be totally out of it for). Also, it will make me cry, and my face will probably hurt too much for crying.

- Because 6:30 is just too damn early in the morning.

- Because I have been availing myself of Dr. Google, and neither of us are pleased with what we see there.

- Because my throat isn't even hurting right now, and that is ridiculously rare! (Also: Do not currently have sinus infection! This is beyond rare... and should be appreciated.)

- Because how the hell am I going to take my regular meds? (Note to self: call tomorrow and see if there is liquid Lyrica.)

- Because... I don't wanna do it?


No: The surgery is set (fingers crossed, and barring any news from the pre-op people who still haven't called me), for 7:30 on Friday morning. I'm the first one in, which means I should also be the first one out. Which is good, because waiting is not my strong suit. All those people who comment on my 'patience' have never had to sit in a hospital waiting room with me while my mind buzzes ahead at 732 miles an hour. (Actually, some of them have, but usually I am good at hiding the buzz from people who aren't really paying attention.)

Of course, I am now coming up with a zillion different reasons why I should not let them cut open my nose or tear out the little bumps in the back of my throat, but I realize those are just my little anxieties popping up, and I try to pop them right back down. It's like one of those Whack-a-mole games: Up - Bam! - back down. Back UP - Bam! - back Down. I just have to keep bopping them on the head long enough to get to the hospital on Friday morning, at which point Mum will make me do it whether I want to or not, because she had to leave the house at 5:45 in the fricking morning.

Although I realize that it's not - in all likelihood - a life altering procedure, I'm pretty nervous about the whole thing (in case my endless blathering on about it here hasn't made that pretty obvious), but only because ... well, if you've been reading any of the blathering over the last 4-5 years, then you know why. Because medical science and NTE's body are not friends. Because whatever reaction you say it is impossible to have, then that is the reaction I will have. Because I'm in a place right now that isn't horrid and unlivable, and I am loathe to poke the bear and wind up there. Because if I wasn't nervous, at this point in my life, with this body and all of my experiences, then I would have to be pretty ignorant.

I know there are lots of people - somewhere in the midst of all those Temporarily Able Bodied people we people with disabilities talk about - that there are people who actually get up in the morning and never give a second thought to whether or not their body will respond in the way it ought. Who never have to second (third, fourth, fifth) guess a doctor's recommendation, or worry that things might not work out for them. I don't remember it, exactly: That ignorant feeling of being in control of my own body and what it was capable of, but I know that I am not one of those people anymore.

Back when I was dancing, there came a point, in the year or two right before I got sick, where I was constantly twisting my ankles. I must have sprained the right one 4 times in the course of a year and a half. And I mean seriously sprained - and even a slight fracture once. But I was 13, 14, 15, and it meant nothing - a week, two weeks, and I would be back dancing again, good as new. It honestly didn't occur to me that there could be any other outcome.

I was more fearless then: If I sprained something now, I would probably never attempt that activity again... I avoid things that cause even the most minor of injuries, go out of my way to avoid even the tiniest bit of extra pain.

Because here's the thing: Being in pain changes who you are. It changes how you see the world, how you fit into the world, how you interact with the world. Everything is a risk now. Opening my eyes, rolling over, tying my shoe. It's all a big deal, it's all a potential threat. And that's a horrible way to live, so I suppress it as much as I can. I don't overthink the little things (at least I try not to). I try to offset the extra neck tension I'll get from sitting at the table for dinner with a little extra ice pack time, or pencil in a hot shower because I decided to sit on the floor with little girl today.

You figure most things out, because you have to live.

But asking for extra pain? Going into something that is going to hurt, no matter what - even knowing that it's probably essential in the long run, well that's just incredibly risky to me. Because I can't assume that it's going to be fine, and I can't pretend that the extra pain - and oh, boy, does everybody agree that there's going to be extra pain - isn't almost a dealbreaker for me. And I shouldn't have to pretend, but in real life, I do.

The number of people - related to me, who have been witness to my illness from the beginning people - who have played oppression Olympics with me ("It's not as if it's a tumor their taking out/you're having chemo/you're losing something important" or have asked me what the "big deal is - you'll get to have tons of ice cream"? Is frustratingly high.

"But what are your other choices?" they ask. "You're going to keep getting sick right? So just let them do the little snip here, little poke there --- maybe get your tummy tucked or your boobs shrunk a little while you're under, ha ha --- and then it'll be fine" they say. (And no: I'm not talking about you, who was actually thinking about how combining surgeries would be helpful re: not having to do anesthesia twice. I'm talking about the more thoughtless among us).

Right, because A) This is totally a joke to me. and B)You're not the one who has to live in my body, in my level of pain, now or then. So you can't really tell me whether or not it's a big deal. You just have to take my word for it - this is a big deal. I know it's not cancer or whatever the hell you think would be a big enough reason for me to worry, but I'm still worried.

Let me just say this again: Even if everything goes absolutely 100% as it should, by the book, perfect: This is still going to be a big deal for me.

Because all of those little sad faces that they give you in the ER so you can point out your pain? None of them is going to cover me anymore. Because I am already at the saddest face, I am already as high as the numbers will go, and now I'm volunteering for more: That is a hell of a big deal.

And I realize, as I am trying to find a conclusion to this very wandering post, that nobody who needs to read it will read it, because they don't know it's here. (Thank god!) But that maybe just writing it was the point, because all of the sudden I don't feel so ridiculous about being completely stressed out about this - It is a Big Deal for me, and it's something that I don't have to apologize for being a bit anxious about. So if I want to brainstorm reasons to back out of it, knowing that I won't actually back out of it, so be it.

Now, somebody give me a really good one, because "getting all the ice cream I want" is no longer on the pro side of the list: I'm an adult, and if I want ice cream, I will damn well eat it, surgery or no surgery.

Maybe I'll just add "because I'd rather go to Dairy Queen" to the list...

So I'm sitting here

at quarter to three in the morning, after playing Family Feud on Facebook, and browsing on Etsy long enough to add a whole new page of favorite things, and typing up two long overdue, rambly and probably non-sensical e-mails, wondering what the hell I am going to do.

This surgery is on Friday, and - as of today - that is still a go. The liver issues seem to be under control (2nd set of liver tests = no problem, just like I suspected they would be), but I've got another round to go before I get the all-clear.

I do not like to be in limbo, and yet I seem to be spending an awful lot of time there.

So I am assuming that I am having the surgery on Friday, as in a week from today, and holy crap that is soon... which means I now have to figure out all of the things I need to do before Friday, in order to not have to worry about them after the surgery.

I've been stockpiling books (which I do anyways), and magazines that take little thought or effort. I've got a week or two worth of funny shows on my DVR that I specifically didn't watch, and a Netflix queue (instant and through mail) as long as my to-do list. I'm going to fill out all the paperwork for anything that might be due in week or two following the surgery - bills to be paid, mail to send, etc - today, and I'm saving the major clean up for Thursday, because I know I'll just mess everything up again anyways if I do it now.

I wanted to have a sleepover this weekend with No Longer Youngest Nephew, partly because I don't know when I'll be up to it again, and partly because I knew he'd be a great distraction, but it turns out he's got a Sunday baseball game, so (since I don't drive), that fell through. I've also invited College Roommate/Best Friend to come and visit, but she's usually weekend booked all the way through the end of the school year, so I'm not holding out much hope there either.

But I think if it's just me sitting here, things could get pretty dicey pretty quickly, so I'm just going to think of LOTS of things that need to be done between now and then, so I don't have time to obsess. Because obsessing is something I can be very good at, and it could lead to chickening out, which I am determined not to do, so, therefore (and, Off Topic: I really think the keyboard ought to have a Therefore symbol - maybe instead of the #... those three little circles in the shape of a triangle that came in so handy in freakin geometry, I could use those on my keyboard, just saying): Keeping Busy.

On the one hand, this is relatively minor surgery.

On the other hand, this is my body, which never reacts as the doctors say it 'should', and my face, which is already in enough pain, and myself, which also has enough pain and exhaustion to deal with, thank you very much... so this is the hand that will lead to the obsessing.

I'm trying to focus on that first hand instead. And this magical third hand that appeared out of nowhere to remind me that I will be under anesthesia, which means I will get some SLEEP. Real, actual, knock-me-out for a few hours sleep. The kind that my body has completely forgotten how to manufacture, and I will take whatever I can get. Artificially induced or not, I'm going to focus on the fact that a week from today, I will be taking a NAP. I know I cannot articulate exactly how awesome that will be, but let's just say that it almost makes me forget that they're going to be cutting out pieces of my body and sticking metal hooks up my nose. Almost.

In the meantime, I've got the itchy scratchies, but no actual energy to work them off, so I hope you'll excuse a few rambling blog posts, particularly if they're just serving as poor reminders to myself that this is not something to get all wimpy about.

Or about how I played Ms Pacman for the better part of two hours yesterday, and had over a million points because this was an online fake version of the game and when you ate the little 'turn the ghosts blue' pellets, the ghosts never changed back to their original colors unless you ate them, thus giving you the run of the board for ridiculously long periods of time. Ms. Pacman Champion, right here.

Where I've been

Nowhere exciting, unfortunately.

Just feeling a little bit more rundown than usual: Allergies and a spring cold - along with a birthday party, a baby shower, a double christening and a wedding shower - have left me feeling the full weight of the Fatigue part of Chronic Fatigue Syndrome. I'm still waiting to hear if my surgery is on or off - if it's on, it's scheduled for Next Friday, which - how the damn hell did the end of May get here so fast? I'm loving my new computer, which is quick and not-complaining and purple-ish and a little heavy but I am getting used to it. I am mostly doing mindless things, and have so many unread feeds in my Google Reader that I almost don't want to turn it on (and some days, I just don't). There is very little exciting news here - SisterCh moved in with her fiance, leaving me as the only child still at home, and that is not the most awesome feeling, let me tell you. I am weeks behind on phone calls, because every time I look at the phone I get a feeling of just "ugh" and then I roll over and read a book because I don't have to think of what to say next. I am very sorry if you are reading this and are one of those people I haven't called... I'm getting there, I promise. Poor BestFriend/College Roommate and I haven't seen each other since November, I think, and I keep seeing her - and her kids - Christmas presents in the corner and cringing, because it's mostly my fault that we haven't met up, and yet I just don't have enough umph to say "Come on over!"

And this post is very whiny, which I do not enjoy, so instead of keeping on in that vein, I'm going to say that Lil Girl told me the other day that I am "Beauteous", and I wanted to give her a pony. And that my cousin's twins (now 2 and almost a half years old) finally came over for the first time a few weeks ago, and it was amazing to see them running around (one with his feeding tube and all, the other avoiding the tube expertly), laughing, and seeing their mom laugh did me some good as well. And, finally, No Longer Youngest Nephew pitched in his first Little League game this week, and retired his side with no hits!

I'll be back soon, I hope: Just gotta think of something to say.

BADD 2010

In honor of Blogging Against Disabilism Day, here is my (long-promised and hopefully coherent) post on Oracle, superheroine extraordinaire:



For whatever reason, I was juiced about Halloween this past year: maybe it was the idea that we might, in our new house, have more than three trick-or-treaters, or maybe it was that I'd been feeling like crap and was looking for a reason to be excited - who knows?

Whatever the reason, I decided at the last minute to see if I could throw something together. And so, that Saturday morning, I was searching online with a (pretty great if I do say so myself) idea in mind: Oracle. DC Super heroine, former Batgirl, and wheelchair user extraordinaire. The best part is that since she's a behind the scenes kind of girl - at her most basic level, she's a computer genius who supplies Batman (and numerous other heroes/heroines) with the intelligence necessary to fight crime - she can wear whatever the hell she wants. Jeans, mostly. Sweatpants, sometimes. Excellent: I can handle sweatpants! Accessories? Laptop computer: Check. Bluetooth device: Check. Superintelligence: Easily faked. (Ok, yes she has red hair, but it was dark. And trick-or-treaters are little, so I decide to just pretend there.) So, although I did wish I had a shirt with a bat insignia on it, I figured I was set. What I didn't expect, while searching to make sure my mental picture of Oracle matched up with the reality, was how much abilism I would have to wade through in relation to the character of Oracle herself.

Now, before I get any further, let me just state, for the record, that I am absolutely a newcomer to the comic book world, and I have absolutely no experience with the fandom, the world building, the story arcs: I don't know if Oracle ever had to fight the Riddler, or if she battled Catwoman, or if, as a comment I wandered across suggested, she and Professor Xavier are getting it on in private - because people with disabilities only date other people with disabilities, don't ya know - : For the purposes of this discussion, I will gladly cede the point that I am NOT a comic book genius, and that there's a lot about the DC Universe that I don't know or understand. I am not even going to consider myself worthy of writing a critique of the character, or comic books in general, in regards to different forms of discrimination - the majority of this post is going to instead focus on the ablism inherent in the online discussions of Oracle - that is, the arguments over her fitness as a superheroine, her perceived uselessness when being "confined to a wheelchair", and the unapologetic ablist terminology & attitudes that were displayed in these various discussions.

To start with, there's a lot of argument about whether or not Barbara Gordon is a better character now (as Oracle) than she was as Batgirl, and I'm sure that's a valid discussion to have - which incarnation of a character is the best, why is it the best, etc. What I think are distinctly less valid are observations like -

...Tate comments, “It's ridiculous to think somebody wakes up thinking how lucky they are to be confined to a wheelchair, and yet the attitude around DC and among the fans is that Oracle is the better character over Batgirl because of her handicap. Rubbish. Batgirl has fought more crime and done more to aid Batman as Batgirl than she has as Oracle. Batgirl has saved Batman's life on numerous occasions. Oracle has not. Barbara in this incarnation is not a bad character, but she is not better because she no longer hunts the night in cape and cowl.

wikipedia

No: People with disabilities are not better because they're disabled. They're also not worse, either, and that certainly seems to be the implication here - Oracle is not as good as Batgirl, not as worthwhile, not as valuable. Her intellectual skills - genius hacker and supplier of crucial information - are not on par with the kicking and swooping and physicality that she exhibited as Batgirl. She "saved" Batman when she was Batgirl, but that information she provides is apparently not life saving enough. (Although I seem to remember at least one occassion that this was exactly the case.) The alliance building she did with the Justice League of America, the founding of the Birds of Prey (an all female superhero team), her photographic memory, and the fact that she remains a master of numerous martial arts (even though she is "confined" to her wheelchair) is just not 'life saving' enough?

Somebody probably should have told her she was just wasting everybody's time and getting in the way.

Then you can compare that attitude with this one -

James B. South's chapter "Barbara Gordon and Moral Perfectionism" in the 2004 book Superheroes and Philosophy analyzes how the changes in Barbara's life "from librarian to Batgirl to Oracle" drive her to pursue a higher self, illustrating the philosophical theory of moral perfectionism.

wikipedia

And here we get the ideal SuperCrip - able to "get past her bitterness" over being viciously attacked and to overcome the challenges that being "wheelchair bound" must present. But ablisim goes both ways: When you are attributing characteristics to a group of people because of their disabilities - whether those characteristics are negative or positive - you are using stereotypes and ignoring their real value as people. African Americans are not all good at basketball, women are not all bad drivers, and people with disabilities are not pure or without moral imperfections. See this excellent post for all the reasons why being a Supercrip is not only unrealistic, but damaging as well. (And yes, I don't need you all to point out to me that I am, in fact, discussing comic books, where the characters are supposed to be superheroes: What I'm talking about here is the denial of a person - or in this case a character -'s humanity based on a faulty system of beliefs. All I'm saying is that expecting her to just "get over" her attack, and that she will instead buck up & be an inspiration to all is not, in fact, a reasonable path for her character arch to take.)

There's also a large dose of disabilism to be found in the parts of Oracle's storyline which negate her disability completely - In the short lived television show based on Birds of Prey, (which was, incidentally, my first introduction to Oracle), the character is played by Dina Meyer, an able bodied actress. I'm sure the creators of the show would explain that by saying that they had to show Batgirl's story in flashbacks, or the inclusion of the inevitable storyline where she can once again 'miraculously' wiggle her toes, but instead of that being a reason for not using an actress with an actual physical disability, this is rather further proof that the ways individuals with disabilities are portrayed in the media are inadequate. In addition, in the comic books, there are times when Barbara Gordon's body is possessed, and those beings are able to "bypass her paralysis and make her run and fight like a normal person but when they leave her body her paralysis will return completely."

"Like a normal person," huh? That's awesome - There was some discussion revolving around the fact that she's probably "disappointed" when the person WHO POSSESSES HER leaves, because then she's back to being "crippled".

Seeing disability labeled as abnormal is not the only term I had an issue with: Articles, posts and comments were littered with the words handicap, crippled, immobile (although she's clearly mobile), forever confined to/stuck in a wheelchair, and a lot of talk about the fact that she's hindered (rather than empowered) by her chair. Terms that are not only not 'politically correct,' but harmful to the accurate portrayal of individuals with disabilities. There's also the idea that she's both useless and an invalid, and, of course, there's a lot of talk about Oracle being "cured".

The question of the cure is actually one of those areas where the intersectionality of ablism and sexism inherent in (but certainly not restricted to) comic books is made only too obvious:

Just to drive home the point that Barbara Gordon's crippling was sexist, a few years later Batman was also crippled. How long did he spend in a wheelchair? Oh, about a year, and then as a SUPERHERO and PROTAGONIST he was able to make a miraculous recovery. Because Batman is a MAN and a HERO. And Batgirl was disposable.

Comment onMyriad Issues by Rusty


So there's one double standard, in that ok: Yes, I will grant that Batman probably could figure out a lot of ways to 'cure' her disability, or that Barbara herself would probably, in the way of all superknowledgable superheroines, be able to come up with a pretty good idea of how to accomplish such a feat. But that doesn't mean she should be cured, or that she's any less vital of a character because she hasn't been cured. The discussions revolving around the idea of a cure are some of the most impassioned - people talk about how useless and ridiculous it is that Batgirl hasn't been cured yet, invalidating Oracle completely: If Barbara can only fight crime/be worthwhile/be important when she is Batgirl, then Oracle is a wasted character, nothing more than a "girl in a chair".

I am also largely setting aside the idea that her "crippling" by the Joker is considered by many to be one of the most anti-woman plot devices in the DC Universe (which is full of anti-women storylines, unfortunately), because I just don't know enough about it, having not yet read the issue myself, although I will point you in the direction of a very interesting discussion about Women in Refrigerators vs Dead Men Defrosting, (See Here .
I am going to mention this piece of information, however, because I think it says so much about how 'well-thought out' the creation of a well-rounded character with a disability really was:

Brian Bolland tells this little story in his recent book The Art Of Brian Bolland:

"Back in Northampton, Alan had to check with editor Len Wein how DC would feel about him crippling one of its key character, Batgirl. Len phoned back. His precise words are not printable here, but the gist of it was that it was okay. The Joker had, after all, to be shown to be a seriously nasty piece of work."

The words that Bolland is too much of a gentleman to reproduce, but which have been retold in various circles, were: "Cripple the bitch!"

And that pretty much sums up the attitude that allows female characters to continue to be mistreated in comics (at DC in particular, it seems).

Kate, Digital Eraser

Still, from such an offensive beginning, Oracle has become a favorite heroine for many. Even amidst all of the disturbing comments and discussions I was able to find online, there were a lot of positive things being said as well. Most readers described Oracle as invaluable, powerful, and just all around awesome. Some of them talked about how inspirational she is a character living with a disability without being too corny or 'movie of the week', and the writer who 'rescued' Barbara after her attack and gave her her own storyline seems to have a pretty impressive attitude about the whole thing, IMO:

We wanted her to cope with what had happened to her and becoming, in many ways, more effective as Oracle than she ever was as Batgirl. And we knew that others with disabilities might look at her and feel good reading about her...I don't think people 'dance around' her disabilities as they don't want to focus on them, but on her character. These shouldn't be stories about a disabled person; they are stories about a compelling fascinating character who HAPPENS to be in a wheelchair and I think that's correct. Barbara isn't her handicap; there's more to her than that.[41] ”

wikipedia

I was shocked by some of the dis/ablism I was confronted with as I wandered around looking for an Oracle action figure (you can see one here, if you're interested), but I probably shouldn't have been. It's not news to me that there are people who say they'd "rather be dead" than have to live "shackled to a chair"... I've met more than one of them in person, unfortunately. But there's a lot of good stuff out there too, a lot of positive feedback on a pretty unique character. I'm going to wrap this up with one last quote (originally intended to discuss sexism, but I think it works pretty well here too):

"Comics have always attracted intelligent people as fans, especially among women, and the idea of a superhero who uses her brains instead of her fists to defeat criminals is one that has deep attraction, especially with the rise of the Internet. Batgirl evolved from being a dilettante librarian to a tech-savvy geek girl, just in time for the Information Age. Her storytelling engine seems to constantly reflect the evolving role of women in society, and her popularity reflects the fact that comics are no longer just a boy's club.

GoodComics

I hope that as society continues to change, and comic books evolve as well, that the role of disabled characters is one that will continue moving in a more positive direction. Besides: A librarian turned techno-geek turned super-heroine? Tell me that's not the most awesome Halloween costume ever. (Actually, it was not: since nobody in my family reads comics, I spent the entire day trying to explain who Oracle was. Oh well, I still rocked that bluetooth.)
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Thanks for reading, and for participating in BADD. Don't forget to head over to the Goldfish's place for more fabulous posts!