And That's All I Have to Say About That.

Thoughts swirling.
Senseless.
Tears come and go.
Mainly, I can't make sense of it, so I just don't.

Will the date today be significant, or just the event?   The date a mentally ill man went into a school and killed a bunch of innocent children. My Facebook wall is ablaze with prayers, condolences, grieving, sadness, calls for less guns, calls for more guns, calls for better health care, calls for compassion for people with mental illnesses, people trying to make sense of a nonsensical situation...everyone wishing there was SOMETHING else we could be consumed with today...anything but what actually happened, because the horrificness of it is too much for any of us to comprehend.

So then I start to think.  My mind wanders and I contemplate that while today's events were absolutely, without question horrific, tragic, and in all ways unnecessary...I wonder how many other people died today.  How many other children died this week of gang violence, of cancer, of parental neglect, of things unnecessary and unexplainable.  What deaths are explainable?  Old age, I suppose...but pretty much any other time someone dies, it seems that it's pretty tragic and without sense.  This event was monumental in its scope, but does that make individual tragedies less important?  How many children have to die in one place at one time before it becomes a national concern?  I'm pretty sure every mom mourning their baby, whether in Connecticut  or in Children's Hospital, or wherever they may be, they all wail the same question at the universe: "why??"
Don't get me wrong, I'm not trying to negate the devastation we are all feeling over this. I've just started thinking so hard about everyone ELSE, everyone NOT in Connecticut, who lost a child today, and wondering what they must be thinking.  No doubt they are as shocked by the news as the rest of us, but is there resentment?  Is there any "Hey, my kid died too!" going on?  I can't imagine that there wouldn't be.  This is where my mind is.  Everyone is sending prayers and love and thoughts of peace and advice on how to make sure this doesn't happen again...but my thoughts are also with the rest of the world population, in which there were undoubtedly other deaths today, other senseless tragedies, like those that happen every single day.  It'd be paralyzing to focus on that on a daily basis, but I think it's important to remember that as awful as today was, and as horribly sick as we all feel knowing what happened...that there are other people who are going through their own version of hell today, and maybe sending some of those prayers and messages of love to everyone affected by tragedies would be appreciated across the board.  Just a thought.

Carpe the freaking Diem

It's been 11 years, 10 months, and 9 days since I was diagnosed with type 2 diabetes.  Tomorrow, after years of being able to control my disease with diet, exercise, and sometimes oral medication, I will be put on insulin.  My life, as I know it, will change forever.
I've been on insulin before...as a Diabetic, the moment I became pregnant, I was immediately put on insulin.  Say what you will about Kaiser, but their preventative medicine protocol is amazing.  I was carefully monitored and bore 2 beautiful, healthy children, one at 6lbs 9 oz, one at 7lbs, 5 oz...a fact I'm incredibly proud of.  I took insulin 3 times a day and checked my blood sugar 7 times a day and controlled every morsel that went into my mouth so that my babies would have the best shot at being healthy. 

In November of 2000, I suffered a miscarriage.  We were living in Baltimore at the time, far from friends and family, and it was incredibly hard.  I went to a new obgyn to make sure everything was in order following that experience, and as I sat in his office after the examination, he told me I was "absolutely perfect", something that made superstitious me very uncomfortable.  Sure enough, his office called back the next day to tell me that, as it turned out, there was sugar in my urine and I needed to go see a real doctor to see what was going on.  I made an appointment, and was asked to fast before coming in, which wouldn't have been so bad, except my appointment wasn't until 2pm, and they kept me waiting 90 minutes before seeing me, so I was a bit of a shaky mess by the time I went in.  The doctor came in, stuck my finger, checked my sugar on a little machine, and said "Yep, you're diabetic."  Not understanding completely the way diabetes worked, I didn't understand how a drop of blood could make that determination, and so quickly.  So I asked "Are you sure?  How do you know?" And he said (not nicely) that my blood sugar was 177 (normal fasting should be between 60-90 for a non diabetic) and that they didn't need to do any more tests, it was clear.  Then I asked if it was type 1 or type 2 (I was 27 and had a friend who had been diagnosed with type 1 at 28, so I thought it was a valid question).  He laughed and said "It's type 2.  Look at you."  The horrors of the rest of that day and what followed in the journey to being in control of my Diabetes is in and of itself a saga, but I survived.  I pulled through it, I learned (A LOT) and I did what I needed to do (with a lot of tears and frustration on the way). 

As time passed, it's been a lot of ups and downs.  Lately, it's been a lot of downs.  Diabetes isn't fun.  A friend of mine who suffered through terrible cancer once said she preferred having cancer, cause at least she could fight it and be done with it.  People don't judge you for having cancer (unless maybe you're a smoker)...but OH the judgement that comes along with being a diabetic.  Especially type 2.  I don't like to tell people I have it, because I have enough issues with people judging what I eat (and I'm not just talking my grandma) that I don't need to give anyone more ammunition.  And I am sure that most people mean well, but until you've gone through it, you don't know how it feels, and it's not an easy thing.  But all of that changes tomorrow...because tomorrow I go on insulin. 

Over the last few months, the effectiveness of my oral meds has decreased.  I've lost over 30 pounds in the last year, in an effort to "help" and it's actually gotten worse.  My doctor, my cousin (a doctor), and I have all reached the same conclusion...the next step is insulin...and while I'm ok with it on a technical level, needles don't scare me, the process is a PITA, but it's not the end of the world...the concept of it has been really hard.  The hardest part is that I can't keep it a secret anymore.  People have to know now.  I hate this the very most.  I haven't even told my parents yet.  (It's a good thing they don't read my blog). 

I know I will be fine, and I will rise to the challenge and fight back this stupid treason my body is inacting on me...and I be successful.  But it's another hill to climb, one that people will try to tell me how to climb, one that I will occasionally stumble upon, one that I don't even want to climb...but I know I have to because the alternative would suck.

Apples and Trees and Somesuch

Magnolia is going through a rough spell.  She's 10, she's tall, she's smart, she's bigger than a lot of her friends (in kind of a tall and solid sort of way), she's not super graceful, and she's perceptive enough to notice these things and be sensitive about them.  She's also smart enough where her brain starts going and going and often rushes to judgement in a very negative way (usually, bearing the brunt of the negativity, as self induced psychological trauma) (ie- Those kids decided to play tag, but no one specifically invited me to play tag so they don't want me to play tag with them, and actually, come to think of it, I don't think they like me at all...no, I think they hate me and they are mocking me with their tag playing!!).  It's exhausting, heart breaking, and sometimes, really freaking annoying. 

So, when this kid comes home with a story where she actually faces down issues straight on, I praise, I cheer, I exhalt her into the stratosphere, because I'm SO excited she didn't go to the timid negative place, I can't even help myself.  

A few weeks ago, Magnolia heard me finish the Pledge of Allegiance with "...with liberty and justice for some", which is how I always finish it.  She asked me why I had said that, and I told her that until there is marriage equality, among other issues, I just plain don't agree with saying "for all".  Evidently, she copied me in class today, and in her words, "I was maybe a little loud about it".  I asked her what happened and she said her teacher "whipped her head around and said "why did you say THAT?  That isn't how we finish the pledge!"  So I asked "and then what happened?" And she said, "well, I said that my family is in favor of gay marriage being legalized and it's not fair to say "for all" until that happens", which evidently resulted in significant classroom snickering.  I am pretty sure my chest swelled up even more than usual.  I told her she was awesome.  I asked her how she felt about it, and she said that she felt pretty amazing.  I told her that this issue is the civil rights issue of our time, and that just like the civil rights leaders who fought for women's rights, and African American rights, she was encountering resistance by her peers...but that she was making the decision to do so because it was the right thing to do, despite it not being the popular thing to do.  I told her repeatedly that I was proud of her and had her repeat the story for Michael, who echoed my sentiments. 

So, you know, I'll take the kid who takes things too personally and who assumes the worst sometimes...cause I also have the kid who stands up for the things that she knows are right, and who does it despite being ACTUALLY mocked.  I'm often proud of my kids, but tonight, I was ready to buy her a pony.  Please, don't tell her that.  I don't want to have to take care of a pony.

WTF, day?

Ok, I know it's been awhile, but eh.  If I spend time explaining what has kept me from writing, I'll be too tired to actually write, so let's sum up with "life happened". 

I just came home to a baggie of dog poop sitting in my driveway, centered right on the line between the sidewalk and the driveway...a little pink baggie -tied neatly at the top...of shit.  Now, rather than take it as a personal attack or a sign of the demise of society at large, as was my initial desire...I decided to decide it was an accident or oversight, picked it up and threw it away.  Frankly, I'd had my fill of insane conspiracy theories at the school Title One meeting I attended this morning, and after over an hour of watching the poor principal and coordinator try to fend off attacks by parents too stupid to know what to do with the tiny bit of information they have, and the tiny fraction of that they understand...I wasn't ready to declare this bag of poo as war on my house.  Even though it was so neatly centered, it seems impossible that it just tumbled accidentally there, I made the decision to let it go. 

Not 1 minute after I entered the house, Jehovah's Witnesses came to the door.  My desk is situated such that generally, when people come to the door, I can freeze and then avoid being seen and thus avoid answering the door completely, but I wasn't REALLY in the mood to ignore people anymore.  Oh, poor JWs. 

I opened the door to the very nice looking African American and Causasian lady, mentally checking "pretend you don't speak Spanish" off my list of how I usually get rid of these folks...and contemplated my options.  I've done the "we're Jewish" route...I've done the "listen until they are done talking, take the watchtower, thank them and tell them I'll think about it" route, I've even done the "No thank you, we worship satan...slam door" route, when I'm feeling particularly feisty.  What would it be today?  (rubs hands together gleefully)

The lovely African American lady is the talker...and she starts off with the "Hi, so sorry to bother you, I know we weren't expected right now, I'm sure you're busy" spiel, and I'm still thinking..."do we worship Satan today?" She starts to pull her watchtower out of her bag, saying that they wanted to talk to me today about some very important things...and I decide I'm too bushed (bushed?  really?  that's a word?  Wait, no...I don't think it is.  Beat?  I'm too beat.  Yes, that sounds better) to let this go any farther, so I interrupt her, with my most pleasant, smiley face and say "Oh, you know what?  Thank you SO MUCH for coming by, but we're just not interested."  Keep it simple, right?  Her face hardens a little and she says "No?  Well, are you interested in a little word called ARMAGEDDON?"  I blink a couple of times, contemplating my options now.  And what I land on is "Actually, we are Pagan.  We practice a nature based, goddess based religion.  We're comfortable with it, and we are, in fact, not worried about Armageddon."  Her turn to blink.  I turn back and forth, ping pong style, to both of them with my very best Stepford Wife face, wondering where it might go from here.  (To be fair, we don't "practice" anything...our families are Jewish and Catholic and new agey bohemian and we're identified spiritual Agnostics with Pagan leanings...HEY!  Maybe I should have said THAT!) 

Caucasian lady says, smiling:  "I saw you walk up the path."  I smile, still Stepford Wife style, wondering where this is going.  I notice the watchtower is being tucked back into the bag of the other one. She continues "And I see you made quilts?  Your van says something about quilting." I continue to smile and say, "yes, I do make quilts."  She asks if I crochet them, and I explain that no, they are sewn.  She asks if it's like "on the tv, with the patches and things" and I say yes.  I'm still completely unsure of where this is going.  African American lady says that her grandma used to be a quilter, and how much do I charge for a queen sized quilt...and all of a sudden I realize that they have DROPPED my salvation!  I am officially off the hook!  I chat with them for a few minutes, answering their questions about whether or not I'm in a Quilt Guild (no), how the business is going (just fine), and if I like my kids' school (yes)...and then they thank me and they leave. 

I headed back into the house, my mind swirling about the events of the last 3 hours, wondering how religious zealots can be so lovely, and neighbors so inconsiderate/absentminded, and fellow parents so horribly WRONG...and I have no real conclusions.  The world is a funny place.  And it's not even noon yet. 

Ye Olde Classroome

Driving to school today, Magnolia recounts the following conversation she had in class yesterday:

Teacher (who is maybe 40 and has 5 tattoos she told the kids about): I need some strong volunteers to help me move this desk. (Then chooses 3 boys).

Magnolia: I'm strong! I rode 10 miles on my bike yesterday!!

Teacher: But you're wearing such a cute skirt! You don't want to mess that up.

Um.

Is it 1955? Did someone NOT tell me that it's 1955??? WTF. I was on the list to get the memo about time travel becoming a reality. Dammit.

Ok, now, in all seriousness...I'm not worried about Magnolia. This IS the child who told off her kindergarten classmates (she's now in 4th grade) when they told her she couldn't like the movie Cars by telling them all they were gender stereotypers. Yes, that happened. That girl is the product of a very strong willed mother and an exceptionally pro-humankind father. She's going to be fine...she knew enough to share this story with me, and I'm pretty sure it wasn't just shared to get a confirmation on the fact that she was wearing a cute skirt yesterday (it was super cute). But let's be honest for a moment. Our society is totally fucked up.

Recently, Lisa Bloom of the Huffington post had THIS to say about how we talk to little girls. It was an interesting article that circulated through many of my friends' facebook pages. It basically talks about how we often praise girl and boy children very differently, and that we are doing a disservice to little girls when we talk about how cute they are all the time instead of talking about their ability to do things. I found the article interesting, and I for the most part agreed with it, but by no means was it a complete story about what we SHOULD be saying to children...I think about this stuff a lot, as evidenced by one of my old blogs, just this week referenced on my FB page by a friend of mine teasing me. I fear that one of the problems with doing as Ms. Bloom suggests is the lack of balance. There is that song in "A Chorus Line" - "Mother always said I'd be very attractive..when I grew up, when I grew up. Different, she said, with a special something and a very very personal flair......Now different is nice, but it sure isn't pretty. Pretty is what it's about. I never knew anyone who was different who couldn't figure that out."

Shouldn't our goal be to create people (not just women) who recognize that there is a whole-istic approach to someone's worth as a human being? That they can be any number of things, and that the only thing that ultimately matters is their ability to be kind, not only to others, but to themselves as well? Our world isn't perfect, in fact it seems to be slipping further and further from perfection every day...and I want to make sure both my kids are prepared with every possible tool in their arsenal to face it...and honestly, to hopefully fix some of the insanity that's out there.

We want to create an army of girls who are strong, feel confident, with the ability to do whatever they set their mind to...but do we really want to put them into this beauty driven world without the confidence of realizing they can be ALL of those things, and be pretty too? There was the recent uproar over the HORRIFIC shirt (now pulled) from the children's section at J.C. Penny- "I'm too pretty to do homework, so my brother does it for me". UM, WHAT? I feel like the march of the progressive movement should be towards acceptance of others- ALL others. I'm a fat girl. You won't find me blasting skinny ones, cause I've got family members who struggle with that issue just as hard as I struggle with mine. We should be teaching our children that it's not that you're either pretty OR strong OR smart...but you can be all of those things. If I could wave a magic wand, I'd make a world where it didn't matter, but as long as it does, I'd like to prepare my brilliant, gorgeous kid for it.

If you read the link from my blog, you'll see Magnolia had it all figured out at 3. She could be strong, brave, smart, AND sparkly.

Jaime Oliver Can Kiss My Fat Ass

Despite what my appearance may lead you to believe, I'm a huge huge nutrition nerd. I know fiber contents and calorie contents and fat contents and glycemic indices of foods most of America has never heard of. As a former teacher in LAUSD, I found the lunches to be disturbingly monochromatic and high on the fat/sugar side. I learned early on that one of the reasons for this was the fact that there is an assumption made that many students on free or reduced price lunch may not get another meal in the day, and so they shove as many calories as possible into school lunches. Considering there is another law making sure that the rich kids in LAUSD schools don't actually get to have meals any different than their other end of the spectrum counterparts, even if the kids are eating 3 squares, they all get the same food, or at least, are supposed to. An interesting and somewhat daunting task, considering the number of schools in the district, the number of students being serviced, and the fact that not all schools even have kitchens they can use.

As a parent, I had mixed feelings. I liked the convenience of school lunches, and even liked that my kids were being exposed to different things, because, even as a someone who loves to cook, I find myself falling into easy ruts as a working parent, and I like the idea of exposure. I don't as much enjoy the "exposure" to daily chocolate milk, coffeecake, or popsicles and ice cream bars...but I decided a little bit of that stuff won't hurt them. More importantly, it will hopefully keep them from becoming teens who, deprived of junk food as children, binge unhealthily on it as soon as they can access it (a story I've heard over and over again from folks who've gone through it, and truth be told, know from personal experience). So I turned a bit of a blind eye to it, for I strongly believe children who are too steered in a nutritional direction WILL rebel and the biggest gift I can give to my children is the gift of choice, of moderation, and of balance (really, when it comes to everything in life).

When I heard of Jaime's Food Revolution, I was interested...but I didn't watch the first season, mainly because I just forget to watch TV most of the time. I followed it through friend's facebook posts and reading the occasional article, and the first season sort of slipped by with semi positive, but not terribly in depth thoughts about it. Then it was time for the second season, and with guns blazing, he was coming to my home, so to speak, and nailing those LAUSD lunches to the wall. Hmm, I thought, seems interesting. The district backlash and defensiveness didn't really surprise me, but I was still on Jaime's side, until I read an article in a parenting magazine talking about the background in this particular fight. In the article I learned that the new LAUSD superintendent was actually interested in sitting down with the British cook and figuring out solutions to LAUSD's very very complicated lunch issues, but that because those kinds of sessions don't make good television, the answer was "no, thanks".

I recently read about the probable victory of getting the strawberry and chocolate flavored milks ("soda in disguise", according to one irate mother) removed from the menus, and was a little more than surprised when I saw this would only reduce the amount of sugars by 6 grams. That's less than 1/2 a teaspoon. Calories stay the same, cause the chocolate milk is fat free, while the regular milk is 2% (really, 38% fat), and we're saving 1/2 a teaspoon of sugar. Why, exactly, are we jumping up and down over this? And, to that irate mother, last I checked, chocolate milk (which my kids never get at home) has calcium, vitamin a, vitamin d, and protein...something I'm pretty sure NO soda has.

I statused on FB- "I hate to say it, but Jaime Oliver lost me. When he turned down the opportunity to sit down with the district people to work out a solution using the limitations that LAUSD has because he is here to "make waves", not ACTUALLY SOLVE THE PROBLEM...I am gone. I hate wave makers who put blinders on and don't try to find a solution. On TV and in life."

Conversation ensued...no one really opposed me, but I'm sure that was more out of a notion of being polite rather than a notion that I'm 100% right (oh, to be 100% right...). And as I proclaimed that I had actual solutions that would be helpful, I was asked to provide them, and I thought- crap...this IS hard. Which isn't really a solution, either. I mean, at least yelling about a problem gets it noticed. Just sitting in a corner and muttering "well, it's complicated" isn't really going to get any more done that the guy riding the quinoa horse and waving around his asparagus (my favorite imagery from one of my comments). So then what?

Look, ain't none of us perfect. This limey comes into to our home and tells us we're doing it all wrong, which many of us know. It's not really his fault that he's got a team of directors, producers, and lackeys all running around him telling him how to do things, what to do, and he's probably not thrilled with the way things are going either. And, at the end of the day, he's just trying to help. He's a father of 4. His kids are gonna start turning their noses up at the whole wheat cous cous casserole as soon as they realize they can. He's got other stuff he can be doing...but at the same time, I have to give him props for at least trying. But what I don't have to do is watch his show...because like all reality TV, it's there for a reason. Entertainment. Ratings. Sponsors. And I don't appreciate him making a group of people look bad who are also trying to do the best they can within the guidelines of what they HAVE to do sandwiched up against laws, budget cuts, facilities, and the fact that kids are just freaking picky. Especially not when those people are feeding my kids. Go into a tiny town that thinks potatoes are a vegetable and teach them how to do things a different way? Ok. But if you're going to come into MY town and try to "revolutionize" it but are not willing to work within the confines we have to abide by? You can move along, thanks.

No, there is no easy answer. There is an obesity epidemic in this country, but the problem doesn't lie in the 6 grams of sugar in chocolate milk. This HAS to be a wholistic approach that incorporates more activity, less empty calories, and the education to help that happen. It may not be "exciting television", but it's the only way it will work over the long term. And even that may fail.

Supposed To

I know I posted that whole thing about bereavement and not judging yourself for your feelings and all, but honestly, I feel kinda guilty. Growing up half jewish and half catholic will do that to you. Cause here is the thing. I feel fine.

I woke up last Friday morning feeling as hungover as I've ever felt, which, for those of you who don't know me, is not saying much, as I've never actually BEEN hungover (it's my superpower). I didn't drink on Thursday at all, but I felt puffy and dehydrated, headachey and like I'd been steamrolled. The events of the week and the amount of tears that had come out of me was the likely culprit. After deciding Zumba wasn't going to happen, I wanted to get all my feelings out and share what had been going on with everyone who had been so wonderful and supportive. So I vomited out all of that here, and honestly, as soon as I was done, it was as though a weight had been lifted. The pressure, the sadness, the hurt, the resentment, the frustration, all those negative feelings left, and I was left with a feeling of peace.

When I started that post, I was pissed. I was ready to take the low road and use my words to smack down the people I felt needed smacking down. I wanted to lash out and make them hurt as badly as I'd been hurt, make them realize that I was NOT the bad guy in this scenario, that I was the child who had been abandoned and cast asunder...not the reverse. Not that I thought any of them actually read my blog, but I just wanted it out there, in the universe, so I'd be heard. By the time I was done writing (which went relatively quickly, but it was so many words!) I truly felt the peace I talked about in the last paragraph. I felt GOOD about having stayed on the high road and had no desire to do anything but.

Here we are, just over a week later, and everyone has been checking in and seeing how I'm doing...and I kind of hate to admit it, but I feel really good. I've barely thought about it except in passing. I feel like now, when I want to hang out with biodad, all I have to do is think about him, not call his captors and make an appointment (the last one I tried to make was denied to me, about a month before he passed) and pretend to be nice and sweet and non judgmental. I just have to think about him and he is with me, and it's so much nicer than before. There is so much of him in me, and instead of it reminding me that I should call or I should visit, it just reminds me of him. It's kind of fun to think of him seeing me and those things without all the bullshit I'd get from him in person. I'm not sure if that makes me heartless, or callous, or just a survivor, but that's the truth. I feel fine.

After I wrote my entry last Friday, I went to my mom and (step)dad's for a birthday dinner for my brother, their child. His birthday was the day of the memorial, so they waited for me to have it, and for the first time all week, I talked to my dad about it. From day one, when I was 8, he never wanted to step on anyone's toes, he never wanted to make me feel like my real father was being replaced. If I had any complaint about him growing up, it was that he should have felt more ok doing that. I could have used a stronger father figure...but he was always super careful. Friday was no different. He wasn't going to bring it up, but I felt like it was the elephant in the room, and frankly, I saw it as the last piece in the puzzle of healing, so I started the conversation. I told him everything that had happened that week (my mom had told him about the death, but not about the treatment that followed), I told him about the memorial, I told him everything I had been feeling...and he listened, was incredulous when incredulity was necessary, was sympathetic when sympathy was called for, and I think, was thankful that we discussed it. Because after all of the rollercoaster of the week was over, I was left with this truth- the man who is my father did not die on May 14th. He's alive and well (and kicking someone's ass in court in litigation) and is there for me and will continue to be there for me. I don't know what I'm supposed to feel about that other guy, but I think I'm done feeling it...and I feel fine.