Bailout is a Failure For America

How about a bailout for Sara and her family?  How about a bailout for the thousands of others just like her? 

It’s sickening, it really is.

And Miles To Go

I’m still training for Team Prevention’s Walk It half-marathon in Philadelphia on November 23.  My sister asked me to join her and a couple of other people, and I asked my husband to sign up too.

I need the motivation to get into a regular exercise schedule after 6 long years of pregnancy, childbirth, breastfeeding, sleep loss, and general recovery.  Ya know, the times when it feels like ice cream is the only friend that really understands you.

So this morning I walked 7 miles in 111 minutes, which is pretty good since I’m only about 1/2 way through the training.  But boy do my hips hurt.

There’s nothing like starting up a new exercise routine when you’re 45 lbs overweight to make you feel every little thing in your body that’s out of alignment or just plain rusty from disuse.  My hips are my biggest complaint.  I can hear a popping on the right side when I walk, somewhere between my hip bone and my coccyx, and last week the pain in that area was really bothering me until I iced it a couple of times and took a few doses of ibuprofen.  I’d bet that has something to do with the three big babies that I carried around on those hips in recent years.

The rotator cuff of my right arm hurts.  I’ve had tendenitis there before, and I’m guessing it’s just acting up with all the new motion.  You’d be surprised how much just the action of walking and swinging your arms can aggravate this kind of injury after seven miles.

I’ve been trying to get up early at least once a week (okay, I’ve only done this once so far), to do the 6 AM yoga they have on Oxygen, Inhale, with Steve Ross.  Oh my Lord Almighty, this yoga will kick you in the pants.  I used to use his program when I was younger, and it’s hard to do some other yoga once you like Mr. Ross, but be prepared to be unable to move for a couple of days after the first work out. 

I’m also walking/jogging at least twice midweek, usually about 3 miles at a time.  I’m down to about a 38 minute 3 miles, but I’m upping it to 4 this week, so all bets are off.  If I don’t feel well, or I’m feeling like I’m pushing myself too much, I’ll switch out one of these workouts for a swim at the Y.  I’m not the best swimmer because I hate having water on my face.   I think once I invest in a pair of nose plugs and some good goggles it’ll be a little easier.  I’m sure it’s charming to see me doing my awkward above-the-water breast stroke, and suddenly start gagging or flailing around because some water splashed in my eye.  Yeah, picture that.  They won’t be making me a lifeguard anytime soon.

The whole point of this is to make exercise a part of my life.  Like any other big change, it’s pretty painful at first.  Some things fall to the wayside, like a favortie TV show, or your best friend, Mr. Ice Cream, but in the end you adjust (hopefully) to better habits.  Maybe Mr. Ice Cream isn’t as good a friend as I used to think he was.

October-National Down Syndrome Awareness Month

Yes, October is National Down Syndrome Awareness month. 

If you would like to warm your heart, go visit these photos, and see all the beautiful babies!  So much love to go around.

Sarah Palin

When Palin-mania hit after the Republican Convention, I was skeptical.  I have a deep distrust for any kind of “mania,” when I have no real knowledge of a politician.

After 5 weeks of seeing her try to get settled into her place as the Republican nominee for V.P., and especially after last night’s debate, I am behind her all the way.

You could see her nerves when she first walked onto the stage.  I can only guess that after weeks of having her and her family ripped apart in the media, she was rattled.  However, she quickly settled in to the task at hand.

Joe Biden was a condescending old man, and I thought he just oozed sleazy sexism.  When he looks at Palin he doesn’t see the intelligent, strong, savy woman that she is.  He sees a girl, and he has seriously underestimated her.

I know we’re accustomed to seeing crusty, media-hardened and Washington-savy politicians who know how to either hide or produce their emotions when it is politically expedient to do so.  This is a very different kind of a politician.  I believe in her sincerity, I believe that she wants to serve her country, not for her own benefit, but because she believes it is her duty.

My favorite part of the debate was when she told the country what her role would be as the VP.  She mentioned that she would work on energy policy, education, and special needs children.  I actually teared up a little when she said that.  She will be in a great position to give a voice to children like her baby who has Down Syndrome, and as a woman who holds a pro-life point of view.  Let her show the world that children with special needs have great worth, even in a country where most unborn children with Down Syndrome are aborted.  Let her life and the life of her son be an example of how to take adversity and turn it into a blessing.

But maybe this is all too much to hope for.  I’ve been reluctant to get emotionally involved in this campaign to save myself from disappointment.  I have decided to dare to hope, that our country can elect this woman as Vice President.  I’m daring to hope for the election of a woman who is intelligent, attractive, ambitious, conservative, and pro-life.  Come on, Sarah, show ‘em how it’s done.

What Day Is It?

No, really. 

Thomas decided last Friday that he wasn’t going to Kindergarten anymore, so long as there is the chance of another fire drill . 

It was during school the preceding Thursday that the teacher announced they would be having this drill.  The immediate result was that Thomas started screaming and covering his ears before the drill could even begin.  This began a chain reaction among the small people in his class, who immediately assumed by my son’s reaction that this “fire drill” must indeed be the end of them all.  According to Mrs. D., chaos was the end result. 

So only seven days into his public school career, Thomas feigned illness on Friday afternoon, thus duping his mother in this particular way for the first time. 

My goodness, what a precocious child. 

The sounds of flushing toilets and fire drills are just some of the themes dominating the conversations of this mom to a child with Asperger’s.  I’m sure they aren’t far off the mark for your usual neuro-typical child, it’s just the intensity of his devotion to these anxieties that probably sets him apart.

Thank the Lord it didn’t seem to phase him when the substitute bus driver forgot to bring him home on Tuesday!  If it had, I’m not sure it would have been so easy to urge his returning to the pursuit of his education.  I really would hate to see him quit before the end of the second full week.  Of half-day kindergarten.  Sigh.

Many Reasons For Not Blogging Lately

1.  Thomas started kindergarten last week, and we’ve been adjusting to our new schedule.

2.  The kids love their computer games.  Especially Ryan.  He doesn’t give me a turn.

3.  I’m training to walk a half-marathon with my husband and sister at the end of November. 

4.  I’ve been doing a lot of reading lately.

5.  I’ve been trying to go to bed at a decent hour every night.  This means missing all my favorite TV shows too, but see #3.  This is a big part of that.

6.  There are two three short people trying to talk to me right now. 

But I have made a little time for reading my favorite blogs, which is more fun anyway. 

Here’s a photo from our vacation last month.  That’s Ry standing on the foggy beach:

HAIKU FRIDAY

  “Every parting gives a foretaste of death, every reunion a hint of the resurrection.” -Arthur Shopenhauer

Come play along!  You can write a Haiku, too!  Hosted by A Mommy Story.

The Seasons’ Gift

In the graying dusk

A mutual acquaintance

Brought you to my dream.

 

The change of season

In lost ancient corridors,

Opens doors thought locked.

 

In the waking day,

Of another life chosen

You stay with me still.

 

This gift of haunting,

It will not let me forget

This piece of myself.

About My Big Kid

I hate CVS.  No, not the drugstore chain, the syndrome.  My oldest son started having frequent bouts of vomiting when he was about 2 years old.  It was only late last year when we finally received a diagnosis that put a name on these episodes.  That name is Cyclic Vomiting Syndrome.

Last night he began his 17th episode of vomiting this year.  Just before Tommy went to bed, he suddenly sat down on the sofa with that far away look on his face and told me that he was sick.  He would suddenly get up and go into the bathroom, come back out and sit down, and then go back to the bathroom…

It’s hard to know when it’s a case of CVS, or if it’s some other thing that’s bothering him.  His father wanted to give him one of those antacid, upset stomach medications, an idea I have discouraged in the past.  This time I gently told Ed that I didn’t think it was a good idea, but let him follow through with it anyway.  I understand the need to feel like you’re doing something to help, to briefly hold on to the idea that you have a solution to your child’s pain.

We sent him to bed, and sat down in front of the television for a few minutes.  It wasn’t long before the door at the bottom of the stairs cracked open and Thomas called out, asking for us to come clean him up.  He was standing naked at the bottom of the stairs with all of the color drained from his skin, covered in his own vomit.  He had tried to clean himself up before he came to us.  The stench of the undigested and fermented contents of his stomach hit us as soon as we went up the stairs.  Ed began running a bath while I stripped the bed and carried the soiled clothing into the basement.  I went back up the stairs to pick up the mess in the hallway, and Ed was cradling Tommy in his arms, covered in towel.

I remade his bed, and covered the sheets with towels, in an effort to minimize the work I would have to do if he did get sick again.  I grabbed Sean, who had been toddling around us during the whole episode, and took him up to bed while Ed stayed with Tommy.  From the bed with Sean I could hear Thomas getting sick again.  By the time I got back down stairs Thomas had, in effect, lost consciousness.  His skin was pale and damp, and I kissed him on the forehead. 

And it was over.  Until tomorrow, or next week, or next month.  I am hoping he doesn’t have to be medicated for this.  I am hoping he won’t get sick in school, because it might embarrass him.  I hope he outgrows this syndrome without it turning into lifelong migraines.

During an episode last winter, from his place on the sofa Thomas said to me, “I don’t want to be sick all the time!”  I know, little boy.

I wish I knew, I wish someone could tell me, how to make this go away.

Where The Wind Takes You

This is not my first blog.  My first was four years ago, one that I wrote through my pregnancy with Ryan.  I had another blog after that, and after months of not doing any writing on it, I deleted last year. 

I didn’t want to blog at all, for a long time.  There was no joy in it for me, so I found other things to do to fill in my time.  I baked bread.  I found my ancestors. 

I have always had political/philosophical/moral leanings, and then my leanings became a little more firm.  This new firmness of belief left me out in the cold when it came to many of the people I associated with via the Internet.  I began to see more clearly the importance of being thoughtful in my opinions, and had less room for people who would throw their assumptions around like facts.

I became more and more disillusioned with some people that I had thought of as intelligent, as I came to the realization that though they may be intelligent, their opinions were formed from a place of pure emotion.  The problem of pathos in lieu of logos.

People can disagree, even about things that are critical to the core of who they are as people.  We can disagree, and we can get angry.  Then we can turn around and find solace with those we do agree with us, to take us to a place of calm; readying ourselves to disagree again on another day.

What I am realizing now, as I look at my blog roll full of all kinds of different people, artists, Christians, Catholics, and moms; is just what it means to live in a free society, filled with the benefits of being free.

We don’t live under the auspices of a totalitarian regime.  There aren’t any morality squads ready to pull you off the street for wearing a low-cut blouse or an anti-Bush slogan on your t-shirt.  There isn’t a government committee for deciding what books we can or cannot read, there is no committee on the preservation of culture.  We each have a right to our opinions.  If you choose to listen to Britney Spears, and I choose to listen to Beethoven, neither of us is wrong.

That is why living in a democracy is such a huge responsibility.  We must decide for ourselves what culture we want to pass on to our children; McDonald’s or home cooked meals?  Madonna or The Madonna?  Home school or public school?  Day care or mom care?

What does it say when a person holds so vehemently to her opinion, that she must reduce the holder of the opposing opinion to less-than-human status?  When the vitriol and the hatred reaches such a level that people are no longer defending their opinion, but are answering some imaginary voice in their head, some imaginary threat?

It says that we are all human, and as such are subject to human frailty, to being wrong.  This kind of being wrong, this kind of mob mentality that feels so good in the moment, is pretty innocuous in this sort of engagement.  In reality, though, it is no different than the mob mentalities that lead to lynchings in the South, or the rise of Nazi-ism in Europe.  It is a feeling that spreads amongst people that the values that they hold sacred are being threatened by a powerful outside force; a powerful outside force that justifies any amount of violence in its eradication.

When we become unable to disagree with each other, passionately but humanely, we are in danger of coming to this ugly place in our human hearts; a place that diavows the humanity in some other person or persons.  When we come to a place where we are unable to disagree, unable to honor each other’s humanity, we have already sacrificed all that we are fighting for.

It is my belief (you may disagree), that this is what the framers’ of our constitution had in mind when they gave us the freedoms of life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.  Pretty lose construction, but deliberately so.  We must keep the right to fight for what we believe in, but it is just as important that we fight for everyone to have the right to do so.

Otherwise, there is nothing left to fight for.

Haiku Friday

  Come to A Mommy Story to participate!

Anniversary

A pot where I steamed
fresh corn from the farmer’s field
Sits soaking in suds.

I wake to you gone,
coffee now cold in the pot,
the children hungry.

Now these days grow short,
the pumpkins in the garden
turn shades of orange.

Red tints the maples,
As a sign of season’s end,
In this our sixth year.