PC?

In Manhattan, I was a minority. There were people of every flavor in school, and there wasn't a majority of any one group. My elementary school was in Greenwich Village. I believe they did a very good job of keeping us together as a group. We are all one people. Our Principal was Japanese. My first best friend was from Malta. I had friends who were black, white, Asian, Hispanic and all manner of mixes. Ethnic background really was a non-issue. I enjoyed the differences. Learning about my friends and their families, their cultures, helped me to learn about myself. I think that's why Roots affected me so deeply. My young mind couldn't understand how one group of people could treat another group so badly.

Moving to rural New Jersey was a shocking change for me. My school there was almost all white. There were maybe two or three black kids in the whole school. That was it. I recall a conversation with a business associate of my step-father's who argued with me about the superiority of whites. What an asshole!! I was just a kid. I remember angry frustrated tears because I couldn't believe this guy was serious. I was, indeed, living in a different world.

Racism is not dead in America. I think we should just all admit it out loud. There are veiled references to "a certain element." For a time in my teens I lost myself and said racist comments to fit in. I regret it deeply. It wasn't me, and it isn't me now. Once in high school, a kid I later became really good friends with came up to me and whispered "Jew" in my face. I said "so?" Later he apologized. I know many very good people who are racist and speak poorly of certain groups quite openly. It's hard to mesh their goodness with the hateful things that they sometimes spew. They know I don't like it and try to keep it at bay when I'm around. Here in Sioux City the racism is towards the Mexican immigrants that have moved into this area in large numbers. Some folks here are quite open about their hostility, and it surprises me that they don't even try to hide their feelings. It's a turn off, actually.

There is so much that we miss by being separated as groups. Let's face it, segregation is alive and kicking in today's America. Not legally, but by choice now. The funny thing is that when we mix it up, people get along quite well. Relationships one-on-one are fine. When my oldest son started school in the middle of the year last year it was the Mexican kids who welcomed him. They invited him to sit with them at lunch and started to teach him Spanish. I was a little sad when my son's inevitable migration to the white kids happened. Luckily, he still maintains friendships with some of those Mexican kids. I hope he keeps them as friends forever. My husband lost his job in Pennsylvania and got a job closer to New York. He had trouble getting along with some of the guys in the Pennsylvania workplace. I don't blame him. Some of those guys were close-minded idiots, not worth the time or effort that friendship takes. I was happy when he came home from the New York job and told me that most of the guys were immigrants who worked there. I knew he would make friends, good friends. And he did. Still keeps in touch to this day.

There is so much to respect about people who move here from another country. I have had a hard time adjusting to a new state much less a whole new country. At least I know the language here. I am in my homeland. I sometimes imagine what it would be like to just hop on a boat or a plane and head for a world where I have no reference. To not know the language or the customs. Terrifying.

These people deserve our respect. At the very least we can acknowledge their desire to better their lives and the lives of their families. I would do the same if I were in their shoes. We were lucky to have been born in America. Pull the arm on the slot machine of life and we could have been born in Mexico, Cuba, Haiti, or Croatia. We could have been born girls in Iran. We could be a motherless child born in Africa; an untouchable in India. We could have been parents trying to save their children from being pressed into service with gangs of guerrillas. At some point, my ancestors came over on boats from Russia and Romania and lived in Jewish enclaves in New York. They worked and learned and carved out a life here and added something wonderful to America, just as every immigrant group has over time. Would America be the same without pizza, or Irish pubs or bagels?

I find e-mails about speaking English offensive. I don't like the jokes about pushing 1 for English and pushing 2 for learn how to speak English. I'm not reinventing the wheel here; all of this has been said before, but I fervently believe that we are enriched by learning about people from other cultures. If we only surround ourselves with people who are exactly like we are . . . well, where is the challenge? How are we to learn anything new? I would like to see more integration. I would like to see thoughtful mixing. We will only be enriched by our differences. I wish everyone had the chance that I did as a child: to have dinner with a Vietnamese friend or to visit a friend who lived in the projects. It was wonderful to experience the cultural street fairs that happened in my old neighborhood. The Jamaican fair, where I loved to listen to the steel drums and eat the beef patties. The Polish fairs, with their beautifully painted wooden eggs and nesting dolls and the pierogies served in paper cones dripping with butter. The Puerto Rican Day parade with the lively dancing and the shaved snow cones, where I thought the women were the most beautiful I had ever seen. They looked like tropical princesses. I wanted to be just like them. Their language was musical and mysterious to my ears. I felt so bland. Just a regular white kid. I wanted to be exotic.

I am not afraid of people who are different from me. My exposure as a kid taught me that people are people no matter what. I think that a lot of white people are afraid; people who live in situations that insulate them from other cultures. History has shown that most immigrant populations pull themselves out of poverty and segregation and assimilate into our culture with a status of their own. The Irish, the Jews, the Asians, and now I think the black population is moving in that direction as well. Our President is black, the most powerful woman in media (Oprah), many major sports figures, and too many entertainers to even mention. While things have gotten better, in regular everyday America we have work to do.

Chris Matthews "blundered" this week. He said he forgot that Obama was black during his State of the Union speech. I wasn't offended. I know what he meant. For a moment Obama's race wasn't an issue; wasn't the thing that Chris Matthews saw first. The color didn't matter. He was just a man working for change against impossible odds. Of course, the PC police are all over Chris Matthews now. I sincerely hope he sticks up for himself.

High School, Oh My.

Apparently here in Sioux City some teenagers participate in something called "pill parties." This is when kids raid their parents' medicine cabinets and bring handfuls of prescription drugs to a party and then the kids swap the pills. Disturbing? Yes, very. My oldest son will start high school in the fall. He will be fourteen in May and will be eligible for his learner's permit to drive. Can you say panic attack?

I wonder what to tell him about high school. I've been turning it over in my mind for months. I certainly will tell him not to attend any "pill parties." I will tell him not to try the "choking game." I will tell him to not drink, but if he does . . . don't drive. I will tell him all of these things because I'm his Mom and I love him and I don't want him to die. I want to watch him grow up and have a career and a family of his own. I want him to be happy and fulfilled and live a wonderful long life. That is what we all want for our children.

The stories I read and hear are all filled with teenage horror stories. It seems that high school is filled with perils. At my son's high school orientation last week, the guidance counselors laid out exactly what classes our children should take and in what order to guide our children on to the inevitable college education they will need. If you don't have XYZ, then you are in big trouble, but you need ABC before you can take XYZ. It all sounded so ominous, as if one wrong move will ruin you. I didn't feel warm and fuzzy after that meeting.

My high school had two main groups of kids. There were preps and burn-outs. Most high schools have similar groupings. There were kids that didn't really fall into either group as well. They were probably the healthiest ones of the bunch. The preps were what you would expect: jocks, student council, honors classes, popular and involved. The burn-outs were the other kids. The kids who wore their angst on their sleeves for the world to see. I was a burn-out. We smoked and partied and got in trouble. We did drugs and skipped school and didn't think about tomorrow. We just wanted to get through today.

I have to say at this point that I hated high school. I wasn't happy and my teenage years were a torturous time for me, filled with low self esteem and turmoil. I was so self-conscience and awkward and lonely. This wasn't a world that I was comfortable in. I had moved from bustling Manhattan in New York to rural New Jersey when I was thirteen and that place, which was only an hour or so away in driving distance, was as alien as landing on the moon. I had moved from a place where I was perfectly comfortable to a new reality in which I really didn't fit in very well.

So what do I tell my son? So far I haven't told him much. Do I tell him that being a teenager is hard? So far he seems pretty okay with it. He is blessed with confidence that I never had. Do I tell him about drugs? Should I tell him all of the crazy and dangerous things I did? I just don't know. My father always told me the truth. He never pretended that Santa was coming or that there was an Easter Bunny. His advice about drugs was to not smoke cocaine, to never put a needle in your arm and that speed will seriously fuck you up. Pretty good advice actually. Is this what I should tell my thirteen year old son?

My son is turning into a man right in front of my eyes. I really like the person he is becoming. I think I would have been friends with him if we were kids together. He is brilliant and funny and seems to have his feet on the ground. I tell him this on occasion, how proud I am of who he is. I hope that helps him when that teenage angst takes hold, when he feels those feelings that teenagers feel. When he feels lonely and insecure I hope that he knows that his mom thinks he's the bee's knees. I would like to hold off the realities of high school for him. He'll find out about all that stuff soon enough when he gets there. Sometimes it's important to say things to the people you love that seem obvious. Things like, I believe in you. I think you are terrific. You are special. No matter what happens, I hope our love and support will guide my children to make good decisions for themselves.

I had to take some time to think about Obama's State of the Union address on Wednesday night. I also watched the Republican rebuttal (on Fox, gasp!) and read some analysis and opinion on various web-sites and newspapers. I figured if I'm going to write about it I wanted to see what other people were saying, too.

I'm disheartened. I saw one poll that said a whopping 83% of Americans approved of Obama's speech. Talking heads, pundits, and jaundiced-eyed journalists had a whole host of negatives. He was too firm, not firm enough, too many plans, too broad, too rehearsed, too defensive, not defensive enough. I suppose these people have to say something. They can't very well write a whole column consisting of "it was good."

Personally, I thought the speech was brilliant. Then again, I'm a fan; not everybody is. There is no question that Obama is a brilliant orator. He seems to get better the longer he speaks. He has the ability to sound sincere and authoritative at the same time. This is a true gift, being a good communicator of ideas. The Republican rebuttal speaker was stilted and stiff and clearly reading a teleprompter.

I think our president addressed the frustration and anger Americans are feeling about our government. Actually, a few times I thought he had read my blog. That's how closely he managed to address issues that I have been thinking about and writing about. I loved when Obama told the Senate that "just saying no to everything is not leadership." I liked that he wasn't backing down from the impossible stubbornness of Republicans. Have you ever seen a group of people so convinced that they are right and everyone else is wrong? I'm sorry, but I have had enough.

I was feeling elated after Obama's speech. I loved his plea for government to actually work for the people. I loved his green energy plan. I loved the high speed rail plan (yes, I would like to see this all over the country). He talked of tax cuts, spending freezes, websites listing all meetings taken by politicians with lobbyists. More transparency for ear marks. Talked of a health care plan that will lower the deficit and ensure that insurance companies will be fair. I honestly do not understand how anyone can be against these things. The Republican rebuttal simply came down to this argument: government is trying to do too much. What?!?!

Republicans would like to see smaller government and less taxes, and let the chips fall where they may. Well, we did that. We had Bush/Cheney for eight long years. Between Bush's tax cuts and the war in Iraq, Bush's administration ran up a three trillion dollar deficit. Also under Bush's watch, our entire financial system almost collapsed and left America in deep trouble. One trillion dollars was added to the national debt by Obama's administration for the Wall Street bail-out. I would like to mention at this point that the bail-out was a joint effort, and in the planning stages was conceived and carried out while Bush was in office.

So I was elated and invigorated by Obama's leadership in his State of the Union address, and hoped that his words would get through to someone in that chamber. I logged on to Facebook to change my status to "I heart Obama" and I saw this little gem: "When Reagan was President, we had Bob Hope and Johnny Cash. Now that Obama is President, we have no Hope and no Cash . . . Copy and paste to your status and keep it going!!!" It was copied and pasted on the next status I looked at as well.

I don't like this feeling of us against them. It made me uncomfortable to watch the Republican side of the chamber sit stony faced as Obama spoke. One side giving standing ovations, the other jeering. I don't want to be us and them, I want to be we. It's not just in that government chamber, either; the American people are divided, too. It scares me. We must be able to meet in the middle. Obama has opposition from Republicans, sure . . . that's to be expected; but the progressives are applying pressure, too. A good leader still needs to have support.

We need to come together. We need to put aside our differences and work toward a common goal. It's the only way to effect change. The things that divide us are much less than the things that unite us. We all want our families to be safe and comfortable. We all want our kids to have better than we had. We all want the freedom to make our dreams come true. Nobody wants to see poverty, crime, and injustice in our country. We all want America to be successful and prosperous. How are we going to get there if we can't come together? If our government can't come together?

The Original Reality TV

I love football. Not playing it, but watching it. In my household I am the only football fan. Living in a house full of males, this is a bit unusual. There have been seasons when I would watch all three games on Sundays, making hubby feel like a widower. Not very fair of me, but I do get it. I understand why men do this and why some of my friends complain about football season. To be fair, a large number of my girlfriends are football fans, too.

Sports are the original Reality TV. Watching in real time a drama played out. There is a winner and a loser. Real emotions show on real mens' faces. They live and die on each play. Alas, my Philadelphia Eagles did not advance in the play-offs. Worse still, they lost to the Cowboys . . . twice! Their performance at both games was, to put it mildly, lackluster.

Watching Brett Favre this past Sunday, however, was fun. He is a 40-year-old hero to me. Some folks wanted to put him out to pasture, but he said NO! I can do it! That man can throw a pass; nothing wrong with his arm! He was tackled 15 times by guys who were trying to hurt him. He still got up and did his job. For what it's worth, I think that a couple of the calls made against the Vikings were incorrect and I think the game could have gone another way. But what do I know?

My step-father taught me about football, God bless him. We watched the 49ers in the Superbowl one year and he patiently explained the entire game to me. Once I understood the game a little bit I was hooked. I can't say I understand everything. I literally do not understand a word that John Madden says. Is he speaking English?!? Formations and defense strategies are over my head. But, I do understand the basics and that's all I need.

Football is like a beautiful dance. When players jump in the air and snatch an impossible catch it is art . . . and then there are the moves to make sure feet are in-bounds?!?: Baryshnikov couldn't do it better. Watching a perfectly timed hand off and a run where the runner plants his feet and breaks a tackle, twisting this way and that, and then breaks free . . . magical. The excitement of a play-maker causing a fumble. Watching a team work together with perfect timing, protecting each other. This is pure joy to me.

I know, I know these men will likely have injuries that will last them a lifetime. They get paid too much money. They don't always take seriously their status of role model. I assume that some of them take drugs and have serious personal issues. Good football players are wooed nowadays from their early teens, working through a system that doesn't always have their best interests at heart.

My middle boy tried football one summer. He was seven. Even then it was serious business. Four practices a week starting in the summer before school even started. Watching him run drills and laps in full gear on a summer evening in ninety degree weather was difficult. He was good at all the drills, looked as if he had potential, but my middle boy is a lover not a fighter. The first time he was tackled in practice he was hit hard, really hard. His feet left the ground (and this was his own teammate!!) Football wasn't going to be his thing, and we took him out. Frankly, I was relieved. We had stumbled into a league in Pennsylvania this is very competitive and these kids had been playing since they were four years old. I swear that some of them had highlight reels already. Even at seven years old, they weren't dabbling. The other parents could sense our lack of commitment and didn't bother to get to know us. They knew we weren't going to be around long.

Knowing all of this still doesn't stop me from loving football. It's the excellence that does it for me. As I get older, I love watching people who do things really, really well. It gives me a thrill. I guess I now know what it takes to be superior at something. When I was a kid, I didn't get it. Now I do. So I watch these men who have worked so hard and I yell at the TV and groan at missed opportunities. I pretend that I know how they should have done it and feel bad when my team doesn't win. I celebrate their wins. I don't mind that they make ridiculous amounts of money. I'm just glad that I can watch excellence in motion every Sunday from September through February. Oh, and on Monday nights too.

Lapdog

We have two dogs. Our first dog is named Axel and he is a pit bull terrier we rescued from a shelter in New Jersey. It was a controversial decision to bring him home. Our youngest son was still a toddler and we had children playing at our house often. He is a beautiful chocolate brown with white patches and he is the sweetest dog you will ever meet. He is an ambassador for the breed and I have yet to meet anyone who doesn't love him. He's gentle with the children. He drove with me from Pennsylvania to Iowa and sat in the front seat of my van and didn't make a peep. He is a wonderful travel companion.

And then there is Smudge. I have always wanted a little dog, the kind you can wash in the kitchen sink. On a whim, this past summer, I drove into Iowa farm country to a farm that had puppies for sale and bought the last one available. He is a poodle mix and what he looks like is a ball of black fluff. He is tiny and adorable and I couldn't resist--I really didn't want to resist. He is also a complete pain in the ass. First of all, he smells. He smells after his bath. I don't know why. Second, he shits in the house, often. Third, he has that yippy little dog bark that is like nails on a chalkboard. He likes to make piles of shoes and clothes and underwear in the hall (I've mentioned this before). If he is sitting on your lap, he licks. He licks incessantly. It's not kisses; it's a bath. He refuses to walk on a leash so you have to drag him. Everywhere I walk in the house he follows behind and bites at my pant legs.

And he loves me. And I love him. Smudge goes where I go. No matter what. If I move from one room to another he's right there with me. The rest of the family is okay, but I'm his main squeeze. When I'm in bed he sits on my head. He isn't happy unless one part of him is touching me. He can't jump on the bed because he is too small, so he jumps next to my side of the bed and whines until I pick him up. He is truly my lap dog.

I get the reference now. I had heard the term lap dog used in movies and in books. I had assumed that it meant someone who does someone else's bidding, but it is so much more. This dog's existence is centered on me. His happiness is in the palm of my hand. Don't worry. I treat him well. I think dogs are a miracle. The unconditional love is amazing. I saw a plaque once that said "I wish I was the person my dog thinks I am."

Yeah, me too.

Small Steps

In the interest of activism, here are a couple of websites that have links to petitions. I added the Huffington Post because there is some good analysis and interesting blogs included. Feel free to add your own favorite web sites in the comment section. It may be a small thing to do, but it is something.


http://www.adaction.org/
http://www.moveon.org/
www.huffingtonpost.com


Small things can turn into big things if we give them a chance.

Bringing Baby Home

I never knew how hard it was going to be, to be responsible for a life, or three. As soon as you get married, well-meaning people start asking about the babies you're supposed to be churning out. They never mention that it's going to change your life so completely that nothing is going to be the same again. They never mention how hard it can be, to be a parent.

Nothing else in my life has given me so much pleasure and so much pain. Guilt becomes a constant companion. As soon as I got pregnant, I started to feel guilty. Was I eating the right things? Should I play music to my unborn child, speak Spanish to it, have my husband talk to my baby bump? I should do more, more, more.

My first son was born with the cord wrapped around his neck and he had swallowed meconium. He was blue and lifeless when he came out after four hours of pushing. He had an Apgar score of 0, twice. He spent eight days in the NICU. I would go the the NICU and feel so helpless: poor baby all hooked up to tubes, and nurses always bustling around him. He had to have a spinal tap, blood transfusion, and so many other tests that I lost track. He was "irritable" the nurses told me. Wouldn't you be?

Committed to nursing my new baby, I religiously pumped breast milk, froze it, and then delivered it to the NICU every day. It was just tiny amounts, as a pump will never get the same results as a real baby. My body was sore and exhausted, my emotional state . . . numb. My baby was sick and they couldn't tell me if he was going to be okay. He hadn't been breathing for a long time. I wouldn't know for sure until he was much older that he was going to be okay. When I was pregnant it was all possibilities and promise. Now, every day in the NICU, it was all possible problems. Brain damage. The worry sat in my gut like a anvil.

Bringing my first baby home was not the joyous affair that I had imagined it would be. Before he was born I had agonized over the outfit he would wear home; now it hardly seemed to matter. Carrying his little car seat out to the car and driving him home was done without fanfare. Trying to actually nurse him was frustrating; he had thrush, and hadn't learned to suck properly yet. I would pump and then feed him with a bottle. Time consuming and painful. And he was always hungry, and he didn't sleep much, and he cried a lot. I tried to nurse, I really did, but eight weeks into it--with infected nipples and a constantly hungry baby--my pediatrician told me to put him on formula. Oh, the guilt!

Then came the horrible diaper rashes, yeast infections because of the thrush that just wouldn't clear up. The exhaustion, the lack of free time, the frustration and anger with the work load and my husband working swing shift. The waking up to his cries and that feeling of anxiety, knowing it would take hours to get him back to sleep, getting him to burp, to lay down easy and peaceful. And the fear, creeping into his room to make sure he was breathing and okay. What I thought before, that everything was going to be okay, was an illusion now. Bad things did happen.

And the loneliness, day after day. At that time none of my friends had babies of their own. None of them understood what had just happened to my life. It had been hit by a train and everything had stopped. My husband was working two jobs and he was also exhausted and overwhelmed. I'll admit we weren't much help to each other in those days. There was more fighting then partnership.

And yet, I could sit for hours and just watch him. His little fingers, his little toes, his fat little thighs. We have hours of video of him just laying there, cooing, kicking his little legs, endlessly fascinating to myself and my hubby. I was in love. Kissing his little face all over all the time. He didn't like it much, but I just couldn't stop myself. Singing to him softly: "Mr. Sandman" and "Supernova" and "Close to You" by The Carpenters. Bouncing him around on my shoulder until sleep overcame him. Then just watching him sleep, so peaceful. This magical little baby who looked so much like his father. And that smile, wow, made it worth it. And that look in his eyes, wide open and soaking it all in, his mouth shaped into a perfect little oh. And how happy he would be when his daddy came home, little legs kicking, arms waving uncontrollably.

Yup, it's the hardest and best thing I've ever done. Period.

Supreme Court

In my mind I have an idealized view of the Supreme Court. I imagine learned men and women wholly focused on the law as it pertains to protecting the rights and liberties of the people of the United States. I expect any judge who is given the responsibility of the highest court of law in our land to be fair and just. I'm not saying that these justices aren't doing that, but . . . .

I have no idea how limiting campaign contributions is an infringement on free speech. You can say anything you like, but spending millions of dollars on an elected official's campaign cannot be the only way to express oneself. My opinion is that this law is unfair to all of the groups and people who do not have the money to flood our airwaves with advertisements pushing personal agendas. If we all do not have the same access to advertising then how is this speech free.

I cannot understand how the court came to this decision. Free speech is a cornerstone of the foundation of America. As we all know, that leaves us open to listening to some prime, grade A bullshit. I am going to argue now for another cornerstone of our foundation; Government for the people, by the people. How are politicians supposed to keep the people's best interests in mind when it costs so much to run a campaign and the bulk of his or her money comes from private interest groups? Will it be that only the wealthiest Americans will be able to run for office? How is this representing the American public?

I sincerely hope that some very smart lawyers are gathering together as we speak to strategize on how to re-argue this case. In my opinion, the ruling feels extremely exclusionary and down right contemptuous of the American people. How are we supposed to change government without the ability to limit the influence of private interest groups with corporate money behind them on our elected officials. Sorry, Supreme Court, but this feels like a slap in the face. Who is running this show anyway? The people or big business?

Late Night Wars?

To be honest, I really don't care who takes over The Tonight Show. I like Conan more than Jay, but I don't watch either so my opinion doesn't really matter. I stopped watching The Tonight Show after Johnny Carson retired and haven't watched it since. Jay Leno seems like a nice enough guy, but I find him awkward to watch and not very funny. Sorry, Jay. Conan is funny, but not charismatic enough to make me want to tune in to watch him every night. Also, let's face it, the whole talk show format is stale. I'm so sick of hearing celebrities tell the same stories on The Today Show all the way through to The Tonight Show.

The thing that caught my attention with this story is that NBC is paying a huge sum of money to Conan O'Brien and his staff for him to relinquish his job. Doesn't this seem ridiculous? Only in America, kids. It's really quite insensitive of NBC to be wrangling this way so publicly while so many people are unemployed and struggling.

Here in Sioux City, John Morrell and Co. are closing a meat processing plant that employs fourteen hundred people. I won't miss the plant, because the stench of it wafts all through Sioux City. However, I do feel for the people who are losing their livelihood. The plant will close its doors in April.

Hubby lost his job a few years ago. I was terrified. We had a mortgage and three children and bills, bills, bills. We had bought our home because, in part, it was close to his work place. He had been with the company for ten years and put his heart and soul into working there; nobody ever questioned his commitment to his work. There was reason for us to worry at that time, but it didn't take long for hubby to get a new job and the severance package was okay. We weathered our storm with relative ease.

These folks here in Sioux City are facing more challenging conditions. Sioux City just doesn't have that many jobs to go around. I peruse the want ads occasionally. Usually it's about one page. The competition for existing jobs is going to be unbelievable. Things are going to be hard for the people who will be jobless when the Morrell plant closes. There are just fewer jobs now. America is making less stuff. Manufacturing is dying. If big companies can do it cheaper somewhere else, they will.

Yes, our reality in America is changing. Our bubble certainly has burst and we need to take a hard look at what is and what isn't working. Unfortunately, I don't think things are going to get better quickly. It's going to be a long process. NBC seems to have missed the memo. It seems ridiculous to pay a man and his staff forty-five million dollars to go away only to be replaced by another guy who nobody watches. Maybe The Tonight Show is losing ratings because it's out of touch with what America is watching. There's nothing wrong with John Stewart's ratings. He's on at around the same time. And people are still watching David Letterman.

I just wonder what the fourteen hundred folks here in Sioux City who are losing their jobs think of NBC's million dollar pay-out.

Are the American People too Fickle?

I admit that I am a supporter of President Obama. I have faith in him. I believe in his message. I believe in his ability to get the job done.

I have also watched in dismay as three months into office his approval rating began to slip. I'd like to see the science behind these approval ratings. When did we start to need approval ratings anyway? The talking heads on television cannot even mention the President these days without mentioning the approval rating. They did the same thing to W. Excuse my language, but FUCK approval ratings. They piss me off.

Americans have short memories. Does anybody remember what this President inherited? The mess that was left behind for his administration to clean up? Allow me to refresh your memories. There was the worst financial melt down in American history, the ramifications of which we still don't fully understand. How about a war without an end in sight, one too dangerous to pull out of completely, and too expensive for us to stay indefinitely--that is, Obama took office with us embroiled up to our necks in a region of the world we can barely relate to, a culture so completely different from ours that it's hard to even begin to understand. Our current President came into office with those problems and on the heels of one of the most inept, dishonest, and one-sided administrations that we have ever seen.

So what exactly has he done that is causing such dismal approval ratings? Cash for clunkers? That was a successful program by all accounts. Bail-outs? Well, the bail-outs began when W. was still president. Afghanistan? At least there we are fighting in the actual country where our enemies are being sheltered. Health care reform? On this issue, I will say that he is trying. He can't do it alone, and he has opposition on both sides. It's like trying to bring peace to Israel and Palestine. The Democrats and the Republicans just will not give. So how is this President supposed to succeed?

And then comes the American people who seem to always elect a President from one party and then during mid-term elections elect candidates from the other party. Why, why, why people?!?!? The result of Tuesday's senate election in Massachusetts is supposed to reflect badly on the President. I don't buy into it. The Democratic candidate was lackluster in her campaign. Not very likable, and she pissed off Red Sox fans to boot. The Republican candidate was smooth and handsome and looks a little Kennedy-esque to me. They love their Kennedys in Massachusetts. Why is Obama on the hot seat for this?

I think the media plays a huge role in shaping the opinions of Americans. In this day and age we get news that we agree with on demand. People leaning right can watch Fox news and surely everything they report will be slanted to the opinions of the Republicans. People leaning left can find news sources that slant the other way. What I would really like is some good old fashioned news reported straightforwardly and without bias. What we have now is propaganda in its most insidious form, because it pretends to not be propaganda.

What would people think if the media didn't report approval ratings? I wonder what our dialogue would be like then. What if the media didn't focus so much attention on those crazy anti-health care reform people. You know the ones I mean, the ones who painted Obama's face to look like Hitler. What if substance was important in the news and not sensationalism. How would our national dialogue sound without approval ratings and polls and analysis.

This kind of discussion leaves me feeling discouraged and apathetic. I don't want to feel this way. When Obama was elected, it was a beautiful moment in American history. I was filled with hope and I don't think I was alone. As a people we are so fickle--three months is all the time it took for hope and optimism to turn back into cynicism. Surely we can give this man a little more time, can't we?

Dog days of Winter

Sioux City has has been under a cloud of fog for the past few days. The historic three feet of snow that fell over Christmas has begun to melt. The moisture in the air provides the fog and the layer of moisture in the air has frozen on the trees giving them a layer of icy frosting. The trees look lovely in their new outfits, dressed to the nines for the red carpet. At night they take on an otherworldly glow, looking like some kind ghostly apparition. The snow, while melting, is still well over two feet in most places. It is no longer the pristine white of a new snowfall. It has become that gray sludge that salt and sand and car tires leave behind. The river that runs by Sioux City is filled with giant slabs of ice, making the river look sluggish and forbidding. It makes me long for spring.

I find it difficult to want to go out into this frozen world of Sioux City. I prefer to stay in my cozy house and am quite content to look at it through the window. The temperatures take my breath away in this place. The kind of cold that hurts when felt on bare skin. My first winter here I was cold for a month. Two pairs of socks and slippers and my feet were still cold. It doesn't take long to get used to it though. Sioux City people don't let this weather stop them. It is quite common, even on the coldest days, to see my neighbors out and about walking their dogs or jogging or walking. Secretly, I think they are a little insane. I can think of at least a dozen scenarios, all emergencies, where I still would not choose to walk or run outside in this climate.

I like winter for its slowness. I like winter for the homey feeling it provides, but winter is not my season. The shorter days tend to make me depressed and the cold makes me want to snuggle under a blanket all day. I hibernate, just as my mammalian friends do. Sometimes I wish I was a bear and could sleep through the entire dismal affair.

I find myself dreaming of fresh home-grown tomato sandwiches. A beautiful fresh cob of sweet corn with just a bit of kosher salt. Fresh brewed sweet tea. The green grass, and the heat of the sun on the back of my neck. Driving with the windows open with the radio up loud. Watching the kids ride their bikes on the driveway, jump on the trampoline, ride their skateboards up and down the street. I'm longing to see that first crocus poke its purple head up through the snow.

Ah well, winter is a good time to do some soul searching. Do quiet activities, crochet that baby blanket, put together that photo album. It's a good time to start a blog, and write about life. I know this frozen season has its place. The seasons of nature are good for people, too. Quieting things down so there is time to just be, before the frenetic activity of spring begins again. I wouldn't complain, though, if winter was just a little bit shorter.

Just a Tiny Live Update

I just want to say thanks to everyone who has been reading and commenting. I have now had over one thousand visitors to my blog. In the blogosphere this is just a teensy drop in the bucket, but it sure makes me feel good. Your feedback and comments are lovely. Also, thanks to all of you that have been clicking on the ads on my blog. I get paid for each of those clicks and even though I'm not going to get rich it's nice to earn a little money. I might be able to buy a book or something with my earnings, lol.

There is a link for my e-mail on the blog; please send any ideas you would like me to address or any story ideas that seem interesting. Also, I'd love to hear about any blogs or websites that are interesting that I can post on my blog.

Love hearing from you all.

Thanks,
Dove

Pubic Hair in America

Hahahahahahha. This post proves that I think way too much about way too many things. I was thinking specifically about the fact that pubic hair on women has become a subject of conversation and trending. I don't know if this has always been the case, but in the past few years I have seen and read quite a bit on the subject.

I was specifically thinking about Vanessa Hudgens of High School Musical fame. A while back she sent a nude photo of herself to, I'm assuming, her boyfriend. She is so young and the picture was not at all pornographic. Just a shot of her standing there naked. When I happened on this photo in the blogosphere, the comments were brutal about the state of her pubic hair. Just FYI, her pubic hair was in its natural state. Poor girl. I can't imagine what she experienced if she read any of those comments. I'm still shaking my head while writing this. I don't want to imagine the psychic scars that may have been left on that oh so young girl who is just discovering and exploring her sexuality only to have herself be subject to ridicule all over the internet. I hope she broke up with that asshole.

America has now seen so many celebrity unmentionables that it's rather commonplace. Remember Britney getting out of that limo sans underwear? Comments were less than kind about that, too. Apparently the trend for a woman's pubic hair today is to have it shaven. Have you heard of a Brazillian? That's the process of removing all of a woman's pubic hair with hot wax. I'm told that you have to be on all fours to have this done. Can you say humiliating? I can't imagine a man going through this process, however metrosexual he may be. George Lopez did a riff on this in a recent stand-up. What I want to know is: why is our pubic hair suddenly a fashion statement?

As a mother, I can only imagine what kind of angst this may cause. It makes me a little sad to think of young girls thinking that the natural state of their changing bodies are somehow not okay. We already have this problem with weight and breast size and any other number of body parts. Girls who may have happened upon the photo of Vanessa Hudgens in all her naked innocence would certainly get the message from the comments made that their pubic hair is ugly. The message that her most private part is ugly. It hurts my heart a little. These poor girls.

Females make up slightly more than half the population. Why is there so much shame attached to our private parts? Men don't have a similar plight. I have a friend who gleefully offers to show us his penis after a few drinks. It's funny. Now picture a woman doing the same bit. Picture a guy grabbing his crotch and saying, "I got your stimulus package right here." Now picture a woman doing that.

I am over 40 now, married for many, many years. My pubic hair doesn't have to conform to fashion trends. I'm not pro-shaving or anti-shaving; my opinion has nothing to do with anyone else's personal pubic options. I don't personally care if you want to shave little hearts in it--go for it sister; let your freak flag fly! Adorn yourself with little braids and sparkles if you like, I won't judge. The important thing for all of us to realize is that pubic hair is not shameful or ugly or open to judgment. Let us teach our daughters that lesson right away.

I saw The Vagina Monologues a few years back. I've been thinking about it because a family member of mine is going to be performing in a production of this wonderful show. I remember sitting in the audience feeling uncomfortable and elated at the same time. This ground breaking show breaks through the societal shame associated with vaginas. Wonderful . . . someone is a genius. I remember thinking if I had a daughter I would bring her to this show. I would want her to understand that women are powerful and wonderful and should not be ashamed of their most personal parts.

So in the spirit of throwing off shame and pride, I would like to publicly thank my vagina, however much hair it does or does not have, for giving me the three best things I ever conceived: Josh, Ben, and Andrew, my amazing sons. I hope someday, when my boys see a vagina in all its pubic glory, they will be enlightened enough to not make snarky remarks.

My Baby Boy

My youngest son said the cutest thing today. This kid is . . . ah, I don't have the words. I love him. He's a piece of work. We were listening to the radio and "The Climb" came on, a song by Miley Cyrus. Andrew loves Hannah Montana so we listened and sang together and I asked him "How's a person gonna move a mountain?" just to be goofy with him. He looks up at me and says, without any trace of doubt, "Wheels." I felt a little squeeze in my heart. He's so adorable.


Then there is the other side of my little one. The side of him that won't take no for an answer and instigates trouble with his brothers. The one who is not afraid to try the most dangerous things, take the biggest risks. He's the kind of kid who would get under the cabinets and drink household cleansers. He's why I have poison control's number on my fridge and a bottle of Ipecac in the cupboard. Allow me to present this example: Andrew was playing in the garage and I went inside the house for a moment and I heard the garage door begin to open. When I sprinted back outside Andrew was holding on to the rim of the garage door and riding up. Just as I was about to scream he let go and landed safely on his feet. Big ass grin on his face as he started back to the garage door button. "That's fun!" He was four. I cannot tell you the number of times things would be quiet and I'd go looking only to find him holding either something very sharp or flammable. He's the one who says, "I can do it by myself!"

He's in turns obnoxious and adorable. Sweet and mean. Hard and soft. He's a an absolute joy to me. My relationship with my son will change this fall. He's five now and will start kindergarten in the fall. He won't be my constant companion anymore. In the afternoons when it's quiet and we're both sleepy I won't feel his little warm body right up against mine, his heartbeat on my arm. "Come sit with me." He always says that.

He is my baby. The last child at home with me. I have been a stay-at-home mom for 14 years. It's what I do; it's who I am. I wonder what's in store for me now. This is definitely a 40's issue. The children are growing up; we're now faced with the inevitable transition from dependent to independent. My oldest son will be starting high school; the middle boy, middle school.

When my five year old doesn't want to go to pre-school, I let him stay home. It's not good parenting--I should make him go, teach him about responsibility, but I can't. I just like hanging out with him at home. After all these years it's comfortable, we have our routines, our little rituals. I like talking with him, listening to his ideas. He makes me laugh every day. He's my baby. He'll be in real school soon enough, the kind I can't just blow off whenever we feel like staying in bed late.

Being a parent, is an all-of-you kind of job. Funny, all those days when I felt I couldn't spend another minute with my children, that I would lose my mind. Those hours I spent watching the clock wishing my hubby home so I could go away. Those days when I snapped and lost my temper, pushed to my limit. Even then I knew that someday I would feel just as I do right now. Sentimental and sad. Wishing to turn back the clock just a little bit. Maybe just a year. I'd like to keep them younger for a while. Just for the hugs, and the innocence, and the wonder.

It's not a bad feeling. It stings a little, like a paper cut. You can feel it there and every once in a while it sends you zinger. I know that time marches on, always; isn't that what all those poets were talking about? But now I still have PB&J sandwiches to make, and boo-boos to kiss, and PTO meetings to attend. I'll just reapply a band aid and wait for another zinger to remind me to enjoy these moments just a little bit more.

Did Turning 40 rock your world?

It rocked mine. It rocked mine so hard that my current life has almost no relation to the life I had just a little over a year ago. Some of it was just life throwing curve balls. Most of it is my complete and utter change of attitude about almost everything. Not a change exactly, more like a coming back around to values and ideals that I always had but wasn't honoring.

Is this common? I know about the cliched mid-life crisis. The stereotype is a middle-aged man buying a sports car. This is woefully simplistic, and not very helpful if you find yourself in an existential melt down. It's something that is perceived as a weakness, I think. Snickered about behind your back. Very unfair. I think it's important to take stock of where we have come from and where we are going. Look around your life's landscape and pull the overgrown weeds. Add some new landscaping. Plant a tree or two. Change.

Is it good enough to live as you have always done, going through your days in a routine? Sure, if that's what makes you happy. But if you are reaching this crucial age, and you don't like how you're living, than I say: go for it. Change your life. Buy a sports car, learn to parasail, lose a hundred pounds. Life isn't over. It's just beginning. I promise I won't laugh at you behind your back. I'm cheering for you on the side-lines. I'm hoping that all of your dreams for your life come true. Don't give up, its never too late.

I'm working it. Trying to live my life the way I always thought I would. Are you?

Please let me know your story. Are you trying to live your dreams? Are you living your dream?

Rush Limbaugh, Pat Robertson Oh My

Deep Sigh.

Rush Limbaugh is one of those guys I hate going out to dinner with. You know the type: no matter what subject is being discussed, he hijacks the conversation. He is the guy who loves to hear himself talk and if you can pull yourself out of your boredom coma long enough to make a comment, his mind is busy thinking of what he will say next. Furthermore, your dinner companion thinks he is always right and may be only marginally educated on the subject. In the end, the entire dinner party is spent listening to this boor go on and on and everyone ends up being home by 9:30 pm. Of course, I have never had dinner with Rush Limbaugh. I'm just saying . . . .

I dislike self-absorbed windbags. They are my least favorite type of person. And in the case of Limbaugh, his comments are inflammatory, and get a lot of attention. I actually think he was stretching a bit this time. He had to dig deep to criticize President Obama on his response to the earthquake in Haiti. Limbaugh said that Obama's response was motivated by politics and that he was trying to garner favor with dark-skinned black people. That's all you got, Rush?

Personally, I don't care what the President's motives are. He behaved in a manner in which I think the President of the United States should behave: with authority, and speed, and decisiveness. He didn't offer too little (I am recalling the paltry 50 million a previous President offered to Thailand after the tsunami) and he urged Americans to do what they can. The White House posted a phone number which supplies a list of reputable places to donate money towards relief efforts. Getting Americans who were in Haiti out of Haiti after the earthquake was deemed a priority and planes were made available to get them out. Seems reasonable to me. Haiti has one doctor for every 10,000 people. Estimates are that there may be more than 100,000 people dead, and almost every building in Port-Au-Prince has collapsed. I am having a hard time believing that Obama sat down and weighed the political ramifications of quick response and humanitarian aid. I am more inclined to believe that the man did what he thought he should do based on his job description. Luckily, Obama seems to understand his job. Remember Katrina, Mr. Limbaugh? That's all I've got to say about that.

Now, Pat Robertson is a different case. He is your crazy uncle. That overly religious one, the one that you avoid at family gatherings because if he gets your attention, he's going to give you unwanted religious advice. Awkward. Isn't this the same man who thought one of the Teletubbies was gay because it carried a purse? Why are we listening to him? Clearly, the Teletubbies are Asexual. Pat Robertson claims that Haiti caused their own earthquake because they made a pact with the Devil. Hmm, can you say coo-coo? Insensitive much, Pat? This is all over the news, but I imagine at home, when he makes these statements, that the family just ignores him. The look at each other knowingly, and his wife pats his hand and says "That's nice dear."

Ah, I feel better now.

A Sioux City Education

FRIDAY, JANUARY 8, 2010

Living in Sioux City has been an education. Before moving here I had always lived on the East Coast. I am a Yankee through and through. I lived in New England for a while, but mostly near or around two giant cities: New York and Philly. Naturally it wasn't very hard for me to find people with similar political views and social values. I had and still have many, many friends with some conservative beliefs as well. But they tend to be more moderate and centrist. It was much easier to carry on a dialogue with my friends "back home".

Sioux City is a place made up of neighborhoods. There is a small downtown area, maybe ten blocks square, that is trying to be the center of Sioux City. But, alas, it's filled with empty storefronts and closed down restaurants. There are some good bars, a theater, a coffee bar or two, and some stores here and there. They are hanging on and trying to make it work. Good for them.

Unfortunately, the center of Sioux City seems to be the mall, and all of the clusters of shopping centers that are built around it. These shopping centers contain all of the big box stores that every single American town and city now have. I won't list them; you already know them. I have to wonder seriously about a city that won't support a cool, hip downtown area. To be completely honest, it's a bit disheartening.

Not to mention that most of the people I meet here are Republican, Christian, and very, very conservative on social issues. Not everyone, but a majority. I stay away from these subjects with my neighbors and friends here. I don't need to convince anybody of anything. We don't agree, period. It's okay. The only time I felt outraged here was when I read an article that described a town hall meeting about health care reform. The crowd booed when Sen. Ted Kennedy's name was mentioned. The meeting was on the day he died. That got to me. A man who worked in public service his whole life, working tirelessly for civil rights and for social programs that have helped millions of people? Booed. Yuck.

People here wear their politics on their sleeves. Bumper stickers, yard signs, references in conversation. I have learned to hold my tongue when we disagree. When those issues aren't right in my face, I like the people I'm meeting here just fine. Hardworking, wholesome, beer drinking people. Friendly and surprisingly open to people who are different. I really like them. Good people, Christians who understand the lessons of their religion: tolerance and compassion. There are tons of charity missions done here in Sioux City by local churches and youth groups. Warms my heart.

That is why I was so surprised by the vehement opposition to health care reform, specifically the public option. I asked a friend of mine what bothered him about it and he said something to the effect that he works hard and pays taxes and he doesn't want immigrants to use his tax dollars for their medical problems. Doesn't this seem counterintuitive to Christian beliefs and values? I asked him about charity and good will towards our fellow man. What if it was an immigrant baby that was sick, would you turn it away? Of course he wouldn't. I know him and I know he wouldn't. It doesn't fit; doesn't make sense.

Ah well. I hold my tongue and enjoy these good people for themselves. I'm making some really good friends here, even if their politics make absolutely no sense to me. I'm sure they say the same about mine. And then we'll go have a beer.

My youngest son said the cutest thing today. This kid is . . . ah, I don't have the words. I love him. He's a piece of work. We were listening to the radio and "The Climb" came on, a song by Miley Cyrus. Andrew loves Hannah Montana so we listened and sang together and I asked him "How's a person gonna move a mountain?" just to be goofy with him. He looks up at me and says, without any trace of doubt, "Wheels." I felt a little squeeze in my heart. He's so adorable.

Then there is the other side of my little one. The side of him that won't take no for an answer and instigates trouble with his brothers. The one who is not afraid to try the most dangerous things, take the biggest risks. He's the kind of kid who would get under the cabinets and drink household cleansers. He's why I have poison control's number on my fridge and a bottle of Ipecac in the cupboard. Allow me to present this example: Andrew was playing in the garage and I went inside the house for a moment and I heard the garage door begin to open. When I sprinted back outside Andrew was holding on to the rim of the garage door and riding up. Just as I was about to scream he let go and landed safely on his feet. Big ass grin on his face as he started back to the garage door button. "That's fun!" He was four. I cannot tell you the number of times things would be quiet and I'd go looking only to find him holding either something very sharp or flammable. He's the one who says, "I can do it by myself!"

He's in turns obnoxious and adorable. Sweet and mean. Hard and soft. He's a an absolute joy to me. My relationship with my son will change this fall. He's five now and will start kindergarten in the fall. He won't be my constant companion anymore. In the afternoons when it's quiet and we're both sleepy I won't feel his little warm body right up against mine, his heartbeat on my arm. "Come sit with me." He always says that.

He is my baby. The last child at home with me. I have been a stay-at-home mom for 14 years. It's what I do; it's who I am. I wonder what's in store for me now. This is definitely a 40's issue. The children are growing up; we're now faced with the inevitable transition from dependent to independent. My oldest son will be starting high school; the middle boy, middle school.

When my five year old doesn't want to go to pre-school, I let him stay home. It's not good parenting--I should make him go, teach him about responsibility, but I can't. I just like hanging out with him at home. After all these years it's comfortable, we have our routines, our little rituals. I like talking with him, listening to his ideas. He makes me laugh every day. He's my baby. He'll be in real school soon enough, the kind I can't just blow off whenever we feel like staying in bed late.

Being a parent, is an all-of-you kind of job. Funny, all those days when I felt I couldn't spend another minute with my children, that I would lose my mind. Those hours I spent watching the clock wishing my hubby home so I could go away. Those days when I snapped and lost my temper, pushed to my limit. Even then I knew that someday I would feel just as I do right now. Sentimental and sad. Wishing to turn back the clock just a little bit. Maybe just a year. I'd like to keep them younger for a while. Just for the hugs, and the innocence, and the wonder.

It's not a bad feeling. It stings a little, like a paper cut. You can feel it there and every once in a while it sends you zinger. I know that time marches on, always; isn't that what all those poets were talking about? But now I still have PB&J sandwiches to make, and boo-boos to kiss, and PTO meetings to attend. I'll just reapply a band aid and wait for another zinger to remind me to enjoy these moments just a little bit more.

On Parenting

I never knew how hard it was going to be, to be responsible for a life, or three. As soon as you get married, well-meaning people start asking about the babies you're supposed to be churning out. They never mention that it's going to change your life so completely that nothing is going to be the same again. They never mention how hard it can be, to be a parent.

Nothing else in my life has given me so much pleasure and so much pain. Guilt becomes a constant companion. As soon as I got pregnant, I started to feel guilty. Was I eating the right things? Should I play music to my unborn child, speak Spanish to it, have my husband talk to my baby bump? I should do more, more, more.

My first son was born with the cord wrapped around his neck and he had swallowed meconium. He was blue and lifeless when he came out after four hours of pushing. He had an Apgar score of 0, twice. He spent eight days in the NICU. I would go the the NICU and feel so helpless: poor baby all hooked up to tubes, and nurses always bustling around him. He had to have a spinal tap, blood transfusion, and so many other tests that I lost track. He was "irritable" the nurses told me. Wouldn't you be?

Committed to nursing my new baby, I religiously pumped breast milk, froze it, and then delivered it to the NICU every day. It was just tiny amounts, as a pump will never get the same results as a real baby. My body was sore and exhausted, my emotional state . . . numb. My baby was sick and they couldn't tell me if he was going to be okay. He hadn't been breathing for a long time. I wouldn't know for sure until he was much older that he was going to be okay. When I was pregnant it was all possibilities and promise. Now, every day in the NICU, it was all possible problems. Brain damage. The worry sat in my gut like a anvil.

Bringing my first baby home was not the joyous affair that I had imagined it would be. Before he was born I had agonized over the outfit he would wear home; now it hardly seemed to matter. Carrying his little car seat out to the car and driving him home was done without fanfare. Trying to actually nurse him was frustrating; he had thrush, and hadn't learned to suck properly yet. I would pump and then feed him with a bottle. Time consuming and painful. And he was always hungry, and he didn't sleep much, and he cried a lot. I tried to nurse, I really did, but eight weeks into it--with infected nipples and a constantly hungry baby--my pediatrician told me to put him on formula. Oh, the guilt!

Then came the horrible diaper rashes, yeast infections because of the thrush that just wouldn't clear up. The exhaustion, the lack of free time, the frustration and anger with the work load and my husband working swing shift. The waking up to his cries and that feeling of anxiety, knowing it would take hours to get him back to sleep, getting him to burp, to lay down easy and peaceful. And the fear, creeping into his room to make sure he was breathing and okay. What I thought before, that everything was going to be okay, was an illusion now. Bad things did happen.

And the loneliness, day after day. At that time none of my friends had babies of their own. None of them understood what had just happened to my life. It had been hit by a train and everything had stopped. My husband was working two jobs and he was also exhausted and overwhelmed. I'll admit we weren't much help to each other in those days. There was more fighting then partnership.

And yet, I could sit for hours and just watch him. His little fingers, his little toes, his fat little thighs. We have hours of video of him just laying there, cooing, kicking his little legs, endlessly fascinating to myself and my hubby. I was in love. Kissing his little face all over all the time. He didn't like it much, but I just couldn't stop myself. Singing to him softly: "Mr. Sandman" and "Supernova" and "Close to You" by The Carpenters. Bouncing him around on my shoulder until sleep overcame him. Then just watching him sleep, so peaceful. This magical little baby who looked so much like his father. And that smile, wow, made it worth it. And that look in his eyes, wide open and soaking it all in, his mouth shaped into a perfect little oh. And how happy he would be when his daddy came home, little legs kicking, arms waving uncontrollably.

Yup, it's the hardest and best thing I've ever done. Period.

Welcome Carol!

Thank You to all of you who have been posting comments and giving me oodles of positive feedback!  I'm all warm and fuzzy!  I have a new contributor, a brilliant writer and editor, who will be helping me keep my grammar on the up and up.  She's pretty good at hugs too!  If you happen to see a semi-colon in the right place, well, you can thank her.  She's a mean cook as well, and a mighty fine person.  My mom.

Also, I gently asked people yesterday to click on the ads that are attached to this blog.  They pay me for that.  I am now earning about 25 cents an hour.  It's a start.  I found some pretty cool stuff from those ads.  The http://www.pfaltzgraff.com/ web site was linked to my blog a couple of days ago and they have an offer on spice racks at the moment.  If you buy a spice rack from them, you'll receive free spices for five years.  Five years?!?!?!    
I think that's a pretty good deal.  But that's only if you actually need a spice rack.   Cheers, everyone.  There is another blog for today, published earlier.  Page down to view it.  Happy reading.

Birthday

Down at the bottom of this blog is a gadget I installed that is a countdown timer. I put it there so it would count down to my 42nd birthday this summer. Every time I log out of my blog it resets back to zero. The timer pisses me off. I reset it 3 or 4 times a day. Then I got to thinking that maybe I shouldn't really be counting down to my birthday. Maybe I'm just putting too much importance on the numbers.

Now, I realize that this blog is called "I'm 40--what now?" But in this case I'm referring to a state of mind. Or possibly a phase of life. The actual number doesn't even really matter. I suppose a 50-year-old person could reach the point of a mid-life reexamination and skip the 40 thing all together. Maybe a forward thinking 30 could join the party. And we can all join together in figuring out how to solve all the problems of the world.

Age is an attitude. I have met 30 year old's who are older than my father was at 86. I've met octogenarians with more pep and spirit than many people in their 50's. I, for one, am not going to hunker down into my daily routine and wait to get old while spending all of my days fearful of change and scared to take risks.

My blog countdown timer reminded me that I may need a new way to measure the passage of my life. I think I'll add a change-o-meter, or a growth-o-meter. These things mean more to me now than the number after my name that shows how many years I've been on Earth. That number doesn't convey that I still feel like I'm 16 inside, or that I have been through some amazing experiences. It doesn't explain that I have been through some of the worst things a human can experience and lived through it and gained strength.

I think I will compare myself to myself and measure it that way. At the moment, I'm enjoying what I see.

Don't think this means I'm not going to party on my birthday!! A girl has to dance sometimes.

On losing 100 lbs

I turned 39 and I swore that I wasn't going to turn 40 and be fat.  I'd heard reference made to the three F's, forty, fat, and female.  The three F's is a term used by medical proffesionals as a red flag for all kinds of fun health problems.  Like Diabetes, or heart disease, or kidney issues, or any other number of health issues that I would just as soon not have.  So I knew changes had to be made.

Believe me, when you are that overweight you know it's not good for your health.  It hurts.  It hurts to get up in the morning, it hurts to climb stairs, it hurts to walk,  just about everything physical hurts.  It hurts emotionally too.  I don't think I need to explain that point.  We all know the society in which we live.  Carrying around that much extra weight is a barrier to life.  It's hard not to think about it, everyday.

I had become resigned to my weight issues, accepted that this is the way that I was and always will be.  My husband, God bless him, never cared.  He has never, ever said anything about my weight.  His stock answer is "you look good to me."  Nice.  We went on vacation to Disney World a few years back.  I was at my heaviest then and I noticed that my kids would follow the nearest fat lady if they lost sight of us.  They did this all week, it was painful.  Also, I have the problem of not seeing myself as I am in the mirror.  I always think I look thinner than I actually am, I guess it's better than the alternative.  I've been there too.  Photographs of myself self were always a jarring reminder of the extra weight I carried on my body.  Yuck.

So, having made up my mind to lose weight at 39,  I started dieting in a panic.  Let me say here that I don't believe in dieting.  I have tried every diet known.  I have tried every supplement (except Alli, I've heard stories) and every shake and every crazy scheme out there.  That time I tried The South Beach Diet.  It worked, a little.  Good ideas in that book.  I joined Weight watchers for the millionth time.  It works, if you stick with it.  I did end up losing weight before my 40th birthday, can't remember how much, but I did feel better.  I was still fat though, just less fat.

I wrote earlier in this blog about our experiences during that year.  My 40th year.  It was stress central.  With all the upheaval, the uncertainty, and the pain that was going on it wasn't too difficult to lose a few more pounds.  Usually in times of great stress I like to eat, but in times of great distress I don't eat.  Also we were making some changes in our kitchen.  I wasn't buying junk food, I wasn't buying soda, we were changing all refined products to whole grain products.  I was cooking with whole foods.  I stopped using food that comes in a box.  We found this great Chinese grocery store with fresh veggies cheap.  They had all kinds of vegetables and fruits, some common, some exotic.  We tried everything.  It was fun, trying to make meals that were delicious and whole.  That made losing some more weight even easier.

I learned to eat a lot less.  Portion control is key.  Portion control is how I will continue to lose weight and keep it off.  Whether I eat something healthy or something deep fried on a stick, I always stop eating it before I feel full.  When I feel I've had enough, I stop.  It's simple.  I find that a couple bites of something unhealthy is enough, I just wanted a taste.  I don't eat just because the clock says it's time for a meal.  If I am not hungry, I don't eat.  If I feel like a snack I'll grab a small handful of almonds with some dried fruit.  It's filling, nutritious and satiates the hunger.  A lot of snack foods don't take the hunger away.  Candy bars and chips don't.  Soda, lattes, smoothies don't do it.

I find that I want my food to provide me with nutrients now.  I want my food to fuel me not just fill me. It makes me happy to look in my shopping cart and see whole foods looking back at me.  It's not a diet, it's a lifestyle.  Do I eat bad for me stuff?  Yup, all the time.  Just not huge platefuls.  Moderation is a word that I have recently gotten a better handle on.  Moderation is not my forte.  But I feel that I've fought a long bloody war with food and we are now at a truce, albeit an uneasy one.

Losing the weight wasn't that difficult, gaining the wait was excruciating.  It's not easy to gain the body weight of a whole other human being.  And knowing the entire time that you are doing it to yourself.  Watching as your clothes don't fit anymore again, and again, and again.  Yeah, that shit hurts.  It's demoralizing.  Knowing you are doing it and completely unable to stop it.  Ouch.  Yeah losing 100 lbs is a lot easier than gaining it.

I hope some of you will share your experiences with losing and gaining weight.  It's certainly a perfect topic for being in your 40's.

I grew up in a pot smoking culture.  My parents smoked pot openly around me.  My friend's parents smoked pot.  In NYC where I spent most of my childhood, people smoked pot walking down the street.  It was no big deal.

I lived on St. Marks Place in the East Village, there wasn't much that I didn't see. My friend who lived down the street had a 3rd floor walk up and we used to spend time at her apartment or mine almost everyday.  Her father was a cabbie and her mother was Puerto Rican.  I don't know why this was important but they always managed to slip it in there, I sort of remember her but I know she was Puerto Rican.  They kept a porcelain jar with a lid filled with perfectly rolled joints.  Every so often they would make us stand there while they showed us the jar, took the lid off and threatened us with bodily harm if we ever, ever touched them.  Besides, they told us, they counted them.  They would know.

Because I haven't been living under a rock, I've noticed some changes about societal attitudes towards pot.  We all have.  Many states have legalized it and some states won't arrest you if you have a small amount.  Our president has smoked pot, and he did inhale, and he didn't deny any of it!!!  There are pro-pot movies now - Harold and Kumar, Pineapple Express.
 So I don't understand the vehement, uninformed, closed minded, opposition to legalizing marijuana and growing it right here in the U.S of A.

There has been some talk here in Iowa of legalizing the growing of marijuana for medical purposes.  I'm all for it. People are suffering.  Farmers are suffering, why not give them a profitable crop?  I really think the way things are done now are going to have to change.  It's time to think outside of the box.  Think way outside the box.  Fuck the box, get a circle.

The main argument I hear over and over is that it is a gateway drug and leads to other drug use.  That may be true, but in my experience people who want to do drugs are going to do drugs.  It doesn't really matter which one they start with.  Lots of drug addicts started with alcohol and look what legalizing that did.  Created a huge billion dollar industry.  With taxes hooked onto the price of each bottle, can, glassful, or mug we buy.  America could use the tax revenue.  We're in trouble.  America is teetering on falling from atop her perch.

The medical aspects alone should be enough to legalize Marijuana.  It's proven to ease pain, anxiety, and nausea.  The plus side being that it is all natural, not created by a huge pharmaceutical empire.  Very minimal side effects, and it works.

Hmm, we're in trouble.  We need a solution.  What?  We can grow a hearty, sustainable crop with many uses and a high value?  We can grow it organically and not poison the earth?  Nobody has to go to jail for having it, growing it, or smoking it?  Nah, we can't do that.  Somebody may get addicted to drugs someday.

In honor of my old home state New Jersey, which just passed legislation to legalize Marijuana for medical use.  Right On!

At age 40 its very important to have your own space

I live in a household full of males.  I have my husband, my three sons, and my two dogs (both males).  The testosterone is flying around here. Therefore, I need a space of my own.  But even if this weren't true I think everyone should have their own space.

When we moved to Sioux City we bought a much bigger house than the one we had in PA.  About 1500 square feet bigger.  This was only possible because housing prices were impossible in that part of PA and housing prices here in Sioux City are very reasonable.  The people who owned this house before put on some lovely additions, and this includes my room.

I have my own room.  It's perfect.  I furnished it the way I wanted, I decorated it the way I wanted.  It's extremely girly, cause that's what I wanted.  I love it.  It's a little sunroom surrounded by windows and it has some of my favorite things hanging on the walls.  A painting my mom painted for me, two gorgeous stained glass pieces given to me by a good family friend, a concrete statue of a goddess that hubby and I have had since before we were married.  Things that mean something to me.  A wall clock that sings birdsong on the hour that I took from my dad's house after he passed away.

There is a vintage lamp I bought at a thrift store and a ceramic pot and two ceramic bird figurines that I picked up at said thrift store.  Amazing, beautiful things that inspire me when I look at them.  On my little occasional table sits a quirky little coaster set I picked up at a rummage sale for fifty cents.  Its utterly old fashioned and girly.  It's perfect in here.  I could go on like this for a while but I'll stop.

When we turn 40 I think we have the right to surround ourselves with things that we love and inspire us.  It doesn't matter what those things are.  We should take pleasure in the little things, after all we've lived through some pretty big things already.  Same should be said for the people we spend our time with.  I moved away from all of my friends last year, and this gives me the freedom to only invite people into my life that are good for me now.  People who inspire me and support me.  It's nice to have that freedom.  When your 40 it's a good idea to cut out the dead weight.  You have important work to do.  Negative relationships are not good for the soul.  Negative belongings too.  Sometimes we have to clean house to make room for new arrivals.

The new and improved snuggie

The new and improved snuggie.  They have snuggies in kids sizes now, and for pets.  In case you haven't seen the snuggie, it's basically a blanket with sleeves.  So when you're lying down and you want to use your hands there are convenient sleeves you can use instead of actually taking your arms out from under the blanket.  Got it?  Its a sensation, and someone is laughing happily to the bank as we speak.  The thought that popped into my mind was what if we improved the snuggie?  Gave it a zipper maybe, right down the middle or a belt.  Guess what?  Now we have robe, wow we reinvented an invention created thousands of years ago.
This is how I feel about this healthcare reform bill.  We started with an ideal.  The ideal being that all americans are equal and should be entitled to equal treatment.  It's the foundation on which our country is built.  Some people thought that everyone should be able to see a doctor or go to the hospital if needed.
It's not that complicated.  I think even the Republicans can get behind that simple idea.  If you're sick you should be able to get help in America.  I think most Americans could agree with this.  It's a simple idea.

Now witness our nations government go insane with so much mumbo jumbo, double talking crap, that I can hardly listen to it.  Honestly, I think I'm an intelligent and thoughtful person and half the time I didn't understand what the heck they were talking about.   And what was worse is some of these politicians were either so misinformed, stupid, or malicious they went on TV and repeated over and over again lies about the bill. You know who I mean. Misinforming the public and the media.   Now it's as if  this latest bill, holds nothing that resembles that original ideal.

I believe President Obama really wants to get this job done.  I feel it from him.  But, getting something done which is so much a compromise of what it was originally is a mistake I think.  Democrats say we can change it in the future, it's a start.  If you create something that isn't anywhere near what you intended to create, your going to get an inferior product.  Compromise is necessary in all things.  But giving away the cow so you can get the milk.......  Well, isn't that like improving the snuggie?

Sorry People!

Okay so it was brought to my attention that people weren't able to leave comments.  My bad, I'm still trying to figure out how to do this stuff.  I promise I will, it just might take a little bit of time.  Please comment, I love it-I really do.

Did turning 40 rock your world?

It rocked mine.  It rocked mine so hard that my current life has almost no relation to the life I had just a little over a year ago.  Some of it was just life throwing curve balls.  Most of it is my complete and utter change of attitude about almost everything.  Not a change exactly, more like a coming back around to values and ideals that I always had but wasn't honoring.

Is this common?  I know about the cliched mid-life crisis.  The stereo type of which is a middle aged man buying a sports car.  This is woefully simplistic.  Not very helpful if you find yourself in an existential melt down.  It's something that is perceived as a weakness I think.  Snickered about behind your back.  Very unfair.  I think it's important to take stock in where we have come from and where we are going.  Look around your life's landscape and pull the overgrown weeds.  Add some new landscaping.  Plant a tree or two.  Change.

Is it good enough to live as you have always done, going through your days in a routine?  Sure, if that's what makes you happy.  But if you are reaching this crucial age, and you don't like how you're living than I say go for it.  Change your life.  Buy a sports car,  learn to parasail, lose a hundred pounds.  Life isn't over.  It's just beginning.  I promise I won't laugh at you behind your back.  I'm cheering for you on the side-lines.  I'm hoping that all of your dreams for your life come true.  Don't give up, its never too late.
I'm working it.  Trying to live my life the way I always thought I would. Are you?
Please let me know your story.  Are you trying to live your dreams?  Are you living your dream?

Blogging?

I am coming to the blogging party late.  Not fashionably late, but the kind of late where you show up all dressed up ready to party and they're putting the chairs on the tables.  That's okay, I guess.  I'll just kick off my heels and help clean up.  I still want to be a part of the party.

So I've been doing some research.  I want to share with you some blogs that I've stumbled across that I think are amazing.  First one being The Pioneer Woman.  I must have been living under a rock. She's quite amazing, if you check it out you're in for a treat.  I think Pioneer Woman's blog is what happiness looks like if you put it into blog form.  Beautiful.  Really.

Bakerella is another one.  Just a woman talking about baking and sharing her recipes and enjoying her hobby.  The writing is superb.  The photographs are wonderful.  She makes me hungry every time I visit her blog.

Freakanomics is so interesting.  There are many contributors to this blog, insightful and quirky.  They look at everything from the point of view of economics.  But economics is really about people, and these guys have made that simple idea into an art form.  Sometimes I get sucked in there and can't get out.  I need a life alert bracelet.

There are so many others but these three really have showed me what a blog can be.  Now, how can I make mine as good as theirs?  Even coming late, I'd still like to show up.

Still thinking about quality vs cost.  My dad who I have written about already and will write about a lot more, was a quality guy.  He never threw stuff out, and he didn't buy much either.  He still slept on the same mattress I slept on as a girl.  He died on that mattress.  It wasn't even a mattress, it was a piece of foam rubber that was cut to fit my bed.  He said "after I die, just roll this old thing up and take it to the dump."  Really Dad?  You don't think we should save it?  It's only a 41 yr old piece of foam rubber, someone might want it.  I now have dishes, silverware, and pottery that I had when I was growing up.  Same stuff.   All miss matched and chipped.

Dad had a uniform.  Blue jeans, white tshirt and a red hooded sweatshirt.  That's it.  Everyday.  Sometimes if it was cold in New Hampshire, he would wear a white thermal with his red sweatshirt.  Shoes changed too.  Red converse sneakers for town and outings, work boots for the rest of the time.  Sometimes duck boots if it was wet and muddy.  Oh, and tube socks, with the two stripes of color on top.   He wore his red converse sneakers with his rented tuxedo at my wedding.

After my Dad passed away, I was going through his clothes, putting things in bags for donation.  I found white t-shirts that you could literally read through, they were so worn.  Red sweatshirts with holes in the sleeves, jeans that I recognized from childhood.  He saved and he used everything he bought until there was nothing left.  I think in order for my Dad to throw something out it would have had to literally disintigrate or spontaneously combust.  I don't really know since I had never seen him throw something away.

It reminded me of a time when I went to visit him with my first child.  My son was just a baby, a toddler, and I was concerned about keeping him occupied while we were there.  Dad having no tv or running water.  I brought so much stuff.  Still living under the false impression that things equal happiness.  What must my Dad have thought about all those shiny plastic toys with buttons that make noise?  It embarasses me to think about it.  All that stuff I brought into his little house and took over.  My son never even really played with that stuff, there was too much of it.

Now that my Dad is gone, I think about that visit.  What a wasted opportunity to spend simple, quiet quality time with my dad and my son.  Bringing too much stuff to any party is going to cloud things, complicate and distort.  How can you enjoy simplicity while in chaos?  I think my son would have had fun with a piece of string, or a fascinating sparkly rock.  Instead we listened to the sounds of electronic toys saying school bus, and I love you, and sirens.

Dad bought quality.  His pots and pans,  Le Creuset, enameled cast iron of the finest quality.  His art supplies, the best available.  His artwork and rugs, very fine examples.  No, he wasn't rich, not even close.  After he retired he lived on social security.  That is it.  No pension, no investments, no dividends. Just $14,000 bucks a year.  And he always managed to send me a few hundred bucks here and there.  Many, many times in my life I have cleaned out my attic or my basement and thrown out garbage bags full of stuff.   Stuff that wasn't needed in the first place.  I love looking around my house and finding items that I've had for a long time.  Until last year I had a t-shirt that I wore to sleep in that was so thread bare that it was barely a covering at all.  Hubby finally convinced me to throw it out.  It was hard.  I had worn that tshirt since high school.  There are gifts that we recieved for our wedding, beautiful things that I cherish.  And now I have my Dad's things, quality items with meaning.  May your home be filled with quality items with meaning.

Living in Sioux City has been an education. Before moving here I had always lived on the East Coast. I am a Yankee through and through. I lived in New England for a while, but mostly near or around two giant cities: New York and Philly. Naturally it wasn't very hard for me to find people with similar political views and social values. I had and still have many, many friends with some conservative beliefs as well. But they tend to be more moderate and centrist. It was much easier to carry on a dialogue with my friends "back home".

Sioux City is a place made up of neighborhoods. There is a small downtown area, maybe ten blocks square, that is trying to be the center of Sioux City. But, alas, it's filled with empty storefronts and closed down restaurants. There are some good bars, a theater, a coffee bar or two, and some stores here and there. They are hanging on and trying to make it work. Good for them.

Unfortunately, the center of Sioux City seems to be the mall, and all of the clusters of shopping centers that are built around it. These shopping centers contain all of the big box stores that every single American town and city now have. I won't list them; you already know them. I have to wonder seriously about a city that won't support a cool, hip downtown area. To be completely honest, it's a bit disheartening.

Not to mention that most of the people I meet here are Republican, Christian, and very, very conservative on social issues. Not everyone, but a majority. I stay away from these subjects with my neighbors and friends here. I don't need to convince anybody of anything. We don't agree, period. It's okay. The only time I felt outraged here was when I read an article that described a town hall meeting about health care reform. The crowd booed when Sen. Ted Kennedy's name was mentioned. The meeting was on the day he died. That got to me. A man who worked in public service his whole life, working tirelessly for civil rights and for social programs that have helped millions of people? Booed. Yuck.

People here wear their politics on their sleeves. Bumper stickers, yard signs, references in conversation. I have learned to hold my tongue when we disagree. When those issues aren't right in my face, I like the people I'm meeting here just fine. Hardworking, wholesome, beer drinking people. Friendly and surprisingly open to people who are different. I really like them. Good people, Christians who understand the lessons of their religion: tolerance and compassion. There are tons of charity missions done here in Sioux City by local churches and youth groups. Warms my heart.

That is why I was so surprised by the vehement opposition to health care reform, specifically the public option. I asked a friend of mine what bothered him about it and he said something to the effect that he works hard and pays taxes and he doesn't want immigrants to use his tax dollars for their medical problems. Doesn't this seem counterintuitive to Christian beliefs and values? I asked him about charity and good will towards our fellow man. What if it was an immigrant baby that was sick, would you turn it away? Of course he wouldn't. I know him and I know he wouldn't. It doesn't fit; doesn't make sense.

Ah well. I hold my tongue and enjoy these good people for themselves. I'm making some really good friends here, even if their politics make absolutely no sense to me. I'm sure they say the same about mine. And then we'll go have a beer.

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First of all, I would like to say thank you to everyone for the amazing feedback!!  I am purring like a kitten.  Our office chair that sits in front of our computer is the most uncomfortable chair in the world.  I'm convinced it has done me bodily harm.  It is hard and squishy, how is that possible?  It has the power to make you hurt in places that you didn't know could hurt.  It's ugly and all wrong.  We've had it for four years.  The wheels on the bottom work very well, which is why it sneakily moves backwards, inches at a time, until you are typing hunched forward with arms stretched in front of you.  I look like I'm making my daily prayer to Allah.  Then, usually, to move back to the computer I hit my knees on the desk, those darn slippery wheels!  Sort of like when you're ice skating and your skates slip out from under you, whoosh you're on the ice.  The chair is an engineering marvel, it should be studied.

This got me thinking about something that my husband and I have discussed frequently.  Quality Vs quantity.  Or in other words, should we spend the extra money for quality things or save the money and buy something cheap.  With all of these huge big box stores, it is easy to find what you want for a price tag that that won't break the bank.  But what quality?  Our office chair was probably under a hundred bucks at one of those big box office supply chains.   Clearly, very little thought was given to the design or the functuality.  I'm sure the price point was thoroughly investigated.

When my husband and I have chosen quality over cost we haven't been disappointed.  We switched over to a Mac after our 2nd PC bit the dust, this time taking all of our son's baby pictures with it.  We spent the extra money and bought a quality computer that does the job and never gives you the blue screen of death.  All that and no viruses too, whoopee.  We bought a quality grill, I love that grill, I want to adopt it as a member of my family.  It starts every single time and it cooks beautifully.  Well worth the extra money.  Over time quality goods pay back.

However, we are in bleak financial times and people don't have the extra cash to buy quality goods.  So, Walmart here we come.  This morning I read a story about 2 giant chain stores that ruined perfectly good clothes and throwing them out in the dumpsters.  They slashed coats, cut off sleeves of shirts etc.  This was just a downright crime in my eyes.  I believe they should be prosecuted for crimes against humanity.  Walmart, you are certainly filling up your karmic scorecard and things are not looking good for you.  

I say that if we stop providing a demand for cheaply made goods from countries where people make pennies per hour, maybe they will stop making them.  Maybe we should take a good look at quality made items made right here in the good ol' USA.  If you love them they will love you back.  Say goodbye to pressed board furniture with plastic wood-like laminate.  It may be $88 bucks, but in a year or two that piece is going to look like it had water damage without water.  Save the money up and buy a real piece of furniture made of wood.  Or better yet, resale shops or thrift stores.  We just have too much stuff.  Apparently, we have so much stuff that we can cut it up, wrap it in plastic and throw it in a dumpster so no one can use it or enjoy it.

Ugh, what a mess.