I like both of these products. One does nice things for my hair. The other is good for business time.
The bottles look very similar in the medicine cabinet. Especially when you are tired.
And that’s all I’m gonna say.
Edited to add: Mark would like you to know that it was a hair malfunction, and not . . . ahem . . . something else.
public service announcement
idea camp for orphans
I am going to be speaking at The Idea Camp-Orphan Care next month. They have been releasing the workshop topics all week and I am really excited to be a part of this, for a couple of reasons. First, I like the philosophical model of the Idea Camp. It is a post-modern exploration of topics, with a focus on the participants. The Idea Camp functions under the premise that the crowd is collectively smarter than any one speaker. I am really interested to see how such a collaborative conference works.
Most of all, though, I really appreciate that they are working hard to uncover all of the complex issues involved in orphan care. The topics that will be discussed are really getting to the heart of the matter. The weekend will be broken down into four segments: The State of the Orphan (looking at the big picture), Causes & Ramifications (looking at why children are orphaned and the effects), Adoption & Foster Care (looking at adoptee issues, family preparation, and barriers to foster care), and finally Preemptive Orphan Care (looking at ways to prevent children from being orphaned in the first place).
I am proud to be a part of this thorough discussion. My workshop will be under the Causes and Ramifications portion:
The Psychology of Abandonment: Implications for Adoption and for Orphanage Life
This session will address the psychological impact of being orphaned, including issues of loss, abandonment, attachment disorders, and institutionalized behaviors. We will explore how these factors effect children who are adopted into families, and the importance of education and preparation for adoptive families. We will also evaluate the best practices for children who live in institutions, and how orphanages can best prepare children to succeed relationally and spiritually as the move into adulthood.
You can see the full list of workshops here.
The Idea Camp is February 25th and 26th in NW Arkansas.
(And if you are from Southern California, you can fly nonstop from LA to NW Arkansas for about $80 each way on Allegiant Air. Just saying)
Hair: The Musical
I had a chance to see the musical Hair this weekend at the newly dubbed Segerstrom Center for the Arts (formerly Orange County Performing Arts Center). Here is a snippet of the review I wrote for Technorati’s BlogCritics. You can read the rest at the original post.
Hair has always been one of my favorite shows. However, it has been off of my radar for a few years, and its genius was forgotten in favor of some of the newer shows (Next to Normal! Spring Awakening! Fela!) that currently populate my ipod. When I heard that Broadway was staging a revival of the play in 2009, I was excited to see how this brilliant show would be staged. It won the Tony Award for best musical revival, but I had to wait more than a year for the show to come to my area on tour.
In anticipation of the local premiere, I stocked my ipod with the soundtrack and was quickly reminded of how much I love the music. It has an amazing score – tight harmonies paired with complex melodies . . .and songs that are just plain fun for singing along.
Hair was a revolutionary musical. In a season of syrupy musicals by Rogers and Hammerstein, Hair was a serious departure from the usual Broadway fare. The show was cutting edge not just because of the subject matter, but because the music was done in a rock-opera style that had rarely been attempted. In my mind, this innovation puts Hair in the same category as Rent, Spring Awakening, and American Idiot - all shows that introduced a new sounds to the traditional musical theater milieu. The show opened in 1967, and dealt with difficult and timely subjects. The shows casts both a nostalgic and critical gaze on the ideology of the hippie movement, the draft, and the fight against establishment.
Photo credit: Joan Marcus
what I want you to know: hyperemesis
What I Want You to Know is a series of reader submissions. It is an attempt to allow people to tell their personal stories, in the hopes of bringing greater compassion to the unique issues each of us face. If you would like to submit a story, email me. Today’s story was written by Amanda of Our Wee Family.
Looking through my 3-year-old’s baby box last week, I held his first outfit, first shoes and first paci with wonderment and warmth. These keepsakes bring back joyous memories.
Then, I picked up the baggie that holds the PICC line I wore for three months during his pregnancy, my lifeline to hydration and the medication my body desperately needed. Now it serves as a reminder of being gravely ill during pregnancy, but also, thankfully, of the wonderful medical care that got me through it.
I’m a two-time survivor of Hyperemesis Gravidarum, a rare and serious condition affecting about one percent of pregnant women. HG, as it's called for short, is a very extreme form of morning sickness. Women become dangerously ill, throwing up many times a day, losing about 10 percent of their body weight and, without medical intervention, it can lead to death. Some doctors still dismiss the condition, telling women it's psychological and they're overreacting. It's hard for women to find adequate support from family and friends as well because most people know very little about the condition. Good news is, with proper care, mom and baby are fine at the end of the pregnancy.
I had HG with my first pregnancy, but it was considered mild. I threw up many times a day, was unable to work for a few weeks and lost weight during the first trimester – all while taking strong doses of Zofran, an anti-nausea medication usually prescribed for cancer patients going through chemo. I remained on Zofran the entire pregnancy and was instantly nausea-free after my daughter was born.
When we became pregnant with my son 16 months later, I figured I’d be ill again, but at least I knew how to get through it. I was wrong. I started taking large doses of Zofran as soon as I began throwing up, but it wasn’t enough. I was in and out of the hospital for IV hydration and medication. Quickly, my doctor ordered a PIC line inserted, a more permanent IV running from my arm to my chest. He sent me home with home health nurses and medication.
I pushed Zofran and fluids through my PIC line a few times a day and took a handful of other medications all aimed at reducing my nausea. My dresser was piled high in IV bags, saline locks and IV tubing. My fridge was stocked with medication. Nurses stopped by to change my PIC dressing.
I was a mess. I took a leave from work and spent my days lying in bed, forcing myself to eat and promptly throwing up. I was so nauseated I couldn’t read, send an e-mail, complete a phone call or even muster the energy for a shower many days, much less care for my toddler. Sleep was my only relief.
Blessedly, by week 12, my symptoms started to ease. It took another month before I could wean off the IV medications, but I eventually had the PIC line removed and returned to oral Zofran for the remainder of the pregnancy. The instant my healthy 8-pound son was born, my symptoms disappeared.
I'm just one of thousands of women each year who faces HG. What I’d like you to know about HG is that it’s not a psychological disorder, although it does – not surprisingly - cause depression. As HG sufferers, we’re not fighting against our pregnancies. We’re just regular women who were once excited to be pregnant, until this illness threatened to kill us. Some are able to muster the courage to carry another child. Others, like me, are so terrified of pregnancy, we struggle to let go of our dreams of carrying future babies.
If you hear of a friend or family member who’s suffering from HG, please don’t minimize their symptoms. Instead, reach out to them with offers to do laundry, help with other children, bring a meal for the rest of the family and say prayers. Bring music to listen to, a stuffed animal to snuggle or offer to sit quietly bedside. It’s hard to ask for help when you’re too sick to use the phone or pull together sentences.
I’m incredibly thankful for my doctors who understood HG and did everything they could to keep me safe and healthy. I’m thankful for my husband, family and friends who helped me fight, sending many prayers my way. Most of all, I’m thankful for my two healthy children, babies who somehow thrived in my body while it was nearly destroying itself.
For more information about HG, visit the HER Foundation or read this ABC News report on the condition.
Amanda blogs at Our Wee Family.
but now to live the life
I love reading the blogs of families who have answered the call to a radical lifestyle of service. In part, I think that it is a reminder of what I aspire to . . . and in part because I like to live vicariously through the people who have made such decisions because, in truth, it scares the crap out of me. I read the writings of women like Tara, Jamie, and Heather with equal parts conviction, inspiration, and fear.
My friend Sarah now joins their ranks, having moved her family of six to Peru to work alongside Krochet Kids. They sold nearly all of their belongings. The picture below is of them with every single thing they own, just before they left for the airport.
I am tearful seeing this picture – in part because I am going to miss our friends, but in part because there is such beauty in this kind of surrender.
They will be helping establish the first Krochet Kids program in Peru. It’s an amazing microenterprise that allows impoverished women to support their families by knitting hats that are then purchased in the US. If you know me in real life, you know I wear these hats all the time. They are perfect for covering up roots, or that 3rd-day-without-washing grease. Also, they are cute. And support women in Uganda. And now, because of the Goodfellows . . . Peru.
If you want to follow along with their journey, Sarah blogs here.
preparing for the angsty blissdom
I am headed to a blog conference this weekend. It’s called Blissdom, and by all accounts from the folks who have been before, it sounds like it lives up to the name. I will be attending for ShePosts so it is somewhat of a working weekend, but I’m also really excited to get to hang out with some of my “blogging tribe”. Holla!
(I feel equally awkward using the terms “blogging tribe” and “holla”).
I really do love getting to travel every few months. I love my kids so much but when I am home, there is just no phoning it in. I have very little downtime, and even less quiet time. My life is so chaotic that I am looking forward to the alone time on the plane almost as much as I’m looking forward to the conference.
That is pathetic. But it’s true.
Anyways, traveling without my kids always brings up a host of emotions for me. I feel like I spend most of my daily life overwhelmed and longing for a break, and then when I get it, about five hours in I start feeling really weepy and sad about missing my kids. It is really hard for me at night. Not getting to kiss them and put them to bed is brutal for me.
I also struggle with guilt. Even though I’ll only be gone a total of three nights, and even though the kids will be treated to all sorts of shenanigans with Mark in my absence, I still have a hard time delegating my role for a few days.
I think what makes it even more difficult is that, in the days leading up to the trip, I tend to be really busy with preparations: packing, scheduling, prepping food, and trying to get ahead with work deadlines. The result is that I am stressed and tired, with a nagging sense that I should be spending more time with the kids since I will be leaving soon. Still, those suitcases aren’t going to pack themselves, so I pop a movie in and distract the kids while I bustle around, and then inevitably forget 27 things until the last minute and spend my final moments with the kids in a state of angsty chaos.
My spell-check is dinging me for angsty. But I think you know what I mean.
Then I leave, regretting the fact that I have not been more intentional with the kids, and then I spend my time away wondering how in the world I did not just smother them all with kisses the entire day before I left because OH MY GOSH I MISS THEM SO MUCH.
So, yeah. I’m gonna have a blast at Blissdom. And I’m gonna these guys like crazy.
And him, too.
the sweatpants of cars
My Today Show segment aired today. It was scheduled for Friday but got pushed back due to News Of Actual Import. I meant to email the producer to find out when it would be on. And I meant to set my Tivo to season pass the Today Show. But I forgot to do both things, so instead I puttered around this morning and then learned that I missed the segment when I logged into facebook. Oops.
Fortunately someone found it online for me. I’m really glad I have facebook to let me know what is going on in my life.
Notes to self: 1) do not allow yourself to be filmed from a dashboard camera that is level with your chest and aimed at your chin. 2) when you are gonna be on national tv, go ahead and take the time to flatiron the back of your hair. 3) my minivan has never before and will never again be that clean.
And by the way, I always blog with a child cuddled sweetly in my arms, gazing at what I’m writing in enthralled rapture. Don’t you?
Visit msnbc.com for breaking news, world news, and news about the economy
one year home
It is so hard to believe that one year ago, Kembe joined our family.
Tonight I am reminded of the hours I spent on the computer one year ago, wondering every day when Kembe would be able to leave Haiti and come home. It is good to look back and reflect on the relief and joy we felt at his homecoming, but also to acknowledge how difficult that transition was for Kembe. For all of us.
This year has been the most challenging year our family has ever faced. And yet, I can also look back and see how far we have come. Our bond with Kembe grows every day and he is reciprocating that attachment. He cuddles into us with us, and tells us how much he loves us spontaneously and comfortably. We still have our challenges, but we are no longer fumbling in the dark. It doesn’t feel like we are “learning to be a family” anymore. We are a family. A family with real challenges . . but a family nonetheless.
If you are new around here and want to catch up on the craziness that was January 2010, click here. But you’ll have to read from the bottom of the page up for it to make any sense. Though I think we are still trying to make sense of it.
teaching our children about racial differences
This week in my advice column, I’m tackling how to talk to children about race. I mentioned last week that we haven’t broached the subject of systemic racism with our kids yet. However, we are very open in terms of talking about racial difference and prejudice, and I think it is a beneficial conversation for all parents to have with their children:
“I used to like the idea that kids are colorblind. I love the vision of American being this great melting pot where kids of every race play together in perfect harmony. I think we are getting there. But as my kids are getting older, I've begun to realize that children do, in fact, notice race. I've even had the sinking feeling as I've observed playground interactions that my African American children are sometimes excluded from because they look different. And then, we had a couple incidents where my kids were blatantly excluded for their skin color. My colorblind theory was beginning to crack.
I thought I was just being paranoid until I started doing some research on it. A simple search on race and exclusion yielded dozens of recent studies on the impact of race in preschool and elementary school. The findings were scary: race is one of the biggest factors in children being left out by their peers. It's as impactful as gender, physical differences, and even cognitive ability.
The truth is, at the age that most children begin to notice gender differences, they also begin to notice race. I think many of us are unaware of this, because it can be subject we inadvertently avoid. We want our kids to be "colorblind", so we pretend not to notice differences and encourage them do to the same. But in doing so, we might miss some important conversations . . .”
That’s just a blurb – if you want to read the rest head on over to OCRegister.com.
the next stop in my minivan smear campaign
I am going to be on The Today Show on Friday, spewing my violent rhetoric against the minivan. While I’m driving one.
On Tuesday, a crew came out to my house t o film a short segment. They put cameras all over my car – three on the dashboard, a couple filming the kids, and even cameras the sides and top of the car. The boys were sure they were spy cameras. I am concerned they may actually be double chin cameras, but we shall see.
Here I am trying to look natural and pleasant walking to the car as Karis tries to simultaneously push me and wiggle herself out of my arms. (By the way, I asked for feedback on those boots on Facebook and they got mixed reviews. I’m kind of liking them. Plus, they were $23 at Target. $23!!! Sure, I had to put a $75 insole into them in order to wear them for more than a half hour, but when I get tired of them they can double as cowboy boots in the costume bin.)
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Speaking of cowboys and acting natural, here is what India did every single time the camera was on her. They specifically asked the kids not to look at the camera. India not only looked, but held her Jessie doll up to the camera each time it was pointed at her.
It was actually a fun and relaxed day. The kids loved the boom mike and the scene snappers (what are those things called?). I had a fun interview with Janet Shamlian. She is a Today Show correspondent and a mom of 5 kids within seven years (she totally understood my pain). Barring the threat of actual news, the segment should air Friday at 8, and will likely be the last stop on my minivan-bashing tour.
For now. Mwahahahaha.
gender scripting
Last week, my column for the OC Register talked about boys dressing up as girls. I actually got more questions about this topic than any other subject, and the feedback was interesting, too. Some people couldn’t believe it was even a concern in this day and age. Others couldn’t believe that I was suggesting it be allowed. People certainly have strong feelings, one way or the other. (In case you don’t link over to the article, I will give you a clue as to my own take on the matter):
“So what? Who cares?”
(Said in my best impersonation of Fred Armisen impersonating Joy Behar.)
You can read the whole article here. In a nutshell, my advice was that it’s no big deal, but the bigger message I wanted to send was this:
The best thing we can do to promote a healthy gender identity in our children is to help them feel that they can choose from a wide variety of interests without gender confusion. We should be helping our boys understand that being sensitive, nurturing, or artistic does not compromise their masculinity. We should be helping our daughters feel free to be athletic or ambitious without threatening their femininity.
I really do have a pet peeve with the gender scripting our kids get, especially from the media and from toy companies. It felt especially pronounced to me this Christmas, as I shopped for toys. I mean, really, why does every toy have to be ascribed a color that delineates which gender it is for? I wanted to buy a musical keyboard for all the kids. I could only find them in pink. So keyboards are just for girls? I had to special-order a stroller for Kembe in a gender-neutral color. I hate that already, my boys are being told that being nurturing and artistic are feminine qualities. I hate that my daughter refused to partake in a basketball class because “sports are for boys, ballet is for girls”.
India, at four, is already entrenched with ideas about gender. She gets irate when Kembe wants to dress up in her girly things – she actually yells at him. She separates her markers into boy colors and girl colors. She determines the gender of every movie and refuses to watch the ones she has deemed “boy”. She has been known to cry over the wrong color of sippy cup, and last year I gave up after months of her refusing to wear pants of any kind. She will don leggings ONLY if they are tight and ONLY because I googled a bunch of photos of Hannah Montana wearing them.
Her ideas about gender baffle and irritate me, especially because I consider us to be a pretty low-media family. (The Hannah Montana movie was a low point, people. It involved our house being exterminated, a 100-degree day, and me 9 months pregnant and no where to go. Don’t judge). I am always wondering what I can do to get her to lighten up on the rigid gender roles. But then on Saturday, I took on a date . . . our first mani-pedi together. I was so excited, and I heard myself repeating over and over again on the way there, “this is just a special thing, just for the girls”.
And really, it was.
So, I guess I’m a little ambivalent about gender roles too. Maybe I want my kids to feel the freedom to choose their likes and dislikes, while at the same time celebrating the fun and unique aspects of their own gender.
But hey – I let India choose the colors and she did choose BLUE. Progress?
a different kind of open adoption
I believe that open adoption can be very beneficial to children. Unfortunately for Kembe, his birthparents are both deceased, so we have no connection to his birth family. But we are so blessed to be in contact with all of the families that adopted the boys from his orphanage. Kembe was there his whole life until he came to us . . . and these boys were his family. We came to know all of them over the three years as we visited. They were a little “band of brothers”. And in the last year since he came home, he has expressed more grief over missing his friends than anything else.
I feel really fortunate for the amazing families we have met in this process, and while we were traveling Kembe got to reunite with three of his “brothers” from Haiti. He was so excited! And we were so excited for him.
In Atlanta Kembe got to visit with Frankie. He talks about Frankie all the time. Anytime something exciting happens, he tells me that he’s going to tell Frankie about it.
This was Frankie loving on Karis in Haiti:
And here they are, almost two years later!
Kembe did not, in fact, tell Frankie about all the things he’d been saving up to say. They were both a little awe-struck, I think. But for the next few weeks, he repeated “Remember when I saw Frankie?” more times than I can count.
In Florida, we got to meet up with Gino and Sammy. (Here they are with Karis in Haiti, Sammy in Orange, Gino in stripes. She was quite the popular girl when we visited):
And here are the boys seeing each other for the first time in a year:
I love that Kembe has these connections to his life before us. I got to see relatives I hadn’t seen in a long time this holiday season, and Kembe getting to reconnect with his family felt right, too. It was so good to see Kembe interact with his friends, and also so good to talk with their parents and relate to someone else on this journey. I look forward to more years of “family reunions” with all the boys from Maranatha Children’s Home.
talking to kids about tragedy
Between the shooting in Tuscon, the anniversary of the earthquake, and Martin Luther King Junior’s birthday, I’ve been thinking a lot about how I talk with my kids about tragedy. I try to live my life with eyes wide open – I want to know what is going on in the world and I’m very intentional about educating myself on the issues, even when those issues are hard to face. I think that is why I am sometimes ambivalent about how to talk with my kids about difficult subjects. I want my kids to be educated and empathic citizens. But thus far, I have been relatively silent with them on many things.
I try to shield my kids from tragedy. I don’t know if there is a right or wrong answer in how to deal with this, or a magical age when kids are ready to have the veil of innocence lifted to expose the evil that is in the world. What I do know is two things: 1) I want my kids to be adults who are informed about world events, injustice, privilege and racism, 2) I don’t think they are ready right now.
Jafta had a fireman come and talk to his school. In the weeks following, he talked endlesslessly about all the ways he could die by fire. His stress level went up, and he seemed afraid. Similarly, I remember a time around that age when my parents were watching the news and explained a bit of the cold war to me. I remember being so scared of being bombed by the Russians. I thought about it every night. I was always prone to anxiety, and so that information was hard for me to process at that age.
With that in mind, I never watch the news around the kids. I don’t think they are old enough to need to know about death or killing. At this age, I don’t think that the potential for empathy outweighs the potential for fear. At some point, it will. Not yet.
We did not tell the kids much about what was going on in Haiti. I think it hit a little too close to home for them to know that I was in a situation where there was so much life lost. Jafta learned more at school than he did at home. Kembe has no idea what went on outside the gate of where we were staying, and I’m very glad. Someday I will have to explain those circumstances to him, but I don’t think he’s ready.
I do recognize it is a privilege to live in an environment where I can shield them from hardships. I don’t want them to live in that bubble of privilege, but I guess I’m not ready to burst it quite yet, if I don’t have to.
Despite being someone who strives to be educated on racism, I have not explained it to the boys yet. My kids and I talk about prejudice quite a bit, and they understand that it is wrong to judge others based on the color of their skin. But the boys do not yet know the realities of institutionalized racism, or the heavy mantle of stereotype they will wear as black men. They do not know that 50 years ago, they could not have gone swimming with their sisters. They do not know the shameful ways African Americans have been treated. I will be very intentional in educating them on this someday . . . but I feel l like they both need more time to develop their self-esteem before they can process these hard truths without it shaping their identity negatively.
I realize their race will shape their identity inevitably – I just want a little more of a foundation before they have to grapple with the impact it has on our society. I think racism might be harder to explain to a child whose race has been an explicit target. I think it’s easy for white children to sit and read about Rosa Parks or MLK in class, and vow to never act that way (being in the seat of privilege and power to make such a resolve). In my experience as a white child, the take-away from such stories was a feeling of self-righteousness for having the power to behave differently. But I truly wonder what it is like when black chidlren hear these stories. What is the take-away for them? I have no idea, but I would imagine it might bring up fear, anxiety, hurt, and confusion. Black children have to hear these stories knowing that it is not in their control to change the way their group is treated. I think these stories must have a heavier weight for black children. I don’t think my boys are ready for that weight.
No. I just don’t think my boys can process that yet.
So, we won’t be doing anything big with the kids for Martin Luther King day. It’s a bit anticlimactic and I certainly look forward to the future when we can celebrate the life of such a hero with our chidlren. But for now, Mark and I will wait for the kids to go to sleep and then take part in our tradition of watching his famous speech online as we bawl our eyes yet. I can’t wait for my kids to hear it . . .
But not yet.
How about you? How do you handle talking to your kids about tragedy?
was that so hard? (comments and an ethical dilemma)
Thank you to all of you who took the time to comment this weekend. It really was fun getting to hear from the “silent majority”. It felt like a bit of a love-fest and I’m really hoping that you will free more confidence to comment again. You did so well!
(This is me resorting to flattery to see if you will comment again.)
Now I’m gonna throw a question at you that would be blatant comment-seeking if it wasn’t something that I actually need help with. I'm really looking for feedback with our next-door neighbors. It happened just today, and I’m not sure what to do. Mark determined it was time to “ask on the blog”.
Okay, here’s the situation . . .
(not involving my parents going away on a week’s vacation)
Okay, our next-door neighbors came by today. (Reeeeallly hoping they don’t read my blog.) Anyways, they let us know that they got an estimate to replace the fence between our houses, and wanted to know if we would pay for half of it.
Some details on this fence: It’s old. It’s looking rough and chipped and leaning in spots. However, the fence is on the side of our house that lines our garage. It offers no function for us, we never, ever see it, and we don’t really care how it looks as long as it’s standing.
Actually, I don’t even really care if it’s standing, but I can see why they would want it to hold up.
Our neighbors want to replace the fence with a brick wall. They got an estimate today – $3500.
Mark thinks that we are obligated to pay for half of it. I think we aren’t – especially since we still have outstanding repairs we can’t even pay for inside our home, that we have to look at every day. I also think it is a lot of money to assume that someone can just drop on a fence repair.
Anyways, what do you guys think? Are we really bad neighbors if we say no? Obviously we have no legal obligation but does this fall under the “neighborly code”? What would you do?
what I want you to know: being a conservative
What I Want You to Know is a series of reader submissions. It is an attempt to allow people to tell their personal stories, in the hopes of bringing greater compassion to the unique issues each of us face. If you would like to submit a story, email me.
Today’s post was written by a reader who wishes to remain anonymous.
What I want you to know is that even though I'm a Christian and I mostly vote Republican that I am not an uninformed "values voter" that loves Bush and hates Obama.
What I want you to know is that it really bothers me how people assume that the only political issues I care about are abortion or gay marriage.
What I want you to know is that just because I vote Republican doesn't mean I'm rich, selfish, greedy and lack compassion about others who are down trodden or have less money. My husband and I live off just one income and give over 10-12% of what we bring in each year to help others and support a variety of causes, people, issues, etc. We don't buy expensive clothes or fancy cars. We don't own iPods, Wiis or other expensive "toys". We try to live a simple life so we can spend as much of our extra time and money to help others. We're not excessive, we recycle anything and everything we can. I have some of the same clothes I've had for more than 10-years and one of our cars is 14-years old. I am just as passionate about many social justice causes that Democratic voters are but I just have a different opinion and idea about how to fix the problems.
What I want you to know is it's really hurtful when people accuse me of being intolerant just because I have a different opinion about something that is culturally popular. It is not intolerant or discriminatory if I have a different opinion. And just because I have a different opinion doesn't mean that I think those with opposing opinions are terrible or awful people. I'm not passing judgment on them and should be able to respectfully agree to disagree without being considered intolerant.
What I want you to know is that I believe people innately will make mistakes and abuse power which is why I don't believe that more and bigger government involvement is the answer to our problems. The more we rely on someone else to fix things the lazier we become. That is why I do not agree with most Democratic proposals and why I often am just as frustrated with Republican agendas. I want you to know that I think grassroots efforts are the most influential way of helping people and that relying on the government to do it is just passing the buck off to someone else when we should be doing it ourselves.
delurking day (that means you)
Today is National Delurking Day, or so I’m being told. That means it’s your day to finally leave a comment! I know . . . some of you already do. But the vast majority of you are silent readers. Maybe you are intimidated by the comment-leaving process? it’s easier than it looks, and you can log in with just your name.
Just click on the “COMMENT” button below this post, and this box will appear. Ignore all the fancy log-in options. The best way to leave a comment is to manually type in your name and email (and your blog if you have one – this lets everyone click directly to your blog instead of to an intensedebate profile). No one will see your email, but if you are really paranoid you can also leave a fake email there. No one will know.
If you want your picture to show up, you should upload a photo at gravatar.com. This stores a photo associated with your email, and will show the photo on nearly every blog you visit if you enter your email when you login. (Again, your email does not show up in the comment – just the photo).
Okay, so now you know how – please leave a comment and let me know who you are. Where are you from? How did you find this blog? Why do you read it? What do you want hear more about? What would you like me to stop talking about? Talk to me, goose. 
Haiti, today
Haiti was on my mind all day today.
It’s hard to forget. The devastation I fled a year ago this time – those concrete ruins I could not wait to escape are a daily reality for the people of Haiti. It is hard to fathom the resiliency that is required of this nation’s people.
An estimated 230,000 people were killed in the earthquake – many have not been unearthed or recorded.
Only 5% of the rubble has been removed.
3,600 lives have been lost to cholera.
800,000 are living in tent camps.
1.3 million are homeless.
Prior to the quake there were over 300,000 orphaned children in Haiti
No one can accurately account for how many children are now without a family.
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A year later, I am still as unsettled about Haiti as I was the day I left.
There have been many news stories today about where the money went. There is no denying that money was given, and that corruption stood in the way. In October we listened to with both amusement and horror as a friend (who shall remain nameless) told us stories of the days after the quake . . . and how some enterprising missionaries “relieved” the bigger organizations of some of the supplies that sat unused on pallets at the airport in order to get that food and water to people who were in desperate need. Real life Robin Hood stories.
Haiti remains, to me, a story of epic corruption, epic resiliency, and epic struggle. There is no denying there is corruption in Haiti, that they need more than money, that every donation is a drop in a huge bucket, and that funds have been misappropriated. There is also no denying the fact that the people of Haiti still need help. In my opinion, that help will need to circumvent the government.
I know that there are people on the ground there that are changing and saving lives, every day, in tangible ways. There are people who are making sure that money is leading to lasting change, and that the money is used – all of it – where it matters, and when in matter (i.e., NOW).
I know there are many more, but these are the organizations that we trust and that we continue to support. When I look at the issues facing Haiti, I am overwhelmed. But for the two children we sponsor there, I know that a difference is being made. For the teen moms served at Heartline, or the orphans cared for by Dixie, there is change. The little money that we can give is magnified by other sponsors, and also by the grit and determination of the people who dedicate their lives to serving in Haiti.
This gives me some comfort, and some hope.
the race recap
I was just drafting a post about this time last year – with the anniversary of the earthquake coming up, it’s hard not to reminisce. I went to link the post of my half-marathon, and realized it was missing. I had drafted up this post on my phone on the flight to Haiti on January 11th . . . and obviously this post got lost in the shuffle. Anyways, one year later, here is the recap of my first (and hopefully not last) half marathon.
Writing a race recap feels a lot like writing a birth story. You know that only a few people are interested in hearing all the gory details. But since I've spent the last four months reading race accounts I figured I should write my own.
The night before the race was a tough one for me. I was sleep deprived and intimidated by the weather, and it was really making me feel insecure. Seven of us were staying in a suite together, and we were bustling around laying out our supplies and figuring out how we could avoid the race traffic without arriving at 4am. I felt like I was just going through the motions, play-acting that I was a runner. I felt this impending dread that I would soon be discovered as an imposter. I felt sure that the next day I would be unable to run more than a few miles. The last weeks of training don't include longer runs, and it only took a few days of not running for me to lose all confidence in my abilities. This whole experience has been a fight against a 35 year narrative that I am not an athlete. The night before, that narrative was strong, and I had many moments where I wondered what in the world I had been thinking, traveling across the country and raising money as a 'runner'. What would people think when they discovered I was a phony?
I had a lot of trouble sleeping, and that alarm came early. We all rushed around getting dressed, pinning on our bibs, and layering ourselves with old salvation army bound jackets and blankets we could throw off after a few miles. We even fashioned an outer layer of trashbags, which is supposed to hold in body heat. By the time we were done, we looked more like a group of homeless women than runners. As ridiculous as we looked, the rituals of preparing for a long run were helping give me confidence again. Two weeks prior, I had run the distance of a half-marathon. I could do this.
Since we were running this race for Haiti, we decided it was only fitting that we ride to the race 'Haiti style'. So all seven of us piled into one car. I was squashed in the backseat wearing a trashbag and using a portable breast pump as we drove to Disney. Not exactly how I envisioned my first big race, but we were already giggling and having fun, and I had forgotten all about the anxiety from the previous night.
When we hopped out, it was bitterly cold. The kind of cold that makes your nose run and then freezes your snot. There we thousands of people, all of them in a crazy getups to try to beat the unexpected temperatures. We were able to find the rest of our group pretty quickly, and it was so fun to all be together after our months of long-distance emailing, training and fundraising. Despite the weather, there was a huge spirit of camaraderie and excitement in the air. We huddled and prayed, and then waited. We met in the last corral so we could all be together, so it was about a half hour after the gun before we even reached the starting line. In Disney style, there were fireworks at the beginning, and once we started running my adrenaline was going.
I had created this amazing playlist on my ipod, complete with a book by David Sedaris that I thought would push me through some of the run, but just as I started running I realized my computer had failed to actually sync the ipod. This did instill a little panic, but I tried to talk myself down. I still had some good music, just not the master mix I had hoped for.
I felt pretty good as the race started. About a mile in, most of us started shedding some of the clothing. It was funning to be running and see people just throw off their outer layers into the grass. Disney had let us know that all clothes would be picked up and donated to charity, so most people were relieving themselves of coats once they worked up a sweat. My mom had brought me a red plaid-lined coat from the late 90’s that she had in the back of a closet, and I was happy to rid myself of that thing. Though I must admit, I ran the entire time with a trashbag around my legs.
My friend Erin and I ran together for a good portion of the race. It was so nice to have a friend to run with, even though we barely talked save for complaining about the cold. It was so cold that when we picked up the gatorade at the water stations, it had frozen just from sitting there. It was like getting little cups of gatorade slushie at every mile marker. There were also frozen patches of ground all along the race. I kept laughing to myself at how cold it was. I used to hear stories of people doing races in extreme weather and I would think that they sounded crazy. I remember my friend running a race in the rain and thinking that I would have just stayed home if it was raining. But after all the training, I finally got it. There was no way I was not going to finish this race, no matter how cold it was.
This particular race was such a good one for me to do first, because it was really non-competitive. There were a lot of people walking the marathon, and because I started in the very last group, I spent most of the race passing people. That was a huge confidence booster, even though I was still a slow runner. There were a lot of people dressed up, and there was just a spirit of friendliness and support. It felt like all of us were grinning.
Being Disney, they also had a lot of entertainment. There were bands on the sidelines, and crews of people cheering for us. Our names were on our bibs so they were cheer for us by name. I am a huge sap because that made me emotional several times. Which was not good, because my tears would freeze up my eyes. We also had Jamie Ivey and Paige Porter cheering us on, which was huge. Seeing them was a huge boost.
The downside of the race was that a lot of it was running through Disney parking lots. I am a little spoiled by my Southern California scenery. It was nice when we went through the parks.
Even though I only planned to run a half-marathon, I ran on the marathon day. Several of us did this together, because we wanted to be able to run as a big group, and about half of the group were doing the full. Let me make another crazy confession: at about mile 12, I seriously considered running the entire thing. I was feeling that good. I’m glad I didn’t because I probably would have been sorry, but I was caught up in the moment.
For the last half of the race, Erin and I ran with Tara and Jenn, who were running the whole thing. Tara had a foot injury and Jenn is just plain crazy – she hadn’t trained AT ALL and decided the night before that she would run for someone who had to bail out. Both of them finished the whole thing.
At mile 13, Kim and I stopped to take a picture, and then ran to mile 13.1. That whole time, I got a little emotional because I just couldn’t believe that I had run a half-marathon. My non-athletic, asthmatic self. At age 35. While breastfeeding. It’s really hard to articulate all that meant for me, but I really felt like a superwoman. It was a proud moment, and I hope someday I can repeat it.
It was a bit anticlimactic not getting to cross a finish line, but I’m glad we got to run with our friends. Plus, I had my Nike Plus going in my ear so I got to hear Lance Armstrong tell me congratulations for running my first half-marathon.
Kim and I met up with my family, and I nursed Karis in the bathroom at Disney’s Polynesian Hotel. I was equal parts drenched in sweat and freezing, and I was sore. SO SORE. We went back to our hotel and I took a long bath, and then we got dressed and went back to the race site to watch our friends cross the finish line for the full marathon.
It was really, really inspiring to watch people cross the finish line for the full. I was so proud of my friends who did it . . . especially of Beth and Tara, who did all of their training on the streets of Port-Au-Prince. Our rag-tag crew achieved a lot of personal milestones that day, but best of all, we raised the money to buy an ambulance for Heartline Haiti. I can say with confidence that I think this day will be one of the highlights of my life, and I’m so thankful for the women I got to share it with.
rage against the rhetoric
As pointed out in the comments of this post, also lame (a reference to the movie Untouchables, at a Philadelphia fundraiser in 2008):
“If they bring a knife to the fight, we bring a gun. Because from what I understand folks in Philly like a good brawl. I’ve seen Eagles fans.” – Barack Obama
There were several other examples left in the comments – some of them such extreme displays of crazy that I had to wash my eyes out with soap. If you want to get your fill of liberal insanity, there are many opportunities in the comments section.
A couple people accused me of “blaming the right for everything” in my last post. Let me articulate, again, that the post was not about assigning blame, but about pointing out that we shouldn’t even have to wonder if violent rhetoric inspires violence, because it shouldn’t be there. On any side. Period.
I’m sorry that some feel that this post was their prompt to stop reading my blog, but honestly I think there are A LOT of things going awry in our society that are leading to all kinds of awful, and that probably won’t be the last of my rantings. I am a grumpy and cynical gal with a chip on my shoulder against the status quo – isn’t that sort of inherent in the title? I am disgusted by the partisan politics of our country, and I will probably talk about it again. I’m also annoyed by violent video games, by materialism, by the accessibility of hard-core porn, by the way certain talk shows outline the behaviors of pedophiles in great detail, by racist stereotypes, by corporate greed, by the oversexualization of teen idols, by Hitler references, by television shows that use rape and murder as entertainment devices, by misogynistic rappers, by metaphorical Pharisees, by industry-standard anorexia, and any number of things that may be “benign” to sane adults but might be a trigger for the less discerning in our society.
It’s likely I will keep talking about these kind of things, and keep pushing myself to think more critically about what is going on in the world. In doing so, it’s likely that I will piss off every demographic at one point or another. And I’m kind of okay with that.
planes, pains, and automobiles
We are still in massive holiday hangover mode. We’ve been home for four days and I’ve yet to unpack or open all the mail. Vacations are a lot of work.
Before we left, I was pretty stressed about the trip. Our first plane ride with four kids would be followed by our first road-trip with four kids. So in the week leading up to the trip, I did what I do when I’m stressed: I strategized and hyperfocused on minute details, to give myself the illusion of being in control. The magical thinking is this: if I plan this out enough, flying with four kids will be easy.
Ahem.
So, I planned and schemed. We got the bigger kids new suitcases, thinking that they could each pull their own suitcase to avoid all the luggage fees. They came with matching carry-on bags, so each kid has their own bag full of treats and toys for the plane. I spent endless hours gathering the perfect toys and gadgets to make the flight exciting. And I laminated their initial onto each bag. Surely this attention to detail will make this a seamless trip. RIght??
So, to review. Faulty logic #1: ENOUGH PLANNING CAN PREVENT CHILDREN FROM ACTING LIKE CHILDREN ON A PLANE
This was followed up by faulty logic #2: IF YOU TALK ABOUT TRAVEL LIKE YOU ARE AN EXPERT, NOTHING CAN GO WRONG.
In a bizarre twist of fate that only fueled my irrational sense of confidence about this trip, I was asked to appear on tv AND on the radio to talk about keeping your sanity while flying with kids. I think initially I saw the irony, but somewhere along the lines I started believing my own words. Absolute power corrupts absolutely, people.
(Can I just point how how sickly and pale I look in this shot? The host of the show is basking in a warm sunset of pink lighting, and I’m sitting in front of a wall with a camera, looking like I need a nap and some oxygen.)
In my sleep-deprived, panicked, and overly-confident pre-trip state. I also completely lost sight of the macro details. For example: I spent about five hours shopping and packing up things that will keep my children interested on the plane. But preparing or shopping for the winter weather that awaited us in Atlanta? Er . . . not so much. Planning an alternative strategy if the children were not able to pull the suitcases themselves? Meh. Didn’t think about that.
You can probably guess how this ends.
Yes, despite having successful practiced having the children walk the length of the kitchen with their bags and suitcases, their abilities to span the lengths of the Santa Ana, Dallas Fort Worth, and Atlanta airports were not successful. Which left Mark and I with 5 carry-ons, 3 bags, a purse, a diaper bag, a stroller, and a toddler to carry between us.
To make matters worse, when we left our house on Christmas morning we forgot to pack our stroller – a fact we didn’t realize until we were exiting the taxi. So Mark had to pay the taxidriver to drive him home and then back again – making what should have been a $25 ride a $75 ride. And I got to go through TSA with all of the children ALONE. WIthout a stroller.
He made it to the gate on time, but it made for a hairy morning. The good news is that the bags I packed really did keep the kids entertained on the flights. The bad news is that the kids could not stand under the weight of said bags, which made for a lot of chaos getting on and off the planes. At one point, we were trying to figure out how to carry all of the crap after we had to abandon the stroller at the gate, which had just become a sort of pushcart for all of the bags. While we were trying to fold the stroller, he kids just ran onto the plane without us. And we are both just standing there surrounded by suitcases and bags and Karis, going, um . . . what do we do right now? WE DO NOT HAVE ENOUGH HANDS.
There was also a point where Kembe melted down in the DFW Chili’s because I would not let him lay down his head and take a nap. Because DANGIT, if there is going to be sleeping, it’s going to be on a plane, and if there is going to be eating, it’s going to be the $25 chicken tenders we just paid for. Merry Christmas, children!
Not one of my finer parenting moments.
All the chaos aside, we arrived in Atlanta to SNOW, which was really fun. Jafta kept talking about how we were finally having a “real Christmas” . . . which just secures his disappointment in all future, snow-free Christmases.
I think I’m doing Karis’s picture face in this photo. Notice the way the kids are staring at the snow. They cannot be bothered to look at the camera with white stuff on the ground that can be hurled at others.
We spent two days in Atlanta, visiting with my aunt and grandma who we have not seen in WAY too long, and with my dad and my sisters and their kids.
Then we drove to Florida – our first road trip as a family. I tried to pitch it to the kids as an adventure. Look how excited they are!
(India got to ride in the van with my sister Kim. The van with the DVD player. In other news, India puked).
A couple hours into the trip, my sister Brooke mentioned she was getting a little tired, and asked if I wanted to trade seats and drive her car. It was a hard decision, to leave behind three of my children and drive in a car with my teenage nephew and his girlfriend. Mwahahaha.
Austin (my nephew) may be a bigger musical theater geek than I am. I DO NOT SAY THIS LIGHTLY. I got to spend most of the road trip singing at the top of my lungs to his Broadway playlists, he and I fighting over the harmonies to Rent and Spring Awakening, while Mark figured out how to keep our children from fighting in the backseat.
I WIN.
We had a lot of fun in Florida, but I just don’t know that I can accurately call it a vacation. There were still diapers to change, meals to prepare, piles of laundry, and bickering kids. I had envisioned these ten days away as this time when I would recharge and relax, and maybe even catch up on some work. I brought books. I fantasized time alone playing Angry Birds. I pictured me clearing my email inbox.
I think I completely forgot that I would just be in a different place, with the same amount of children and writing deadlines, only with no childcare and increased social expectations.
Don’t get me wrong, there was still a lot of Quality Family Time, and that was so nice. But you know how it is when you build up an expectation in your mind. Like FLYING WON’T BE SO BAD SINCE I PLANNED IT OUT. Or I’M GONNA JUST RELAX AND KICK BACK FOR TEN DAYS. Hahahahahaha.
So . . . yeah. It was kinda stressful. I love my kids and I love my job but neither one really works as well away from our home and our routine. Next year I am going to work really hard in the spare time I have leading up to Christmas to get all my writing done early.
Hahahahaha.
Our time in Florida was filled with great fun with the cousins. I wish so much that we all lived closer. We tried to do some of the more touristy things Orlando has to offer. We went to the Animal Park Lodge because there is a lookout where you can see some of the animals from the theme park without paying for the theme park.
And then there was some face-painting going on, so we decided to join in.
Then we stumbled upon some djembe lessons.
And then, what is this? Free cookie lessons?
And then we might have gone back and done the very same things the next day.
Paying for Disneyworld is for suckers.
We also got to see my nephew Derek play in the regional football championship.
Derek is only 13 years old. If I were a mom of a smallish middle-schooler on the opposing team, I would have been afraid. Very afraid. You can imagine that there are a few high school football coaches vying to get Derek on their team next year. The boys think he is the coolest kid ever. These are their football moves.
And it wouldn’t have been a trip to the South without paying homage to Waffle House on a late night. I have a love/hate relationship with Waffle House, but it is pretty much love/love for everyone else in my family.
The kids got in lots of grandma time and lots of cousin time, and before we knew it, it was time to pack up our 15 carry-ons and fly home.
Today, out of the blue, Mark looked at me and said wistfully, “I still think it was good that we had all the kids pull their own suitcases”. But it was said in that defeated way that one might describe their decision to buy a minivan. Or the decision to move stocks from Pepsi to an internet-based grocery delivery service. WHICH WAS A GOOD IDEA. In theory.
Phew. It’s good to be home.
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