The Adventures of a Semi-Crazed, Totally Sleep-deprived Mom

National Alliance to End Homelessness: Data + Research: State by State Data

2009-08-17T07:09:00.003-04:00

National Alliance to End Homelessness: Data + Research: State by State Data

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A heart for the abandoned

2009-08-16T08:56:00.004-04:00

Time to be serious for a second, and speak (type) "outloud" about something that's pulling at me as of late.

The Abandoned. The Lost.

Homeless. Aborted babies. Foster-children. Mothers-to-be with no family, no support system. Troubled children who have no life-line. Homeless families. Missing children (not abandoned, but still..lost). Orphans. Vets who society has forgotten or ignored.

First and foremost in my mind, and on my heart, is the homeless. I can't tell you how many times I have walked by, ignoring the quiet, percievingly pestering, plea for spare change. I shake my head no, without even the courtesy of eye-contact. Shame on me. I drive, every day, past a man on a corner, begging for food, money or work. My heart has, over the years, become hard to them...looking down on them as the heel of society. The Lazy. The Drunk Lazy. The Dirty. The Dirty, No-good, Drunk Lazy.

I have forgotten, somewhere, somehow, that they are someone's child. They are someone's brother, sister...maybe even someone's mother or father. They have feelings, dreams, desires. They once had a bed to sleep in, clean clothes to wear. They may have served our country in days gone by. They may have mental disabilities that prevent them from defying the street-life. They probably loved, once or twice. They aren't just some nameless face on the street sitting in filth. They are someone.

I have resurrected a little idea I had a few years back, and have been mulling it over in my mind for the last few days. Just throwing it out into cyber space, hoping it sticks in someone's heart as well.

I would like to take my camera and document the local homeless. On a larger scale, I'd go to NYC or San Fransisco, or LA....maybe even to another country. But, my dreams are small & I have my own finanial & mommyish obligations, so I'll start here in Syracuse. I'd like to sit with them, listen to them, photograph them. I'd like for them to feel heard, seen, and cared for. I want to earn thier trust, and touch thier lives in some small, but positive way. I can envision turning thier stories into a coffee-table book. Not sure who would want to buy it, so perhaps that's not the "right" vision..but still. I want to go back to them, give them thier picture, let them see how beautiful they are, even on the streets. I want them to know they matter.

I may start a blog, if I turn this idea into reality, to document the journey. I honestly don't know the legal ins-n-outs of posting pictures of people that most of America would rather not see. But, if a book isn't a good idea, perhaps a simple blog is. I don't intend to become an activist, or dedicate my life to "missions work". I just want to follow my heart and see where it leads. Right now, it's dragging me in this direction.

I also did a little (5 minutes worth) of research, and found that in 2007 (most recent statistics I found), there were 120,000+ abortions in my state alone. Staggering. Heart-breaking. Would-be doctors, lawyers, mothers, fathers, bloggers, dancers, writers..maybe even a future president. Gone. Murdered. Abandoned in the most concrete & final way possible. Again, not looking to be an activist. Not looking to get arrested by doing a sit in. Instead, looking for a avenue to reach out, save a life, maybe two. Looking for the direction God wants to pull my heart in.

I did a little more research, and found that the local rescue mission & Salvation Army have programs that reach out to both the homeless & single mothers/mothers-to-be. Common knowledge to most, I'm sure..but sadly, I've been oblivious...at least to the programs that are available. Apartments made available to single moms who need a place to learn how to support themselves. A van that visits the homeless and takes them to doctor appointments if needed. Various types of outreaches that I'm so glad already exist, despite people that are blind by choice, like me.

I have eaten in a soup kitchen. I have taken my children to one so they could eat. That was many years ago, and I'm grateful for the changes that have been made in me, and my life so I no longer have to do that. But, I am strongly considering doing it anyway. It's time to open my eyes. It's time to make the abandoned feel a little less so. It's time to act, instead of wishing someone else would do it for me. It's time to resurrect the compasion, the understanding, and make a difference, even if it's throwing a pebble into the ocean.

Pickles 'n Chocolate Popsicles

2009-08-16T07:52:00.005-04:00

I discovered yesterday why I have never seen a pickle-scented candle, air-freshener or sache in my entire adult life. Pickle smell permeating your home is, well.... gross.

I was reminded that pickle-scented scratch-n-sniff stickers used to exist, which threw me back to the days when slightly textured sticky circles of cheesy pictures representing a pretty bad scent-replica where all the rage. I mean, it was sooo exciting to go to the store and get these little stickers. You'd compare with your friends.... "Oh, Sally! You have a Chocolate Popsicle one?!?! That's not FAIR! All I have is this Strawberry-banana-milkshake one....Mom said I couldn't get anymore today 'cuz my Smurf lunchbox is almost full and she's sick of peeling them off the kitchen floor. Lemme smell *that* one!"

Sniff, sniff, sniff till you could sniff no more. It was like Crack For Kids. But, let's be honest for a minute. Did they ever *really* smell like the picture? Hmm...Yea, I didn't think so.

Anyway...before I started down this little blast-from-the-past memory, I was going to tell you why, exactly, pickles should never be a flavor of the month for Yankee Candles..

My inlaws bought a huge, and I *do* mean HUGE, glass jar of dill pickles. My daughter insisted that we all "just looooovvvvvveeeeeee" pickles, and we had to have *that* jar full. So, they bought it. (And here's where I express my genuine thanks for all they *have* done for our family... but beg for forgiveness if I'm not particularly grateful for this pickle jar.)

Months later, said pickle jar is still lurking in the back of my fridge. We're talking a 2 gallon-ish sized jar. Half full of sticky, smelly pickle juice. Oh, and about 12 whole dill pickles that wish someone, ANYONE, would eat them...

I went to the grocery store, and spent roughly a week's pay on groceries (another interesting experience with four children, two carts and no dinner beforehand...). Got home, and determined that the pickle jar had to go. I mean, there's only so much room in my side-by-side fridge, and the kids all wanted to open a different flavor of Hawaiian Punch...(green, orange, red..) So, the wierd-colored-juice-wannabe-sugar-water won the battle, and the pickles lost thier spot. They sat on my dishwasher overnight... (yes, my mistake...)

Yesterday, I'm doing the good little mom thing...sweeping the kitchen, vaccumming floors, etc etc, yada yada.. Almost done, and soooooo thankful because it was a sweltering day. Kitchen was all cleaned up. I had one room left to vaccum.

CRASH!

I wish I could explain the immediate stench. I promptly picked up my almost-3 yr old from the midst of the glass shards and 1/4 inch deep pickle juice. Rinsed his feet off in the kitchen sink, looking for glass, blood..all the good stuff. He's ok? Great! Remove him from the room, with stern instruction to him and his almost-4 yr old brother to stay OUT of the kitchen. Turn to survey the flood..I mean, mess.

Pickle juice splattered down the side of my dishwasher. Pooled in puddle-deep pools in at last 3 spots that I can see immediately. Finely misted over the entirety of my kitchen floor. Mixed in with various sizes of glass shards (which, by the way, glint quite nicely when covered in pickled cucumber juice..).

I won't bore you with the details anymore then I already have. Let's just say that it took one pretty large piece of glass stuck in my finger, a paper towel to stop the bleeding, 4 bath towels to sop up juice, a broom & dustpan, Dawn, a washcloth, and about an hour for me to clean it up. Oh, and a few microscopic shards in my knee I discovered after the fact...this was about the time I got pretty angry at myself for always prefering to hand-wash floors and not investing in a freakin' MOP! I literally had sweat dripping off my nose...and teeny tiny deadly pieces of glass plastered in my sweaty skin.. I'm pretty sure it was like 84 degrees in my kitchen.

Almost 24 hours later, I still smell dill wafting through the air every so often...

If you'd like to recreate my experience... grab a few nosey, rambunctious boys between the ages of 2 & 4, get yourself a tropical heat blasting machine, and buy one of these:

http://www.carnegiedelistore.com/shopexd.asp?id=71

(yea, I had to google..and I'm sad to admit I was wrong..they *do* exist... sigh)

Moral of the story?

Don't allow your inlaws to buy you pickles.

Daily Quote

2009-08-02T10:26:00.000-04:00

"When we are alone on a starlit night, when by chance we see the migrating birds in autumn descending on a grove of junipers to rest and eat; when we see children in a moment when they are really children, when we know love in our own hearts; or when, like the Japanese poet, Basho, we hear an old frog land in a quiet pond with a solitary splash - at such times the awakening, the turning inside out of all values, the "newness," the emptiness and the purity of vision that make themselves evident, all these provide a glimpse of the cosmic dance."~ Thomas Merton

Fear

2009-08-01T10:09:00.004-04:00

I know a man who's afraid. Afraid of failing, of changing, of accepting who he is and what he lacks. Afraid to be the man I know he's capable of. Afraid to even try, lest it mean admitting he's wrong.

And his life, as he knows it, is slowly melting away, into darkness, lonely solitude.

This woman I know, she has given it her all. She has cried, begged, loved. She has embraced & helped. She has pushed away. She has shown forgiveness, compassion, passion. Her heart has been broken, scooped up and glued back together. She has held on so long her hands are bleeding, and her breath is shallow.

She is beginning to see that life, yes..life..is so much more then what we, as fearful mortals, settle for. This woman loves her husband, yet she's increasingly aware that love is dragging her backwards.....back towards the life she is trying to leave behind.

The man I know, he is capable of things, things he doesn't even realize. Good, beautiful things. And yet...fear.

His wife has left him, or rather, made him leave her. She has since poured her heart out to him, as in years past, in futile attempts to "get through" to him. She has journeyed her own path of pain, solitude and facing fears...in the very midst of it, as we speak. Would he join her on this journey? Her heart would sing. Alas... fear.

The woman who's loved him all these years is changing, growing, blossoming. He's afraid to watch. Drawn to her like a moth to a flame, because he likes what he sees, craves it, for himself... then pushes it away, as a non-obtainable vision. She scares him. Her new, life-filled reality, it scares him.

The man I know, has chosen to remain in fear, because chosing to let it go means facing it. Vicious cycle, it is. Be afraid, chose to stay afraid because you are afraid of the outcome. Never feel emotions, because emotions are scary... they are REAL, and real is terrifying. Afraid of being alone, yet finding yourself alone.. the unavoidable fallout of your fear-based non actions. You drive people away from you, because you are not able to let them close.

Ahh, for the love of a woman. Once upon a time, I believed that a man would do anything, face anything, for the return of his affection towards that one special woman. Now, I know certain things stand in the way... well, one thing.

Fear.

Daily Quotes

2009-08-01T10:07:00.002-04:00

When we are no longer able to change a situation, we are challenged to change ourselves.— Victor Frankl

Even though you may want to move forward in your life, you may have one foot on the brakes. In order to be free, we must learn how to let go. Release the hurt. Release the fear. Refuse to entertain your old pain. The energy it takes to hang onto the past is holding you back from a new life. What is it you would let go of today?— Mary Manin Morrissey

Where does your loyalty lie?

2009-07-31T13:56:00.004-04:00

I'm a firm believer that animals have some kind of language between like species. A german shephard's bark means something, not just to a nighttime intruder, but to the poodle down the street as well. I mean, haven't you seen 101 Dalmations? Yea, I know..don't believe everything you see on TV, but this..I'm sure of it. I've seen my own dog's facial expressions change when the various neighborhood mutts start yappin'. Sometimes, she looks serious..."Oh no... Fido's gettin' her flea bath again! Must save her!"... other times, it's a look of bewilderment..."Did that stupid Saddie get her chain wrapped around the tree and under the picnic table AGAIN?" I really wish I knew what the various pitches and sounds meant. And, it's not just dogs. Birds, monkeys, cats, whales, dolphins...you name it, they all have verbal communication. Well, except maybe snails..

In one of my lives, I'd like to be a vet, or a zookeeper, or a photographer for National Geographic. I could spend hours upon days, studying animals, thier patterns, behaviors & habits. Something about being alone, with an animal, brings such peace & awe to the soul. Healing, intriguing, inspiring. Yes, I am inspired to be more like an otter. Told ya I was wierd.

Undiagnosed ADD strikes again...I got sidetracked, sorry. My original intent was to tell a story, and it really has nothing to do with verbal communication between animals. Go figure..

A few months back, I was driving my daughter home from gymnastics. Alongside the road is a small pond, in the middle of a marsh. Quite a popular spot for some canadian geese, I noticed. The next week, driving by again, I saw a poor goose...dead in the road. Some heartless soul had run him/her over. On the side of the road, no more then 10 feet away from the downy corpse, stands a lone goose. Just standing there. Where for weeks there had been dozens of geese, there was now two... one dead, one alive. I gave my daughter a 30 second lesson on geese... how they mate for life. "Wow Mom, that poor goose must be really sad that thier husband or wife is dead now, huh?" Of course, seeing as this was just weeks into my own marital seperation, I agreed, and I'll admit, I shed a tear... for the dead goose, and for the live one.

The next week, driving home down the same street, what do I see? A lone goose, standing in almost exactly the same spot. And no, it wasn't dead...I saw it's head move. I teared up instantly. I mean, a week later, still alone, still standing there, wondering where his/her partner went. It was heart breaking. Now, yea..I have no guarentee it was the same goose. I didn't stop and ask for ID. It could be a silly, meaningless coincidence.

Nah... it was the same one. It made me very sad that a mere animal could show more loyalty, more love, more dedication then some humans I know. Yea, I suppose you could say it's instinct, just the way they are "wired". I guess there's a chance that's true. I mean, an animal like a goose couldn't possibly have emotions, right? Bull-shnickity, I say.

Be the goose...

PS. Remind me to tell you about the time I snuck 25 kittens into the house, or the time I insisted my dad let me stuff the goose he shot & brought home for dinner...

Two quotes

2009-07-31T07:16:00.002-04:00

I thought these were quite appropriate, given the last post I made...

Let others lead small lives, but not you. Let others argue over small things, but not you. Let others cry over small hurts, but not you. Let others leave their future in someone else's hands, but not you. - Jim Rohn

Whatever you vividly imagine, ardently desire, sincerely believe, and enthusiastically act upon... must inevitably come to pass! - Paul J Meyer

Honest... It's just me

2009-07-30T22:14:00.003-04:00

I'm not gonna flood this page with pictures. Ok, I did, a little...but I'm done, for now.

Life is wierd right now. But, it's a good wierd. Finally, after almost 32 years, I'm crawling out of my skin. (eeewwww...bloody horror movie flashbacks..)

Or, maybe I'm crawling *into* my skin...the skin I've been neglecting to claim as my own. I'm learning so much about me, who I am, who I want to be....who I *can* be. And, I'm starting to gain the confidence to believe I can BE.

Who am I? I'm a mom. I'm a woman. I'm loyal. I've got a heart big enough for the world to get lost in. I'm afraid of change. I'm a bit overweight and underheight. I like country, metal and R & B. I like to cry. Sometimes, I like to laugh. I write, and sing (but only in the shower or in the car..) I take pictures and photoshop them till they look good. I aspire to never have to use photoshop in the future. I have a credit score that 91.6% of the credit-having population can beat. I like cold pizza, lime in my diet coke, and warm chocolate cookies. I've discovered I like my hair a bit short, with a wide scarf-like hair tie. I prefer my nails painted dark, but blue is quickly becoming my fav. I spend a bit too much time on the computer (oh, where am I now?) and not quite enough time cleaning my house. I think abortion is murder. I believe God loves me, and has a plan for me, even if I'm too stubborn to know what it is yet. I have recently discovered a strong desire to BREATHE... in every sense of the word. I hate shoes. I love flowers.

I guess I could go on and on, but the more I think about what I'm writing, the less I want to write it... ? Sounds a bit more like a dating profile then a blog entry, and that's sooo not where I'm goin' with this.

My point (if I even have one)... life is so short. Too damn short to be afraid. Too damn short to wait eternities for things that will never happen. Too short to waste in perpetual unhappiness because you don't think you are deserving of BETTER. Too short.

If you want to sing, sing. If you want to paint, paint. If you want to cry, cry. Dance? Sure! Just don't be mad if I step on your toes once or twice. Say what you need to say. Do whatever it takes..... WHATEVER it takes. Feel the emotion, live the reality. Be grateful you have air flowing through your lungs. It could be worse. Want to know how? You could be unable to read this. You could be unable to see the words, or grasp thier meaning, or even utter the sounds. Or, you could be the guy who cleans up after the elephant show at the zoo...

Live up to your potential, but never stop short of the dream. Be you. Love you. Be gentle with you. Whatever you do, don't give up on you.

empty page

2009-07-30T22:08:00.005-04:00

empty page framed2
Originally uploaded by joeykttn

Staring at an empty page,

Pieces of questions

Fragments of answers

Plague me.

Nothing I can write,

As all is useless,

Empty, lost in time.

Speachless.

To hear my thoughts

Would be divine,

If quiet would come.

Harsh noise.

Speak, as writing fails, or

Write in silence.

Still leaves one

Unheard.

Staring at an empty page,

Full of nothing.

Empty of meaning.

I’m there.

-JL 10/13/08

Me

2009-07-30T21:52:00.001-04:00

Me2framedwm
Originally uploaded by joeykttn

Another me...

shy

2009-07-30T21:51:00.001-04:00

shy
Originally uploaded by joeykttn

Me, in a funk..

b & w kitty

2009-07-30T20:23:00.001-04:00

b & w kitty
Originally uploaded by joeykttn

My meow

evidence

2009-07-30T20:22:00.003-04:00

evidence4
Originally uploaded by joeykttn

Old abandoned train station...

wooden

2009-07-30T20:22:00.001-04:00

wooden wm
Originally uploaded by joeykttn

Perhaps one of my favorite pictures

bottles

2009-07-30T20:21:00.001-04:00

bottles wm
Originally uploaded by joeykttn

The framings off, and it's a bit fuzzy...but I like it :)

moody

2009-07-30T20:20:00.001-04:00

moody
Originally uploaded by joeykttn

My daughter

Rebirth

2009-07-30T19:37:00.006-04:00

Wow, forever since I've been here. I think most days I forgot this place existed...eeks. But, here I am, back, and ready to go...

If one cares to notice, my personal info labels me as newly "single". Please take care to read that as "married, but seperated for 4 months, and very little hope for a real marriage, ever". As in, legally married, but now on my own, with four children. Yay! Not. :/

Actually, this could be the best thing that has happened to me, ever. Not the loss (?) of the marriage, but more the effect that it has had on me. In the last 4 months, I've gradually began to blossom, come out of my proverbial tortoise shell and LIVE life. I actually painted my nails BLUE! Yes.... BLUE.

Now, this, and the other random things that scream "freedom & rebirth" (like blasting music at 11 pm while I paint the livingroom or restarting a blog, for example...) are probably a combination of therapy (thanks M!), "happy pills", lack of sleep, caffiene and a general drive to be BETTER and LIVE.... Yes, I want to LIVE...not exist..I want to breathe. I want to fly. I want to LIVE.

Here's to life.

P.S. I no longer drive The Van.

It's official............

2007-04-14T08:48:00.001-04:00

I've now become what I've always dreaded....I now live the reality of what I always swore I'd never be....I have now destined my children to the fate of a single particular childhood memory I so desperately wanted to spare them....
What is so deserving of all this drama? What could possibly be so bad? What am I tormenting myself over?
I am now a ....... minivan mom. O.M.G. Gasp.
To understand my position, you have to know that I am the oldest in my family. I had the priviledge of claiming the back seat of our Astro van as my very own little moving oasis. Ever since the days when I sat there, either suffocating in the heat or teeth chattering in the cold, I promised myself I'd never drive a minivan, never subject my children to such cruel & unusual punishment. The rare lukewarm summertime drafts that wafted back from the front windows never cooled me enough to shake that resolve. I was NEVER going to drive a minivan. Granted, it was the tiniest improvement on the stationwagons so finely equipped with backwards seats that made you nauseated just to imagine riding in....but, no, NEVER, not a minivan.
Now, I understand that nowadays, minivans have DVD players installed in the back to keep the munchkins oblivious to the world, and heat or A/C can be easily pumped into the farthest seats... but alas, I can't afford one of those. The Van I now have in my possession doesn't even have power locks or windows, let alone a TV screen. It does have a tape player that works like a charm, and it does have double sliding doors (the single best invention since the microwave I think). So, at least my poor children can exit thier new ride from either side. No more tripping over everyone trying to escape The Van.
I'm actually grateful that I no longer have to fight with a 2 door vehicle to put my children in carseats. I'm afraid that I'll actually *shudder* enjoy driving The Van. I think I've officially gone back on the earliest promise I ever made to myself. I think I might just get used to being a minivan mom.....

He's my skater boy..

2007-03-04T09:56:00.001-05:00

Five foot, five inches
Brown eyes, each with a hint of trouble-maker glinting in the corner
A smile that would warm any heart
Tussled brown hair, falling in his eyes, obviously screaming for a trim
Worn, used to be black, faded jeans, resting slightly above his hips
Black over-sized sweatshirt, covering a ripped T-shirt with faded emblems on the back
Skateboard a permanent extension of his body it seems

One skater after the next ride...up the ramp...over the ledge, to land 4 feet below, hopefully with their feet firmly planted on their board. Not many, but some, land on the deck, then promptly lose their balance and end up flat on the ground. Most fall directly onto their tailbones, their backs, their boards, whatever, never making contact with the deck after leaving the ledge. They grumble, groan, mumble "bad words" sometimes, and skate back to the end of the line to try, try again. As I watch, he waits his turn. He gets into position, waiting, lip sucked in at one corner, body tense. Then, with a flick of the hair, he takes off running, drops his board next to him and jumps onto it in one smooth move, and up the ramp he goes. He nears the edge...his tongue sticks out slightly, a sign of intense concentration. He crouches, awaiting the moment of lift off...How he does it, I have no idea, but at the edge of the ledge, his feet and his skateboard dance. His hands fly up, like he's a bird, and they are his wings. His knees come damn near to his chest. The board flips, makes the correct rotations in the direction it's asked too, and before he even reaches the ground, his feet have reclaimed their position on the deck. The impact of the spinning wheels hitting cold cement under his body is almost to throw him off center, but he holds it. Sketchy or not, he has landed! A "Yeah, baby!" rings out, and a few boards are slammed on the ground in the customary celebration beat. Thump, thump, thump.... A huge grin spreads across his face as he smoothly glides, one with his board, back to his place in line. He looks over at me, pushing his hair out of his eyes for the millionth time that afternoon. "Did you see that? FINALLY! I landed it..I can't believe I landed it! Did you see it, Mom?"

Twelve years old and he holds my heart in the palm of his hand. I never knew what a "chest swelling with pride" meant until I had him. I also never knew that the Dragon Ball Z skateboard I bought him 4 Christmas' ago would birth such passion in him. He has ambitious dreams of being a pro-skater. Ambitious, I say, because there's 12.7 bazillion kids that have the same aspiration. The perfectionist in him gets so angry when he misses a trick. Some days are just bad days, some tricks are just over his head, technically...sometimes he's just expecting too much from himself & his surroundings. But whatever the case may be, he doesn't give up. I watched him take his turn at least 25 times yesterday before he could land that trick. Some of the other kids around said he was "dumb" for trying because it was too hard to do. And each of those times, my heart ached for him a bit more. His eyes were starting to get dark. His fists were clenched tightly closed. He'd sit down every few minutes, off to the side, and I thought for sure that was it, he was done. I saw his lips moving, silently yelling at himself. He was getting more and more irritated at himself, at his deck for not co-operating, at everything. But each time, he got back up, reclaimed his spot in line, and tackled the trick again...until success. Seeing his face after he finally landed was the fuel this mother's heart needed. My chest literally ached. I felt like the happiness & the pride had taken my breath away. Of course, can I show it? Nah....A smile and a "Way to go!" is all I can say. Anything more then that, he'd be embarrassed. On the way home later, when we are alone, I try to say I'm proud of him for never showing just how mad he was., that I was proud of him for never giving up. He just says "Pfft...Whatever....I wasn't mad."

A clarification of sorts...

2007-03-04T09:22:00.000-05:00

I suppose I should clarify something. I'm sure anyone who reads my previous post has made a few assumptions about me. I probably sound like a know-it all, a doctor hating woman who seriously mistrusts anyone in the government or medical field. Part of that is true. I am a know-it all...lol At least I like to think I know it all. A small voice in the back of my mind says I don't...but I don't usually listen. However, the rest of the assumptions you have made are mostly false. I do not mistrust ALL government...just most of it. I do not hate or mistrust all doctors, just the ones with "M" stamped on their forehead, as a acquaintance of mine recently said. What does the "M" stand for, you're probably wondering. "M" is for McDonald's.... to signify a doctor that has applied a fast food mentality to his practice. Get 'em in, give them what they want/need as soon as you possibly can, take their money (too much of it too), and get 'em out A.S.A.P. This is the kind of doctor that doesn't care about you, only cares about your money. These are the kinds of people that shouldn't be allowed to practice medicine. These are the ones that seem to be multiplying by the minute. Maybe the professors at med school are forgetting to tell these soon-to-be-doctors that they will be working with real people, not robots. That they need to have compassion. That they need to understand that their patient WILL have a brain, WILL be able to understand if you'd bother to explain, and most likely would LOVE to have a say in how they are treated.
While I'm sure I sound bitter & less then forgiving, I will say this..a different breed of medical professional DOES exist. The kind that greets you with a smile in their voice, not just painted on their face. The kind that will give you options when they can. The kind that will work their knuckles to the bone trying to save a prematurely born loved one. The kind that will take 35 minutes, or more, to draw and explain in detail what they will be doing for your child's surgery. The kind that will understand that you are a parent. You have rights. You have a child to protect, love & care for, and the REAL reason you need a doctor??? To ASSIST you in providing your child with the best in everything possible. To HELP you, not to make you feel like the scum of the earth for asking questions & being involved in your child's health. This kind of doctor DOES exist..thankfully. And hopefully they will overcome the urge to get "M" tattooed across their own foreheads.

The future?

2007-03-03T09:05:00.000-05:00

I'm thoroughly convinced that in years to come, parents will have no rights to make the decisions made in the "interest of" their children. There's going to be a day, mark my words, when your doctor tells you that your child "needs" something, and you will not have the power to refuse. Your grandchildren may end up on the wrong end of a conversation something like this....

"Ma'am...Thank you for bringing 2 yr old Billy in today. That ear infection he has would have been prevented if you had brought him in last week for his monthly check-up. He was due for his monthly injection. I've noted his chart of your missed appointment. I hope you understand that one more ignored check-up appointment will result in my sending a report to the Parent and Child Watch Agency... Anyways, during my examination of Billy, I noticed your son has a birthmark the size of a pin head on his thigh. Yes, I understand it's no bigger then the pimples he will get as a teenager, but, mind you, we will most likely have to give him medication, maybe even surgery, to control those as well. Research has shown a possible link between pimples and hormonal inbalances in teens. No, not every teen goes through that "just because"...where do you get your unfounded ridiculous information?? Anyway, as I was saying, we cannot allow this child to have to endure the ridicule, should anyone notice this blemish on his thigh...Because of this, I'm scheduling a surgery for next Thursday, 4 pm. We will remove this poor child's deformity. And while we have him sleeping, we will be implanting a few micro chips. One will be to track his emotional responses to anything anyone says to him. This will let us know if he begins to develop a low self esteem or a social disorder. Early detection paves the way to early intervention, and medication at the first sign of an issue can reduce the risk for corrective brain surgery in the future. The other micro chips will track his exposure to things like the flu, strep throat, etc. If any exposures are detected, they will transmit an alarm to my office, and we will call you at the first sign of trouble to bring him in to get the appropriate immunization immediately. Yes, I understand he's already had his full vaccination schedule, but unfortunately, viruses keep mutating, and the current 3,792 vaccinations available and in use do not always protect our precious children. You don't want him to get sick, do you? And here, give him this 4 times a day. It will make him like all veggies...even avocado and brussel sprouts. It may take a few weeks, but he will gradually stop refusing to eat any vegetable, and probably fruits too. He may start refusing to eat sweet things, like cake, candy, etc. Studies have shown a strong possibility that children who don't eat any sweets after the age of 2 are more likely to grow up to be straight A students, so every child must take this medicine, beginning at Billy's age. I'm sorry? You don't understand? You think some of these things are still experimental & not necessary? Well, ma'am, honestly, I don't think you need to understand completely. I'm just doing what's in the best interest of your child, and you would think you'd be agreeable to that, even if you don't "get it". If, after you think about everything I've said for a moment, you still don't think any of this is something you can agree with, I will make arrangements for Billy. We know wonderful people that would be more then happy to care for the boy according to the recommendations of this office and the government. I'm sure they'd allow you to visit from time to time. So, what do you say?"

Pictures, pictures

2006-12-15T15:40:00.000-05:00

Here are some pictures I took over the summer. As you can see, I "pretended" to be a photographer, and ended up with some pretty cool, imperfect shots.

Kaitlyn~~

A Poppy ~~
Sunset ~~
Lily ~~

Fourth of July ~~

An Old Barn ~~

Some Lake Shots ~~

Blog-Land here I come...

2006-12-06T10:55:00.000-05:00

So, I have a few minutes of sleeping-babies-peace-n-quiet, and where do I find myself? Here, in the land of noone-will-probably-ever-read-this-but-it's-ok... I might find myself here more often. I think this will become my get-away place, my peaceful place. It's almost like walking into a highschool gym with the lights off. You open the door..black air greets you with open arms. You step in and the door clicks solidly shut behind you. A wee bit of light wafts in from the skylight above, just enough to illuminate the top of the basketball hoops. You walk out to center court, your footsteps echoing loudly throughout the empty space, and it's such a cool feeling, alone, yet it's not a "bad" alone, ya know? It's a "the world is mine to do with it what I please and noone's here to stop me", powerful yet solemn, puts twinges of excitement into your blood, alone.....And, yeah, I said ALONE...stop reminiscing about makin' out under the bleachers... :-)

This whole blog thing is new territory to me. I've done the "my very own website" thing, and promptly got busy with children (come to find out, they require supervision..) and the dirty four lettered word that describes 40+ hours of my week... needless to say, the website got forgotten, and vanished into "Website Heaven" somewhere. So, now I'm here. I've decided that I'm going to pretend noone's ever going to see what I write in this new place. The thought of no on-lookers will create a platform from which I can honestly & unabashedly dive into my thoughts, feelings, whatever. Besides, I feel important now. "Look at me, I've got a blog." (Can you hear the "ooohhs and aahhhhs"?) All the cool kids are doing it, mom. Please can I, oh please, oh please????

Seriously, I told my husband last night, "I started a blog today."
He's like "What's a blog?"
And I promptly replied "It's a thing..ya know..where people can..." (uncomfortable hesitation inserted here) "Write stuff..keep up with family they never see, I guess...vent..I dunno, It's a place."
I realized that I didn't have the right words to describe what I "thought" a blog was. And I guess, there really aren't any "right words", are there? I mean, from what I can tell, a blog is anything and everything you feel like writing about, your vacation to Italy, your dog's eating habits, the aliens you KNOW YOU SAW in your backyard last night, or your sudden intense hate for lettuce..any of these subjects would be totally deserving of their own space in Blog-Land. So that's what I'm going to do...I don't have vacations to Italy to write about, but I do have trips to Diaper Mountain, Laundry Ridge & the grocery store with 4 kids (not a pretty sight btw)...I'm going to write about those and all the other weird, routine, strange or mundane things that pop into my head during the course of every day life. This shoud be interesting, no?

A Letter To My Newborn Son

2006-12-05T16:40:00.000-05:00

(written 11-20-06)
To my dearest Mason,

Since we are still getting to know each other, there's just a few things that, as your mother, I'd like to say to you.
1) I'm doomed to one-handed chicken pecking on this stupid keyboard for at least another few months, until you realize that mommy's arms aren't your permenant home...... so I hope you don't mind any typos that result
2) Ok, you win...I now know that sleep is a dirty four-lettered word... You have convinced me it's unneeded, an induldgence really... oh, but don't let me find out your daddy is sleeping..my envy of his "unneeded" peaceful, most likely very deep, slumber could result in you being a fatherless child....
3) My boobs are not just for sucking nutrition out of...apparently they are for mere comfort as well... if you are crying, it seems all I need to do is whip one out...you are more then welcome to feign interest for a mere 30 seconds, and then promptly fall asleep without even latching on....but please understand that not everyone else in the house wants me to walk around topless...except maybe your daddy ...so, please allow me to be fully clothed for at least an hour in the am & an hour at night, ok?
4) The swing is your friend, I promise... you really should give it a chance..Although I suppose the "helping" that Elijah does gives it more of a roller coaster effect, huh?
5) It really is ok if I have a shirt, clear of baby puke, on for more then 20 minutes..and a new sleeper on you really isn't an invitation to out-do your personal puking volume record ....the same could be said for diapers & poop....
6) Dinner is this thing that mommy needs to make..if you don't stop crying long enough for me to make it, I can't eat it. If I don't eat it, the before mentioned boobs will be of no value to you...not to mention daddy gets grouchy...So help me out a bit, and put dinner on your "no crying allowed" schedule... kapeesh??? Ditto for breakfast & lunch..
7) Please ignore all things your older brother Elijah does (dancing on the coffee table, beating the TV with every toy he can find, constantly trying to ingest money, etc...) Clearly he's simply trying to show off in the hopes of gaining your allegiance early on so you can unite against me in the near furture...I'm already prepared for double the frogs, double the dirt......... and double the hugs
8) Since we're discussing Elijah, please forgive him... his version of "gentle" & "nice" are probably not what you have in mind..(kinda more like a bull in a china shop, I know...) Do rest assured I'm doing everything in my power to protect you from his love
9) Crying everytime your daddy holds you does no good for anyone... It stresses him out, you get all huffy & puffy, and....well, don't you think it's in your best interest to let me at least shower before you start wailing??
10) Not that it's in your control, but don't you agree that someone should address the problem that is late night/early morning tv??? I mean how many infomercials do we need to suffer through for hair growth cream, ladders that can do anything & everything,(including change the lightbulb without human intervention ), and colon cleansing programs with a money-back guarentee...ummm, ...or we could watch some movie that has been bad since the day it was released directly to videotape in the early 80's, or we could watch....well, you get my point. (Or we could just SLEEP!!!! since it's like 2:46 am.... )
11) I know all of this sounds a bit frustrated, maybe bitter or even a tad angry....but really, I'm enjoying every minute of your emerging personality, even if it's sapping me of all energy & sanity at the moment. I wouldn't trade any of these moments in the last week & a half for anything...not even for a solid nights sleep ( I might think about it really hard, but I'd pick you, I swear...) Sure I could deal without the triple diaper changes @ 4 am, and I'll be happy when the nipples stop leakin'... but I love you more then anything. So take your time...as much as i may be longing for you to stop being a newborn, I'm in no hurry for you to grow up...

Love,
Your Sleep-deprived, Feel-like-a-cow, Baby-puked-on-shirt-wearin', Emotional-'n-stupid-sappy Mommy