Clean Shavings

Gratuitous cuteness post

 

I love how much my kittens love each other.  Truth, they're not really "kittens" any more, but I still think of them that way.  They're about 6 months old now.  Tucker is twice the size of Juliet, but somehow she always ends up being the nap pillow.  That would be him on top in the picture.

Tucker really is a pretty well-behaved cat.  He's laid back, he enjoys his naps and he likes his comfort.  Juliet, in contrast, is perhaps the most active cat I've ever had.  She's into everything and I mean EVERYTHING.  One of her favorite places to search for toys is in the basket in my bathroom where I keep hairbrushes, clips and ponytail holders.  If the bathroom door is open for longer than about 10 seconds I guarantee you she is up on the counter, scooping out ponytail holders to play with.  She loves the sink and the faucet, more so when I turn the water on.  Cupboards left ajar are irresistable, and the kids room are open season for endless hours of fun with their toys.  She's a natural hunter; I have no doubt were she an outside cat there wouldn't be a bird or small rodent left alive wtihin MILES.  When she does settle down, though, she's all MY cat.  When she wants a nap, if I'm here and seated, she's on my lap.  She sleeps on my legs at night and loves to be carried around. 

The Halloween pics are finally downloaded

I don't know why I drag my feet so at getting pictures off my camera, but I do.  Finally, a week later, the pictures are on the hard drive and ready for viewing.

Halloween is an interesting holiday for my kids.  Amazon Girl loves to find the outfit with the shortest skirt or neatest accessories, and she'll pick it out in about five minutes.  Race Car Man is the challenge.  For starters, he is terrified of scary halloween monsters.  The big Halloween stores with the scary costumes and big blow up spiders out front?  We can't even go NEAR those or he will freak out.  We talked about looking for a costume in one of them this year and he told me he thought he would be OK, but when we got halfway across the parking lot he got scared and wanted to leave, so we did.  We did check out the costume aisle at the department store, but he just could not choose one, and after a half hour or more, I gave up.  He decided that he wanted to be an airplane, and I was pretty sure that we were not going to be able to find an airplane costume either in a store or online - and if we could that it wouldn't be in our budget.  Our pretty nonexistent budget.  So I made him an airplane costume.  Or rather, I should say I McGYVER'ed one out of cardboard, duct tape, pipe cleaners and red paint.

Here it is under construction:

And in its finished state:

 

For good measure, here is Amazon Girl in her cowgirl costume:

(Does anyone else take issue with how short they m ake the tops on the girls costumes?  This costume was HER SIZE, there was no reason to think the shirt was going to come up around her ribcage.  For crying out loud, she wanted to be a COWGIRL not a Dallas Cowboy's Cheerleader! )

Their dad came over and we all went to a local store-sponsored event, then to my parents for more candy, then back to the house where dad took them around the neighborhood.  The biggest downside is that we had a windy halloween, so the little guy didn't keep his costume on very long.  It was big enough that a gust of wind would just about knock him over. I stayed at the house to hand out candy to any trick-or-treaters who came by - which was a complete waste of time since we got none. I took a mountain of candy to work on the next day.  I am grateful that my kids' dad and I are able to be polite and friendly with one another.  We made a decision together when we decided to separate that we would make sure the kids came first, and I think we have done a great job of that.  It has made what is at best a difficult transition easier on our children.  I know we have done a lot of things wrong over the years, but I can tell you that both of my kids know that mom and dad both love them very much.

On a lighter note, the best part of making my son's costume was the memories it brought back of halloween celebrations when I was a kid.  One year my mom made my brother a robot costume out of carboard boxes, a round carboard Baskin & Robbins ice cream container, aluminum foil and silver paint.  Our neighbors had a big party every year, the kids would bob for apples - the adults would bob for olives in their martinis.  The big kids would take the little ones trick or treating around the neighborhood, and if we were really lucky the Lawler's would be drunk when we rang their doorbell.  If they were, they usually gave out money instead of candy.  Remind me someday to tell the story about the time my dad cold-cocked a drunk Bob Lawler over the backyard fence, its too much of a digression here)

Remember when costumes didn't come in stores?  I had so much fun making that damn airplane that I think I might just  make it a tradition.

Reasons

 

Its been a really shitty week. I'm burnt out on life right now, and I am having a hard time digging my ass out of this depression (no thanks to YOU prescription coverage company, yes, I 'm talking to YOU assholes).  But rather than continue sitting here dipping my feet in the dark slimy pool of misery, no matter how tempting that might be, I'm going to focus my mind on all of the positive things in my life at this moment.  And because I love you, dear reader, I'm going to share all of those things with you.  Aren't you glad you checked in today?

• Its Friday, and I don't have to do this "work" thing again until Monday
• Its also payday, so I can stave off disaster for another two weeks or until this paycheck runs dry
• Katee Sackhoff is making a guest appearance on The Big Bang Theory on November 23rd.  Rumor has it this is the first of several guest appearances.  I also hear she's joining the cast of 24 but I've never watched that show and I'm not startin' now.
• It might rain all weekend.  I know, some of you think that's bad, and true, it will mean no horseback riding.  But I've got a full truckload of firewood stacked up next to the house and a new book from the library as well as Disc 3 of Season 4.5 of Battlestar Galactica, so being stuck inside while it rains and the kids are at their dad's for the night wouldn't be the worst thing in the world.  Would it, now?
• Tomorrow night is Race Car Boy's night with me (we switch kids every Saturday night so everyone gets some one-on-one time).  We might go see a movie.
• To date, I still haven't shown up on People of Walmart 

Not a grand list, to be sure, but hell, I feel better just having thought of all those things.

Go have a nice weekend, y'all. 

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Bastard Nostalgia

I miss the days of bastardy.

I found Bastard Nation in 1992.  I had just found Usenet.  I'm not sure whether I'm surprised that the first search word I typed into the Usenet Newsgroups search box was "adoption."  That fateful, desperate reaching out toward the cloudy mystery of my birth led me to alt.adoption.  When I say I cut my internet teeth on alt.adoption, I'm not shittin' you.  Alt.adoption was a crazy landscape littered with the corpses of the weak, the teary adoptees, the oh-so-sensitive adoptive mothers and the fragile birthmothers.  You either grew a full-set of flame-proof underwear or you got sizzled.   From the cacophony of alt.adoption rose the strong and vibrant voice of Bastard Nation.  Well, along with a crazy few others. 

I'd never attended an adoption support group, never done much beyond reach out to the agency which handled my adoption at six weeks of age to get yet more useless non-identifying information about my birthmother.  But tangled in the mess of wires and connections that hold my brain and body together, adoption was always there.  I just wanted to KNOW.  I concocted endless fantasy Mothers, waited breathlessly for them to come and rescue me -- from what, I have no idea, its not as if my life has ever been that horrible or difficult.  But it was always there. 

And alt.adoption...not for the weak.  Sifted through the tear-stained kleenex boxes of those who would have been better off seeking real-life therapy rather than seeking help for their adoption angst on the internet, a few voices rose loud and clear.  They didn't talk about wounds and pain, struggle and abandonment except in the most passing of terms.  What they did talk about was empowering and uplifting.  They talked about the rights of adoptees to have the most basic information about themselves.  They identified the enemy, the people who would perpetually infantilize us, who give lip service to "protecting" the selfsame birthmothers from whom they used any pretext to obtain children, the people who were reaping endless profits on the backs of babies, birthmoms and barren couples.  They outlined a plan to take back what was rightfully ours.  We claimed our bastardy as our own and made it the platform on which we stood, made it IN YOUR FACE.

Those were heady days, of activism, of gut-wrenching conviction, of in-your-face rabble rousing.  The Bastards organized pickets and protests.  We changed laws in Oregon, in Alabama, in New Hampshire.  We educated the public and lawmakers.  We founded an organization to help the dying find their birthfamily before it was too late.  We argued, we debated, we hammered out a strategy and we implemented.  It was one of the best times of my life.

In the years between I found and lost my birthmother, found my siblings, met the father of my children, move cross-country and became a mother.  A lot of big moments - and yet some of the biggest of all were Bastard Moments. 

Somewhere along the way, we petered out, we lost momentum.  Some of us moved on, some of us had life crises, I had babies and 'retired' from being a day-to-day activist.  I couldn't have kids, work full time, organize conferences, hold support groups and run a nonprofit all at the same time.  God, I miss it, though. Those were some damn fine times.  Best of my life.

Check 'em out, though:  Bastard Nation

That's what I used to do before I became a respectable citizen. 

Random Tuesday Musings

I'm listening to Christmas music today.  And no, you're not allowed to make fun of me for that!  Well, actually you are allowed, I just don't want to hear it.  Christmas is my favorite holiday, bar NONE.  Now that Halloween is over and the Christmas stuff is showing up on the store shelves, I'm exercising my prerogative to fill my office with the beauty of a sweet cello/piano version of "What Child is This?"    I am blissed out.

We officially hit freezing the last couple of nights.  I've got to find $59.99 to buy a heater pad for the chicken's water pretty darn soon.  Payday is Friday, so I can probably get it then.  I might need a new stock tank heater too, my old one is pretty beat up.  Zenon thinks its a toy; he pulls it out of the tank and unplugs it from the extension cord.  Then he drops it on the ground and stands on it so the wire cage is all bent out of shape. Frankly I'm surprised the damn thing still works.  Zeenie is also a master of gate latches and doors.  Once he figures out how to open something you have to find a different way to latch it or he'll go through it every ten minutes.  Its cute...but some days also extremely annoying.  I got to take him for a ride this weekend.  Mom called me Sunday as I was headed to the grocery store and asked what I had going on.  I laid out the game plan of food shopping and housework.  She told me I could wait and do my housework in the dark, it was a nice day and she wanted to come over and hang with the kids so I could go horseback riding.

Did I mention my mom is DA BOMB???  It was such a nice ride.  And I still got all my housecleaning done.

More on that codie shit

I wrote the other day about codependence issues in regards to my own life and choices I had made.  Today I was drawn to look at some of the things I've learned along those lines in their relation to the social media of the day - Twitter, Facebook, Blogging. 

Recall this post about the ongoing kerfuffle between Chicken Liver and a few of the mommybloggers.  Its an ongoing drama - CL doesn't like Dooce or Sweetney or Sandi and a few others, and she has a blog dedicated to discussing the finer points of what they do or write about (or do and then write about).  There are furthermore a couple of blogs (The Takedown, etc) devoted to dissecting Chicken's posts (and sometimes the other aforementioned bloggers as well).  Its fascinating and an interesting byproduct of social media.

The two-way nature of the internet has allowed Joan Q Public to make her opinion known in ways never before envisioned by mainstream media.  Nobody got to append comments to Walter Cronkite's newscast.  "Rich from Michigan here, I agree that Nixon's a douche, but he's a grand statesman.  We should be happy he's our president and anyone who doesn't agree with me is a TRAITOR to America!"  "Billy Joe Bob from Tennessee.  Mr. Cronkite, unless we impeach Mr. Reagan because his birth certificate clearly shows he wasn't born in America, this country will be headed straight for hell in a handbasket!"

Blogging is in so many ways like writing in your diary, then leaving it open on your desk in class for everyone to find.  Some people write incredibly personal stuff on their blogs, others write about their hobbies or special interests.  Thanks to the advertising media realizing how much money there is to be made from the interest generated by these blogs, there are more than a few bloggers are making wads of money and gaining personal cred by sharing their personal lives on the internet.  Hell, Dooce got famous for blogging about her job and then getting fired for doing so. 

For everyone ten loyal blog followers, there's bound to be a critic or two.  And for every ten folks critical of a blog, one or two migh actually share their commentary.  And then there's the genre of blog critic that goes absolutely mind-blowingly APESHIT with their outrage over whether someone is "oversharing" or saying things that might put their children in THERAPY someday.  Its amazing.  But its not any different than reading the comments following a blurb on CNN Politics or the Huffington Post.  We all have opinions, and now that the media is there for it, we want to share them.

What's troubling to me, though, when slogging through said commentary, are the number of people in our world who truly lose their minds when other people aren't doing what they, the commenter, think they SHOULD do.  Should.  What a troublesome word that is.  Of course there are things we ought rightfully to do, legal and moral obligations.  Obligations to be a good citizen, good parent, good employee.  But when does this magical world of "should" start creating unrealistic expectations among us?  When does the insistence on "should" start indicating mental instability on the part of the insister?

In 12-step stuff you learn right off the bat that the only thing you have control of in this life is yourself and your actions.  You don't control other people.  You don't control things.  You control YOU.  Period.  The minute you get caught up in trying to control anything other than you, your life quickly becomes unmanageable.  The 12 step groups (or their more secular alternatives) center around focusing on self and taking self-inventory.  Taking inventory of others is not only discouraged, its pointed out as the sole reason our lives get out of control in the first place. 

I can't help but think sometimes that I'm watching an internet full of codependents implode when I read some of the stuff that's out there.  I feel sad that so many people are so completely unhappy and unhealthy that they spend that much time and energy spewing bitterness into the ethosphere simply because someone they've never met who lives 2,000 miles away posted something on their blog that THEY SHOULDN'T HAVE. 

Its discouraging at best.  I suppose any experienced blogger knows that putting yourself out there means you're subject to the return comments of folks who might not agree with you.  And I'm not, of course, condoning internet censorship.  I support wholly and completely the rights of free speech and fair use.  I guess I'm just saddened by the depth of misery I see out there and wish, for their own sakes, some people would center their microscope on their own lives and hearts and minds and not work themselves up into a mindless frenzy over the perceived transgressions of others.  It gets us nowhere, it does nothing to enhance the public discourse.  Its exhausting to watch.  

For today, I hope that people can achieve the wisdom and centeredness that comes from evaluating their own lives and focusing on their own behaviors and worry less about what others do. 

Peace.

Oh, and Dooce?

Heather a/k/a Dooce complained in her blog today about getting woken at 6 by her adorable new baby, Marlo.  That's right.  6 AM.  Usually following a middle of the night waking (or two) and a family in the bed.  I almost commented, then decided to "retweet..."  or rather, I guess, retweet-by-blogging.

Heather, I got NOTHING FOR YA.  I have to get up at 4 am if I want to have time to work out (meaning, alone, without kids trying to "help") or at 4:30 if I decide to skip the workout.  That's so we can leave the house by 6:30 to get the kids to school/daycare and for me to meet the carpool.  And bedtime is usually 10:30 or 11 (for me, anyway, they go down at 8) and the night is typically punctuated by a) a cat tossing up a hairball b) a dog deciding the dog bed isn't comfortable and needs to be rearranged c) a wet bed, d)even better, a kid announcing they are going potty (cause I needed to know they weren't wetting the bed and like I wouldn't have figured it out on my own when I found the un-flushed pee in the potty in the morning) or e) my own anxiety wakes me up at 3 am to remind me that  my life is SCARY! 

So Dooce, my dear, I love you to death, but dear GOD, woman, STOP MAKING ME JEALOUS!   Its bad enough you have that adorable smooshy new baby, but now I think you're just taunting me with your 6 am wake up calls. Taunting me! 

Live and let live...

I used to think that I understood that life was not something I could control.  Then, not too many months ago, I learned that I only talked the talk.  I was trying to manage people and events in my life in ways that made my life (oh, yeah, here comes the quote, you twelve-steppers know I'm just yanking it right out of the literature) totally unmanageable.

Many years ago, in my twenties, I was involved with an alcoholic.  When I say that he made me crazy in ways I could only imagine, what I really mean is that I allowed his behaviors to trigger behaviors in me that were completely not OK.  I'd always had a temper -- in that relationship I discovered whole new levels of pain and rage.  My life was a shambles, almost lost before it was lived.  Some wonderful person pointed me in the direction of al-anon, and for a time it saved me, but when I rid myself of my alcoholic, I thought I had also rid myself of my codependency.  I didn't feel bad anymore, but I didn't understand that my problems had not gone away, just my trigger. 

When I shed the alcoholic from my life more than 20 years ago, I simply replaced him with nicer people for a while.  But I didn't keep walking the walk.  And so my walk became one of only words, without true understanding of the nature of my codependent, sick behaviors.   Until recently.  I think the development was gradual, but as inevitable in its own way as the erosion of the land where the river rushes through.  Choices I made, relationships I sought, led me to where I am today.  Where I am learning to walk it instead of talk it.

Its easy when you are in a relationship, living with a partner, to decide that all the things that make you feel bad or uncomfortable are because of the other person.  You easily identify the behaviors of your partner that you do not like.  It is easy to justify to yourself "I do xyz because HE did abc."  You know that you would be happier if only that person were not longer doing or saying the things that make you unhappy. 

When you are alone at the end of a relationship, sometimes you find that things you assumed were the other person's fault were really things that YOU own.  Even the things that you attribute to the other person are often simply your own failure to set and keep healthy boundaries for yourself.   But when you're on your own, no longer have another person to point the finger at when you are having a bad day or a bad moment.  And if you look for the source of the problem, there's a very  high probability that you will find it WITHIN YOURSELF.  I am finding this true.  It is not fun.  But it is good.

If you think we don't need a public option for healthcare, read this.

Man joins the army to get health insurance for wife's cancer

This story is just one of many thousands about Americans who have lost their jobs, lost their insurance, and who are desperate for help.  What Bill Caudle is doing is more than courageous.  Man, oh man, how far would you go to make sure your partner got appropriate medical care? 

I blogged last year about my friend with cancer.  When I posted about her last year, she was leaving New Jersey for Texas to start a new life, freshly freed from the shackles of a 23-year marriage to Mr. Not Quite Right in the Head**, having undergone treatment for cancer.  Guess what?  Her cancer's back.  She's terminal.  Stage Four, CA numbers climbing, at least one visible mass and its probably in her bones at this point.  She's on a state health plan, so there aren't going to be any miracles, any fancy new test drugs or treatments.  She lost her good insurance when she left her old job, and she is now on disability.   In the article above, Bill Caudle talks about researching his state's public health care option and knowing that it wouldn't provide sufficient coverage for his wife's cancer treatments.  Its just plain wrong that our health care is a classed system, that only people with money can get better treatment.  Bill Caudle worked hard at his job for 20 years, his family shouldn't have to be going through this.  My friend has always been a working, contributing member of our society.  She has raised two smart, capable children.  Now she has to utilize the dregs of health care options, why, because she is divorced and can't no longer work because of her illness?  Give me a fucking break.

I do think the administration is missing the boat by not targeting tort reform right along with health care reform.  We can't reduce the cost of health care procedures until we can get the cost of malpractice insurance lowered.  We can't lower the cost of malpractice insurance until we put reasonable caps on award amounts for medical malpractice suits.  And we can't control the cost of the insurance until we get control over the insurance companies and put them back on task taking CARE of their insureds instead of giving their CEO's billon dollar bonuses.  Its all related, folks.  Its a big job, yes.  I think that until we boot the professional lobby out of Washington and overhaul Congress we'll never see real change.  We voted someone into office who we felt would bring change, who would BE a change - but I think we're all realistic enough to understand that the status quo in Washington DC hasn't budged an iota.

Is the problem too big to tackle?  

***Note:  This post edited for names.  My apologies to my friend, I did not realize YOUR EX HUSBAND WAS STALKING YOU ON THE INTERNET.  WHAT AN ASSHAT.

Eight

Yesterday she turned eight.  Eight amazing years of her, and so many more to enjoy.  I have been blessed with this child in ways I could never have foreseen and every day that I live and breathe I count myself lucky to be her mother.  Once upon a time, before kids, I only imagined what it would be like to have a daughter.  Little did I know that my imagination could never,ever come close to meeting my reality.   In the best sense, my dreams of being a mom never conveyed the true depth of feeling my children would engender in my, nor did my happy fantasies touch on how truly hard it is to be a parent.

My Amazon Girl is an amazing person to know and to be around.  Her disorders give her some degree of difficulty in her life and social interactions, but they also give her an intensity of feeling that when it is positively directed is amazing. She truly loves everyone she meets, and her joy at the simplest things is contagious.  She is stubborn and strong and full of steam.  When she is angry or sad she is profoundly so, but when she is happy it bubbles out of her as if she were a huge colorful fountain, spraying rainbows of enchantment over everything around her.

A few days ago I was agonizing over my hair.  I asked her what did she think if I cut it short?  She told me "I think it would look beautiful."  So I asked if she liked it long, and the answer was "I think it looks beautiful!"  "Does it matter to you whether my hair is short or long?"  I asked.   "No, mommy, I always think you're beautiful!"  Warm, happy sigh.  J and I have made so many mistakes in our lives and as parents, but clearly, we have done a few things very well.  Either that, or she has the strength and beauty within herself to overcome us.