Barnmaven

Only a guy would think of this

I'm driving to work this morning admiring the big black pickup in front of me.  I'm a truck girl, what can I say?  I like trucks.

Suddenly something a little odd caught my eye.  Something pink, hanging down below the hitch.

See it? Or rather, them?

Truck balls? Is this a thing and I didn't know about it?

A few minutes later I pass the truck and I notice the driver is a woman.

Now I'm really full of questions.

Does she worry about her balls getting wet when she's driving in the rain?  Or about them getting shriveled when she's driving in the snow?  

What does she do with them when she's offroading?  Is she worried they'll get bruised if she drives over a speed bump?  

Does she keep them in her purse when she's not driving her truck?

Do they come in bigger or smaller sizes than this?  Are they made of hard plastic or are they squishy?  

But the biggest question of all, really:  Why?

 

 

 

Waiter, There's a Horse in my Lasagna

Photo Credit:  Suzanne Plunkett/Reuters 

SG and I were chatting a little about the big scandal happening over in Europe, where it appears food manufacturing plants in Ireland and the UK have been adding horsemeat to products which are supposed to contain beef or pork.  Horse DNA has been showing up in testing on supposed beef and pork products both on the shelf and in restaurants across Europe.  Burger King, Tesco, Aldi, Nestle’, Birds Eye and Sodexo, among other, have all been impacted by the fraud. 

Some officials have raised health concerns about whether the horsemeat could contain phenylbutazone (Bute), a commonly used equine pain reliever that isn’t approved for human consumptions.  Others suggest there is a risk to consumers from Equine Infectious Anemia, which in and of itself isn’t dangerous to humans, but according to officials might be indicative of other health issues with the animal and point to poor sanitation and handling at the factory, which could indicate the presence of other, worse contaminants.  Personally, I think these impacts would be negligible at best, since it would impossible for Bute to be present in concentrated in a horse in large enough amounts to actually cause harm to a person.  Now the sanitation issue could be plausible threat, since a factory that is slipping horsemeat into their beef and pork products could conceivably be cutting costs by skimping on their plant sanitation or faking test results as well.  Still, no outbreaks have been reported (yet) of infectious diseases being transmitted by the affected products.

Aside from the visceral reaction of “OMIGOD WE DON’T EAT HORSES, THAT’S GROSS,” I think the bigger issue is how the prepackaged food industry either directly or indirectly manages to blur the lines of information about where our food comes from and what it is composed of.  We’re not made to eat all these chemical additives and highly processed foods.  We aren’t mean to have a bigt helping of gluten or corn filler in our staple products.  We aren’t meant to eat bread that can be squished down to a nugget the size of an eraser and has been processed to the point that you need extra helpings of fiber just to get it to pass through your intestines. 

When most of our food is produced by subsidiaries of giant corporations much becomes invisible to the consumer, unless the consumer is willing to spend a lot of time researching who owns who and who produces what.  Boycotting anything on principle these days pretty much means you just can’t shop anymore. Anyhwere.  A couple of months ago when some companies which I’d always assumed were just great little producers of organic foods showed up on a list of companies opposing a measure in California to identify GMO products on food labels.  Turns out those companies were subsidiaries of larger corporations which had a vested interest in hiding the origins of many of their food products. 

The horsemeat scandal is just the current frosting on the cupcake of how the giant business of producing all of our food in factories is for the most part pretty bad for our health and probably our planet, but so long as its good for the company bottom line, who gives a shit?

I personally would be horrified if I found out something I ate contained undisclosed horsemeat; but I’m realistic enough to know anything at all that I eat that was packaged in a big giant factory somewhere possibly – probably? – contains things that are even more objectionable than THAT.   And I probably think it tastes AWESOME too, because big companies are very good at taking advantage of the sense of taste that when we were still wandering around the forest in loincloths led us to eat the foods that were good for us and avoid those that would kill us. 

In our house we are always talking about food and about eating healthier.  SG’s doctor wants him to eat paleo; my personal food style is to try and eat more green things, more whole things and fewer processed things, but that sweet tooth of mine keeps tripping up on the Ho Ho’s.  I’m not a Whole Foods hipster, by any means.  I think it’s a shame that the foods that are pesticide and antibiotic free are also way more expensive and that most people can’t afford to buy them.  But for fuck’s sake, if we’re going to manufacture a situation where a large portion of the population can’t access fresh food, could we at least make the stuff they can afford less toxic for them?

If nothing else, the situation in Europe is just that much more incentive to buy things locally as much as possible and to always always read labels.   And if you go to London, DON’T GET A WHOPPER AT BURGER KING.  Gross.

Related articles

Horsemeat found in Ikea's Swedish meatballs

Sweden brings in police as horsemeat scandal spreads

Limping down the aisle

So.

There's been a lot going on around here.  The stuff in my life and the stuff in my head have resisted my best attempts to write about them, and its frustrating.  Hopefully this post breaks the dam and I can wax eloquent more frequently about things that I often think really mean little to anyone but me - but you keep showing up to read, so what do I know?  I'm just an old broad.

Before SG hit the road in September we talked about our future together and the obvious answer was some planning towards wedding bells the following summer.  Then his start/end/start/end dates for the jobs he was going to do changed - more than once - and planning something became rather problematic.  Then he suggesting meeting in Vegas over the winter, which frankly when you're my age and haven't been qualified to wear a white wedding dress in quite some time seemed like a perfectly reasonable option.  Then the discussion of how to include loved ones came up, and then we started talking about a quick affair in between the September and November jobs.  That's where we were when he left, and I was keeping myself occupied in his absence by thinking of wedding plans, then calling him to see what he thought of this idea or that.

At some point in October, I honestly can't remember when, things got a little haywire.  Distance, weariness, job stress and myriad other things put downward pressure on us.  Someone might have gotten grumpy and uncommunicative.  Of course, that someone might not also have been feeling his best, working 12 hour days and living off restaurant and microwave food.  Seasonal depression, which is a guaranteed annual event, had its way with both of us.  Trying to plan became a chore, a point of contention, an added stress.  We wobbled.   Wedding plans were put on hold - not cancelled, but definitely not on the plate for this year -  we agreed to just table the discussion until he was home.  

We spent the rest of our daily conversations being loving and supportive and counting the days until we could be in the same zip code.

He got back last Tuesday.  We spent two days remembering the thousand things that are so amazing about being together - the ease of things, the chemistry, the deep discussions and the delight of companionship.  We cooked and ate and held hands and smelled each other's skin.  We touched and hugged and crawled under the covers, emerging for water and air now and again.  Thursday we took the lid off the marriage discussion.  We talked and talked about where we are and where we want to go and what we might want to do about that.  And then we drove down to the courthouse and got ourselves a marriage license. 

It will be a small, casual affair with a few family members and friends.  But even so, its amazing all the things that need to be done if you are doing more than eloping over the border to the Chapel of Love in Couer d'Alene.  Most of that is my mother at work, insisting there be flowers and hors d'ouvres and proper champagne glasses.  Hell, I just wanted to find a dress I liked.  I did, too -- and when the final choice fell between "bridal" and "hot" - trust me, I chose HOT.  When you're 45 years old and you find a dress that makes you look hot, you buy it. 

So I'm all set with a beautiful blue dress and a kickass pair of low black pumps.  But you know, me being me, things just can't go that smoothly.

With someone warming the other side of the bed, getting up to run has felt like less and less a priority the last week.  I managed to run on Wednesday and meant to do it on Friday and then on Sunday, but it just didn't happen.  So this morning, I doggedly set the alarm for black-as-night-thirty and dutifully put on my running shoes and vest and threw a leash on T-Bone when it blasted me out of a lovely dream.

We hadn't gone very far when I realized my selected route was much darker than I had anticipated.  I thought there were more street lights along that way, but clearly I have questionable accuracy when it comes to memory.  And about a half mile in as I was considering the need to turn around and find a more well-lit path, it happened.  I tripped over the concrete edge of a square manhole cover and fell, wrenching the holy living crap out of my left ankle in the process.  I managed to crawl up onto the curb and suppress my moans so as not to wake people in nearby houses.  T-Bone, bless his heart, sat as close to me as he could, then curled up on the ground, watching every car that passed with a concerned glare.  When I could talk without sobbing I called SG (always, always always take a phone with you when you run) and asked him to come get me.  Then I passed the time until he got there mentally beating myself up for being so damn stupid and possibly ruining my ability to even walk on our wedding day, much less finish my C25K training plans.

Fortunately its just a bad sprain.  My plan is to keep it elevated and iced until about 2:45PM on Wednesday so I can put a flesh-colored elastic brace on it under an opaque pair of panty hose and actually wear my new black pumps and walk on the damn thing.  I have every confidence that this plan will work and I will not hear a word to the contrary. 

We can have the sidebar discussion on just how much crutches suck later.  If I have to talk about it now I may just weep, and that's not in the cards today.  I refuse to be down about this.  It hurts and it looks like hell, but its a small radar blip in what is otherwise a joyous and bliss-filled week. 

So if you have positive thoughts, prayers or energy to send our way, we'll take all of them you can spare. 

Wherein much gnashing of the teeth occurs

(Answers phone) Oh, hey honey.  What's up?

Did you get your tires done?

Yep, all ready to go.  Now I just need to go to that place across town to plug it in and find out why the Check Engine light is on.  I'm at your folks' house now to get the kids.  We're going to have a spot of lunch here and then head out.

OK.  Cool.  Have something for me. Did you find out where you're going and when you have to leave?

Ummmm, yes.   (Long pause)

So? 

Well.  Uh.

Oh no.  Nebraska?

Uh, no actually.  As it turns out, they don't need me to go until October.  (Insert list of reasons here, mostly to do with Roadwhore culture and terminology I don't understand).

So you're not leaving this weekend?

Nope.

Here's where a blistering silence ensues, during which my brain manages to turn about twenty thousand loops in a split second.

So, I'm going to let you go, and eat lunch with your folks because it sounds like you're upset.

Right, because why should you sit on the phone with me and offer support when the knots I'm all tied up in are a direct result of the impact of YOU in my life?  (We do sarcasm here.  Frequently and often completely underappreciated.)

So first I call the school and ask if its too late to get the bus for the boy changed for the first day of school when I've already asked for it to be changed three days ago because I thought the bottom was falling out of my plans.

Then I smile.  Because I'm not going to be suddenly alone.  And I can still have Option B without the bereft forever part.

Oh, life, you are grand and constantly surprising.  From one moment to the next you pull me this way and that, push me off balance, knock me on my ass, pull me upright, tease me with this and flatter me and woo me and put me off.  You are fickle and cold and ablaze with seduction all at the same time.  You never fail to keep it interesting.

 

Awash in the wreckage

Four children are busying themselves as I type this.  Two are helping each other make a remote-controlled Dodge Charger leave marks in my sideboards and other people's shins.  One is diligently drawing.  One is outside making fairy wands out of sticks and leaves and string.  Its remarkably quiet -- FOR NOW.

Did you know that any sound about 85 decibels can cause hearing loss?  85 decibels is the equivalent of heavy city traffic.  A lawnmower or snow-blower is about 90 decibels.  A dog barking is about 75.  Three bipolar children failing to modulate their tone of voice while arguing over whose turn it is on the trampoline?  I'm gonna guess about 105. 

This week SG's folks are out of town and they usually babysit his younger sisters' kids during the week.  He was tagged with sitter duty.  We've had my two here all day yesterday and today as well.  Its gone remarkably smoothly, considering.  One of the girls also has multiple diagnoses, in fact she is just moving on to middle school from the Extended Resource classroom my son will enter in the fall.  She's a very bright girl and quite engaging.  She's much like my son in that during conversations with her you frequently get the feeling you're talking to a very small adult. 

A few years ago, having four children with this level of energy and dysfunction would have been unimaginable.  I guess my skills for managing the chaos have improved, as has my ability to choose when to intervene and when to let things take their natural course.  I've gained a much better sense of what really constitutes a disaster and what things I can simply smile quietly at while they work themselves out.

What I've noticed most about the three bipolars (one of them aspie) is how very BOSSY they all are.   The one kid in the middle who is neurotypical is fortunately a very low key kid, and doesn't get her feathers ruffled by the non-typicals.  Here is a kid who is growing compassion and empathy every single day.  Here is a kid who has little control over the impact her sibling is having and yet who is handling with a remarkable steadiness and calm.  It can't be easy - in fact I suspect it is harder when one child has issues and the other does not, if only because as much as these kids of mine fight, they GET each other.  Even so, this girl seems to have a unique understanding and empathy for her sibling and for my children as well.  She gravitates from one brouhaha to the next, distracting a crying child or engaging a yelling child to come play a game with her.  She has a remarkable skill for someone so very young.

When I grow up I want to be just like her, navigating the spilled lego boxes and the tantrums with equanimity and grace.

In other news, did you know how fast you go through a loaf of bread making lunches for four children?  Holy crap.

Dang, they're THAT good.

***This post has not been sponsored in any way, shape or form by Bank of America or its employees or advertisers.***

I've heard the tales from so many friends, even my own brother.  Someone stole their information and their account was overdrawn by hundreds or even thousands of dollars in transactions generated by the thief.  They waited days or even weeks for the bank to investigate, verify and reverse the charges.  It was a horrible, long, drawn out process.   It will never happen to me. 

Yes, and no.

I was down to about a quarter of a tank this morning and so stopped to get gas on the way to work.  My commute is 90 miles round trip, give or take, and I don't much relish the thought of getting stuck on Highway 14 while the farm trucks and the 18-wheelers speed by.

I flipped the switch on my tank, got out and unscrewed the cap.  I stuck my debit card in the slot and prepared to enter my PIN.  "Card not authorized."  Huh.  Tried again.  "Card not authorized.  See cashier."  Now, it was entirely possible that I had inadvertently overdrawn my account.  It happens from time to time, one of the many drawbacks of ADHD being that sometimes I fail to remember that I bought or did something the day before and that I don't have enough money to do or buy something today as a result.  No worries, I thought, I'll check the account balance when I get to work and transfer funds if I have to.

After back to back morning meetings until almost lunchtime, I finally got the chance to log in to my account.  Account was safely in the green, and nothing to indicate a problem.  Hmmm.  Maybe the card is just getting worn out.  It IS due to be replaced this year.  No biggie. 

But it kept bothering me all day.  Finally, I called the customer service number and selected the option to review my transactions.  The first three were easily recognizable as mine.  But the next:

"A debit card withdrawal in the amount of $236.97 to [something unprounceable]."

"A miscellaneous reversal in the amount of $236.97."

The next word out of my mouth started with the letter F, which the automated system didn't recognize as being a valid option.  I tried a different word:  "Representative."

As it turns out, someone attempted to use my debit card yesterday to book a hotel room in Finland.

Bank of America?  Caught it immediately, reversed the charge and put a stop on my card.  That's how good they are.  One charge, caught and reversed.   One charge.

Bank of America, it was a little inconvenient today to have to dig the ones out of my wallet to buy enough gas to get to work.  However, it would have been a hell of a lot MORE inconvenient if the thieving assholes who stole my account information had charged enough money to put me in a hole I can't afford to be in and tied up my account for lord only knows how long.

Bank of America, if I didn't have a boyfriend, I would KISS YOU.  Hard.  On the lips.  As it is, would you settle for a really tight hug?  Your account protection team is top-notch and I can't thank you enough for protecting my piddly little bank balance.   I'm grateful beyond words right now.

(Now un-lay-off my friend Leslie and we'll be besties forever.)

I get my new debit card in 7-10 days.  Somehow I think I'll be using cash only for a while - even after the new card comes.

Um, NO.

I have come to enjoy sessions with my therapist.  She was so hard to find, the good ones always seem to be.  I find too many MSW’s or LC’s  are too accommodating, too reflective or simply just not able to keep up with me.  I’m strong-willed, opinionated, and like most of us, I can create a wall of defense behind every bad decision I make.  Its hard to find a therapist who can challenge me when they think it necessary, but do so in a way that continues the dialogue. 

I think I would make a terrible therapist.  I don’t know that I would be able to cope with it if my clients refused to examine their bad choices and make better ones.  I don’t see how I could keep myself from smacking a client upside the head who was clearly on the tracks toward disaster and they refused to listen to me.   Yes, I most definitely do NOT have a career calling as a therapist.  

So at my last appointment, everything was pretty much awesome.   She confirmed my instincts on some of the conflict I’m having with my ex, I told her about the new man in my life and instead of chastising me (which I expected) we had some good discussion around when/how the kids should be introduced.    We talked about C and his IEP and the sensory stuff, talked about some of the items I’ve ordered for him and some other things I need to consider purchasing.  And then, everything took a decidedly downhill turn.

“How’s A___?” 

”She’s doing pretty well.  Having some focus issues in class, we’re working on some med changes to compensate.  Other than that and her normal inability to tolerate her brother, things are pretty awesome.”

"Have you started talking to her about puberty yet?”

I’m sorry, what did you say?

 

 

Puberty?

 

  

Its not that I haven't talked to my daughter about how women's bodies work, and how grown up women are different than girls physically.  Its not that I haven't mentioned in passing, usually in response to questions, about things like body hair and menstrual cycles and bras. 

This is all fine and dandy...IN THEORY.

I am not.

NOT.

READY.

To have a daughter who is IN PUBERTY.  Come ON, she was a chubby little adorable baby just yesterday!  Seriously!

This is, of course, the point in the conversation where my therapist smacks me alongside the head, tells me to stop being such a giant hypocrite and start paying attention to this whole "parenting" thing I'm supposed to be doing.

She sent me home with this pink book I'm supposed to read with her.  I get the willies even looking at it.  I DON'T WANT TO DO THIS.   

I have to do this.

Hold me.

The price of contentedness

Sometimes you can be too happy.

Sometimes you can forget that there are things you must still pay attention to, no matter how much you might be settling into the warm, snuggly feeling of liking someone.  And when your focus strays, you must eventually deal with the consequences.

The eyebrows that you normally maintain with meticulous focus -- they might very well have started a concerted effort to join in the middle.  And spread out to other parts of your face.

The new pair of jeans you got that were already starting to feel a little loose in the hips, the button and the buttonhole might resist your wish to meet easily.

While you might not appreciate that there will be consequences to staying up til nearly midnight several days in a row, your body will remind you that indeed, there are. Usually about halfway home from work, when you might learn the hard way why there's a rumble strip on the side of the highway.

You might suddenly realize that you have a week's worth of laundry to do.  Immediately, in fact, if you'd like to have something to wear to work tomorrow.

There might be dust bunnies the size of Rhode Island lurking under the oak hutch.

 

Be warned and beware.  THIS COULD HAPPEN TO YOU.

 

But its worth it.

 

For the sake of posterity

Because this might never, ever happen again:

Never in a million years. 

 

 

And because the picture's fuzzy, that's my post.  Linked under Lifestyle news on the FRONT PAGE OF MSNBC.  Holy crap.  Pardon me while I go have a moment....

What you think of me is none of my business

Really, its not.  So I continue to remind myself, with ever-increasing frequency.

The post about the incident with my nutsack-punching daughter garnered a lot of comments when BlogHer picked it up, so I was curious to see the reaction from a larger pool of perfect strangers when TodayMom's picked it up.  As I expected, it caused a stir. 

The biggest part of recovering from codependency for me has been to learn to see myself through my own eyes and not the eyes of others.  Other people are not mirrors of my self - not my partner, my parents, my children.  Other people are separate and discrete and while its affirming to have people agree with me, like me, its not realistic to expect that to be the case.  My sense of self-worth can't be dictated by public opinion, and the moment that it is I might as well slink back into the morass of codependent self-loathing that my life used to be.

So I'm not over there commenting back to the commenters on my post.   I did over at BlogHer where the forum was smaller, more select and more comfortable.  It is easy to have a discussion with people when even where the opinions differ, they are offered with a coating of respect.  We can talk about anything in the world as long as we remember, you and I, that we don't have to agree with one another.  What we need to keep in mind is that as human beings we have differences and similarities - we probably have many things in common - and that our opinions are shaped by our experiences.  Just because you have a different experience than I do doesn't mean we should not treat one another with dignity.

Ultimately, I'm not going to change anyone's mind with the things I blog about.  This isn't a political blog or an activist blog.  Its just me working on making the words come out and seeking to make sense of my life and my world.  Its an outlet for my particular creative drive.  Some people paint, some people make music, some people sew and knit and craft.  Some of us write.  Not for profit, not for a living, but simply to engage in the act of putting together words and sentences to set free a thought that is begging to be expressed.  I have no expectation that the thoughts I share here are going to be universally agreed upon, nor that they will, in contrast, be praised.  But I realize, more so today than ever, that when by placing my words and my thoughts in the public domain, I am inviting people to respond.  To affirm or to negate.

Over there, on the TodayMom's blog, I'm not responding to comments.  I'm letting the dialogue happen without me.  There are some thoughtfully written opinions over there, both for and against, and there are a large number of trolls.    About halfway through the day yesterday I discarded my curiosity about what was being said and I stopped reading.   Really, its all happening in a delightful cacophony of words and opinions that don't need my presence to pollute the water.  Its a big bucket full of what makes the internet such a fascinating place to inhabit. And considering that in the not long ago past I would likely be wringing my hands and letting the negative voices be the loudest voices I hear - and letting those voices dictate my state of mind and sense of self-worth - I realize how far I have come and how grateful I am for my recovery.  I'm able to just exist side by side with this controversy.  I realize that more than ever, I KNOW who I am.  I don't need other people to be mirrors of myself.  With the knowing that I am both perfect and imperfect, that I exist as a child of God, loved regardless of anything I or others might do or think, I can choose my level of engagement with the controversy based on what I feel and need, not on others expectations.  (Ouch, that was a long sentence).

The journey to release my fear so that I could stop trying to control others in order to cope with it has been, second to being a mother, the most amazing journey of my life. 

 

.....

 

Note:  While I don't have any editorial control over at BlogHer or at TodayMoms, I DO have editorial control here.  I have never moderated comments on this blog and I hope that will never be the case.  I delete comments from spammers, but to this point have never deleted a legitimate comment from a reader, positive or negative. I welcome dissenting opinion, provided it is delivered with respect. Trolls will not be ignored, they will be summarily dismissed and, if overly persistent, blocked, not because anything they say might hurt my feelings but because attack without the expectation of reasonable dialogue isn't useful.