Just Like Ligtening!

Once upon a time, there was a girl named Wonelle and a boy named Wood. They met and fell in love. Then they decided to get married. They had a beautiful wedding and all of the people that were important to them came to the wonderful celebration. After Wonelle and Wood got married they decided to have a baby. The baby grew and grew inside Wonelle's tummy for a long time. Then one day the baby decided that it was time to come out. After three long days and a bit of help from Wood, Doula, and Dr. I, Twig was born! And we were very, very happy!



In this photo, we are in Hawaii vacationing with friends. We had been married just over a year. I am pleased to not be pregnant. Twig is 5 months old. He's so pudgy, sweet, happy, and addicted to chi-chi milk. Wood was shell-shocked. I was miserable. Five months into parenting and we all were overwhelmed with our new-found-family.

Wedding daze, pregnancy haze, and the nursing maze are all quite distant now. We've been married for over 4 years, I haven't been pregnant for three, and nursing ended seven months ago. I feel like the woman that walked on clouds after our wedding and before pregnancy. It's strange but maybe Three is the magic number.

Happy Birthday, Twig!

!!! Gall-ish !!!

Since previous tests were inconclusive for gallstones, further tests have been ordered. A blood test to determine whether or not I have a bacteria that causes ulcers and a CAT Scan using radioactive dye to see how my gallbladder and digestive system in general are working. Apparently this test can show stones and sludge (same stuff that the stones are made of just in a less hardened form) that the Ultrasound won't pick up. In the meantime, my pain is mostly gone with the aid of drugs and a very bland, high fiber, low fat diet (read: tasteless and boring). I've lost several pounds during the ordeal because since it's started, I've been anything but hungry...

I'm traveling today for work - an overnight trip - and even though Twig and Wood will do fine together, I always feel a bit melancholy when I leave my boys. It's the Mama thing.

We've got a large scale plumbing project going on - not entirely by choice, either. The natural gas lines were leaking and when Wood was attempting to repair the gas leak, that made the hot water heater break (it was overdue - it was date stamped 1953 for goodness sake), which begged the question: do we do a half-way repair or rip out all of the old galvanized pipes and put copper in? You already know the answer to the question...

The water issue is causing Wood a fair amount of distress - I don't really care about not having hot water. Granted, it's a pain when considering showers but all else - no big deal (and I can shower at the gym). However, Twig's 3rd birthday is in a couple of weeks and Grammie is coming to town. He's flipped out that she'll flip out if we don't have any hot water.

Hopefully, the boys have a good overnight together, my tummy continues to cooperate, and the plumber shows up this weekend.

Now, I have to go pack.

??Gall-ish??

Well, after a trip to the ER, an Ultrasound that showed nothing abnormal, and some advocacy on the part of my Husband, the Doctor saw me today. She believes that there are three possibilities as to my upper right abdominal pain:

1) strained abdominal muscle
2) Gall Stones and/or Duct problems
3) Smoldering Appendicitis

However, I appear to have none of the other symptoms that would normally present with such problems (#2 &3, that is). She prescribed new meds, told me to not eat any fatty foods (practically impossible unless you're a rabbit), and to not go to work.

I'm feeling really bitchy because of the pain and not knowing. And because I really have a lot to do at work. My boss is on vacation for the rest of the month, my co-worker is out because of a recent appendicitis, and another co-worker recently resigned. There are two regular people and a temp there right now. Grr.

Wood is going out of town this weekend on a "get drunk" Skunk Train trip with a bunch of his friends. I refuse to let him cancel on account of me. It's already paid for, it's been on the calendar for months, and one of the guys is traveling from Pennsylvania for the festivities. I'm feeling bitchy but despite the pain, even I've got a heart.

I'll brave my mom for the weekend and look forward to a couple of friends whose Husbands are on the same trip and/or traveling this weekend that have offered a get together on Saturday evening. I'll gladly take my drugs and count the hours until the next step in this gall-ish process.

Now it's time for trash TV and some sleep. I love our living room furniture. It's really comfy.

Gall-ish

For a long time, years maybe, I will periodically have pain on the right side of my upper abdomen, just below my ribs. It feels like an amazing gas bubble or constipation and it's tough to breathe in. Doing so makes it feel like someone is stabbing me.

About 2 weeks ago, I had a bout with this pain that lasted a full day and had me doubled over with pain unable to move. It was the stabbing sensation combined with a horrible muscle spasm that kept me down. It eventually subsided but has never really gone away.

After a week of fairly severe pain, I called my doctor's office. They fit me in with a Nurse Practitioner whose first question was "is there any possibility that you're pregnant?" HA! None whatsoever, thank-you-very-much! She did her exam and said that it was unremarkable, at one point making a comment to the effect that I hadn't given her the "whole story", but suggested that I was having gall-stones. She referred me out for blood work and an ultrasound and said that if I had some other symptoms to go to the ER.

The weekend went by and starting Sunday night, I had the other symptoms. By Monday they were more severe. So being a thoughtful consumer I called my Doc's office first before going to the ER... After 4 hours of messages and calls back from the office staff stating that there were no appointments available, I went to the ER. Actually, since Wood was at work, Twig at school, and I hurt too badly to drive, my Mom took me to the ER. You know I'm feeling like shit if I call my Mom and ask her to help.

Four hours later, I've had an exam by the doctor who agrees with the Nurse Practitioner that it's Gall-stones. But the only thing that can confirm or rule it out is an ultrasound - but it's too late for that... She offered pain medication, to which I gladly agreed (it was the first offer throughout the entire ordeal and I had never thought to ask). Morphine in the hospital and a prescription for Vicodin at home. And orders to eat a no-fat diet until the Ultrasound on Thursday. Not that I want to eat much anyway, it hurts too much afterward, even with the drugs.

More later.

I've Been Simpsonized!

Get yours here!

Stevie Wonder Live Conjures...

The house is a 1930's bungalow on a corner lot only a few blocks away from the freeway. Fairly traditional, the stucco exterior is a muted yellow, it has wood double-hung windows and a white picket fence. The single-car garage, not in the the fenced area, has a large Silver Diesel Van outside it. If it weren't for the color of the stucco, there would be no other indicator that the two buildings were related.

Off of the driveway and through the white picket fence, a small stone path leads to a wooden door that opens into a medium sized galley style kitchen. The floor is sloping with torn layers of vinyl positioned next to a weathered wooden Oak threshold. The walls, home made island style counter, and wooden cabinets are also dissimilar, painted red, purple and yellow. Each of the counter surfaces have mismatched porcelain tile in muted tones and patterns. Above the gas stove and next to the ancient refrigerator, pots and pans of muted rust and copper tones hang from the ceiling as if to purposefully display that they have been used and used and used, and used yet again. A deep white porcelain sink sits directly across from the stove and just below the window overlooking the garden and China's dog-house.

To the right of the kitchen a hallway with golden oak hardwood floors lead to two bedrooms and one bathroom. One is a sleeping room. The other is an office, super bright from the light of the garden. Shadows bounce off of the paper strewn over the desk and filing surfaces. The bathroom is large, even with all four walls painted the brightest Azul. The see through World Map shower curtain protects only the surfaces of the bathroom from insidious water damage.

To the left of the kitchen an arched doorway leads to a large and narrow formal dining room. An incredibly heavy, almost black antique mahogany table with 8 or 12 Captain's chairs engulfs the room. The chairs and legs of the table are carved and strong. At the far end of the table, the living room is complete with a well worn 70's style green velvet couch, coffee table, miscellaneous electronics cabinets, and a working fireplace.

The fireplace is a piece of furniture in and of itself, adorned by a handsome and stately carved wood mantle. There is a black and white baby photo, a gold watch, matches and a couple of other knick-knacks distributed haphazardly along it. The light from the windows accentuates the beautiful artisanship of the fireplace, the dining table, hardwood floors, and the curved plaster ceilings. Tacked up on the wall opposite the fireplace, and on either side of the entry to the hallway is a 36"x36" piece of blue paper - probably art board - and a print of a naked man; the significance of each is elusive.

The radio softly plays KBLX in the background. The R & B tunes blend into one another with similar rhythm and tempo and no clear distinction until Stevie Wonder's Ribbon in the Sky begins. In that moment, the colors, textures, scents, sounds and worldly experience embed themselves, forever forging direction and speaking forcefully, if not unexpectedly, of the possibilities and wonderment that this life has to offer.

What A Finish!

Today was one of those days that being at work took all of my energy. All I wanted to do all day was go home. It's been a busy week and by today, I was feeling really tired. So instead of exercising at lunchtime, which is the usual activity, a couple of co-workers and I ventured out of the office to try a restaurant in the nearby neighborhood.

The goal was to try a place that has painted on the front of the building "The way to eat to live", "All Natural" "Organic Salads" "Tofu Burgers" and "Veggie Burgers". It shares wall space with Charlie's Las Palma's Burrito Shop on the corner of Mac Arthur and Seminary. Unfortunately, no organics at Charlie's. My assumption is that back in the day that Charlie's was once a Black Muslim Bakery and the building owner simply never re-painted the outside of the store. Oh, well. We found our way to Razzo's instead. I had a Caesar Salad atop flatbread. Yum.

Apparently while we ventured out of the office, my car's running lights got turned on. I learned this at 5 minutes after 5. 35 minutes later than I should have left the office and only 25 minutes before I needed to be 15 miles away, through rush hour traffic, picking up Twig from school.

Thank goodness, I thought, when I saw two women in the car parked right next to mine.

"Excuse me, could you give me a jump?"

"Well, I don't have any cables."

"I've got some."

"Uhh, well, I don't know how to do that."

"I do, I've done it several times."

"Umm, well, no I just don't want to. Ask the security officers."

"The security officers have a golf cart, they're not going to give me a jump and I've got to pick my kid up in 20 minutes."

I get back into the car and turn the key wishfully thinking it was all a mistake. When it doesn't work, I think "Okay, I walked downstairs with a co-worker. I 'll flag her down and ask her for a Jump." She drives past because I can't run fast enough in my heels and scream loud enough over the buses on the street and cars in the parking lot to get her attention.

"FFFFFUUUUUCCCCKKKKK!"

Wood is working late again tonight and since he's across the Bay Bridge, he's not a viable option to solving my dilemma. The fabulous AAA service is going to take too long. Fuck it, I'll push the car and pop the clutch. By this time the security guard is asking me if I'm okay. "No, I need to pick up my kid and these ladies won't give me a jump. But hey, could you help me push it so I can try and pop the clutch?"

We push, we get her going, I jump in and pop the clutch a couple of times but both times she flatly refuses. As I get out the security guard asks me if I want to push it back into the parking spot. "No" I say, almost as flatly as Dhammadina refused to start. I'm starting to panic because I need to get to my kid.

Just then, a woman that works in my building stood still in the parking lot just long enough... "Excuse me, could you please give me a jump? I've got cables." "Sure." she says.

I pull out the cables and set them up on Dhammadina's battery. The woman pulls up in a brand new Mercedes. It's so new that I don't know how to open the hood. It's so new that when she opens the hood, the engine doesn't look to me like an engine. It's much too clean. And then I couldn't find the battery. Thank goodness she was there to lead the way to the battery.

Then however, I was on my own. She and the security guard stood back and watched me do my magic in all of 30 seconds. As I walked back to take the jumper cables off of the Mercedes, I heard them talk about having never done that before. "If you're going to drive a beater like this (pointing to Dhammadina) you've got to know how to use these (pointing to the cables)."

Whew, it's only 5:20. As I drive through out of the parking lot toward the freeway, I look at the gas meter. Empty. Not close to empty. Below the empty line. Shit, If I don't get gas, I'll surely run out on the freeway.

Just across the street from Charlie's Las Palmas, at the corner of MacArthur and Seminary, I stop for gas. I Pump $20 bucks as fast as I can and hop back in the car. She refuses to start at the turn of the key. For a second I don't understand - I just can't believe it I think "What the Fuck?" And then a second later, I remember what happened only a few short minutes ago in the parking lot at work.

I quickly scan my surroundings. It's busier than at lunchtime. It's Friday afternoon and Young East City thugs are already starting to look for action. It only takes two seconds to realize that I can't stay here long without being a target. Not only am I blocking a gas pump, I'm not from this neighborhood. Unlike where Dhammadina broke down last week (only a few short blocks away), I can not stay in my car, pretend to blend in, and be safe.

Wood answers the phone and simultaneously the thug from the car on the other side of the gas pump median strip walks toward my car and says "What Up, Bitch?" I talk on the phone and pay attention to his whereabouts without giving him any direct attention. I imagine getting out of my car and using some kick boxing moves on him. I see in my minds eye how my elbow meets his nose and how he falls to the ground, unable to move. When he turns his back to my car, I roll up the window. He sits on the large flower pot on the median strip and stares at me as I talk on the phone explaining my predicament to Wood.

Try as I may, I can't hold back all of the tears. Two slip out and the thug can see my distress. He starts laughing. Just then the Gas Station Operator comes out of the store and yells "Move your car, this isn't a parking lot!". The thug and his friend drive away. Wood and I hang up.

I scan my surroundings again and wonder what the hell I'm going to do. There is pretty much only the AAA option at this point. But that's going to take a long time and the neighborhood isn't feeling terribly forgiving at the moment. I don't feel safe and I don't want to wait. Without thinking too much I put my fearless self on. I get out of the car and ask the old man in a large white Cadillac who had been waiting behind the thug to give me a jump.

At first he says he doesn't have Jumper cables. But the young woman next to him agrees to help when I explain that I have cables and know how to use them. He moves his car, and the young woman gets out. "He's my grandfather." she says. "We're on our way back from Dialysis." She rubs her belly. "Here, I'll do it. He thinks you don't know how." I giggle, tell her about the fact that I've driven "beaters" all of my life, and have had to learn how in the hopes that it allays some of the discomfort... "Are you pregnant?" I ask. She looks at me, slightly perplexed but pleased. She's due in March, 2008 she says. "Congratulations!" I say. Again, she seems surprised but genuinely warmed by the expression. "My son is 22 years old." "Wow, you're doing it again!?!" I say. "You know this is all the work of God." as she rubs her belly. Yes, it is, I think, remembering everyone I've come into contact with this afternoon.

"Thank you!" I say and I wave to them both as I drive away. The old man throws me the Peace Sign. I instantaneously feel blessed to have been in their company and to be on my way.



p.s. Dhammadina is our 15 year old two door hatchback that has 225,000 Miles on her. She was named after successfully making a 15 mile drive on a dirt road to Tassajara Zen Center several years ago. We LOVE her.

Living With In-Laws

I have a friend who, by choice lives with, in addition to her Husband and two children, her in-laws. She writes about the challenges of living in this arrangement on her blog which I regularly read. I glean from her posts that it's a tough arrangement.

She's a much stronger woman that I am.

My Mother-in-Law has been staying at my house since Saturday and I'm already close to the end of my rope. She probably is too. We don't communicate very well.

She talks around things. I make direct statements and ask direct questions. She makes assumptions about my statements. Example:

"Are you going to eat your cheese?" (it's melted on a tortilla on the stove, I'm in the other room dressing Twig)

"No, I'm all done. You can have it if you want."

"You're not going to eat it?"

"No, I'm all done."

"You already ate?"

"Yes."

OR

"You went to McDonald's again today?

"Well, I was hungry. So first I went to the ATM and it wasn't working and then I went to Subway and they don't have breakfast sandwiches, so I went to another ATM and that one wasn't working either.

"That's all fine and well. But, ummm, we don't go to McDonald's."

"But you're not listening to me. The ATM Machine wasn't working, and then the other stupid machine wasn't working, and I was hungry. And Twig started asking for food - what was I supposed to do, tell him he couldn't eat? So I'll tell you: I ordered him an egg on a plain English muffin, that's all."

"It's perfectly acceptable that you gave him food when he asked for it. I understand you were trying to get him something healthy. That's not a problem at all. The problem is that we don't go to McDonald's and DO NOT want Twig to go there."

"But, you're not listening to me. The ATM, I was hungry, I gave him..."

And on and on and on.

As you read in an earlier post, I wonder if she listens to what I say. And if she does and tries to put it in to place, it's quite clear that she doesn't want me to speak. Maybe it's how I say things. Maybe it's what I say. Maybe it's some combination. Maybe it's something else. I don't know for sure.

But, in all honesty, I get subtle messages from her that I should stop talking. So I do. And so does she. She doesn't talk to me. Actually, she doesn't talk around me unless it's absolutely necessary. She has gone so far as to talk to Wood ONLY when I'm not around.

I try to give them their space. To allow them to have a relationship without me there. Without my input (knowing full well that my input is going to be heard no matter what). I try to have a relationship with her without Wood there. I call her on weekends. I have Twig call her on weekends, so that they can have a relationship (which is hard for a child when the person lives at the other end of the largest state in the Union). That works when our relationship is over the phone.

When we're all in the same place though, it's hell. I hate it and know: what we're doing now isn't working and she's not going to talk to me about it.

She has confided in Wood that she's depressed and has a low self-confidence. But I am not responsible for that. It's exceptionally difficult for me because she's like my Mom in many ways.

Here, as in relationships with my parents, I'm going to have to be the grown up. That sucks. I've been parenting my Mom for the better part of my life and now I have to parent my Mother-in-Law, too?!

Arrgghhh!

I'm willing to do it. I want Twig to learn how to behave. I'm doing this for him as much as for Me, Wood and Grammie. I just don't know what to say, how to say it, or when.

I think I just need to take a deep breath and do it!

Broken Medicine

I made an appointment last week to see the Doctor about the tightness in my chest. It was scheduled for 7:15am today. I arrived at 7:18, was taken to the Scale (AAKK! I've gained 5 lbs!), given an EKG (which was normal), had my blood pressure taken, given a lovely paper shirt and told that the doctor would be right in.

At 7:50am, the Nurse peeked her head in the room and informed me that the Doctor was running a few minutes late. "How late?" I asked. "About 15 minutes". "Well, I have to be at work at 8:30 so I'll need to leave if she's not here by 8:00".

Frustrating as all get out! I left the office at 8:00 and was late to work.

I think I'll need to ask for a refund of my co-payment since I didn't even talk to the doctor.

And re-think the way that I'm eating. I gained 5 lbs. DRATS! Granted my clothes are fitting slightly better and I'm probably gaining muscle as a result of exercise, but the scale has never gone so hight since I was pregnant. I want it to go down.

More later!

Almost As I Thought

Wood was able to pick me up from work yesterday and that was a welcome treat. I just didn't feel like riding the bus. It was nice to have a few minutes of alone time with him before we entered the house too. We just don't get that too often.

Twig ran out of his room as we walked in the front door. He was extremely excited to see us. Grammie was sitting at the kitchen table fuming. Apparently, early in the morning she had heard me tell him "don't tear apart my house" (he's got this bad habit of throwing folded clothes, shoes, and other items sitting on the desk, etc. - it's his way of playing and I don't like it), and she took that to mean that he needed to clean his room before I got home from work.

Of course, he refused. Actually, he helped for a minute and then wouldn't do any more. Probably because he didn't quite know what he was supposed to do. His room was a disaster before I left the house this morning. It's been a disaster for days and to him it is clean.

Good news is that they went to the zoo. He took a nap (although Grammie tried to transfer him out of the car so he got less than an hour), and seemed to have a good time.

Whew.

This Grammie living several hours away is quite difficult. She doesn't get the face-to-face time that is necessary to understand the finer details of being the main caregiver for stretches of time. She doesn't know the rules, our language, our routines. That might not be fair - my mother who lives 15 minutes away doesn't know those things either. Perhaps it's merely the Grandmother prerogative to be oblivious.

Deep breaths. Deep breaths. It's all going to be just fine. Deep breaths. Deep breaths. She's doing us a favor. Deep breaths. Deep breaths.

Final Float

Some friends that have owned a river rafting business for nearly 20 years are calling it quits after this year. Yesterday, Wood and I, and about 95 of our friends' closest friends ventured out on to the river for the "Final Float".

It was a great day! Not too hot, not too cold. Just enough wind. Lots of rowing, swimming, water fights, and laughing. I can hardly remember the last time I had so much fun! Or so much energy for such physical activity. Those daily lunch time walks and kick boxing classes are really paying off. My clothes fit better, my body looks different, and my stamina has really improved. Amazing how out of shape I had let myself become...

Twig was with his Grammie back at the place where we parked the cars and would meet for the afternoon barbecue. This was a good thing. The original plan was for them to stay at home. Once I got thinking about that plan, I just didn't feel comfortable with the thought of them being more than 2 hours away from where we were - and for more than 12 hours in one stretch. Thank goodness Grammie agreed to come along. While it probably wasn't super exciting nor easy for her, it made it so that I could let loose a little bit.

In case I didn't already mention it, my Mother in Law is in town this week. Twig's preschool is on vacation and Wood and I have to work. Last visit we had with Grammie in LaLa land included some insane conversations about how he was going to spend a week with her over the summer... Needless to say, I had a few reservations about such a scheme. Once presented to Wood, he did too. However, it doesn't make sense fighting with logic - she just won't listen. She wants what she wants and thinks I'm being difficult and trying to keep her away from her grandson. He's three years old and, and, and........Whatever!

Anyway, the whole school vacation thing came up and since Wood and I don't have the time to take off from work right now, I thought that it might make sense for her to try being with him for a week on our turf with some respite in the mornings and evenings. The concept being that she can get a really good taste of him without the shock of 24/7 (besides that whole him in LaLa Land for a week is not going to happen while he's this young). He's too much for me to handle 24/7 with no breaks and I'm half her age.

She's here and the primary person responsible for my almost three year old from 7:45am until 5pm every day this week. I'll admit that I'm a bit controlling of my space and that I have high expectations for the way that my family operates. And, I'll even go so far as to admit that I don't always like my MIL. I find her manipulative and incapable of talking directly without making everything about her and therefore leaving no room for any type of negotiation or compromise. Instead of stating her needs she says things like "are we going to eat dinner?" or "are you hungry?" Then when you get to the bottom of what's happening, and figure out that she wants to eat she'll say something like "I don't know what I want to eat, I 'll eat whatever you want, I'm flexible". Grrr.

Today I caught her rolling her eyes at me when I was telling her about my child. MY CHILD! MINE! NOT HERS! MINE! Yesterday I had spent a little bit of time giving her some pointers on my child's personality. You know, what works and what doesn't, what he does and doesn't respond to. What time he needs to eat, sleep, and how, the activities that are and are not good to attempt with him. She clearly didn't listen to a thing I said because her first activity today was the one thing I said wouldn't be a good idea to attempt with him. Shopping. And her other activities will include visiting her other old friends in their tiny apartments with lots of breakable things where he wants to throw balls and swing bats, and generally be a three year old boy! My vision is of him being a caged wild animal that's expected to behave as a well trained pedigree pet but can't so he's prodded and told "NO!" every 30 seconds. It doesn't scream fun to me. This is his vacation, too!

So I left very shortly after the eye rolling incident (and having made lunch, gathered extra clothes and diapers, etc. for her day with him). Walked to the bus stop and vented on the phone to Wood (even though I probably shouldn't - he's caught in the middle of the two most important women in his life). I feel like she didn't and won't to listen to a thing I said. Like she doesn't want to talk about it. I'm sure that she's not going to do anything the way that we do things with him. She's going to expect him to behave certain ways, but will do all of the grown up things that she wants to do, and then wonder why he's behaving badly. She doesn't (seems to me) to have the skill to understand how to get him to perform the way that he can (because the truth is that he's a really well trained monkey, you just have to know what kind of positive reinforcement and happy snacks he likes!). I feel like I'm not being taken seriously - or even respected - so I also feel like I'm not managing this well.

I'm trying to keep in mind that everyone has their own way. And that kids are different with other people. But HEY - I'm a Mom that knows her kid. I worry about his safety - physical and otherwise. I don't totally trust her. And I'm protective of my child. My only baby. I know she loves him and would never ever do anything to purposefully put him in harms way. We're different and that's okay. He's a very adaptable kid. It's going to be okay. But I'm still having a hard time with it. 

Better get back to work now.

Heart Heavy

That heartburn I mentioned a while back hasn't subsided. It's periodic, showing up at odd times, and has woke me in the middle of the night twice now. It doesn't feel like heartburn. It feels like someone is stepping on my chest (right between my boobs or shoulder blades). Tums doesn't help.

The Palpitations that I've noticed and were cause for the Doctor to call me about test results, have taken a weird turn too. Whereas they have always been one at a time, they are now three and four at a time. It feels really strange. Not painful or anything like that, just strange and maybe a bit frightening.

Wood made me promise to call the doctor's office first thing this morning.

I willingly complied.

The doctor that I saw for the beginning stages of this issue is on vacation for the rest of the month. The fabulous Bernice (really, she's great) at the front desk referred my issue/question to my "regular" doctor. I have been thinking about making a change because I feel like the "regular" doctor thinks that I'm merely under stress, and doesn't take my concerns seriously... After about an hour, Bernice called to let me know that the Doctor had no appointments for today and they would be writing me a prescription for an Asthma inhaler. Huh?

I've had asthma on and off all of my life. And it's usually exercise or pollution induced. But this doesn't feel like my Asthma. And the other doctor said that if my Heart palpitations increase or I begin to experience other symptoms to promise to call and get in to her office. I'm trying to follow directions here.

Good news is that the Asthma inhaler will certainly keep my heart beating...

And I have an appointment Tuesday morning.

Top Ten Tuesday

I'm addicted to It's Friday, a blog written by a woman that plays on my co-ed softball team. Well, it's not really "my" team anymore because I haven't played regularly in a couple of years. But, I still want it to be my team because I want to play regularly - and I will. Anyway, I'm feeling a little um, fragile? I just haven't had it in me to actually comment to any of the posts on her blog - and there have been a lot of things I want to comment on... Maybe because I feel so serious and she (and her commenters) are so often having fun or being funny that I just don't want to bring 'em down, you know? Who wants and can truly appreciate my morose thoughts? You don't count. What follows is in response to to her Top Ten Tuesday post "I am". I'd love to read yours.

I am almost middle aged. 
I wonder Who, me?
I hear hummingbirds chirp and whiz by.
I see history repeated over and over.
I want a different ending.
I am doing it my way.

I pretend to be a wife, mother, manager.
I feel lonely in those spaces sometimes.
I touch my Husband, my child, my body and
I cry, because I feel too often that
I am not good at those things.

I understand that history is repeating itself.
I try to think, act, and behave responsibly in the face of it all.
I hope La Paz descends on all souls.
I am a struggling child, making my way among adults.

Memory Lane

Warning: this post is made under the influence of several home made Lemon Drops. These lemon drops were quite the hit at family camp a few weeks back. This is not the original recipe which calls for Meyer Lemons. Nope, the Meyer lemon tree hasn't produced enough yet this year to make it so. This recipe is with the ones that you get from just about any super.

Wonelle's Lemon Drops

Mix over ice:
1 Cup Freshly squeezed lemon Juice
1 Cup Vodka
1/2 Cup Triple Sec
1/2 Cup Simple Syrup (recipe follows)
Strain into Martini Glasses (if you've got it in you - rimmed with colored sugar)

Simple Syrup
4 Cups Evaporated Cane Juice Sugar
4 Cups Water

Bring to a boil. Reduce heat to a low simmer until sugar granules liquefy.

As I mentioned in a previous post, my family has purchased a house together. What I failed to mention is that it's in the city where I grew up. They stayed there. I got out as soon as I could. They're moving and need to be out of their respective homes this week, the 31st.

I've been trying to assist Sister # 1 (the one with Husband and 2 kids) with childcare duty. It has been disastrous. I've been able to sit on the little one (the older one is 15) for a total of about 2 hours. It's not for the lack of trying though. It seems my child is on a completely different nap schedule than hers. As soon as I can watch her kid, mine is sleeping or vice versa. I somehow doubt that intention gains the same amount or type of positive thoughts as actually following through. In my heart of hearts I want to say "Whatever!" but I don't. I hear the brow beating in my own head. It's just as good as being there.

Sister #2 with one kid hasn't talked to me at all about needing help, etc. And to be fair, neither has sister #1. But hey, I'm bitching here. My Mom hasn't either. She's just a wreck. Can't make a decision about paint, flooring vs. carpet, etc. to save her life. Planning isn't even an option. I swear their brains just don't consider the lives of other people- or that talking is necessary to get things done. No phone calls, no discussion about what they need - or want - in terms of help from my family. It's frustrating to no end. So Wood works his arse off for the last two weekends helping out while I'm 100% responsible for Twig and feel like I'm getting a beating (behind my back of course) because I can't drop everything and help. Yeah, I do feel a bit guilty. It's my own shit...

My plan for today was to take Twig out in the morning, get a nap and then gather both him and my nephew for a park-playdate. Well, my playdate fell through (no biggie) and just as Twig fell asleep for his nap in the car, nephew was nowhere near going down. We don't fight Twig for naps at home anymore - it's just not worth it. If he happens to fall asleep in the car, Great! If not, Great! Usuallly though, he falls asleep in the car. Today he needed a little extra sleep and since I was trying to do good and was already there trying to do good, I drove through the town where I grew up. In case you don't know this - the town that I grew up in is The Town that I really, really don't like. The town that I would have absolutely no reason to visit if it weren't for the fact that my family lives there.

So, in order to give my child what he needed, I drove around The Town. And remembered.

...The house of my grade school best friend and that of many other grade-schoolmates...The Jews, the Scientists, Fat Southerners, Adopted Mexicans, Mormans,the Asian Kid with only a Dad and a Van, and the Outcasts (not to mention the school itself)...

And wondered what they are doing now.

...The house that I lived in until I was in High School - and the people that lived next door (on either side), the several folks on the street and the creek I would wander in for hours at a time. It's amazing to me these people that kept me sane while I grew up, and how amazingly thankful I am to those people for keeping me safe and influencing, in such a positive way, who I am today...

And wished that I could remember more names or faces.

...The neighborhoods that I rode my bike in for hours and hours at a time before High School - and the names that I gave the homes that we visited - Disneyland, the Seven Seas, Rock Garden, and goodness only knows what else - just because of their landscaping, Koi Ponds, and other decor...

And wished that I hadn't had to rely on imagination to take me away until I could go away. But counted my blessings for having had such an imagination to keep me busy.

...A friend whose dad was in his 90's when we were in our teens. They lived in a shack amongst mansions of their time. He owned the house and the land and refused to make updates despite his daughter's pleading. She lives there now. As I drove by, I heard the sound of happy children coming from her house, and saw very little indication of modernization...

And was glad that she had that place to be. Her Dad loved her to pieces and it showed.

...The neighborhood that I walked through, drunk and high on who-knows-what, in my skin tight dittos and come-fuck-me-Candies in the middle of the night, after probably having sex (or at least thinking I wanted to) with someone whom I'd probably never met before, and making it home in one piece...

And thinking that the God that I question whether or not I believe in, kept me safe for a reason, and how thankful I am for that.

...The man for whom I baby-sat when I was in High School. He was a divorced but relatively functional alcoholic sharing custody of his 18 month old (who is, in retrospect more than 20 years old now). Who lived across the street from my High School Math teacher - the only one I ever had that could explain it in a way that I actually understood it. And who thought enough of me (despite knowing about my messed up family) to hire me to babysit his kids too...

And remembered that people are good and kind, and are given to you to help you and remind you of what could be - in their own way.

...The house where my best friend and her now Husband of almost 20 years lived for a hot minute - where I acquired a taste for red wine and the exact location of a middle of the night fight with my boyfriend that resolved absolutely nothing...

...And the home of his friend, who wanted to be my boyfriend, because my boyfriend was such an ass toward me, and didn't deserve me, and would never do right by me...

And thought of how those experiences helped me to make the right choices and led me to where I am now.

...And the toy store, and the falafel house, and the time I got hauled in for stealing, and, and...

...and how I hate to go there and remember all of those things. But how important those memories are to who I am now.

Excuse me, I want another Lemon Drop.

A Touch of Buyers Remorse

Finally chopped off my hair. It's noticeably uneven. My sister is my stylist.

Went on vacation a couple of weeks ago. It wasn't as fabulous as others advertised it to be.

Gave up coffee.

Eating better.

Exercising daily. It's painful.

Have just as much stress as ever:

•     My mother, sister #1 with a husband and two children, and sister #2 with 1 child bought a house and are moving in together. They are making major changes and updates before moving in. I can't just help out with moving and such like I once did. I watch the little ones instead. It doesn't feel productive.
•     Twig has been crying at daycare when I drop him off and saying "I don't want to go to school, I don't want to let you go, Mommy". He's being rather willfull about potty training.
  
•     Sex is something I think about but hasn't happened in what seems like forever. 
  
•     I want to go out on a Date with my Husband but our babysitter is moving and making major changes to her new house...
  

The Doctor called me about my Test Results.

The beauty of it is that it's all okay!

Hair grows back. And it's just going to take a minute or two to get used to it. I could get a new stylist. It might make life easier in some ways...

I'll take many more vacations in my lifetime. Besides this vacation wasn't about me. It was about my kid. We did some cool stuff, like take a 1 mile hike in the mountains together.

There's always Decaf. And it's a reasonable alternative - occasionally.

It's a lot cheaper to eat Vegan, or at least vegetarian, than it is to eat meat daily. I need to remember that Junk food and Chocolate is a treat!

Sweating feels good and makes me feel stronger deep down in my soul. I LOVE Kick Boxing because when I do it, know that I could kick someone's ass! I like to walk and my clothes are fitting better. Someday soon I'll wear that Liz Caliborne dress that 's been hanging in my closet for years. Pain is necessary to achieve results, especially when it comes to exercise and weight loss.

Stress is transient.

• The move will be finished soon. Then the real drama will start but I'm planning my strategy on how to stay out of it now.
• Twig's teacher that he struggles with on occasion heard me loud and clear when I told her to do it my way and at his pace. He's not crying and telling me not to leave today. We're looking around at other preschools. To know what our options are. And we're trying to be objective about the issues at hand. Potty training will be over someday. Besides, all kids have accidents. Period.
• Maybe we'll just have to use Sesame Street as our babysitter in order to get a little bit of one on one grown-up time...
• The move will be over soon. And it's the perfect opportunity to get Hubbie to think about the fact that he can help with finding a sitter, too!
  

Got my medical test results. I'm not going to have a heart attack any time soon (whew!) but the 24 Hour EKG showed that I'm having irregular heart beats at least twice an hour.

The beauty of it is that it's all okay!

The dizzies - they're all gone and the Doctor said it may be because I quit coffee and made some other dietary changes.

The irregular heart beats are not medically problematic at this time. But, the Doctor made me promise that I'd go in immediately if I noticed any changes or other symptoms. If the dizzies or other symptoms show up or the irregular beats last for 30 seconds at a time, absolutely, I will get in to see her. I'll monitor the heartburn and call if it doesn't subside in a week or two.

I can make positive changes in my life. Yeah, it's harder than ever, but it is possible. About that I am not remorseful. About that I feel good.

Bush's Never Ending War

I'd love to write about many things happening in my life these days. But my life and work have been really busy. Today when I needed a minute of down time, I stumbled upon this...



This is the Link to the Movie's Web Site about Bush's Never Ending War

So far, my health is fine. I have no apparent blood problems and/or heart problems. However, I need to follow up with my health care professional. The dizzies are not gone.

I was referred to a heart specialist for a "stress test". This consists of having an ultrasound of the heart before exercise, then walking on a treadmill (they increase speed and incline every three minutes) all the while connected to EKG machine and having your blood pressure taken every three minutes. The goal is to get your heart to target (mine would be 165-175 based on my age and overweight) and exercise for at least 15-20 minutes. When the treadmill part is complete, they do another EKG to determine if the heart is beating properly, circulating properly, etc. If everything is okay, they assume that there are not bigger underlying issues.

I only lasted 12 minutes on the treadmill! I couldn't keep up with the machine, what with all that gasping for air and holding on for dear life! What a weakling - I was completely embarrassed (especially since they kept asking "do you exercise regularly?" and I had to answer honestly, "no".)! And because, once upon a time I was able to exercise at my target heart rate for an hour or more every day and enjoyed the feeling of pushing my body to the limit!

They did notice some irregular heart beats while I was resting. They tell me that this is nothing to be worried about. They also tell me that preliminarily the stress test showed that my heart is fine (yay!). The 24hr EKG, called a Holter test, when it's read, may state something about the irregularities of the beating of my heart. That's the only test that is pending at this time.

This entire ordeal has given me quite a scare. Heart disease runs in the family and I've got a few of the risk factors (weight gain, less than impeccable diet, alcohol consumption, no real exercise to speak of, stress, bad sleep, etc.). So, even with no "diagnosis" I made some life changes (and so did my family by default).

I quit coffee. I'm doing everything I can to give up my sugar, candy, chocolate addiction. I've been eating vegetarian although the goal is vegan whenever possible (and no, I'm not giving up meat, etc. entirely just making more conscious choices about what and how much I eat). And I'm figuring out how to get some more exercise in. I'll be starting back at the Gym very soon - cardio-kick boxing classes at the Y - and two of my co-workers and I have made a pact to walk together at lunch time at least three days each week.

With the lifestyle changes, my sleep has been somewhat better. That almost three year old of ours is having his own sleep issues that severely impact my ability to consistently rest well. But, I've noticed a big difference in quality of sleep when I do get it.

Despite a week-long case of the stomach flu, my body loves the whole grains, vegetables, and fruit every day. The challenge of finding new and exciting recipes is keeping me on my toes. Of course we need to buy fresh fruits and veggies every few days, but it's much cheaper. And, I think that a few pounds may have shed themselves already!

I look forward to getting to the Gym again. I have been missing that outlet for a long, long time. It's just been hard (almost impossible) to fit it in with all of my family responsibilities. But finding the time at work has been excellent. It feels good to get out of the office in the middle of the day, get some sun, social time, and a little sweat too.

The dizzies have improved a fair amount but they aren't entirely gone. They come and go at the strangest times. Sitting at my desk, driving in the car, watching television, laying down in bed.

I need to make an appointment with my doctor (and the eye doctor) to follow up on the dizzies and the test results but I'm feeling apprehensive about it. I don't want to talk about mental health issues: stress, anxiety, and medication as the other alternatives to what I'm experiencing. I don't want extreme medical diagnoses either, but I'm uncomfortable with drugs in general in relationship to treating ailments. I want to know what the root cause(s) is so that I can treat the real problem. Not just the symptoms.

After we get back from vacation. I'll think about it while we're on vacation next week and make the appointment when we get back from vacation.

Until the next time I can write...

Light Headed Tired and No Time On My Hands

Greetings friends. So sorry it's been a while. I've been busy working, traveling while working, potty training, single parenting (while Hubbie is working extra shifts) and generally burning the candle at both ends.

After about two weeks of periodic dizziness for no apparent reason, I called my primary care physician and asked for an appointment. With some questioning the fabulous Patty who answers the phone at the Doctor's office checked availability and got me in to see a Doc a mere 45 minutes later.

The woman I saw was great - part physician part psychotherapist - she asked relevant questions that I'm not used to Doc's asking: Have you ever had panic attacks before? (no) What did you eat for breakfast? (I often skip or have cereal and eat at the office around 9) How much sleep do you get? (not nearly enough - I have a two year old) What do you do for a living (Social Work), is there much stress in your life (did I mention the two year old - the potty training two year old?), How much coffee do you drink (one 10oz cup per day), how much refined sugar do you eat (about 3 teaspoons per day in my coffee), candy (that mid afternoon snack you mentioned - this is usually it - snickers)? Pastries (lets see, three meetings a week, all public, with pastries...yes, too many pastries) any heart disease in your family (yeah, my dead dad who had his first heart bypass in his late 40's and died in his early 60's)...

Okay, so I've never had panic attacks before but this doesn't feel like panic. Maybe a little bit of stress. But not entirely. It feels like my body isn't right. My head is kinda light all of the time. Sometimes to the point that I feel like I'm going to pass out - when I'm sitting in front of my computer. And don't even get me started about how I feel when I climb those three flights of stairs to my office in the morning - like I'm going to hyperventilate because I'm so winded.

I had an EKG which showed a slightly decreased heart rate and was told 1) to quit caffiene 2) to eat protein (especially before I leave the house in the morning) 3) to have blood tests, a longer EKG, and stress test. And if all of that comes back negative, to consider discussions with my regular doctor about anti-anxiety medication. To which I responded that I am anti-medicine.

And yes, I think the stress is caused in part by not being able to write and post to my blog. It's kinda funny that Hubbie spends his free time lately at home on his computer - in the way he says he doesn't like me to be with screen. I pointed it out to him last night but he didn't listen. Just smiled and kept typing away. That's what I call a double standard. And it's nothing like eating chocolate for breakfast in front of your kid. It's way worse.

Music

I am a Morphine addict. No not the drug - Mark Sandman's Band.

Yes it's his real name. His music and lyrics are amazing - funny, witty, and sad at times, but he did things with certain words that is pretty darned impressive - especially when set next to the band's signature low bass, sax & heavy drum beat (often referred to as low rock).

If you like rock at all, I'd suggest a listen or two. Start with the Album "Good" and follow the chronology to get the full effect (check out the lyrics here). I wish I knew how to embed music (or photos or music that's not from You Tube) into this here blog. If anyone who reads can help with this, please leave a comment!

This is one of my favorites - hell everything Morphine did is one of my favorites:

I'm Free Now

I'm free now to direct a movie
Sing a song or write a book about yours truly
How I'm so interesting I'm so great I'm really just a fuck-up
And It's such a waste to burn down these wall around me
Flexing like a heartbeat we don't like to speak
Don't talk to me for about a week I'm sorry it just hurts to explain
There's something going on that makes my guts ache
I got guilt I got fear I got regret
I'm just a panic stricken waste I'm such a jerk
I was honest I swear the last thing I want to do
Honest I swear the last thing I want to do
Is ever cause you pain
Oh
I'm free now
Free to look out the window
Free to live my story
Free to sing along
Oh (x4)
I'm free now to direct a movie
Sing a song or write a book about yours truly
How I'm so interesting I'm so great but I'm really just a fuck-up
It's such a waste to burn down these wall around me
Flexing like a heartbeat we don't like to speak
Don't talk to me for about a week I'm sorry it just hurts to explain
There's something going on that makes my guts ache inside
I got guilt I got fear I got regret
I'm just a panic stricken waste I'm such a jerk
I was honest I swear the last thing I want to do
Honest I swear the last thing I want to do
Is ever cause you pain
Oh (x2)

Here's a Reality Show I'd Watch...

THE NEXT SURVIVOR SERIES

Six married men will be dropped on an island with one car and 3 kids each for six weeks.

Each kid will play two sports and either take music or dance classes.
 
There is no fast food.

Each man must take care of his 3 kids; keep his assigned house clean, correct all homework, complete science projects, cook, do laundry, and pay a list of "pretend" bills with not enough money. In addition, each man will have to budget in money for groceries each week.

Each man must remember the birthdays of all their friends and relatives, and send cards out on time.

Each man must take each child to a doctor's appointment, a dentist appointment and a haircut appointment. He must make one unscheduled and inconvenient visit per child to the Urgent Care (weekend, evening, on a holiday or right when they're about to leave for vacation). He must also make cookies or cupcakes for a social function.

Each man will be responsible for decorating his own assigned house, planting flowers outside and keeping it presentable inside and out, at all times.

The men will have access to television only when the kids are asleep and all chores are done.
 

Each father will be required to know all of the words to every stupid song that comes on TV and the name of each and every character on cartoons.

Each man will have to make an Indian hut model with six toothpicks, a tortilla and one marker; and get a 4 year old to eat a serving of peas.

Each man must adorn himself with jewelry, wear uncomfortable yet stylish shoes, keep their nails polished and eyebrows groomed. The men must try to get through each day without snot, spit-up or barf on their clothing.

During one of the six weeks, the men will have to endure severe abdominal cramps, back aches, and have extreme, unexplained mood swings but never once complain or slow down from other duties. They must try to explain what a tampon is for when the 6-yr old boy finds it in the purse.

They must attend weekly school meetings, church, and find time at least once to spend the afternoon at the park or a similar setting.

He will need to read a book to the children each night without falling asleep.

He will need to feed them, dress them, brush their teeth and comb their hair each morning by 7:00. They must leave the home with no food on their face or clothes.

A test will be given at the end of the six weeks, and each father will be required to know all of the following information: each child's birthday, height, weight, shoe size, clothes size and doctor's name. Also the child's weight at birth, length, time of birth, and length of labor, each child's favorite color, middle name, favorite snack, favorite song, favorite drink, favorite toy, biggest fear and what they want to be when they grow up.

They must clean up after their sick children at 2:00 a.m. And then spend the remainder of the day tending to that child and waiting on them hand and foot until they are better.

They must have a loving, age appropriate reply to, "You're not the boss of me".

Oh yeah, and work a full-time job.

The kids vote them off the island based on performance. The last man wins only if...he still has enough energy to be intimate with his spouse at a moment's notice.

Hallmark Card

Someday, he'll be a big-time movie star

or a Fifth-grade English teacher.

Someday, he'll marry, have a few kids.

Maybe he won't.

Someday, he'll change the world as we know it.

Or maybe he'll travel, send postcards from China,

phone you from Paris.

Someday, he's going to be a big,

strong man able to carry you in his arms.

One day, he'll have his own hopes and dreams,

not knowing

that once upon a time you closed your eyes

and made a wish to one day

have him in your life.

Postpartum Depression

Dunamas Communications is host to Pauline Dillard, a woman interested in postpartum depression. While never diagnosed by a treating professional, I was severely depressed after the birth of my son (and for a long time too). The results of this particular study is important because I was invited to participate. However, I was so depressed I couldn't get around to doing the questionnaire. That and the risk factors, even if preliminary, describe me to a tee.

The top 4 common risk factors for postpartum depression [of the Dillard study]were:

* A family history of mental disorder of any kind (Bi-Polar Dad, Depressed Mom)
* A history of trauma (of one sort or another)
* Dissatisfaction with birth experience (but not the outcome)
* A perfectionistic approach to life(I admit that I'm a Type A personality)

Paula asks about retrospect. What would have been helpful? The short answer is that I don't know for sure but I think that other people talking to me about their presumptions - despite the discomfort - would have helped (you know, no secrecy). My other thoughts on the subject have been being rattled around in my brain for quite a while now. The long answer continues to be less than cohesive and as a result, unpublished. Someday.

Sponge

----- Forwarded Message ----

From: Wonelle
To: Wood
Sent: Friday, May 18, 2007 10:16:08 AM
Subject: ?

Wood - Please take a deep breath and do not take this what I am about to report to you and/or bring up as a personal attack, criticism, or anything else negative. Take it as food for thought, reflection, and as necessary, action. Please remember that we are in this together - we're a team of three now.

Teacher told me about [Twig and] the lollipop issue this morning. She in fact did take his lollipop and throw it away yesterday afternoon. It had to do with behavior again and by behavior she means his general disposition. On his bad days (and they are not constant) he does not listen to the teachers, he hits pushes, kicks, and refuses to share with the other kids, and reacts to most interactions (someone accidentally bumping in to him, requests from other kids to to play, direction from adults) extremely swiftly, very strongly, and with an intense rage that she said she has not really seen in other children before.

This is normal child-like behavior. This is what kids do. However, when she explained to me the specifics of Twig's behavior (especially yesterday's) the way that you and I have been interacting for some time now, flashed before me. I could see him doing it and it reminded me of how we Bicker (Merriam Webster defines Bicker as petulant quarreling) - when we talk we both are quick to respond, we each do so with tone (not humorous), the conversation is often labored, usually intense, and many times angry. Even if it is not meant to be any of those things or if we each do not feel any of those things, that is how Twig is interpreting our interactions. He's taking it all in, processing it in his two year old minds eye, and giving back what he sees as the appropriate way that people respond to and interact with one another.

He is all of those things because he's of us, with us, and programmed (as all children are) to become like us. This is not new information. And neither is the fact that we've been struggling with our own behavior issues in our individual, couple, and parenting lives for a while now. Please shake off that 'I'm such a horrible parent, awful person, bad husband' feeling. Just stop. NOW. You are a good parent, a great person, and a fabulous husband. You are smart, hardworking, loyal, overworked, overburdened, intense, and loved by Twig and me more than you could ever imagine.

Honey, this is a subject I just wanted to bring to our attention for continued pondering. Please don't fret too much on this. It is one of those things that is going to plague us for the rest of our lives - at least for the rest of our lives as parents. Maybe it's even a talking point. Nonetheless, an issue that we both need to consider. We owe it to ourselves, and to our son, to at least try to figure out how to appropriately and effectively adapt our behavior for the betterment of his - now and always.

I love you.

Wonelle

Addict

The Husband has left for work and the kid is sleeping. The 17 year old beast that has been INCESSANTLY howling as if she were in heat all night - ALL NIGHT - is still at it. There are things that I must do to ensure a seamles and on-time transition from home to daycare to school this morning. However, the computer has been calling my name for days and days and days. Ever since I wrote about my 10 Minute Hall Pass yesterday, I can't get the possible sentences to stop prancing along the place in my mind where imagine things that could have, would have, or should have been. It's kinda scary, this need, this urge, this desire to write. And here I am, after saying I wouldn't, writing in secrecy. Just like a junkie.

10 Minute Hall Pass

We're ready to walk out the front door to begin our day, just like any other weekday. Except that it's 6:30am and we don't normally leave the house until 7:40am. Hmmm, I wonder how safe it is to broadcast on this here blog what time I leave the house to spend more than 8 hours away - hey there's no address posted anywhere here...

Why are we ready to walk out the door at 6:30am? Twig was awake this morning before the 5am alarm and when it chimed at 5:00 it merely ensured that there would be no more sleeping. Wood was gracious enough to let me adjust my attitude about the unwanted early rising time - alone, in bed - before he left the house.

Besides the fact that I married such a fabulous man, the silver lining is that I am Writing. Okay, you're right, I'm actually Blogging. But hey, it's been more than a week of using an old-fashioned ink pen to write simple notes to pre-school teachers and a few birthday/mothers day cards. All I've been using the computer for is the most mundane of activities - composing billing related emails to contractors or spelling out policies and procedures for my staff of 7. Not terribly exciting activities.

I do miss writing about the day to day activities of my household and the things and ways that my brain chooses to process them. Between work, a litany of family birthdays, Mother's day, and preparing for Wood leaving for this coming weekend, it's been kinda hectic around here. But it's been really good too.

Perhaps it's the lack of quality time spent with Keyboard and Flatscreen as of late that's been helpful. To Wood's surprise - and pleasure - several times this week when I was faced with choosing between writing, watching television, or some other quiet alone time activity, I chose the brain sucker.

I don't really know what's making things better but he's happier and by default, so am I. I don't entirely care what it is. What I do know and care about is that life has been pretty damned good here lately. I want it to stay this way.

See you again when I can.

Dennis Leary - I'm an Asshole (Uncensored)

Hiatus

My blogging is causing a rift. A huge, resentful, horrible rift.

It's not new information. But this is: whenever I sit at the computer, I am then an absent parent who lives on another planet, disinterested in her family and the goings on around her.

Writing in secrecy is not feasable. Until hubbie and I can work it out, I must take some time off.

The Reality Is...

Way back in 2000, I asked a friend from college to whom I had been quite close and active with in political matters to be a personal reference. He had this to say about my request:

I will do as you ask.

I could never refuse you.

Although if they ask me about [you] I will be truthful.

You are a disobedient wench who refuses to submit to the perverted whims of her master (as Vice Chair, you should have given in to my unrelenting demands for sexual favors).

You have the patience of a drunken sailor fresh from the brig released into a whorehouse on freebie night.

You are as dainty and charming as Torquemada the Grand Inquisitor of the Spanish Inquisition.

But, I will add that you will support anyone you believe in until the end of the world, and you are kind of cute.

Miss you.

When I first read the email, I laughed out loud and thought "HA! That shit is hilarious!" And I can see you - you're laughing too, holding your gut, shaking your head, saying "yes, yes!"

The personality traits this friend describes are ones that I have always struggled with. Actually, I don't remember a time when I wasn't confronting or attempting to temper these parts of myself. And I can count on my left hand the number of people that I've known in my lifetime who openly appreciate - even revel in - my unwillingness to be quiet and demure merely for the sake of convention. On the surface I look and even act a bit conservative and pedestrian, but I'm actually pretty liberal and quite loyal. They're strengths and weaknesses all wrapped up into one big complicated package.

You're shaking your head, agreeing out loud again...

Beginners Mind Part II

I wrote yesterday's post, Beginner's Mind, in about 10 minutes. I should have been driving Twig to Pre-School but the past couple of days have been extra, extra difficult to manage. I hit publish with a very cursory review of the words, only to ensure that basic sentence structure was correct and that the concepts weren't too confused.

A friend read the post and called to talk. During the work day and in-between meetings I sobbed on the phone to her: there is nothing in particular that's bothering me, it's everything. The entire family is in a bit of a crisis. On many occasions I can practice 'right mind'. But other times it's not so easy. We didn't get to talk for very long and the call was ended rather abruptly, considering the degree of emotion and the topic at hand.

It is disconcerting, this heavy pain, confusion, and isolation that I describe.

When I had a few moments alone before bed, I re-read the post.

Since then, I've been wondering:

Do my words, either written or spoken lead you to believe that the edge has become so close to me - that one day writing the blog or talking on the phone through the tears won't release enough of the pressure - that I will act in ways to ensure that things fall apart, broken, irreparable?

Do my words make me like my dead bi-polar father who refused to treat his disease? Am I refusing to see that I have a problem? If so, why? Because I don't want to be like my clinically depressed mother, who in my opinion, took (or takes?) antidepressants to manage deplorable situations?

Am I even slightly like my father and/or mother? I've always thought not. Maybe I'm wrong.

Am I depressed? Periodically, yes. Consistently and severely or intermittently and mildly? I don't know. Some degree of depression is normal right?

Do I need some form of formal treatment? Or am I just overly dramatic?

Feline Babies, Part 1

Little Foot the grey Tuxedo cat with a white belly and boots was born feral. He was found when he was probably only a few days old, near dead with his litter mates, sans mama. Some animal loving humans took him in, fed him with a bottle and gave him a chance to live.

His little Tuxedo yanked at my heart the moment I saw him in the pet store. Even though I knew the tugging was probably the pain of having just lost my Ms. Kitty to Radiator Fluid, I couldn't help but take him home to the first apartment where I lived alone, a converted garage behind a house in Hayward.

As soon as we got home he became Mr. Kitty. One of his nick names was "Little Lion". His legs were bowed and the way his body moved reminded me of a Lion on the savanna. He answered to just about anything that I called him though: Bub, Bubby Boy, Big Boy (because even after he was neutered he had the biggest balls!), Mama's Boy, Hunny Bunny Bubby Boy, and just about anything else that rhymes with the word 'Boy'. Oy!

He sleept under the covers with me cuddled up under my chin, purring and periodically licking or nibbling at my neck. When he was really comfy his tongue would stick out of his mouth ever so slightly. He just couldn't help any of it, having never really had a cat-mama to speak of. He spent a fair amount of time alone in that funky apartment in Hayward as I had to work full-time to pay the bills and was attending Junior College too.

Soon after Mr. Kitty came to live with me, I was accepted to Fresno State. We moved there and I started working on upper division units to complete my Bachelor's Degree. I was busy extra curricular activites and working to pay the rent and tuition. I spent a lot of time away doing all that stuff. When I was at home he stayed under the bed most of the time, didn't visit guests or just hissed at them, and was pretty much afraid of his own shadow. He was always a one person cat. He had issues.

Mr. Kitty and I were together for 16 years. He was a really sweet guy. I Miss him.

In the earliest days of College in Fresno, I didn't know too many people. Some burly bo-hunk of a jock that had befriended me (he actually was a right-wing christian missionary assigned to the College to lure young girls into Church with his good looks so as to save their souls) had some friends living in College sponsored housing who had been threatened with eviction because they had a kitten. Jock had been to my house and knew I had a cat. He had probably pegged me as a Crazy Cat Lady (as well as in need of soul-saving). And correctly too because the moment he told me that the cat was going to be sent to the pound (apartments are much harder to come by than cats after all), I said I'd take her. With not one ounce of hesitation, I agreed to take in the cat. No, that's wrong - I didn't agree to take the cat, I decided to.

A couple of days later, Jock arranged for me to go to the girls' apartment to pick her up. I would have never been invited to, nor willingly visited these girls or this apartment building under any other circumstance (much different worlds we all existed in). So I cautiously walk in the place and see a sweet and rather demure cat sitting on one of the dining room chairs. I thought "poor kitty," swooped her up and ran her home to Mr. K as quickly as I could.

This is Maggie. She came with the name and for some inexplicable reason it never seemed right to change it. She's also known as: Mistress, Mistress Maggie, Mama, Sweet Mama, Mama's Girl, Old Lady, or Maggit (tone, volume, and/or cadence dependent upon her behavior at any given moment, of course).

Maggie and I have been together for 17 years now.

This picture pretty much sums up her personality.

She's a piece of work.

Birds Of A Feather...

Beginners Mind

Yesterday I felt vaguely sad and slightly fragile. In the morning, Twig cried uncontrollably about not being able to take his baseball glove to school. We were running late to meet our deadlines and it weighed on me. As we meandered in the car along our usual path, he began to talk about Nemo again. He's very scared about Nemo going to the boat and even more scared about his Dad not being able to find him. Since we watched the movie, he now says "Don't go, Mommy". It's always in the context of our parting. It makes my insides flutter the way they did when I was a kid. It feels kinda like a tickle but it's really deep emotional anguish. He's two years old and as hard as I try to explain things to him, it's just not adequate. How do you express to your child that if they were ever lost you'd never stop searching for them? How do you tell them that if they were lost it would consume you possibly to the point of your own demise?

Today I feel very sad and extremely fragile. The day began with a mini-argument in the shower. That hurt-feeling hit my belly just moments later. Tears ensued in the hallway, during cereal, whilst dressing Twig. There is no consistent place or time that is easy any more.

My back hurts. My waistline is growing by the day. I miss Hubbie, Twig, and my former life. Old difficult patterns are beginning to re-emerge - again. All I want to do is sleep. I know what needs to be done and yet I feel consistently unable to be in charge and do it. I feel like a child trapped in an adult's body and that sucks because all I ever wanted when I was a child was to be a grown up, in charge of me and the goings on around me. I figured there would be less suffering. I figured wrong.

5 Notable Neighborhoods

I found Oakland Magazine about 6 months ago by accident and as soon as I did, was so excited about it that I decided to subscribe - for two years. I read every month hoping to find something or somewhere described in the pages as dare I say [ehchem] new and different to explore in this urban mecca. But every month I am somewhat disappointed.

The Zine can be read from cover to cover in about an hour (which is a drag in and of itself). But read three issues and you begin to see a trend: the magazine's primary focus is on advertising the hip-happenin'-expensive-see-or-be-seen places around the city. Almost every issue contains a review of a pricey College Avenue, Solano Avenue (this is not technically Oakland but it fits the previous description perfectly), or Piedmont Avenue Restaurant. And every issue devotes a fair amount of the rest of the pages available to activities that require a certain degree of privilege and hard cold cash to participate in (wine tasting, restoring homes in the more 'desired' neighborhoods, or attending local benefits for around $200 per plate, etc.). Even the advertising is directed toward certain people - those looking for a night out on the town, a good Realtor, or private schools - you know the drill.

I have been known to frequent those neighborhoods, to eat at those pricey restaurants or buy certain goods and services in those locales. I'll even admit that Wood and I rented an apartment a few short doorsteps off of Piedmont Avenue for a few years. I have been known to donate some of my 'extra' cash to charity. I went to a good suburban public school, Hubbie went to boarding school in High School, and we aren't shy about the fact that we want a great education for Twig. And yes, Hubbie and I want to 'restore' - even update - our 1938 bungalo. But reading Oakland Magazine sometimes makes me feel a little 'less than' everyone else. We just can't consistently afford the "Good Life" presented in the articles contained upon it's pages.

It may go without saying then, that when Wood and I were looking to buy a house in Oakland we searched high-and-low in all of the more 'desirable' neighborhoods. The ones with good schools, lower crime rates, even the up and coming places. We soon realized that we couldn't afford to buy in the neighborhoods we "wanted" to live in and have a reasonable quality of life at the same time. The one house that we did make an offer on (great neighborhood, great schools, great house) went to bidding-war and we had to bow out. So we expanded search. We found a fabulous affordable fixer/starter - with character - below Mac Arthur. It's nothing like Montclair.

We likely deal with a bit more uncertainty in our neighborhood when it comes to safety, break ins, theft, violence, etc. than in some of those regularly featured and revered districts of Oakland. This isn't a Rockridge experience. As our fabulous Real Estate Broker said of her West Oakland neighborhood; "It's Complicated here." We deal with more of the reality of day to day life in an urban city... There have been several murders within blocks of our house, our cars have been broken-in to on more than one occasion, and our neighbor across the street recently had his house broken into during broad daylight.

But we are a very diverse group. We are Black, White, Jewish, Hmong, Chinese, and Mexican - all on the same block. There are 12 houses on the street. Eleven are owner-occupied. We all know one another by name. Between everyone, there are 14 school aged children that live on our street. They play together. We know one another's work, home and cell phone numbers and don't hesitate to call if something is out of order. We eat meals together. We care for one another's pets when someone's on vacation. We look out for one another. Our neighborhood is Old-School.

People that frequent the other districts don't know much about ours. It's kinda fun to tell people that we live in the San Antonio District. They ask "where is that?" and we get to teach 'em something about the Town and tell them that it's below Mac Arthur between Highland Hospital and Fruitvale Avenue.

It's gritty, seedy, diverse, and full of activity in our neck of the woods. Yep, we thought that this was going to be a transitional neighborhood - we'd sort-of talked about planning to move to a locale with better schools and such when we needed to. But about a year ago, something really cool happened and it all changed. Farmer Joe's, a tiny Oakland institution of a grocery store at the corner of 35th Avenue and Mac Arthur expanded into a huge new location. As they constructed it, I told Wood and anyone else that would listen that this would be the turning point - our neighborhood was soon to be a destination.

A couple of weeks ago we learned that Peet's Coffee and La Farine are moving in right across the street from Farmer Joe's.

That ROCKS!

But hey, what's better than Peets and La Farine right across the street from Farmer Joes (all by the way, are within walking distance of my house)? Oakland Magazine was delivered to my doorstep yesterday and in it contains an article titled "Getting to Know You - Five Oakland Neighborhoods Worth Exploring". Ours is among those featured and considered to be a Gem.

So now it's confirmed and in writing: not only are we new and different - we're in this 'hood for the long haul.

Richard's Nick Name is...

----- Wonelle Writes to Hubbie ----
Sent: 4/27/2007 2:55:12 PM
Subject: Monday Night
My friends have asked to reschedule [our usual] Wednesday night [outing] to Monday. That kosher with you?

----- Hubbie Writes to Wonelle ----
Sent: Friday, April 27, 2007 3:04:36 PM
Subject: Re: Monday Night
NO. Monday is my night.

----- Wonelle [didn't but wanted to write] Writes to Hubbie ----
Sent: Friday, April 27, 2007 3:11:26 PM
Subject: Re: Monday Night

[Fuck off, Dick!] SOR-RY!

Technically, Monday and Tuesday are "your" nights. [You went out on Monday and Thursday, and you'll be out tonight and tomorrow and Sunday. But I got a guilt trip passed my way for going out on Wednesday for 3 hours while you and Twig were sleeping. Wonder how you'll behave when I get ready to leave to go buy a bra tomorrow?] I'm having a hard time keeping up with whosey-whatsy-whensy's schedule so that's why I'm asking before making solid plans [Why is it that you think I can remember everything all of the time and shouldn't ever need to re-clarify? Actually, that's not even it. It's that you're a bitch if I don't remember something or if you have to remind me when we're talking about the day's/week's events and how to organize it all. I'm just trying to talk to you about scheduling and it seems like you're angry at me when I do (this is not an isolated incident). I've only got so many brain cells and I'm juggling a lot too. DON'T BARK, I DON'T LIKE IT.]....

Would it be possible for you to reschedule Monday this coming week say for Thursday? [For fuck's sake, cut me some slack. I don't ask for that much time away and we need to be flexible with one another. Oh, and I hate that when this happens I feel like I'm asking a reluctant parent for permission to do something that's contrary to our family values or something. If it's that you want more time with me - say it, plan for it and make it so.]

[And one more thing. If you're teasing in the least, you need to do a much better job of conveying that.]

UPDATE:
I overreacted. That's one of the problems with email. You sometimes can't get the sarcasm or tone of someone's words in print. Especially the longer you've known and lived with the person. And when you both are on edge every time the other has something to say.