Hallowed Spirit

I have a few measures by which I judge a person's character.  And they're very simple:

1. Desert island movie picks (if Bill Murray or Best in Show are absent, there's a problem)

2. Country is part of your music library

3. Your ability to give a toast at special gatherings

4. Whether or not you enjoy dressing up for Halloween

To this last point--you either do or you don't.  There's no acceptable middle ground here.  The school at which I teach just wrapped up Homecoming Week--during which time students (and teachers) dress in a preset theme each day.  The teachers and students who enthusiastically dress for the occasion endear themselves to me in a way that cannot be rescinded.  Those who are too afraid of what others think, too lazy, or too uncreative have a difficult time making their way back into the center of my heart.

But why do people like dressing up?  I submit the following list of reasons while I sit and wait until it's time to slip into my Pink Ladies get up, paint my son's face green so he can continue to indulge his adorable Hulk obsession, and then head out to our trick-or-treating:

1. Pure Fantasy Indulging.  These costumes represent the best our culture has to offer--the Superheros (take your pick!--lotta Wonder Woman out there this year), Hot Celebrities (Marilyn Monroes, Rock Stars, and Superstar Athletes),  Supernatural Power (fairies, wizards), and the Power (kings, queens, princesses, etc.).  These costumes say, "I have a pretty normal life, but get to break out of that one day of the year and show you what I could be made of if genetics, lineage, talent, and gravity were not holding me down."

2. Horror Tradition.  These costumes represent the true spirit of Halloween: scare someone.  In this camp we see ghosts, witches, mummies, vampires, zombies, psychotic killers from 70s and 80s slasher films (Jason Vorhees, Freddy Kruger, and, my personal favorite, Michael Myers), as well as a whole genre of spookified (otherwise normal) things--a vampire nun or a zombie accountant, for instance.

3. Slut It Up. I would refer you to my earlier blog on this one, but you all know what I'm talking about.  For at least the last 30 years, Halloween has offered women a day to dress as a "sexy" anything and shrug their cute little shoulders, because, hey, "It's Halloween."  These costumes divide into a whole nuther list of subdivisions, but to keep it simple, make the costumes tight, low cut, with short skirts and we have: the Classics (cat, devil, angel, bunny, nurse, chambermaid, schoolgirl), the inanimate (crayon, beer keg, M&M, etc.) and the Irony (nun, military, doctor, baby)--we may even have a "sexy" Hilary Clinton in this category this year, if such a thing is possible.

4. Mocking.  This, my favorite category, provides the funniest and most creative costumes.  When people have a social purpose to their Halloween attire, great things happen.  Get ready to see A LOT of Trump jokes--mostly having to do with his toupee, no doubt.  Political figures really take a blow on Halloween, and well they should.  Celebrities also weather their fair share of mockery on this night. Where people really shine in this category is by unabashedly using their children:

And with that (and probably illegally posted pics--but if Google can give them to me, I can probably put them here, right?), it's time to get dressed.

Hope you all have a Happy Halloween and find it in your hearts to dress up--for one of the listed reasons above, or another of your own choosing.

Broken Concentration

The iPads have officially become a problem.  They're distracting for nearly everyone, but she was the hold out--maybe the ONE person in class who had not succumbed to its power.  Lately, that has changed.
        I've always feared this day because it means there is no hope.  
       The first to fall were those who would have fallen without the iPad.  The students who gaze out the window, text on their phones, or write notes to keep themselves busy during the 85 minutes they refuse to pay attention.
       The next batch were truly lured.  Normally attentive, they simply could not refuse the temptation to check emails and grades, and "multi-task" during the class period.  This group frequently will click or swipe to hide geometry graphics or conjugation charts as a teacher approaches.  And in their minds, what they're doing is totally justifiable.
       But this last group to fall, to yield to the intoxicating glow of the iPad screen is the back-breaking straw.  These are the ones who MAKE the class function--without which there would be no class discussion, no As on tests and essays, no excitement and enthusiasm to the activities.
       On Tuesday, I approached her desk and saw the familiar full screen swipe--the tell tale sign she was not on task and trying to hide what she was occupied with before I could see it.  Then, on Thursday, during class discussion, her eyes were on the screen more than they were on anything else. Her typing and swiping giving away her disengagement--her utter and total lack of investment in the class's debate about Gawain's completion of the Heroic Journey.
       It has to stop.  We have to take the iPads away from the teachers.
     

"Spark of Madness": On Losing Robin Williams

I don't remember the first time I saw him.  It might have been on Mork and Mindy--I was born in 1977, after all.  But I cannot remember a time when I didn't love him.  It probably started with Popeye, which, incidentally I forced Emily to watch today.  Pretty sure my viewing trajectory followed with Good Morning, Vietnam, Dead Poets Society, Awakenings, Aladdin, Mrs. Doubtfire, Nine Months, and The Birdcage, (Jumanji, while released at this time I did not see until many years later).  That takes me through high school.  And, in addition to that, I remember his involvement in Comic Relief with Whoopi Goldberg and Billy Crystal.  I'm sure he was on SNL a few times when I used to watch it live, as well.

So, on August 11th, at about 4pm, when my friend informed me that "Robin Williams is dead," I told him to "shut the f*** up."  When he lifted his iPad and showed me the news story, I said, "Get the f*** out of here.  How did he die?"  When he said, "It looks like he killed himself," I physically assaulted him.  At which time he took me in his arms and said, "It's not your fault."  I acknowledged the joke and said, "I know, I just can't believe that."  To which he responded (of course); "It's not your fault."

On the point of his suicide, I have only a serious and, perhaps, unanswerable question: Why at age 63, when you've gone through God knows how many counseling sessions and 12-step programs, would you hang yourself?  Doesn't it seem like a thing to do three decades earlier when you don't have nearly the scope and perspective of someone who has been struggling with addiction and depression his whole  life?

Meanwhile, let's resume his "dramatic" career, which if I may say, was part of his best work: Good Will Hunting, What Dreams May Come, Patch Adams (the REAL guy this movie was based on was a freak--Robin Williams turned him into a hero), Jakob the Liar (never saw), Bicentennial Man (never saw), Artificial Intelligence (never saw), One Hour Photo, Death to Smoochy, Insomnia.  I mean, seriously, at this point, none of us knew who "Robin Williams" was anymore, right?  BUT, they were good movies, nonetheless.

Then, he went on to make about 20,000 other movies you may or may not have seen.  My favorites happen to be DPS, Awakenings, Aladdin, The Birdcage, and Good Will Hunting.  The thing is, Robin Williams was exactly what you wanted him to be.  When you needed a clown, he was a clown.  When you needed a humanitarian, he was a humanitarian.  When you needed a freak, he was a freak.  He was that worst and best part of all of us, and we are all eternally grateful to him for that.

RIP Robin Williams.  We ALL loved you.

Whatever It Takes: One Woman's (Albeit Skittish) Commitment to Achieve Pre-Baby Weight, So Help Me God.

**NOTE** 

Due to the extended nature of this project, this blog is fashioned to read with the most current material first and follow chronologically backward--both for whatever readers would ever be interested in such a thing, and for me--as to not have to scroll down forever to update.

COVID REBOOT--DAY 4 (4/29/20)
163.2
A little bit of movement in the right direction is a good thing.  Finally, after 5-6 weeks of the "Shelter in Place" order (which I've come to affectionately refer to as "quarantine"), I stopped eating every stray carb I brushed off of another carb I was eating.  Perhaps it's the Zoom prayer groups I'm regularly attending--and the amazing fellowship therein--but I feel less compelled to eat my feelings these days.  I replaced grilled cheese sandwich crusts, myriad pasta shapes, ice cream, and cookies we bake every week with salad and fruit mostly.  I have also been religiously faithful in walking at least a few miles every day.  It's become as necessary as breathing air.
If I could start drinking water with any regularity, you might not recognize me ;-)

I'd like to think the drop of two pounds in three days is somewhat attributable to mindful choices about food and movement.   Deliberate actions I am taking to move toward a life I want to be living.

As God would have it, this day didn't end as well as it started -- and I dove into a plate of chocolate chip cookies my kids forced me to bake tonight.  Ok, I ate three.  It could be worse.  But then I ate Nestle Crunch ice cream.  And a piece of pizza.  I might "forget" to check my scale in the morning.

Tomorrow is another day.


COVID-19, SHELTER-IN-PLACE, DISTANCE LEARNING and COMFORT EATING (4/26/20)
165.0 (30 pounds to lose--25 would be just fine)
Hmmm, so, I'm in-process of writing a blog about the experience of living through a global pandemic (God willing!) and it occurred to me that this doesn't have to be a time of reckless self-indulgence just because I can only be seen through a small square on a Zoom screen.

By now, you know my capacity for ravenous consumption of processed sugar and carbs.  Well, that stops today.  Also, my "exercise" (should we really be so bold as to call it that) amounts to a 3-mile leisurely stroll with my dog once a day.  It's time to ramp that up as well.  Ugh :-)

Food Intake

Physical Exertion

POST-CHRISTMAS POST (NEARLY ONE YEAR LATER)
160-ish (not willing to get on a scale--but the last time I did, it was juuuuust below this) 
I could sum up by behavior over the last couple of months in four words: junk food vacuum cleaner.  While I have been running pretty faithfully every Tuesday and Thursday (about 3-4 miles each run), it has not been nearly enough exercise to battle the toxic waste dump I've allowed my gastrointestinal system to become lately.
I clearly do not have the self-discipline for a low-carb diet (the only thing that ever really works, mind you) and I DEFINITELY do not have the drive to increase my physical activity.  Soooo, we'll test out my former personal trainer's philosophy on food intake: "Breakfast like a queen; lunch like a princess; dinner like a pauper."
I also attribute some of my weight gain to losing my last Fitbit to a watery death in my washing machine.  Not having the wearable reminder of my sloth has probably had implications.

Food Intake
Starbucks toffee nut latte (grande) --another addiction!
Bowl of Honey Bunches of Oats
Super Veggie Baby Burrito & chips
Kettle Corn and pieces of kids candy (Pitch Perfect 3)
Pretty sure I had a piece of left over pizza at some point during the day as well.
See!-->GARBAGE DUMP

THE RARE "LEAP" DAY (2/29/16)
150.2

Humph.  So it goes.  You start drinking water and eating food again and the pounds pile back on like football players claiming a fumbled ball.  Ok--so the final 10.2 lbs it is.

Food Intake
Not much, except toffee nut lattes from Starbucks (two, to be exact).
And then whatever the heck I could get my hands on when I returned home from work.
Then dinner.

Physical Exertion
Pretty typical work day with no effort to work out or do walking errands.  Did manage, however, to accrue 11K steps on the Fitbit today.  Not the worst start to my Workweek Hustle challenge :-P


DAY BLAH BE DE BLAH (2/21/16):
147.3
Now we're getting somewhere!! 15 lbs lost since returning from Malta in August--and nearly a mere 7.3 lbs away from "pre-baby weight."  What accounts for this victory, you ask?  Treating my body like a punching bag during a Mom's Night Out last night helped a little because my body, in furious revolt, decided to expel anything not nailed down in there.  And the revolution rages on today.  This number won't stick--it's merely due to empty stomach and dehydration, BUT it was nice to see it, however fleeting it may be.  However--the more accurate number is 150--the 10 lbs I HAVE truly lost are entirely due to a reduction of calorie intake.  The more I experiment with these weight-loss endeavors, the more I realize the truth behind the adage (that doesn't really exist) that it's 90% food intake, 10% exercise.

DAY SEVENTEEN.2 (10/10/15):
153.4
Haven't seen this number in a long time.  The majority of the credit goes to my severely reduced appetite at work.  Busy like a bee and not devoting time to eating in order to get work done.  Hey--whatever works.

Food Intake:
Seared ahi salad and diet coke at BJ's (took the kids for lunch after Emmy's soccer game).  Okay, and if I'm being honest, we can add a few fried mozzarella sticks and some shoestring french fries off the kids' plates.  Damn it.

Physical Exertion:
Running around soccer game, cheering (in part), but mainly trying to keep warm.  It was flippin' freezing for the 8:30am game today.  Only 4669 steps on the Fitbit so far today.  Gotta get moving if I'm going to match my 22K tally yesterday!

DAY ONE.2 (9/24/15):
Can't count days because it's more than a year later.  Can only BEGIN AGAIN!  Story of my life.
156.1
Last time I stepped on a scale (earlier in the week!) I was at 161--so this is a pretty significant drop given the time frame.  Admittedly, I've traded in the wine for vodka and Pellegrino with Crystal Light flavoring.  Unlike my last "commitment" blog--this is merely to do with weight loss.  We'll focus on wellness later.  Be patient.
Leaving tonight for a 20-year high school reunion and funeral across the country, and will make greatest effort to be physically active (walks, playground time--maybe even waterskiing if I get a wild hair).

Food Intake:
Today, nothing so far (6:18pm)--again--wellness is not our goal.  The lack of food today has nothing to do with an effort to not eat, but being so consumed with things at work that I forgot.  But it will probably help the scale number tomorrow to an extent.

Physical Exertion:
So, far I've registered nearly 9500 steps on the Fitbit--just over half of my daily goal (15K).  I'm sure mental and emotional exertion count for some calorie usage--right?

*********************************************************************************
DAY TWENTY-THREE (8/27/14):
156.0
Alright--feelin' some progress.  My problem is that I'm limiting my food intake so much during the day that by the time I get home in the afternoon I'm starving.  Like, to the point that I can excuse nearly any food item--certainly red wine, left over tortellini from the childrens' dinner, and a spoonful or two of chocolate ice cream seem utterly deserved after the breakfast of Light & Fit greek yogurt and the Kind bar I ate at lunch.  However, as most people know, the later one eats, the less chance of burning the calories and the greater chance of increased fat storage and cholesterol.

Food Intake:
black coffee
banana
Dannon Light & Fit Greek Vanilla Yogurt
3/4 cup of Cracklin' Oat Bran cereal mixed in with the yogurt
Kind bar (dark chocolate & almond)
a LOT of eggsalad
1/2 avocado
a couple of pieces of watermelon

Physical Exertion:
I registered 13K+ steps on my Fitbit, but I think I register a few steps while I'm driving to and from work that shouldn't be there, but I did go on a decent walk in the evening with Joey in the stroller.  This level of physical "exertion," however, is by no means enough to offset the caloric intake, however reduced it may be.


DAY THIRTEEN (8/17/14):
159.0
Still movin' in the right direction--after that circus and birthday party debacle, who could deny the goddess of dieting is on my side?

Food Intake:
Greek omelette, english muffin, and black coffee at Baywatch Cafe
2 slices of pizza at Pump It Up (4-year-old birthday party, I swear)
A smidgen of birthday cake that I was primarily feeding my 15 month old
Afternoon snack of 1/2 cup sugar snap peas, 5 cherry tomatoes, and 2 tbsp of hummus
Trader Joe's Mozzarella and Tomato Salad for dinner
more wine

Physical Exertion:
This would have been unspeakably greater had my son not slept through the birthday party at Pump It Up.  He woke up just in time for pizza and cake, though.  Of course.
I did manage a 30-minute elliptical work out afterward (3 miles, 350 cals) and a walk to and from Burlingame--a grand total of 20K+ steps registered on the Fitbit today.  Doin' alright.


DAY TWELVE (8/16/14):
159.1
It has taken two weeks to see some scale movement in the right direction, and, to be fair, I was pretty much eating whatever I wanted for the first 8 days or so of this endeavor.  Knowing, as I do, that food intake is pretty much everything when it comes to weight loss, I finally have taken some proactive steps to curb my eating and maximize the food calories I am taking in (so I can drink a glass of red wine or two).  I'm also drinking vastly more water.  The Fitbit is great in this capacity, as it allows me to log my food (with substantial ease) and my water intake as well.  The big challenge today will be taking Emily to the circus and avoiding the food, while allowing Emily to eat fun things like cotton candy and popcorn.

Food Intake:
black coffee
1 scrambled egg
1 slice of bacon
1 container of Dannon Light & Fit; Fit Greek Vanilla yogurt
(breakfast totalling a mere 185 calories)

Okay, here's where things get sad.  Let's just say, I have no will power and leave it at that.
Circus
3/4 of "Em's" chicken tenders and fries
glass of merlot
7/8 of "Em's" cotton candy
Relative's 40th b-day party (catered by Armadillo Willy's for Christmas' sake)
An entire corn bread muffin with that scrumptious cinnamon butter
baked beans
avocado and corn salad
and more wine

Physical Exertion: 
a small walk to downtown San Mateo to buy paper towels.  Just cleared 10,000 steps on the fitbit today.

DAY THREE (8/7/14):
162.1
This is why my friends insist, "Don't weigh yourself every day!"  To which I am forced to respond that for better or worse, I have to continue to heed the scale.  I'm not an idiot.  I know the demoralizing potential of getting too wrapped up in what the silly electronic contraption is reporting, but if I take my focus off the scale, then I stop caring about the whole enterprise.  It's just another motivator, especially when the number continues to climb in these early days.  The bastard.

Food Intake:
Left over chicken tenders (2)
packet of Buddig Beef
string cheese
two wedges of canteloupe
2 handfuls of Cracklin' Oat Bran
black coffee (as if it matters after that breakfast!!)
Thus, I've allowed myself about 400 calories for the rest of the day.  It's 10:00am.

Physical Exertion:
6-mile WALK (lest I break my knee cap this time--I think it's best we build back up to the running gradually).
The good news is that the Fitbit replacement tracker I ordered yesterday arrived this morning!!  I have another "assistant" in my endeavors.  My daily step count today totaled over 25,000 steps :-)


DAY TWO (8/6/14):
161.6--while on the surface this would appear to be progress, I believe I weighed in yesterday morning at the same time at 161.1, so I am actually up .5 lbs from the same time yesterday morning.  I blame myself, of course, for my "self pity" calorie intake that occurred post exercise-attempt injury.  I start this morning with black coffee (blech!) and figure we'll make it a fasting day to renew this project.  Any religious exercise includes fasting and prayer--both of which seem necessary and appropriate today.

Food Intake:
I successfully fasted until about 1:30, having only consumed black coffee.  While my son was napping, I broke the fast with two handfuls of salted almonds.  Once my son awoke from his nap, I snacked with him vacuuming 2 slices of colby jack cheese, 1 slice of provolone, a slice of avocado, and 1/3 of a delicious plum.
I finished the evening with six boneless buffalo chicken nuggets (thank you, Safeway) and two glasses of chardonnay.  Humph.
I've never been a good faster--one reason anorexia was never a possible solution for me in high school when so many of my female friends and acquaintances were abstaining from food for weight loss/maintenance reasons.  Instead, I need a diet like Paleo or Atkins or South Beach that says, "Go ahead--eat however much you want, but only of THESE specific items!!"

Physical Exertion:
4.5 mile walk with the stroller
playing "sports" in the backyard with Joey

DAY ONE (8/5/14):

162.2 (after breakfast and a doctor appointment that solidified this project)

Tuesdays are a weird day to start any sort of commitment, but if I put it off another week, I might have five more pounds to add to the "drop" amount.

Pre-Doctor Appointment Food Intake:

pita chips and black bean hummus (breakfast of champions!)

bowl of Cracklin' Oat Bran with 2% milk

coffee with fat free hazelnut creamer

plum

Post-Doctor Appointment Food Intake:
pita chips and basil and sundried tomato hummus (damn that stuff!)
kettle corn
chocolate velvet cupcake
wine
(see note about "Physical Exertion" below, please)

Physical Exertion:

So, this is interesting.  About 6 steps into my run at the Sawyer Camp Trail this afternoon, my knee buckled and I fell to the ground with the full force of 162.2 pounds.  I landed predominantly on my left hand and my left knee (not sure why).

My knee was shielded with running pants, but still slammed against the concrete in a way that led me to   believe I might not be able to complete the 6-mile run I'd intended.  So what did I do?  I looked to my right to see a woman sitting on a bench pretending not to have seen a thing.  I looked directly ahead and read a woman's lips (I still had my headphones blaring): "Are you okay?"  "Yep," I said and put my ghastly hand up to show her all was hunky dory.  Then I drove home, poured myself a glass of cabernet to mute the pain, ate things I knew I would be giving up in the months to come, and watched an episode of Masters of Sex.  I'll start this mutha tomorrow.

INITIAL RATIONALE:
I was a skinny kid.  And by skinny, I mean my knees were about twice the circumference of my thighs.   The kind of skinny where a pre-pubescent girl wears bathing suits with no self-conscious thought whatsoever.  The kind of skinny where this same girl wears the shortest shorts imaginable because it's the Eighties and she hasn't gotten new hand-me-downs from her older sister in over a year.  This thinness was, in part, due to genetics--my grandparents, my parents, all four of my siblings and most of my cousins shared the same body type.  It was also due to the fact that my Dad exhibited a food phobia that trickled down through my older siblings to me and my younger brothers.  The extremists in the family feared any food that contained the slightest hue of green or brown.  I was named "Piglet" in my infancy because of my deviant ability to consume fruits and vegetables with which my older siblings and my father would not share the same room space.  My food aversions mainly centered on any food I could not readily identify.  Soups or casseroles that had myriad ingredients were summarily avoided, for instance.  I recall my best friend's mother fearing I would starve to death on her watch when I would politely, but consistently refuse any food she tried to serve me.  So, again, I was a skinny kid.

My body shape changed around age 16 when honest-to-god puberty raged and the "experimenting," or, as some call it, "alcoholic" behavior set in.  I hauled aboard dozens of pounds with every case of Milwaukee's Best and case of midnight munchies that so often plagues teenagers like the one I was.  Because of my height (5'9'', and thank God for it!) and Dunnington good looks, I still managed to feel "pretty," despite my size 12.  By the time summer ended before my junior year of college, I was weighing in at 180 and wearing a size 14.  I distinctly remember returning to school and my best friend gasping before she could help herself, "Oh my God, what did you do to yourself?!"  I told her, quite candidly, I spend the summer working at Applebee's, in the kitchen, picking off the line all day, and avoiding exercise entirely.  How could I be to blame under those circumstances?

By the next summer, I was nearly back down to fighting weight--about 145--just from walking to class several times a day, and not working the line in the Applebee's kitchen.

If we fast forward 10 years (yes, thank you!), we would find me at 145 in my first trimester of pregnancy with Emily.  At that point, I was up about 7 pounds from the day I was married roughly 6 months before (4/18/2009).  In this pregnancy I would gain 40 pounds--15 more than my obstetrician wanted me to.  After a rigorous commitment to "breast is best," I shed 30 pounds quickly in the first few postpartum months--giving me ten extra pounds clinging for dear life when I embarked on my second pregnancy journey two years later.  I only gained 30 pounds with Joey, but only lost 20 in the postpartum months.

So, here we go, those of you out there who for some reason or another are still wading through this post!

In a similar fashion to my earlier post about a wellness commitment--I will be logging my progress herein until I have achieved 135-140 pound range.  While my first wellness kick had more to do with generally being "well," this journey has ONLY to do with physical fitness--thinness, if we're really being honest.  If I do not proceed publicly, this enterprise will fall flat on its round cheeks with the full force of 162.2 pounds behind it.  Let's commence, shall we:

Ahab's Daughter: On Detesting Pet Fish

Moby Dick seeks thee not. It is thou, thou, that madly seekest him! --Herman Melville

When my husband suggested buying a fish aquarium for my daughter's fourth birthday this year, I probably rolled my eyes.  Having never had them as a child because my family subscribed to the philosophy of owning pets with which you can actually interact, I have never understood why anyone would want to own fish.  Moreover, while aquariums may provide some scenery in the doctor's office waiting room, it always strikes me as sad.  I actually feel sorry for the fish, evolved to exist in a vast ocean, river, or lake, confined to a few square inches of space with immutable scenery and food.

Let's talk about the food.  We have owned three fish now in the span of two months.  One has survived.  According to the pet store merchants (aka: aquarium life experts), we are "overfeeding" the poor things.  Of course we are.  How does one interact with a fish?  You feed it.  That's it.  That's all there is.  Flounder, our lone survivor, must be the piscine equivalent of the orchid--a virtually indestructible houseplant (although, I have been known to kill the latter).  As a result, the name "Flounder" will necessarily live on in our household as a ubiquitous symbol for that which perseveres against the odds and certain death--in short, that which cannot be destroyed: as in, "Emily really pulled a Flounder passing that test she didn't study for."  

I've secretly wondered if Flounder is not somehow responsible for the death of his fallen comrades.

We are waiting to set Flounder up with another victim, errr companion, until we feel more secure about our ability to feed fish without lethal consequences.  At this point Emily is reluctant to get attached.  She doesn't even want to name the new fish anymore after her first, Purple Rainbow (a yellow and white fish, of course), passed into that Big Ocean in the Sky.  After Purple Rainbow came Mickey--perhaps more reasonably named for the black marking on his tail that exactly resembled a Mickey Mouse head silhouette.  I had such high hopes for Mickey.  He/she (who the hell knows!) actually came to meet me when I looked in to check the survival rate.  He/she seemed so hearty and active.  The creature, whose gender we will never know (another flaw of the fish pet, I firmly believe), was, it turned out, just days away from a slow death of food-induced toxicity.  Not a pretty way to go.

I suppose there are (yet undiscovered) rewards to owning fish--a satisfaction akin to seeing a houseplant thrive, maybe.  But, really, at best, the payout seems to be the feeling of not killing something.  A mediocre "reward," methinks.  When the house pet becomes an activity in checking for signs of life, maybe it's time to consider the effects on the children.  It may, in fact, be time for a kitten.  A cat at least lets you know it can't stand you, and there's some recompense in that kind of certainty.

Baby Daze: Back in the Saddle of Infant Tyranny

A baby is an inestimable blessing and bother.  --Mark Twain

Ask my three-year-old what babies do and she will respond with some varied order of, "They eat.  And they sleep.  And they poop.  And they cry." It's such a simple life plan that anyone should wonder what could be so difficult about newborn care?  At five weeks postpartum with my second child, I'm submerged in the absolute rule of a tiny, helpless being--an experience that so easily and utterly faded from memory after my older child's infancy melted into toddlerhood.  Overall, I would say this second trip to the circus has been much easier--in that my husband and I are not bat shit crazy over every hiccough, sneeze, and gas pain cry.  There is, however, an attention demanded that is completely exhausting and that, if I'm being completely honest, sometimes invites the question, "Why did I want to have another child again?" 

"Breast is Best," They Say . . .

Breasts are a scandal because they shatter the border between motherhood and sexuality.  --Iris Marion Young

Let's just begin with the breastfeeding.  This mission, should you choose to accept it, enslaves you to the time frame of a teeny gastrointestinal system.  Every 2-3 hours, and at times more often, the baby needs to be fed.  There are women out there who have mastered the art of public breast feeding.  I am not one of those women.  The thought of being caught in public and having to feed my child is so unappealing to me that I will, at all costs, make sure it does not happen.  I remember a couple of wretched occasions wherein I had to nurse my firstborn in the car.  This time, I have planned my outings and ignored a screaming infant in order to be able to nurse in the privacy of my home.  To those women who can throw a blanket over their hungry baby and proclaim to the world "To hell with it," I salute you!  You make me and those around you uncomfortable, but I salute you nonetheless.

Sleep No More

The best cure for insomnia is to get a lot of sleep.  --W.C Fields

I have a theory that the true reason for Lady Macbeth's insomnia (and subconscious fascination with milk) was a restless infant that Shakespeare forgot to tell us about.  The decision to nurse also means a decision to be sleep deprived.  No one can feed your child in the middle of the night for you.  This is not to say that midnight and early morning feedings are not disruptive to my husband's sleep--I'm sure they are--but it's not nearly the same level of disruption, right?  It's the difference between being aware of the screaming child at the back of an airplane and actually having that child sitting on your lap.  I'll admit it--I LOVE to sleep.  It's one of my favorite things to do.  At present my rest is broken with 3am and 5am feedings--motivated only with necessity and made bearable with I Love Lucy and The Golden Girls reruns.  And while "sleep while the baby sleeps" may be words of wisdom to help someone avoid the insanity of sleep deprivation--I don't know how anyone with an older child or house to run can actually follow this advice.  Therefore, mom's increasingly nutty, but the bills are paid and laundry smells great!

**I will mention here that in neither of the two areas above have I ever garnered sympathy from my parents (who, incidentally, had FIVE children over the span of 11 years).  On a visit to Virginia during my oldest child's infancy I remember my mother, after a pronounced "Ugh," asking "How long are you going to do this [read: breastfeeding nonsense]?"  Evidently, she was tiring of the backward planning required when adhering to a command feeding schedule.  On the second point, I recall her saying around the same time, "Well, you kids either never cried in the middle of the night, or we never heard you."  God bless the stock of previous generations.

There Will Be Poop

Politicians and diapers should be changed frequently, and for the same reason.  --Eca de Queiros

Having successfully potty trained my daughter months ago, I did not begrudge the loss of diapers.  The infant tyranny emerges in this area for a few reasons, but not the least of which is the dreaded diaper rash!  Along with hunger and gas, this affliction must be in the top five reasons why babies cry--so, the call to change the diaper is frequent.  To all those moms out there (there must be a few of you!) who choose to diaper your child with cloth, I again salute you and your efforts to save this planet as I simultaneously counteract your benevolence with every 50-pack of disposable diapers I burn through.  I realized with some horror yesterday that we had ONE diaper left in the house.  To feed, dress, change, and load up the baby in time to drive to a store and buy another pack before he needed to be changed again was not within the realm of possibility, so I enlisted the help of my angelic mother-in-law who ran to Walgreens for me :-)  Thus, the tyranny extends itself beyond this kingdom and into the universe at large.

Cry Me a River

I don't know why they say "You have a baby."  The baby has you. --Gallagher

They say "Misery loves company."  Well, being an infant cannot be easy.  Let's just take the journey out of the womb, for starters.  You leave a place that's warm, dark, cozy and quiet.  A place where you float in euphoric dependence--where all of your needs are met without the slightest bit of effort.  You enter into a place that's freezing cold, blindingly bright, horrifyingly open, and disastrously loud.  And if you've been born vaginally, all of this has been achieved only after you've banged your head a few hundred times against a wall and then squeezed out of a hole one-tenth the size of your body.  All of a sudden your body has to WORK.  Your lungs have to breathe (ouch!), your esophagus has to swallow (choke), your bowels have to move (arrrgh).  You'd cry your ass off!

     There's something unignorable about the infant's cry--and this is clearly to secure survival.  It is the only  tactic the infant has in this new abominable world.  One of the weirdest jokes God played on man was to give him an utterly helpless, constantly dependent being and deprive the latter of any clearer form of communication than the ability to cry.  Babies cry because they're hungry, too full, tired, bored, overstimulated, gassy, too hot, too cold, itchy, malpositioned, irritated by clothing, naked, dirty, being washed--really for any possible state of human condition that does not directly mirror life in the womb.  The fun part is the guessing game for the caretaker who believes it is his or her obligation to stop the crying once it has commenced.  And it's in the time and energy devoted to this quest for serenity that an infant's tyranny has the most sway.  In my experience, nothing gets done as long as the baby is crying.  My poor daughter has ill-timed some personal need of hers when the baby is screaming for one reason or another and has met with, "I can't help you until I get the baby settled down."  In her infinite patience, she will slink off to either develop her skills of self-reliance, or wait until the hissy fit has abated.  In truth, I'm not sure I could, over a lifetime of instruction, ever cultivate in her the quality of patience that a month-old infant can foster in a couple of weeks.  She, like I, has absolutely no say in the matter.

So, we will continue to press on under the rule of the tiny dictator.  As he becomes more accustomed to this world, his power will weaken.  He will begin to socialize himself with smiles and coos, and this is truly the beginning of the end for him--as his authority will slowly but surely yield to social conformity.

     

To Cheat or Not To Cheat?: Disney Doesn't Care

So, I'm trapped in my house on a pretty day grading mildly horrible analytical essays on Frankenstein that, yes, I brought on myself.  Emily's Disney Channel cartoons from the morning have evolved from the preschool, educational shows that I can actually tolerate (Jake and the Neverland Pirates, Mickey Mouse Clubhouse, and Doc McStuffins) to the slightly older target audience of "Good Luck Charlie."  Although these shows focus on high school life, no teenager actually watches them--they truly are meant for kids in 2nd or 3rd grade at the oldest.  

I was able to ignore the show for the majority of the 30 minutes it wastes as mere "background noise," until the very end when a panicked boy asked his mother to assess a dress he made for his (art?) class.  The dress, comically enough, was made from candy wrappers and ribbons and construction paper--yet functionally wearable by the four-year-old model he used to help him construct it.  The next scene shows the boy in a classroom with his teacher (poised with her gradebook and pen in hand, ready to assess his project).  He shows off a cute, sleeveless sundress while he narrates how the young girl wearing it will be both free to move and dance while adhering to the highest fashion trends of the top (pre-pubescent?) divas.

The teacher, clearly impressed, discusses the fine attributes of the dress--the "clean lines," "excellent fabric choice," and "elegant design" of the pattern.  At this moment, he picks up the girl model and the teacher notices a price tag sticking out of the back of the dress.  "Is that a price tag?" she asks.  He admits that, yes, it is a dress he bought rather than made himself.  The teacher sighs and scribbles in her gradebook while announcing, "Alright . . . B minus!"  
"Really?" he emits, incredulously, "because buying is a creative way to solve the problem?"
"No," she retorts, "because this is your third time in my class.  We're DONE." (insert laugh track)

So, here's my problem.  Before these viewers even come close to entering an academic environment in which they will be significantly challenged to think for themselves, to fail multiple times before succeeding, to exercise some shred of integrity in a world that makes it so incredibly easy to eschew, Disney is teaching one solid lesson: As long as you fail--or cheat--enough times, someone will merely push you through a system that ostensibly is set up to assess achievement.  In other words, there's no actual achievement necessary in order to pass a class or graduate a program or collect a degree. 

Now, for countless occupations (including blogging :-)), this lesson may not matter.  But what happens in twenty years when our western world is peopled with aspiring and practicing doctors, lawyers, financial advisors, engineers and architects who have absorbed through their earliest media digestion that cheating is as valid a method of achievement as actually learning content or acquiring competency?

Once Emily is sufficiently knowledgable with her shapes and colors and letters and numbers, we'll switch over to the Discovery Channel or National Geographic where she will learn true lessons about what happens when you're NOT the fastest animal in the African savannah.

In the meantime, at least, Disney will furnish me with fodder about which to blog :-)