Friday, March 31, 2006

Ah, how I loves a good discussion


I frequent Blogging Baby, a "blog" with parenting relating items, which can include celebrity items, baby gear, pictures, etc, etc. usually, it's all good fun.

Then items like this one come up. Blame Eden of course.

Now I'm all for people having their own opinions on stuff, having a good argument, etc, etc.

The item is about a 10 year old boy having his mouth taped shut by his teacher. The first time i read that, I was slightly confused, then really really bothered. Then the opinions started coming. Stuff like "I was paddled as a child, I'm fine" or "That's what kids today REALLY need"

Our generation, the last to really be physically disciplined in any broad manner, are the ones raising these kids who "need a whoopin"-so what does that say about us? What does that say about the usefulness of physical punishment? See articles such as this. Did it work on any of us?

For the most part, my parents relied on being good and loving parents, with firm boundries and guidelines to keep me in line. I remember once being spanked for pulling the cat's tail. I did not gain any new respect or love for the cat, but I did then fear my mother greatly. It put a distance between us that, in light of circumstance, I wish wasn't there. Besides, getting scratched by the cat was QUITE enough to teach me the logical consequence of my actions. But I suppose my mother thought I was too young to learn that way.

She was also quite fond of a piece of wood that she had. Right across the knuckles. After she died, I had a few anger issues. And guess how the manifested themselves-HITTING. I was extremely aggressive, even when the situation was not. My idea of releasing tension was to take a round out of a wall or a fence. Not until a friend asked me, very NOT nicely, to stop hitting him, did I realize what I had been doing. I had been set up to feel that hitting people, hitting things was an appropriate way to convey or teach. Because while my mother could have thought about and used creative techniques, she resorted to what she was likely taught-spare the rod, spoil the child.

It didn't work. And the day that I lost it after getting no sleep, and I slapped my child, I realized that I was falling into that same trap. Watching her be scared of me, was almost more than I can bear, and I will always remember that.

So when I hear about a teacher, someone I would entrust my children to, taping a mouth shut, I become a little angry. It's wrong. It does not teach anyone anything. And just because it used to be like that, doesn't mean it's ok. I mean really, we could use the same argument for racism, sexism, bigotry, etc.

Why is it that increasingly, acting like adults is so NOT the proper thing?

Wednesday, March 29, 2006

Ah spring...a boring life update

Spring, with lovely smells of clean warm air, lovely days to poop, and the inevitable spring cold.


Figures. The mania (or whatever the hell it is) finally ends, and not only is my period here, I have a raving head cold.

Just one of the many reasons I remain an atheist.
On a good note, my faith in mankind was restored by a LOVELY lady from Freecycle leaving me 5 dogma free books on Dinosaurs yesterday. Vivian went absolutely nuts. And I felt better knowing that not everyone is a raving moron. Took the day off, thinking it would be the nice day. It was 7 degrees.

Today it's about 15. Sunny. And LOVELY.


I'm number 2 on the list to see the diagonostician. Thankfully. Because the more I just sort of "surrender" to this whatever it is, the worse it seems to get. I'm getting so bloody paranoid. I don't like it. I feel like I'm actually losing my mind slowly, and it's worse when you can feel it happening. It's always been my pet fear-going nuts. In fact, I resisted treatment for many years because I was deathly afraid of being committed. Because I know just how wacked out my head it. I just know how to play the game with these people. Then I wonder if I AM sick, or I've just read too much.

Man, I hope my kids aren't blessed with this. Got my referral for my tubal though. So hopefully, I can get off the pill and reduce my butt, since lord knows it's growing despite any effort I make. I hate looking in the mirror now, and I'm too exhausted to care most of the time.

Today, I looked. It wasn't pretty. Any idea how I can expand the day to fit exercise in, while I attempt to stay awake from lack of sleep?

But it's sunny, and my Octavia Butler books should be here soon. Could be worse.

Oh yeah, it can be. My MIL's mammogram found some spots. Here's hoping it's nothing. While I believe the Dorf could learn from the experience, I do not wish THAT kind of experience on anyone. Poor woman, she just lost her job, my FIL lost his job, both after a number of years.....what a shite year.

Friday, March 24, 2006

These are the Dave's I know I know.....

Ever have one of those days where you seem to run into your past everytime you turn a corner?

Today is one of those days. Now maybe it's because I've been walking around in a sleep deprived stupor (and it's not the kids-I suddenly have insomnia for some reason) but I swear that I've seen people today I haven't seen in almost 15 years. How in the HELL is my memory even that clear? Especially for people I didn't much like in the first place.

It really made me think about the memories I've left in the heads of others. I always wonder how I'm remembered, since the two people I "saw" weren't thought of in a good way.

First I saw 'Karen". Karen was a girl who I sorta grew up with. She lived down the street from me-her mother was on disability or something, her father rarely around, her 2 older, potsmoking, slightly scary in that oversexed way. As unattractive as the thought is, I think I was only friends with her to make my life seem better. She was angular, hard looking, like someone you can peg for being on some sort of social assistance. That sounds more terrible than it is.

Karen was one of those perpetually sad looking girl-bad acne for no reason, grew so fast she had stretch marks up her back. However, I didn't feel that bad for her, since she could eat whatever she wanted and not gain a pound.

I had a love hate relationship with Karen. She was my back up. Girls, you know you had back up too. If no one else wanted to hang out with me, there was always Karen. Good old Karen, who would be dust in the wind if someone "cooler" said "Hey!"

Just because I'm me doesn't mean I was totally immune to this shit as a kid.

The worst was just after my mother died. It was obvious that kids mother's felt sorry for me, and made their children invite me to their parties. I wasn't exactly party material. I was a dorky weird kid who said weird things and had no Mom. Who wants THAT at a party. Add to that my sheer bulk-I was about 5'5 in grade 6, and shaped like a linebacker. Not exactly girly.

But me being 11, I threw these party invitations in Karen's face, making it like I was suddenly popular. I remember in particular being at a "cool" girl's house, and making fun of Karen out the window as she rode her bike. Karen stopped, and yelled up at me,

"They only invite you because your Mother died, and their mother's made them. They don't LIKE you."

It only hurt because it was so disgustingly true. 6 months after all this, as my weirdness only increased, no one talked to me other than Karen and a few other outsiders. It's likely good that I lived mostly in my own head at that point.

Seeing this woman who looked so much like Karen, the same tenseness in her shoulders, the tight hairstyle, the tauntness I've come to associate with her, I started feeling very, very badly. I was a horrible friend to a person who, while she may have never been anything special, never did anything to me. How does she remember me? Am I the girl who gave her some huge complex about herself, about her self worth?

Or am I the girl she never thinks about? Am I the girl who put her in therapy, who she'd slap if she saw? Is she uber successful now, and never ever thinks of me? Am I the terrible person I think I was?

The same day, I saw "Shane", a guy who looked exactly like the brother of someone I briefly dated in highschool. Sadly, I never gave him, or his brother enough credit. Aside from some terrible haircuts, and poor clothes, they were incredibly sweet boys, raised right with good hearts. I was always a little scared, a little attracted to Shane. But dating his brother was uncomfortable for me, as I was new to the town, and not really sure if he was my "type" (meaning, was I too good for him). Shane always seemed to read through this.

The guy I dated went on to make another girl very very happy, which made me smile sadly. Could I have deserved that? I always believed that he would have treated me that way, if I had of let him. But I never did, and his brother, Shane, hated me for that. Hated me for in some small way, breaking his heart. Rumours had passed that I had been messing around on him, which I hadn't been. I tried talking to them, but there's no way to talk to a dramatic 15 year old boy who thinks his honour has been ruined. He had looked at me with a certain light that he never shone in my direction ever again. I was too busy being convinced that no one would ever like me for ME, and generally tried pushing people away before they broke my heart.

I wonder if they both still hate me sometimes.

Am I the only person who wonders about what other people think of them, 15 years on?

Wednesday, March 22, 2006


this post magically created itself....

It's my occasional, ask me a question! Post.

TRY to be nice.

Monday, March 20, 2006

The Society for Killing Tom Cruise

In browsing CNN as I eat my lunch, I come upon this article about how they will not be airing a particular Scientology related South Park episode because Cruise had a hissy fit and said he'd refuse to promote his upcoming, sure to suck balls MI-3 if they aired it.

His handlers deny this, and the episode won't air because "In light of the events of earlier this week, we wanted to give Chef an appropriate tribute by airing two episodes he is most known for." Comedy Central is backpedalling.

So I ask-How free is free speech if airing this cartoon is dependant on the whim of the person(s) running the station, and whether or not Tom I'm a complete fucking nutjob" Cruise will promote his crap ass movie? I hate hate hate South Park, but this is bothering me. Alot. What with Nutjob jumping on couches, pretending to be an expert on Postpartum (am I the ONLY ONE who wishes Brooke would just call him out back and whoop his ass?) or calling people "glib" What with him running around pretending that he knows best, impregnanting Katie Holmes, and attempting to seem way smarter than he is.

There is something terrifying about ONE MAN, an actor who never even finished high school being able to dictate what I can watch on TV.

And I agree with the creators:
"So, Scientology, you have won THIS battle, but the million-year war for Earth has just begun," the pair wrote.
"Temporarily anozinizing our episode will NOT stop us from keeping Thetans forever trapped in your pitiful man-bodies. Curses and drat! You have obstructed us for now, but your feeble bid to save humanity will fail! Hail Xenu!!!"

Friday, March 17, 2006

Why don't they keep their heads under water just a teensy bit longer?

Let me state at the outset that as a rule, I hold people of the cloth, religous folk, believers et al. no ill will. Frankly I'm rather in awe of the ability to believe in something with absolutely no proof, and to defend this belief with all of your will. I am an atheist, because I choose to believe in my OWN will, in science, in rationality. I also hold open a small door of "what if" because I've never been much of a gambler.

This is not a post about that.

I frequent the local
board, and I give a fair amount of stuff away. I rarely solicit or ask for anything because frankly, I don't really need much. But I decided to see if anyone had any old National Geographic's around, since most people have a stash somewhere that seems to breed, and Vivian is into animals, and I like to read them. I also mentioned that Vivian was currently obsessing about dinosaurs, and if they had any literature with dinosaur articles, that would be great too.

I get two responses: one from a family I trust, who I give baby items for their sweet new baby Grace all the time, and one from a stranger who says simply,

"I have some Dinosaur related items I can mail to you."

I figure this is weird, but what the hell. Maybe it's an old teacher with a few little things that, considering the current gas prices, make more sense to mail than have anyone drive to get. At the same time, my "hinky" alert went up. I figured I might get some porn, which is icky, but doubtful. I really didn't think I had much to worry about.

What I did NOT anticipate was receiving bible tracts, pamphlets telling me what 'really" happened to the Dinosaurs, information disputing evolution, all kinds of, in my opinion, GARBAGE a few days later. I told my husband to immediately throw it all out.

I am not adverse to presenting both views to my children. I was raised Roman Catholic, so I've heard both. One was taught in religon classes, the other in science. I actually feel that I was raised with a fair balance of both, all things considered. I have no issues with showing them different points of view, with caveats.

This however, I found rude, disgusting and deceptive. In no way did I ask for, or did this person indicate what he was sending me. These items were for a toddler. I particularily loved the flyer for the local Baptist church. Cause now I REALLY want to go. I mean, if they can teach my kids how to be jerks, that would be great.

And I know, I know. This is not necessarily representative of ALL Baptists. But you know what? How many times can I be harrassed by people before it is? How many Jehovah's can come to my door before it is representative of the methods employed by these people?

I believe that if you are meant to find God(s), you will find them. Period. Someone banging on my door, hanging around my property, or mailing me what I considered small minded garbage is not going to help. And I can hardly imagine that any omnipotent personage would approve of these methods. I hardly go door to door preaching my beliefs, because they are mine. I have no driving need to share them al all.

Funny enough, the man decided to leave a return address, so the child in me wants to send all kinds of documents regarding my Atheism, Objectivism, etc, etc.

The adult in me says turn the other cheek, and pity this man for his ignorance. I posted to the board about what happened, voicing my disgust and disapproval, and I'll leave it at that.

Funny how the atheist tends to follow the religous man's credo, wot?

Thursday, March 16, 2006

Where's the Beef?

I don't normally eat meat. Ok, I eat chicken, but anything that dumb doesn't count.

I'm one of the pickiest people you'll ever meet. My list of hated food stuffs includes, but is SOOO not limited to:
  • Olives
  • Tomatoes
  • Nutella
  • Raw Mushrooms
  • Milk
  • Beef
  • Fish/Shellfish/Anything waterborne
  • Tomato Juice/V8/liquid veggies on any form
  • Melon

I could go on, but I think you get the point. But then I'll eat weird things like mashed potatoes covered in maple baked beans and think it's heaven. There really is no accounting for taste.

I just had a chicken salad sandwich, and I don't think I'll do that again. I have this grainy icky taste/feeling in my mouth. And that's where the majority of my food phobias/complaints/pickiness originates from. Either it feels weird, or tastes odd to me. Olives smell like BO to me. Why would I WANT to eat that?

It's irrational and stupid, but I also won't eat anything if I can't "see" what's in it. I've had too many surprises in the past. The worst was today's sandwich, which at one point, contained a "crunch".

I'm kinda nauseaous now.

Anyone else have irrational food hate issues?

Tuesday, March 14, 2006

It's bitching time again.

I have to get this out somewhere.

My coworkers.

Granted, they aren't technically my coworkers. I just sit near this people, as I report to another site entirely. But my god, if I don't do something terribly bad to one of them soon, I don't know what will happen.

They whine. They complain. They eat nothing but soup, coffee and air and get sick and can't imagine why. They talk loudly all day. I have no idea when they actually work. Their lives revolve around this insipid cycle of whining-sickness-drunkenness-sickness-whining.

It's driving me absolutely fucking insane. A day spent with a whiny Vivian is much much easier on my brain.

I've made little bitchy comments. I've mentioned shit to their boss. NOTHING.

It's like high school all over again. Remember those cutsie, annoying, gonna be a social worker chicks.

YEAH. THEM. Well, they work here.

And remember that bitchy, wears too much black eyeliner and army boots chick?

YEAH. That be me.

This is so not cool

Saturday, March 11, 2006

What is it about other people's babies?

My friend Nat got to take her sweet little daughter home on Friday after about a month in the NICU. Rita you see, decided to make her mother's blood pressure very high, and INSIST on making an appearance a month or so early.

Rita is tiny, sweet and utterly beautiful. (She is, really. She's just kinda pissed off in that picture. Come to think of it, her mom looks like that at work a lot.)

When Nat came online to tell me she was FINALLY home on Friday, I nearly burst into tears. I felt like my heart was going to burst, and I tried to find a way to convey how thrilled for them I was over messenger.

That's not easy to do.

When I met Rita for the first time in her incubator, I started to cry-as I write this I'm crying, and I don't quite know why. She's not my child, hell, I cried to get RID of mine. If someone had of asked, I would have gladly given them away those first few weeks.

But there is something incredibly breathtaking about watching two people want a child, and get it, and love her so fiercely from day one. Watching Rita's Daddy as she slowly wraps him further around her finger without trying, watching the solemn look of peace that decends Nat's face in pictures as she looks at her daughter HER DAUGHTER! it's this indescribable feeling.

Friends having babies is just that much cooler. WHO KNEW! And it's not spite, me knowing she won't ever sleep the same way, and that she'll worry about the stupidest things (ok, she does that one already but still....) It's knowing how big her heart will become, how fascinating this creature will be to her, how her husband, who is adopted, will look at Rita and finally see someone who looks like him. How fragile and yet how strong they will become.

There is something absolutely joyous about knowing 2 people so deserving of this tiny pleasure, and watching them become enraptured by it. There's this melancoly in me as I think of my first, and how I let so many moments slip away, how I thought it was so much harder and scarier than it really is. You will never, EVER be a new mom ever again, and there is such sweetness in all those discoveries.

I really want to tell them that there will come a day FAR too soon that you will miss that sleepy feeding baby in your arms at 3am. As much as I love sleep, I loved those night feedings even more, singing my versions of what a lullaby should be, inhaling the absoluteness of the moment. That this will be the one time that you truly feel you can protect them from anything.

I find it all so incredible, like a roller coaster or a good movie, because I know what lies ahead for them, and how delicious is all is.

Drink it up my friends. Such beauty is few and fleeting in this world.

Welcome Home.

Friday, March 10, 2006

You NEED to buy this album!

The Dorf was nice enough to get a copy of
Picaresque by The Decemberists for me. I've wanted to pick up their albums for awhile, and this has sealed my fate. I LOVE these guys. OMFG if "The Infanta" isn't one of the best songs I'v heard lately, nothing is.

It's been a good week. The Dorf got me this album, someone I worked with created reports once thought unobtainable (rendering my life a LOT easier) and Rosalyn had her birthday.

Sigh...I'm sure next week will suck somehow.

Wednesday, March 08, 2006

Rosalyn Virginia Frances! You're One!

A year ago March 9, you made your very quick entrance into your current dimension. At 2pm in the afternoon, I was sitting at this very computer (well, not THIS one, but the same spot) bitching on Messenger to my brother and 2 friends that, no,I had not yet popped and YES I was going insane. I had false labour all morning long, and it was annoying.

I won't even mention the incessant peeing, the ass in my ribs or the inability to be nice to anyone at all. GOD could have walked in my front door and I would have told him to kiss my fat ass and go to hell.

But I digress.

In true "I have kids" form, I decide to take a nap, and guess what. Go on, GUESS.

Yup. I get a contraction.

I ignore it, as I was ignoring the previous ones that went 3 minutes, 15 minutes, 2 minutes, 35 minutes, etc, etc ALL MORNING LONG.

I go back to my shut eye. Another contraction. About 4 minutes after the first.


I get one more. I realize that:
a: I'm not going to get a nap
b: It's time to pack some shit in a bag
c: I didn't eat lunch. (This will come back to haunt me later)

Another contraction. Oh. My. Fuck.

A breathe. I'm good. Get shit in bag, go downstairs, make that "oooh DEAR!" noise at the Dorf.

I look at my father, who if left to his own devices, would have already called the ambulance.

"You should call the cab."

Oh I"m fine! I tell him, as I keel over like a listing ship to breathebreathebreathe and crouch like I'm crapping...Just fine I'm


I hear a vague mumbling as he walks in the kitchen, then he sees my face.

He calls the cab. He's not THAT retarded.

I'm having contractions pretty close, and it's around 2:30ish. We get in the cab.

The cabbie, not a stupid man, puts "Hospital", "fatlady" and"weird breathing" together and asks, 'Will we make it?"

Yes, I tell him, We're FINE. Plently of time.

Heh. He ehehehe.....gasp

I get out of the cab at the hospital. I immediately bend over a bench, thinking it's the best thing I've seen all week, and how I love thee, oh kind bench. The Dorf begins asking stupid questions about my bag.

'Little BUSY right now, thanks."

After the contraction finishes, I answer his question, and we go in. SOMEONE finally points us towards L&D (why is every hospital ever made really just a way to determine who's insane? I mean REALLY..)

We walk into the labour ward, eventually. Bored nurses stare at me when I say 'I think I'm in labour." Actually, all I was thinking at the time was "I REALLY need to take a big crap." At this point, you'd think I would have figured it out. Apparently, labour makes me dumb.

I lock myself in the bathroom. The Dorf makes feeble attempts at communication. I'm grunting, moaning and carrying on, trying to figure out what that nagging voice in my head is saying.

I'm not stupid. In hindsight, I know that voice was saying "PUSH YOU MORON! PUSH!"

A nurse finally notices that my "could be labour" is more like "could be delivery". She convinces me to open the door, and discovers I've shed most of my clothes. Somehow she gets me to the labour room, althought I have no recollection how I got there. At this point, the contractions were oneafteranotherafteranother...They decide to break my water. FUCKFUCKFUCK. I thought it was bad before..

The next thing I can remember is reciting the "Litany against Fear" from the Dune books. All the while thinking
a: I'm SUCH a DORK
b: I don't care

Did I mention NO DRUGS. Upon getting my fat, bitchy wanting shit ass up on the table, they discover I'm 10 cms, ready to go. I'm offered Nitrous, which I suck on like a 15 year old at a brothel. It helps me focus my breathing, but that's it. Once I confirmed with the nurse that this was all I was getting, something in my head said "Fuck it. You can do this."

And in my mind, the worse was over. The "labour" was finishing, so how bad could it be?

Don't laugh. I really didn't find it to be that bad. Ok, the crowning part, that KILLED. And I can STILL hear this popping noise in my head, like someone shucking an oyster, as her head exited the birth canal. That hurt for a few seconds. I had a GREAT nurse though. I do recall the words "Biggest shit in your life!" coming out of her mouth.

Pushing that hard was the HARDEST thing I've ever done. I had to look past the pain, past how tired I was, and just DO IT. I remember someone saying "The only way out is through." They were right. And I did it.

There was meconium in the fluid, so they suctioned the mouth, and told me to pop the rest out. That was easy. Then I heard the words I waited 9 months to hear.


WOO HOO! 2 for 2!

Rosalyn Virginia Frances was born March 9, 2005, at 15:50pm. She was 8ilbs10oz and 20.5 inches long. She was not pretty. She was MAD. From the start she's been her mother's daughter.

This was the easy part. After it came the bleed, going home and adjusting, near post partum psychosis and me dealing with if I really wanted this child.

Lately, as she screams at me and I scream back and we both giggle, I know we made the right choice.

Rozamonkey-it's a big bad shitty pretty world out here. And it's all waiting for you honeychild. Be good to it, and it will be good to you.

Intolerance, smolerance.

I remembered my easy pregnancy test today.

Eat eggs. Eat any dairy product.

Apparently I have a raving intolerance to eggs, which I test from time to time. Today was one of those days. As I sat dying in the bathroom, questioning my wisdom in having fried egg sandwiches to break my fast, I remembered that I ate eggs until they came out of my ears during my pregnancy with Vivian. I ate ice cream, cheese, pizza, chocolate milk.....

Normally just the thought of eating these foods scares me, and eating my favorite, Pizza, is a balancing act. Will I MIND being stuck in a bathroom for an hour? Is it worth it?

So I don't need to waste money on tests. All I ever need to do is eat a few eggs, and wait 6 hours.

I don't even know where these intolerances came from. All of a sudden around 18 they appeared. I never liked milk anyway, and it explained why the neighbourhood pizza used to kill me. But it's like they just appeared.

The things I think whilst wasting time at work pooing.

Tuesday, March 07, 2006

Just the poop maam...just the poop....

One of the many items of having kids and parenting that I did NOT anticipate was the poop factor.

I can talk about poop, and poop related items for hours. The kicker was sitting in the hospital room with
Nat as the nurse went through the 400 trees they've destroyed so you can have coupons, and I commented on how great the poop page was. They have a color printed page showing you what poop should look like depending on age, and feeding method. Both Nat and her husband gave me that look that I'm so familier with "Go back to smoking crack you strange lady."

Hey, I found that page interesting as a first time mom, because I kept reading about poop textures and colors and amounts and I kept wondering, 'Does this count as peanut butterish? Is it too watery?"

I had entire conversations on coffee breaks about crap. Drippy crap, smelly crap, undigested carrot crap and it's ability to waft through 3 sets of doors. I was obsessed.

With my second, I didn't care as much. Poop is poop-so long as it's arriving, and it's not liquid, I'm content at this point. BUT....

potty training is sllloooowwwwlllyyy beginning, and yet again I am filled with visions of poop plums dancing in my head. How to get Vivian on the potty. What to bribe her with. How excited to get. All over POOP. I find myself dancing and saying "I'm so proud of you!" when she poops.

It's a crap folks. It's not nirvana. And yet I have to be excited about it. Yet I'm also stumped as to how to get her to use the damn thing. Everything I read, at the end of it, smacks of 'And then the rabbit climbs out of the hat."
Eden seems to be having the same issues.

I know I won't talk about poop forever, but then I go see
April, who is also talking about poop, albeit for vastly different reasons.

Are we all suffering under some sort of fecal fetish? Or are we just REALLY hurting for something to talk about lately?

Sad that my goal for happiness in the next year revolves around NOT having to wipe poop off butts. You have NO idea how much I'm looking forward to that.

Monday, March 06, 2006

Ever get the terrible feeling that all your nightmares ARE coming true?

South Dakota just banned all abortions (or virtually so). The founder of Domino's wants to create a "Christian" town. The US becomes increasingly hardlined and shortsighted about piddly little things like woman's reproductive rights, what it means to torture prisoners. Freedom of speech is threatened by increasingly vehement religous groups. The seperation of church and state seems to be slipping away.

Any of you who have read Octavia Butler's Parable books will know what I'm getting at here.

The best part of these books was the giant wall built to keep people OUT of Canada. The rest of the world moves on as the US blindly torments it's populace.

These books, the central premise has scared the CRAP out of me for years because I can see it coming. And it comes slowly, so people might not see it right away, might not see it until it's too late.

I shouldn't be this scared you know.

I'm doing it.

Well. Today I am making an appointment for a Tubal Ligation.

I'm not sure how I feel about this.

I want more kids, for some bizarre messed up, likely smelly reason, I want more. But, more kids would kill me. I fully understand what happened to Andrea Yates, because my PPD was a hundred times worse with my second, and my third would likely not survive. Add to that the hemorrage likely to occur, as usual, after birth, and I don't think I could hack it. Sadly, the first 6 months of my childrens lives are not happy ones.

So we talked it over. I do not trust myself to not become pregant again, and have some hormonal issues that are only worsened by the Pill. I don't trust getting him done, so I will do this. It's a big step-it's so FINAL. I can't change my mind. I can't go back and change things.

It's really strange for me, to have this serious internal dialogue about the tubal in my head. I've never wanted kids, I'm not very maternal, and I don't particularily like kids. But I've changed since having them. We've discussed how if we are ever in a financial position, we will adopt more children, toddlers, the ones who don't always get adopted. Honestly, I always figured that was what I would do if I wanted kids ever.

So today is the day. I also want my hormones checked, since I have gained a TON of weight in the last 2 months, and my feet are so bad I can barely walk. Something is wrong, but try telling my doctors that. Lord knows I'd never know what's going on in my own body would I.

The only thing I'm worried about is something I read about called "Post-Tubal Syndrome". I don't know-anyone ever have this?

Friday, March 03, 2006

"Mother you told me the laws are so fine
if I'm good then I will be protected
I've fallen through the cracks and there's no turning back
now I'll never trust whoever gets elected."

"Bad Wisdom" Suzanne Vega

When I was small, I was taught to trust the police, but to also hold them at arms length. It was never stated implicitly, but rather more of a generality. To trust authority figures, but never THAT much. Keep a wary eye. I never held this total and all encompassing trust for my friendly local police officers.

As I grew older, that was older reinforced as I was harassed for basically, being a teenager, hanging out, having the nerve to drink rootbeer from a dark brown bottle as i sat in a playground. (why there were people letting their kids play at 11:30pm was beyond me-funny that the cop never questioned THAT). I really learned that these people were not to be trusted, and in most cases, wouldn't help you, or protect you. And I grew up with these people, knew their families. I should have been able to trust them.

I look around now, and I realize, not many people actually trust those who hold positions of authority. I rarely, if ever call the police, because in my experience, they have NEVER done anything when I have called. I look to examples where they have broken their public trust, abusing children, wives, and I find I cannot raise my children to blindly trust anyone the way we once trusted policemen. Hell, I wouldn't even tell my kid to find one in public if lost. You just never know.

I hate not trusting anyone sometimes. I hate being so cynical towards police, especially since many are GOOD HONEST people doing their jobs.

C'est la vie.

Wednesday, March 01, 2006

Octavia Butler has died.

This woman is one of my most favorite writers, and has inspired me in so many ways....and now she is gone.

Take the time to read her books, they are, in a word, incredible, and I mourn this loss, far too early....

Her father was a shoeshine man who died when she was a child, her mother was a maid who brought her along on jobs, yet Octavia Butler rose from these humble beginnings to become one of the country's leading writers - a female African American pioneer in the white, male domain of science fiction.
Butler, 58, died after falling and striking her head Friday on a walkway outside her home in Lake Forest Park. The reclusive writer, who moved to Seattle in 1999 from her native Southern California, was a giant in stature (she was 6 feet tall by age 15) and in accomplishment.

Rest easy Octavia.

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