Not Your Run-of-the-Mill-Recliner

My Grandmother has one of those chairs that looks like a normal, average, everyday recliner but in fact is so much more. With just the push of a button, it rises slowly and places her in an upright, standing position. My kids think it is the coolest thing ever. When we visit, they are constantly asking her for "rides." She is usually happy to oblige. I need one of those chairs right about now. That and a Craft-matic Adjustable bed and I'll be set for the next four weeks.

The baby is set to arrive on March 11. I'm going to try to keep up the blog a little better for the next few weeks.

Monday’s Rant

Be forewarned I'm feuding with my husband over something about which he has no control and I'm feeling the urge to scratch my own eyes out with a rusty knife. It's been a great day. Suffice it to say this post may seem, hmmm…, a tad bit angry.

For those of you who are unaware, I have lupus. I realize this may seem like a random statement but it becomes relevant later. I have lupus and so do 1.5 million other Americans yet very few people even know what the disease is. There is no celebrity spokesperson for the disease even though it is statistically impossible that a celebrity or five does not have the disease. The only press it ever gets is when one of the staff members on House throws it out as a possible diagnosis every week. I'm not kidding. EVERY week. Pay attention. This lack of awareness drives me nuts. Fret not, all of this will make sense in a few minutes.

Anyone watch The Shield out there in cyberland? My husband and I have been fans of it since the first episode and have watched it faithfully until its painful conclusion last week. For those of you unfamiliar with the show, it is a gritty (that might be the understatement of the century) cop drama about police corruption and the activities of one particular group of cops in L.A. It's violent and thought provoking and shocking at times. It's the kind of show that I love. I was so pleased last season when one of the show's primary characters came out of the closet with a lupus diagnosis. She's a smart, successful, highly capable woman and I was thrilled that lupus was finally going to get some serious treatment on a relatively high profile show. My pleasure turned to shock when it was revealed that the reason for the revelation about the character's diagnosis was that she was going completely insane. She was losing perspective, unable to perform the functions of her job, getting irrationally emotional and had even let her house get so filthy that it could have been condemned, all of this from a woman who, prior to her lupus diagnosis, had been an exceptionally successful woman in every aspect of her life. Are you kidding me?

So the character she came clean to took it upon himself to shelter and protect her from those who might discover her illness and subsequent meltdown. Being the gentlemen that he is, he talked her down when she was overly emotional, over compensated for her rash behavior, and hired someone to clean her house. What a gent!

The final few episodes revealed that it was her medication, not her disease, which was making her crazy. This left her with a difficult choice: continue to take the medication and remain a crazy person or stop taking it, get some normalcy in her life, and die a slow painful death from a relentless disease. She chose the latter. Nice. My heart swells with pride at this oh-so-accurate portrayal of a relatively common and treatable disease that affects many intelligent, successful, capable-of-keeping-our-homes-clean women who take their medication regularly without going crazy. Come on!

Naegleria Fowleri

I've become obsessed with brain eating amoebas. Yes, that's right, brain eating amoebas, naegleria fowleri if we're getting technical. Go ahead, google it. You'll never set foot in a lake again.

I took a beginner's kayaking class yesterday with a friend and, in an effort to impress our cute instructor, I volunteered to be the idiot who tipped my kayak over (because, let's face it, there's nothing more impressive than someone losing their balance and falling out of a boat). It was fairly painless but I did get some water up my nose. My first thought was, Crap. What if I sucked in some brain-eating amoebas?

I realize this is probably not the typical reaction to getting water up your nose but, alas, it is mine. I'm a freak like that.

While Jacquelyn and I were braving the rip roaring waters of the quarry with our mad kayaking skills, our kids were cruising around the lake on the Byrne's super fly boat, "The Wareagle." As soon as I saw my husband I gave him the third degree about my children's water experiences, focusing primarily on the amount of water that may or may not have gone up each of their noses (the amoeba can only access the brain if it goes through the nose). My son's risk factor is very low but my daughter's is relatively high, given that she went under at one point and sucked in a lot of water. I was up half the night last night obsessively researching naegleria fowleri. I've become quite the expert on this disturbing organism. Feel free to post questions at any time. My husband's response, "You've got a better chance of walking out your front door and getting hit by a mack truck than getting your brain eaten by an amoeba." True, but I'm not going to walk out there with a blindfold, hoping that there's no truck around. I'm going to look both ways. The same needs to be true of my lake time. So, be sure to look for me and my family out on the lake. We'll be the freaks with the nose plugs.

Look both ways, people, look both ways!

Millie

I’ve made it a point to keep the lupus talk on my blog to a
minimum. I try not to dwell on the disease and its presence in my life. There
are many, many days that I forget I even have it, except for the fraction of a
second it takes to pop a pill in the morning and before bed. I have always
found it suspicious that there are no celebrities who have come forward with
this disease to promote public awareness.
Statistically, there must be some. It’s a disease that affects roughly 1.5
million American and 1 in 250 African American women (it’s much more prevalent
in women of color). Come on Whoopi! Oprah! Halle! Heck, at this point I’d even
take Star. It’s not like lupus is an STD or anything. There’s no shame in
admitting you have it.

My frustration with the closeted celebrity lupus cases (like
I said, there MUST be some) can now be put to rest. I found out yesterday that
there is, in fact, a celebrity who has come forward with Lupus. I discovered
this bit of information on the Johns Hopkins Arthritis Center’s website last night:

There are famous people with autoimmune disease.
Barbara Bush and her husband, the ex-president George Bush, both had autoimmune
thyroid disease. One of their sons had colitis. But the member of their family
that got lupus was their dog, Millie. Dogs can get lupus. Vets can diagnose it
because dogs can get the same malar rash that human beings do.

Now, Millie wrote a book about her life with lupus.
It's a great story, because Millie had a successful pregnancy. So, I think it's
a nice story to tell patients with lupus. Millie has since died of old age. The
current dog in the White House, Spot, is Millie's grandson. But because Spot is
male, he's unlikely to get lupus. We think the autoimmune story has ended!

So, rest easy lupus sufferers of the world. We finally have
our spokesperson. Sure, she may have two strikes against her:

1. She is not human and
   therefore cannot actively raise awareness.


2. She is dead and therefore
   cannot actively do anything.

But our disease has a face and a book. I can’t imagine the
comfort I will find in Millie’s inspirational tale.

1 in 4

Let's talk about this new study claiming that 1 in 4 teenage girls has some form of STD. I was floored by this and very disturbed. Maybe it all goes back to my naivety and the fact that I can still measure my daughter's age in months but this seems like an epidemic. I'd like to get the back story on the numbers. The sample was 838 young women but I don't know if they were taken from several regions or how they were obtained. Regardless, these numbers are scary, really scary.

I wonder what the same study would have shown if it were taken during my teen years: 1988-1994. Would they have been much different? I think so but I may be naïve and was, without a doubt, a total prude at age 16. I can only hope that my daughter is a naïve prude like I was. Now I've got to decide on a tactic. Got any ideas? Open communication? Threats? A pregnant suit? Fear? Religious fanaticism? My options, at this point, are wide open.

Days of Vomit and Roses

Sunday, Monday, Vomit Days.

Tuesday, Wednesday, Vomit
Days.

Thursday, Friday, Vomit
Days.

Saturday, Vomit Day.

Vomitin’ all week with you.

 

I could go on but I’m sure you get the picture. I’ve
lived the past week of my life in a vomit cocoon. I’ve done my best to break free
but I just can’t seem to disinfect my way out of this one. It started on
Saturday night with my son. Tuesday night my daughter got it. Wednesday night I
got it and last night my husband and my daughter were both hitting the
porcelain. Anybody want to come over for a playdate? How about a dinner party?
I’ll be serving crackers and ginger ale. Yum!

Suburban Drug Addict

Yep, that's me. After seven years living with an autoimmune disease that spurned some terrible bouts with insomnia, I'm headed straight to the Dr. Phil house. I'll be living with other addicts, facing tough scrutiny from Dr. McGraw as he grills me on what is really under my addiction. I'll do a little role playing and choose my animal totem and have an epiphany about my past. This defining moment will make me realize that my Lupus is just a crutch for my Ambien addiction, "Every rat smells its own hole first, little Missy. Insomnia isn't the problem. It's just a symptom. Ambien is your coping mechanism." Freakin' genius! How could I have been so blind? I can't sleep because I haven't dealt with the issues stemming from my stable, nuclear family, middle class childhood in the suburbs. It has nothing to do with my illness!

I thought I liked Dr. Phil but I see now that I actually despise him on a subconscious level. Who knew?

So I tried to go cold-turkey, ambien free last night. It didn't go well. I slept a total of…. Drum roll please…. 45 minutes! Wahoo! I feel refreshed and rejuvenated today, ready to face the world and parent my children with the boundless energy and happy-go-lucky disposition that a good night's sleep inevitably provides. Bitter much?

I only take ½ of the recommended dose and it helps me sleep, a basic function that my body, along with some help from my neurotic mind, seems to deny me on a regular basis. About a year ago, I had it under control, taking it only 5-6 times/month. Now, I'm dependant on it. I've got to get back to that place that I was 12 months ago. Wish me luck. Maybe I'll take up smoking to cope with the loss of my old friend, Ambien.

I See Sick People

I’ve never been paranoid about germs. My children’s lives
are not spent covered in a thick film of alcohol-based antibacterial gel. I
make them wash their hands every time they go to the bathroom and I do the
same. Other than obsessively washing my hands while cooking, that’s it for us.

This all changed last week when my husband informed me that
one of his employees had a genuine case of the flu. I freaked. Unlike previous
years, I did not get the flu shot, nor did my children. We all got
them last year and, wouldn’t you know it, my daughter contracted the flu. The
flu vaccine contains the controversial, mercury-laden thimerisol and I have
watched Jenny McCarthy on one too many talk shows not to think twice about
exposing my kids to that stuff. My doctor has assured me that it is much better
to protect your children from the flu, which is responsible for a rising number
of children’s death in this country, than to succumb to baseless (his opinion,
not mine) fears about the vaccine. I should have listened. My pediatrician is
not offering them anymore and I can’t seem to shake this fear that my kids or
myself will get sick. Lesson learned: Get vaccinated for sanity's sake.

For the week following my husband’s exposure, I became a
germ freak. I attached a Lysol holster to my jeans and sprayed every surface
that my husband touched. My research about the flu and how it is spread made me
acutely aware of any saliva or mucus that may have left my family’s bodies. I
made my kids wash their hands every time they touched their faces. I randomly
sprayed my husband’s hands with antibacterial spray whenever he would scratch
his face. He didn’t much care for this, especially when I failed to warn him
that the spray was coming. I cleaned every surface that my kids got near:
shopping cart, table chair, check out counter with anti-bacterial wipes before
they touched them and still made them wash their hands as we were leaving. I
saw germs everywhere. I saw them when kids coughed or sneezed or breathed. I
saw them when the lady in front of me in line at the grocery store scratched
her nose, picked up a magazine and put it back on the rack. I saw them when my
son walked out of his school holding hands with his teacher. They were everywhere,
holding me hostage, taking away the joy and spontaneity of my day-to-day life.

My germophobia subsided once my husband’s flu symptom window
came and went. We resumed normalcy in our home and I took off my Lysol holster
and stopped the random anti-bacteria spraying episodes. Everyone breathed a
sigh of relief, including myself, and our germ-infested house and bodies are
once again back to their pre-flu-scare normalcy. I have learned some lessons
from my week as a germophobe:

• I have a renewed combination of respect and
  sympathy for the moms who douse their kids in antibacterial gel every time they
  make a move. These moms see germs, much like the Sixth Sense kid saw dead people. They can’t help themselves so they
  find comfort in alcohol-based gel.



• The
  kids are just resigned to this ritual, assuming that it is a part of life that
  all of their friends see the world through gel-covered lenses as well.



• Most of all,
  though, I have learned to appreciate my moderate stance on germs. I acknowledge
  their existence and avoid them when possible but I don’t obsess and for that I
  am grateful.

I'm not sure that my Howard Hughes-like behavior had any impact on the outcome of my husband's flu exposure. I choose to believe that it was just a coping mechanism and has little to do with the end result.  If hooking an IV up with a constant anti-bacterial gel drip to their kids gives some Moms  peace of mind, then who am I to judge? I'm all about peace of mind.

Kick in the Keister

The worst of the winter blahs appear to be behind us and my household has joined the land of the living again. My son returned to preschool today and we are all shell-shocked from the sound of the alarm clock. Three weeks without it have taken their toll and we are mourning the loss of our 8:30 wake-up time. Adieu. I even made it to the YMCA this morning. It's the first time in two months that I've breezed through those double doors. This is the equivalent of flushing $100 down the toilet so I must get back in the saddle. And, man, what a difference two months makes. The cardio room has quadrupled in size and all of the equipment is brand new. There are TV's on the majority of the machines and everything is pristine and beautiful. At 8:15, there was no wait for a treadmill so I hopped on and was reminded of what keeps me paying my dues at the Y. I love it there. My kids have a blast in the childcare center and I get to spend some quiet time with my ipod. Bliss.

As a result of my productive day thus far, I have decided that my New Year officially starts today. The past week has been a sort of 2007/2008 purgatory where I have still been trapped in holiday mode, unable to convince myself that the food free-for-all is over and life must commence again. The start of school gave me the swift kick in the keister that I needed and I'm back, armed with unrealistic resolutions and a rush of deceptive New Years energy. Unrealistic resolutions tend to have more staying power when you share them, so here goes:

1. Get published in a national magazine.
   



2. Drop 40 pounds
   



3. Get in shape.
   



4. Kick my Ambien dependancy.
   



5. Spend more quality time with my kids every day.
   



6. Spend more time outside.
   



7. Spend less time in front of the computer (this might be tough in combination with #1).
   



8. Blog three times a week. No exceptions (again, #6 is going to be a challenge).
   



9. Kick meth habit for good.
   



10. Save up for dental work (see #9).
    



11. Play more ping-pong. This one's pretty random but I got a table for Christmas).
    



12. Learn Photoshop.
    



13. Be in bed by 10pm every night.
    



14. Wake up at 6am every day.
    



15. Do strength training daily.
    



16. Purchase a pop-up or travel trailer.
    



17. Earn a steady income.
    

With all of these contradictory goals, I should be on the fast track to failure. Happy New Year everyone!

Bah Stomach Bug

I've been a blogging slacker this week. The holidays are stressing me out and my son and I were both hit with a case of the stomach bug yesterday. Yuck! I'm in recovery, still trying to wake up from the  phenergan, seriously. I took a 1/2 dose yesterday evening and am still fighting the urge to doze off (it's 2:00pm!). I don't know how people take full doses of that stuff.

I'm signing back in to prove that I haven't fallen off the face of the blogosphere and to wish you all a Merry Christmas and a vomit-free new year!

Temporary Insanity

I used to think the temporary insanity plea was bogus. I didn't think it was possible for a completely rational human being to lose all reason and touch with reality in an instant. I have changed my tune.

During the wee hours of Thursday morning (and I do mean wee: 1:30 am to be precise), I awoke with a jolt to the sound of my daughter's labored breathing. I leapt to my feet and ran downstairs. I found her sitting up in bed struggling for air. She was whimpering softly in a heartbreaking attempt at crying. This is where the sane switch was turned off in my brain. I freaked. Faced with the prospect of my daughter's impending death, I went ape-shit (sorry-I could not think of a better description of my state of mind). I screamed for Sean to come downstairs. He did, and in a sleepy haze, he attempted to comfort me. Big mistake. I bit his head off, chewed on it for a while and spit it back out. I was furious. How could I possibly remain calm? Couldn't he see that my daughter was struggling to breathe?

I ran upstairs, daughter still in my arms. I threw on some pants and some shoes and raced to the door. I couldn't go alone because I had fallen asleep with the aid of Ambien and could not be trusted behind the wheel. I waited for my casual, relaxed husband to tuck in his shirt and rouse my son slowly out of bed. I felt like he was moving at a snail's pace and it infuriated me. I have no idea what words came out of my mouth during the time that I waited for my husband to get his Zen butt out the door but I'm certain that they were not the words of a rational human being. I lost my mind. I was temporarily insane. No doubt about it.

My daughter had croup. Go ahead Moms, nod your heads in collective unison. Of course it was croup. If I had one iota of rational thought left in my brain during the time when my daughter was struggling to breathe, I would have considered this possibility and taken her outside for some cool air. I might have even noticed when her breathing improved in the short distance from the front door to the van. Like I said, I was temporarily insane. If I had committed a felony during that time, I would be in court right now trying to convince the judge/jury that I lost my mind for about 5 minutes on Thursday night. It's true. And it is a disturbing reality. My husband and I are left to wonder: What will happen during an actual crisis?

Exercise Endorphins

I have weight loss fantasies on a regular basis. They usually occur while I'm at the gym, listening to 90's hip-hop music. I guess it may have something to do with the exercise endorphins that we've all read about. I have always been suspicious of these endorphins. Do they really exist? Is it all just a scam to get us to buy gym memberships and Nike athletic wear? My predominant emotion when I exercise (pre iPod) was anger along with a running dialogue in my head that screamed, "When the hell is this torture going to be over?"

God bless my iPod. It has completely changed my workout attitude. I start jamming to Heavy D & the Boyz and completely forget that I am working out. I know I look like a fool because I do a little white girl dancing on the treadmill from time to time. I can't help it. Who can listen to Toni! Tony! Tone! and NOT sway their hips?

Back to the weight loss fantasies: Apparently exercise endorphins encourage elaborate delusions of beauty and fitness. It is not uncommon for me to imagine my reunion with an old friend after my inevitable dramatic weight loss. I like to imagine what jeans I'll be wearing and what they will say to me when they see the lesser me for the first time. I indulge myself in these fantasies on a regular basis and I usually look like a Barbie doll, complete with perky breasts, a tiny waist and the complete absence of a muffin-top.

Last Friday while on the treadmill, I was feeling great. My mind was going 100 miles an hour. I was thinking about my new body and how much better my life will be when my outside finally matches my inside. It was like watching a movie on fast forward. I couldn't catch all of it but I saw bits and pieces. I had to slam on the breaks when I saw some Mary Lou Retton moves and hit the fantasy rewind button. I slowed down the scenario and had to laugh at myself.

My deluded Barbie doll self was meeting an old friend for lunch. When I arrived at the restaurant to meet her, I walked in the front door and did a back handspring, a round off, a couple cartwheels and some aerial somersaults. I executed a flawless landing directly in front of her and nonchalantly shook her hand. My spry Barbie body not only gives me self-confidence, it also gives me super human gymnastic ability. When was the last time you saw a thirty two year old woman do a back hand spring? I learned two things from this incident:

1. My expectations about weight loss are not at all based in reality.
   



2. Exercise endorphins are not a Nike conspiracy. They exist and they are dangerous.

Live Active

Anyone seen this product? Is it cheese? Is it a laxative? Who knows? And who, in their right mind, is going to make the connection between
constipation and cheese?

I’m constipated. Hmmm…
I think I’ll head to the dairy aisle.

And why are these products always marketed to women? Are we
the only ones who ever experience irregularity?

Sorry. I'm done now.

Muffin Toppers Unite

I was talking to my friend Jacquelyn this afternoon and had an epiphany. Actually, she had the epiphany first and was kind enough to pass it on to me. Here it is:

We are not 21 years old anymore.

Sure, it sounds simple enough but it is quite profound. One look in my closet will reveal why: I have every conceivable shade of Old Navy T-shirts, several  graphic Tees, a couple thermal printed tops and a few button-downs that are just a little too snug to wear in public. Open up my pants drawer and you'll find a couple pairs of jeans that are low-riders with a couple flashy embellishments, some black stretchy pants and a few pairs of gouchos. I'm a thirty-two year-old mama with a muffin top living in the wardrobe of an impoverished college student. And it's not even a cool wardrobe for a college kid.

We've started a movement, Jacquelyn and I. It's the "Surrender the Fantasy" movement.

Note to any moms out there who are actually hot: go ahead and skip this paragraph. It was written specifically for the muffin-toppers among us.

We're throwing in our low-rise, muffin-top-encouraging jeans for some high-quality flattering alternatives. We're not talking Mom-jeans here (at least I'm not—Jacquelyn may be another story), just jeans with a reasonable waist line. Is that too much to ask? Also, we're trading our Old Navy T's (I can't part with mine yet but I'm going to make a concerted effort not to wear them 24 hours a day) for some blouses that might draw the attention away from the midsection rather than right to it.

The Surrender the Fantasy movement won't be easy but it will be rewarding. Join us!

Our goal for this week: pick one pair of jeans that you hold onto because they remind you of the body you used to have and donate them to Goodwill. I guarantee that it will be a liberating experience.