Pain, Pain, Go Away

So two weeks ago, I was rear ended by a drunk driver (sorry -- timeliness has never been one of my strong suits).

My poor little hybrid

Actually, she wasn't a "drunk" driver. Turns out she was on a bunch of prescription drugs. Which makes more sense, seeing as it was 9:30 in the morning. As my husband says, you have to try really hard to be wasted and driving at 9:30 in the morning. But still, what the hell she was doing/thinking/not thinking is a mystery. And she's pretty frickin' lucky she didn't kill anybody. At least in the literal sense. . .

Because now, I'm a disaster. I feel like people have been hitting me with baseball bats. I can't seem to get my pain under control. I don't sleep unless I take something to make me sleep. And yesterday when I got home from the chiropractor (which is basically where I spend half my life), I was actually lying on my bed considering the idea that death probably wasn't going to come fast enough for me. That's not so good.

The thing is, I've been dealing with chronic pain for seventeen years. And it's had its ups and downs. Major downs, to be sure. I remember after my daughter was born and my atypical facial pain was completely out of control. I had to stop breast feeding her so we could try some anti-seizure meds to calm it down. But the meds made me feel like I was in a waking coma. I was so tired that I couldn't do anything -- even lie there and watch TV. But I was awake enough that I couldn't sleep. It was mini-torture (I say "mini" because it still wasn't Egyptian police station torture -- let's be fair). Watching the world go on around you and not being able to participate -- holding the kids, having extended conversations, even doing dishes -- is maddening. Oh, and still being in pain. Awesome.

But I finally figured out the right meds and the right amounts and got to the point of life being "doable." The last few years, I've been relatively good. Good enough that I've even considered trying to make my other blog, World's Worst Moms, an actual business. Which is amazing because I haven't had a job of any kind since the '90s.

And then I had my epiphany a couple of months ago that I've told everyone a shocking small amount about, given my excitement level -- I want to start a doll company. I am so into this. I don't think I've ever been able to see anything with so much clarity. It's actually creepy.

And now. . . I'm feeling completely derailed. For almost twenty years, I've had to wake up and push through my day. Now I feel like I'm crawling on my hands and knees, clawing at it with bloody fingernails. Last night, I almost starting crying because it hurt so bad to stand at the sink and do dishes. I mean, come on. . .

I'm just scared shitless that this is going to be "it." That we've used up all the magic tricks and there's no where else to go. And I can. not. handle. that.

The thing is, I think I've been a pretty good little trooper. I think I've done pretty well with what life's dealt me. I've really tried to not complain all the time and to make my kids' lives as good as possible and to do as much stuff as I could whenever I could. So I just don't know how much more I can buck up. I'm trying. But I just don't know how much more I can buck up.

A friend of mine sent me an article about choosing a word at the beginning of the year to sort of carry you through whatever you'd like to achieve. I keep coming back to "believe." Maybe because I have to believe that everything's going to be okay. And that I'm somehow going to be able to find that thing inside me again that balanced out all the pain the last time. And that my dream isn't even slightly close to dead because this too shall pass.

Because in the words of that creepy guy in Flash Dance (you know, the dancer's boyfriend who was way too old for her and also her boss so really it was wrong on so many levels), "When you give up your dream, you die."

As dismal as things are, checking out like that sounds like a truly terrible way to go.

The New Phone Book's Here! The New Phone Book's Here! No, Wait. It's Just the Holiday Letter.

Happy Holidays one and all! Time for the yearly letter. For those of you who don't know, this is kind of how I got started with all the blogging stuff. Once a year, I'd send out a snarky little letter about the state of the world -- not much pressure, except for the fact that it was during the holidays, and I'm always sure to put plenty of pressure on myself during the holidays. Then one year, some sadistic jerk said, "It sure would be great if we could read your stuff all the time." And I actually believed him.

It's been something like 18 years since I've been writing these. Much as I'd like to believe I'm not getting old, the evidence is starting to stack up against me. Today while we were watching How the Grinch Stole Christmas, (the good one, not the Jim Carrey version), my 7-year-old daughter asked, "What's that stuff?"

"That's film," I said. "It's what we used to use to take pictures." Now excuse me while I go de-tangle my curly phone cord and buy some correction tape so I can type my Christmas letter.

But onto our year. We have a lot to report. A lot that will shock and awe even those people who would put us in the "close friend" circle on Google+, read this blog, and/or are blood relatives. So here goes. . .

1) We're ditching our house. Yes, that's right. We're so underwater that we finally decided it's absolutely ridiculous to continue pouring money into this sinking ship. If we thought for one second that a) this hadn't been caused by a corrupt banking industry that's been allowed to gamble with our money, destroy the world economy, and face absolutely zero consequences, and b) our government stood even a slight chance of acting with more maturity, intelligence and forethought than my 9-year-old son after he's whacked out from watching too much TV, well then we might reconsider.

So where are we going? Good question. Clearly we'll be renting unless one of us has an unknown, rich, close-to-death relative. I'm thinking adorable house in the cute "old" part of town. My husband, on the other hand, is thinking farm. Which brings us to. . .

2) Tenzin still wants to quit being a doctor and become a gardener. But now he's really getting into it and doing things like building greenhouses that stay warm enough with solar power to grow tomatoes. And speaking of hair-brained schemes. . .

3) We're starting a doll company. Ha ha! Funny. No, seriously. I'm so tired of seeing Barbie et al. running around looking like pole dancers even when they're supposed to be police officers or pediatricians. Clearly there are some kids (and parents) who'd like to play something other than rock star, mini-skirt shopping, or beach party. So stay tuned. Oh, and by the way, we'll need your money.

4) I've become a blogging slacker. I was doing so well for a while. Between this place and World's Worst Moms, I was cranking material out left and right (okay, mostly left). Then after I was struck (or cursed) with dolly inspiration, I completely fell off the wagon. I'm still going to write at Partly Sunny (I can't help myself). But for now, World's Worst Moms is on pause (which is really a bummer because I was just coming up with T-shirt slogans).

5) We still don't have a dog. Since Uno left us in April, we've had moments of "You know..." But nothing's really stuck. Unfortunately, both of our frogs committed suicide by jumping out of their tank and getting lost in the house, so now I think the kids are really jonesing for a pet.

And now it's time for "New Rules" -- our yearly rip-off of Bill Maher. There's just no better way to do this.

• The doll industry needs to stop pretending it's empowering little girls and just admit that it's trying to create future uber-consumers who believe their only true calling in life is to be eye-candy. Writing little blurbs about how the Barbie in the tiger-print mini-dress and platform heels "loves playing tennis, as long as she gets to do it in animal print," frankly doesn't make any girl aspire to be more. On second thought, please keep it on there -- it's helping me teach my daughter about satire.

Courtesy of Mattel

• And while we're on the subject of Barbie. . . any Barbie that attempts to step out of fashion world -- such as this "I Can Be a Baby Sitter" Barbie -- must have the approval of outside consultants before release. Because it's clear no one reviewed baby sitter Barbie since the baby looks like it's malnourished and Barbie has a trigger in her back that makes her shake the baby up and down. Maybe they can just repackage it as, "You Should Call Social Services" Barbie.

• The world needs to stop being "so" 1984. The book, not the music and fashion (although that's not a bad rule either). NPR is reporting the existence of software that allows your computer's camera and microphone to be turned on by an outside source. So theoretically, the government (or anyone else) can spy on you. NPR also did a report on the future of television, wherein your TV will be able to recognize you (versus your neighbor or cat) when you walk into the room, turn on your favorite shows, and then "take note" of when you are and are not paying attention to commericals. This is all just for "fun." Not, of course, to collect data on you in an effort to sell you more crap from China. So in a nutshell, we're all up a creek, sans paddle, with only a shit sandwich. And they forgot the mustard.

• No crazy, right-wing whack jobs named "Elfie" are allowed to run for president or any other major political office for the next 20 years. I can only handle one horrible coincidence in my life at a time (that would be giving my son the blogging name "Newt" -- I apologize if I'm being too cryptic). My only consolation is that I didn't give Tenzin the pseudonym "Mitt." Or "Santorum"(which I wouldn't I have done anyway because who names her husband after body fluids unless she's really, really mad at him).

• Veterans are not allowed to be homeless. Or hungry. Or short on health care. Or unemployed if they need a job. It's bad enough that we find it acceptable to let half the people in this country live below the poverty line. But the ones who go put their asses on the line while we sit in air conditioning and not eat sand? That's not only wrong, it's embarrassing.

• And finally, anyone deciding the fate of social programs in this country is required to live with his/her family on a minimum wage salary during the entire legislative session. Voting to starve the poor and give the rich one more vacation home is so much harder on an empty stomach than a full one.

Have a Merry Christmas, Happy Hanukkah, and Fabulous New Year. Dog bless us, everyone.

Fortified with Extra...Estrogen. Why it's Time to Can Most Canned Goods

And I wonder why I'm never hungry.

So you've probably already heard about this, but if you haven't, I'll just go ahead and be the bearer of bad news. You know all that canned food you bought to get through the apocalypse? Or maybe just so you could make a quick lunch when you forgot it was lunch and the kid was suddenly hungry? Well it's probably going to kill you. Or at the very least, give your daughter boobs when she's ten.

No doubt you've heard of bisphenol A, also known as "BPA." Everyone I know has been diligently trying to avoid it by purchasing BPA-free containers to store food, pack lunches, and carry around drinking water. Well as it turns out, we've sort of been wasting our time because, surprise! It's lining the inside of cans!

That's right. There's a chance that every can of vegetable soup you've ever peeled open (thinking it was so much better than McDonald's) may make it harder for your daughter to have a baby some day. And that organic can of corn you busted out to create a more well-rounded dinner? It may have whacked out your son's memory. And those cans of soda or beer you and your husband drink out of? Cancer. Of course. Because it's always cancer.

I swear, it's getting to the point where the only thing we'll be able to eat is stuff grown in the backyard. And then we'll probably find out the house was built on an old dumping site for melamine.

The Food and Drug Administration says that despite new research showing that a person who eats just one can of soup a day ingests significantly higher amounts of BPA than someone who doesn't, the food from cans is safe. That's right -- the levels are safe. Remain calm. All is well.

Of course, there's no conclusive research linking BPA with any adverse health consequences. Even though it just happens to act like estrogen. Which, if given to humans, just happens to make girls hit puberty much earlier than they normally would. Which, incidentally, sets you up for a whole host of other health issues like heart disease and diabetes. And estrogen also just happens to fuels breast cancer (yes, it probably killed my mother -- so that's nice).

And I know -- correlation does not equal causation. But damn it, I'm just so sick and tired of yet another example of corporate greed. Because make no mistake, that's exactly what this is. Eden Foods, one of very few companies I could find that doesn't use cans lined with BPA, switched way back in 1999 when the owner found out about the potentially harmful effects. There IS a way to can without it. Canners haven't ALWAYS used it. It's just cheaper.

There is absolutely no way the food industry folks are going to make these changes on their own. They flat out deny the problem. The only way anything's going to change is through government intervention (oh, look at me holding my breath) or all of us voting with our wallets.

At our house, we'll be making a lot of soup this winter.

While Mac Was Sleeping

Although it's true that 99.99 percent of the world doesn't give a damn what I'm doing, it's possible that the cherished few of you who actually keep up with me here or on Facebook are wondering what the hell happened to me. Did I die? Did I just throw in the towel? Did my computer blow up? All totally reasonable conclusions, but the answer was "c."

Yes, my third baby stopped working, and I've been computer-less for an entire week. I figured I'd have some great epiphanies to share with everyone about being more present and engaged or something deep like that, but I'm happy (I guess happy) to report that I'm as equally present and engaged even with a computer screen glued to my face for a good number of hours each day (after all, if I didn't pay some attention to the family, I wouldn't have anything to complain about). The one scary thing I did discover was that my brain is now hardwired to think in Facebook posts.

Anyway, I have mixed feelings about my little cyber vacation. On the one hand, it was a relief to have an excuse not to write, Facebook, or tweet incessantly. On the other, I missed not being able to write anything at all. I have a sappy Thanksgiving/Black Friday blog post about regret -- my grandma loved a certain sweet potato casserole, and I never made for her again before she died. And I never did go buy my mom a digital picture frame even though it was one of the few things she ever mentioned she wanted. So I could hit you all with that sad business. But instead, I'll show you what you missed while my computer was sleeping. . .

If only they'd come by once a week.*

• This time, a whole herd of wild horses ended up not just in our neighborhood, but on our lawn. About a dozen of them. Being the responsible mom that I am, I let the kids get unreasonably close to them until my husband came out and told them to back off so they wouldn't get kicked (the kids, not the horses). I get a little distracted when I'm taking movies.

No, Sarah Palin was not there.*

• We scarred the children for life by taking them out to watch turkeys get slaughtered. I know it's starting to sound like I'm really outdoorsy and rural and farmy with all the horses and the turkeys and whatnot, but I'm really, really not. I've never killed anything, and the fact that I could still eat Thanksgiving dinner after experiencing the whole blood draining, feather plucking, gut cleaning fiasco is really quite astounding. Especially when the smell of chicken being cooked sometimes makes me gag.

*

• I got crafty. Yes, I. Got crafty. We cored out mini pumpkins and stuck candles in them to decorate the tables (we had sixteen people for Thanksgiving). And then I started acting like someone from one of those blogs that always get tagged on Pinterest, and I made little root people-ish things out of parsnips and peppercorns.

Parsnip Pilgrims*

This is where we went a little bonkers. Someone said, "It would be so funny if we dressed them like Pilgrims." And no, we hadn't been drinking. So my brother-in-law (who is certifiable) made tiny pilgrim hats and outfits out of paper. And then, of course, we made a sign for the Mayflower.





It was all fine and good until today when we decided to use the parsnips in some soup. My husband peeled them, and we discovered the horrible truth -- the pilgrims were racists. Who knew the KKK went back that far.

*

We really had no choice but to chop them up and serve them for dinner. But we left one to warn the others. Because you should always leave one. . .

"Aw, he looks sad, Mommy."*

Happy Late Thanksgiving everybody. Hope it was a good one.

* I shouldn't HAVE to say it, but all photos are by me, Tammy Soong, a.k.a. PartlySunny. Don't steal. That's so uncool.

Occupy Congress, One Person at a Time

So I didn't occupy anything today. At least not in the protesting sense. I was too busy figuring out how to make five zillion double-sided, three-hole-punch copies for my kid's teacher. So I suppose I was occupying space in the universe, just maybe not where it was most useful.

Although that's arguable. Here in Reno, the Occupy Movement has taken over the area in front of an abandoned indoor pool. With the exception of camping somewhere in the desert or up in the mountains, you couldn't pick a spot in this town to be less visible. Actually, more people would probably see you in the mountains -- we do like our hiking. . .

It's not that I don't respect our Reno Occupy group's dedication or what it's trying to do. It's just sort of tough to get too excited about it. Not that I wish I were being whacked by the NYPD or getting hit with pepper spray in Seattle. There's a better than average chance that I'd be too chicken to do any of that. But when it comes to "fightin' the power" here, I think we may need to switch gears. Actually, after today's big showing, I think it's time to switch gears everywhere.

You ma'am, are correct.

The people who are going to make the real changes for us and our country are sitting in that big, white, domed building in Washington. So as far as I'm concerned, we need to start occupying them.

I don't mean just a massive occupation of Washington itself (although that's still a good idea). I mean bugging the crap out of every single Congressperson and Senator individually. Where they live, where they work, where they buy their groceries, where they stop for Starbucks. Five-hundred and thirty-five mini-protests that just follow them around incessantly until they actually start doing their jobs.

People who enjoy tormenting preteens

I might feel sort of guilty about doing this sort of thing for about ten seconds if it weren't for people like the crazy anti-abortion activists who do stuff like find the landlord who rents the space for an abortion clinic and then stand outside his sixth-grade daughter's school with graphic pictures of fetuses. I figure if they can do that to a guy who just owns a building, we should be able to call out the people who've actively campaigned to represent us.

Our representatives are like kids in a candy store who've eaten too much sugar and gotten sick but still don't have the strength or maturity to stop themselves. The candy store owner certainly isn't going to try. So we're all going to have to step up and be the parents -- the grown ups -- and tell them the party's over. It was fun while it lasted, but it's time to get home, eat a healthy dinner, and clean up their toys.

Oh, and by the way -- no honey, pizza isn't a vegetable. You need to eat your broccoli. 

I'm Mad as Hell, and I'm. . . Just Gonna Write About It!

The "Scream" Tree

So for about the last 14 hours or so, all I've heard is crap. And I'm just so done. So, so done.

There comes a point where you start to wonder if there are any decent, reasonable people left in the world. If anyone's thinking about their actions and how they'll affect other people. Or if they're just throwin' it out there and seeing what'll stick.

Anyway, if you don't want to hear cussing and what most of you probably consider blasphemy, I'd quit reading here.

• I'm pissed at the drunk driver who killed JK Metzker, a local newscaster who a bunch of my friends know (because I used to be in the news, too). He had a wife and three little kids. And the driver just left him in the street like a dog. Worse than a dog. Decent people stop for dogs.

• I'm pissed at every moronic, bandwagon-jumping twit from Penn State who rioted because their beloved coach got fired for not turning in a rapist. You dumb-ass students are our future. Pull it together.

• I'm pissed at Penn State, the Catholic Church, and every other institution that's covered up a rape or assault of any kind because they care more about the name that gets printed on some god damn letterhead than they do about people.

• I'm pissed at the Pope, who apparently thinks raping kids was normal back in his day. And it's something that doesn't even really fall into the "evil" category. I actually hope there is a god so he can do this guy up the ass when he meets him at the pearly gates. Then he can make a more "up-close and personal" decision about how evil it actually is (hey, I warned you about the blasphemy).

• I'm pissed that a 10-year-old girl in Mexico just had to have a C-section because she came into a hospital with life-threatening complications due to the fact that. . . she was pregnant and ten frickin' years old! And young women can't have abortions unless they can prove they were sexually assaulted! Or they can go to prison! I don't even know where to start because there are so many parts of this story that are wrong!!!

• I'm pissed because in some states, felons apparently have an easier time regaining the right to own a firearm than they do the right to vote. Sometimes they don't even have to do anything at all. Sometimes it's just some paperwork. But hey, NRA, I'm glad you have that awesome philosophy that you're constantly badgering us with about wanting to make sure only law-abiding people get to have guns. Clearly your lobbying efforts are skewing things in the right direction. Nice job. Because guns don't kill people, and all that bullshit.


• And I'm pissed that there's something terrible happening to my friend Kelly, and there's nothing I can do to help.

Argh!!! This has just been the most frustrating day. I know -- I know -- that there are good things happening. I know there are good people out there. But being barraged by this many stand-out stories of pure, unadulterated insanity has just made me. . .  insane. And I didn't even include Target deciding to open for Black Friday at midnight on Thanksgiving (not that it's much worse than the idiots who opened their doors at 2 a.m. last year -- Yay employees! Two more hours with family!). I'm already boycotting Walmart. Now where the hell am I supposed to shop?

Okay, I'm done (breathing in, breathing out). And I really do need to get out of here and go to Costco. I just hope they don't do anything to piss me off or we really are going to have to start growing all our own food.

Stay

I've been sad a lot this week. Some of it has to do with my son, Newt, turning nine years old. All I can think is that nine is half of eighteen, so mathematically speaking, we're half done (although in reality, I'm sure he'll be sick of me long before that). And then there's the guilt. Because like many moms who get annoyed on a regular basis, I constantly fluctuate between wishing the kids would leave me alone and agonizing over the fact that my time with them is quickly slipping away (I'd say all moms do this, not most, but I read certain blogs and am convinced that some people must either be way nicer than I am or on much better meds).

Anyway, what's really got me down this week is my mom. I miss my mom. This is the third birthday Newt will be celebrating without her. He was five when we first heard the news that her cancer was back. I can still remember her, standing in my family room at Newt's party and reassuring my husband and me. I remember what she was wearing. I remember how she looked when we all sang "Happy Birthday" in a whisper because the party wasn't on Newt's actual birth day, so he thought we should sing it "small."

Yesterday, I took the kids to some loud, bouncy, arcade-y place that's meant to torture sane, adult humans. Anyway, as I sat there, waiting for them to finally drop dead from hypoglycemia and fluid loss (I really didn't feed them much in the morning), I watched a grandmother with her grandson. She didn't do anything remarkable that anyone else would've noticed. She just hugged him in a way that my mom would've hugged my kids. And damn. It really hurt.

I don't think I realize how much I block out the fact that my mom is gone until something slaps me in the face like that. I just go along my day, pretending I haven't called her in a while. And then I get some tiny reminder that she'll never be calling me back. She'll never know what an amazing kid Newt's become. She'll never see his comics or hear him sing or read his stories about robots. She'll never come to another birthday party.

And worst of all, Newt will never see her face light up when he walks into a room to let him know that he's the most special boy in the world.

So that's why I'm sad this week. Memories that I assumed would be fading away by now have managed to stay as fresh and vivid as the day they happened. But I'm grateful. I don't want to forget. In many ways, it's the forgetting that makes me saddest of all.

Because really, I don't want her to go away again.