We leave for London in less than 48 hours. I have known about this trip for over a year now, but it's never really real until the clock is ticking away and there's lots of things left to do and I appear to be the only one in the house who is taking it seriously. My big issues getting ready for this trip have been the following:
1. It's too cold and rainy to go to the pool. What? This is Utah. I know. I wanted a day to bask in the sun before I hit cold and rainy GB. Oh well. It's better for the skin. You don't see Londoners with wrinkly, leathery skin. There' a reason for that: clouds. And maybe lack of outdoor pools. I'll take milky and creamy over leathery any day, but the sun still feels like good therapy to me. The kid's Seven Peaks passes are sitting here for Aunt Amy to use for her kids when she comes to stay because they expire before we get back. Have fun Greg and Matt!
2. Shoes. I have been on a quest to outfit the family with good walking shoes. This has involved multiple trips to multiple stores. I now know fully every store in this valley. Some I would have preferred not to ever know, but in a quest to find a "deal" I about killed myself and my family in the process.
Forcing teenagers to think about good-quality walking shoes has been a huge burden. Their idea of good walking shoes is flip flops, or white athletic shoes. OK, flip flops are against the study abroad rules for obvious reasons. But athletic shoes, for all I have read, just sort of brands a person as "HELLO, I AM AN AMERICAN TOURIST. I BET YOU DID NOT KNOW THAT. I WANTED YOU TO KNOW THAT I AM FROM AMERICA, THE LAND OF THE FREE AND THE HOME OF THE BRAVE, THE BEST COUNTRY ON THE WHOLE DANG PLANET. JUST IN CASE YOU DIDN'T. BET I FOOLED YOU. HEY, CAN YA TAKE MY PICTURE, DON'T FORGET TO GET MY SPIFFY NEW TENNIES IN THE SHOT!"
My girls aren't like that (sorry girls, just feeling a weeee bit of pressure right now!) But I finally got them sulking and teenagering into one store, and that was the best I could do. They got what they got, and if their feet hurt it ain't my fault. I tried my hardest and I really don't care if their feet hurt in London or in the future.
Yes, I am done with the shoes problem. Darren has yet to think about his own feet, and I'll be damn-waggled (geez, now I'm thinking up new ways to swear!) if I'm gonna tell him he needs new shoes when he clearly says he doesn't. Been down that road before, and that's a Pandora's box in which I will deadbolt.
3. Suitcases. Wow. We look like the Clampett's (as in Jethro, Jed, Granny and Ellie Mae) before they struck oil. Black gold, that is, Texas tea. I think it's one of the suitcases we purchased at a garage sale back in 1993 before we were on our way to Santiago, Chile, to do research about Chile's transition to democracy from authoritarian rule.
While Darren was busy interviewing former, aged members of Pinochet's Junta (team of power-hungry, memory-challenged government officials) I was sad, lonely and pregnant in a foreign country trying to entertain a very precocious two-year old without blowing my brains out. So, 16 years later we're going to London with the same puke-green hard sided suitcase that doesn't shut so well. I think we've used bungee cords or duct tape in the past.
How you get your things abroad is irrelevant, I know, but I just love to compare our stuff to the Clampett's. (Sp?) House, cars, children, pre-oil bank accounts, etc.
4.House. Aunt Amy and Uncle Adam. I love you to death, but because you are staying in my house with your four kids while I am gone I have had to deep clean it to death. To it's grave. Darren says it's "good for me" to deep clean, and that someone staying in our house is the only motivation I ever have for deep cleaning. Yes, it does feel good to have things really clean, it's just that the process of getting it that way sort of feels like I am walking on nails with my bare feet. Amy, It's OK if you are reading this, but I know you're probably not, because you don't tend to get on email that much, but if you are, I hope you enjoy my nice clean house.
5. Medication. Insurance companies suck. They just do. They make you jump through all kinds of hoops (the kind that have fire burning in them) to get a 90-day supply of medicine. Just when you think you've gone through the last hoop without burning anything, they tell you it's impossible. That I can get 30 days with insurance or 60 days if I pay for it out of pocket. But this is 90 days. Heck no, that's way too long, sorry Mrs. Hawkins, even though your doctor and nurse have both called us to explain what you need, we are still saying no, you can't have 90 days, not even if you drive to Salt Lake to pick it up, not even if you empty out your bank account, not even, not even. No and no. Policy, blah blah, no, sorry, policy, no, blah, blah. Oh yes, have a great time in Europe.
What I love the most is this: After they've told me "NO" five times, and they have me feeling pretty much like a pouting three-year old, they have the audacity (no, not the Audacity to Hope, that's too much) to ask if there is anything else they can help me with. I am much too nice to say," And you think you've helped me? How did telling me I can't have my medication help me?" But I sure thought it. And now I'm blogging about it so I feel marginally better.
Check back frequently over the next few months! I'm gonna be posting. Promise.
Pinky swear and cross my heart, hope to die.
Funny joke:
Wednesday, June 17, 2009
Wednesday, April 22, 2009
I Left My Heart in San Francisco (and maybe some other things too!)
What a great city. San Francisco is friendly and beautiful, and sooooo welcome after Utah's very ambivalent spring. Apparently 10 inches of snow fell in Utah while we were gone, downing various branches around the city. Glad I missed the whole thing.
We had a blast and wore ourselves out doing it.
Our first stop was the Jelly Belly Factory. Free tours and jelly bellies, and food shaped like jelly beans. So fun for everyone.
San Francisco's Exploratorium was more cool hands on things than any two hands or 12 hands in our case could ever have time to explore.
China Town was the real deal. We didn't find such great bargains as we'd hoped, but then we didn't have time to dig too far into the non-touristy areas. We had Dim Sum at a authentic little place, and liked most of it.
The most interesting and gripping place we visited was Alcatraz. Touring the prison with old inmates narrating the experience was a little scary at times, but Leah held up. The highlight was meeting Darwin Coon, a prisoner there in the late sixties, who was signing his memoir book. Learning about the escapes, the food and punishment was enough to want to keep us all crime-free.
Pier 39 was very fun and touristy, but by far the highlight was was the sea lions camped out on their own thrones (floating piers) and their antics. They were hilarious to watch. We probably watched them for an hour. They played king of the hill, and the older ones told off the younger ones when they got too rambunctious. Apparently they are there year round since the 1989 San Francisco earthquake.
Oh yeah. There was an aquarium thrown in there as well. Small and doable in less than an hour. Great since our feet were killing us.
The Mechanical Museum was a hit. It was so fun we ran out of cash and nickels. The kids had a blast playing all the turn of the century games (our equivalent would be an arcade of pin ball-type machines). We managed to avoid the peep show girls and the sex-0-meters, but had fun with arm wrestling, horse racing and fortune telling.
Six Flags Discovery Kingdom was way more than your average theme park in my opinion. This was the activity that I was least looking forward too, but ending up really enjoying. My kids will tell you they rode the best roller coasters, ever. I will say I rode just one of the many there, and that was plenty enough to last a a good long while. Whew! Our favorite family ride was the river rafting, where we all had a wet, wild ride.
Golden Gate Bridge was beautiful. We walked half way across, enjoying the views of everything, occasionally looking straight down to the rocky water below. It was unbelievable when a helicopter flew over the bridge with a big banner. We were so excited to see what the banner said. Another Geiko ad!!!! At the Golden Gate Bridge! Now for sure I will never call to save 15% in 15 minutes, cause they spoiled my maybe one and only experience standing on the bridge.
Watching the San Francisco Giants was amazing. The view of the bay made it hard to concentrate on the game, as our eyes would wander out to a passing ship or sailboat. We hoped someone would hit a home run into the bay, but that only happens 45 times a year, and it wasn't our night.
Whew!! Loved all the family memories. Thanks to Aunt Georgia and Uncle Dave for allowing us to intrude upon them in their home in Walnut Creek for four nights. This is our last trip before Adrienne graduates next month. It was everything we had hoped it would be before she moves on to college.
Wednesday, April 8, 2009
Test Me, I'm Yours
Just as springs breaks through a bit and students start thinking the school year's mostly over, it's the time for teachers to reflect on what their students have learned over the past eight months or so.
I suppose "reflect' is a far too gentle word for the pressure that teachers feel right now. They must determine if their students have met their goals for the year. They have to try to keep them focused and working, a full time job in and of itself.
For kids in regular ed, they do that by administering standardized tests. They don't just measure student performance. Everything is measured from these tests--student performance, teacher performance, principal performance, school performance, district performance, statewide performance, and nationwide performance. There is a lot on the line when students are filling in the bubbles with their freshly sharpened No. 2 pencils.
If a state is following curriculum mandated by the NCLB (No Child Left Behind) there is even more pressure for teachers to adequately prepare students for these exams. Poor student performance could mean a teacher's job is on the line.
When parents are deciding where to buy a house, they often look at the test scores of the neighboring schools. This is often more important than numbers of rooms or bathrooms or whether there is a garage. It is inevitable that more affluent neighborhoods produce higher test scores. This is a sad fact of life that isn't fair for those who go to schools with lower scores, but it has always been this way.
If I had my way in this world (which I don't, I've been told)I would narrow the gap between the "haves" and the "have nots." I would ensure that every kid could be a "have" when it comes to education. Socio-economic status would affect home life, not school life.
For students in special education, there is even more red tape that teachers have to cut their way through. They come up for air for just enough time to dive in again to the sea of forms, forms and more forms. "I would go into special ed," one friend told me, "if it weren't for the paperwork." How sad. My sister who is a special ed teacher claims most of her job is filling out forms.
I have been working in a special ed classroom this school year. It is discouraging to see how some students actually worsen both academically and behaviorally from August to April.
It is frustrating for teachers to watch special ed students flub the test when 10 minutes before they knew the material. With special ed kids, you never know what's going to set them off to keep them from performing their best. For autistic kids, it can be a strange smell or a piece of string on the floor! Just because they knew it once is no guarantee that they'll remember it when it counts.
For example, in my class this year, there is a student who is very low-functioning. We have been working on letters and numbers all year. In September he could sign all his numbers from one to ten. Toward the middle of the year he added 10-20 to his repertoire. Now that it's time for an evaluation, he acts as if it is all new material. He looks at us as if we've asked him to repeat the pledge of allegiance when we ask him to count. (Big deal since he doesn't speak!)
At the end of the school year he as lazy as a lump. He doesn't care at all. He just wants to suck his thumb and eat lunch and avoid moving around. It is as if the desire to learn has been completely extinguished. He makes me want to tear my hair out daily.
Another student has gone from hardly speaking at all, to swearing up a storm and whining nearly all day. He has gone from being able to follow simple commands to crying and screaming about everything. No amount of reward or punishment changes this behavior. I don't know if I can take the whining another year if I return to this classroom.
Then there's the little boy who had me wanting to quit after the first day of school. His middle name is stubborn. He ran away from me and would repeatedly bang his hands on the desk. He fought me over writing with markers. He fought me over everything. He is still fighting and he is still a pain, but one day out of this stubborn boy came a few words.
His little voice is the sweetest sound I have heard all year.
I suppose "reflect' is a far too gentle word for the pressure that teachers feel right now. They must determine if their students have met their goals for the year. They have to try to keep them focused and working, a full time job in and of itself.
For kids in regular ed, they do that by administering standardized tests. They don't just measure student performance. Everything is measured from these tests--student performance, teacher performance, principal performance, school performance, district performance, statewide performance, and nationwide performance. There is a lot on the line when students are filling in the bubbles with their freshly sharpened No. 2 pencils.
If a state is following curriculum mandated by the NCLB (No Child Left Behind) there is even more pressure for teachers to adequately prepare students for these exams. Poor student performance could mean a teacher's job is on the line.
When parents are deciding where to buy a house, they often look at the test scores of the neighboring schools. This is often more important than numbers of rooms or bathrooms or whether there is a garage. It is inevitable that more affluent neighborhoods produce higher test scores. This is a sad fact of life that isn't fair for those who go to schools with lower scores, but it has always been this way.
If I had my way in this world (which I don't, I've been told)I would narrow the gap between the "haves" and the "have nots." I would ensure that every kid could be a "have" when it comes to education. Socio-economic status would affect home life, not school life.
For students in special education, there is even more red tape that teachers have to cut their way through. They come up for air for just enough time to dive in again to the sea of forms, forms and more forms. "I would go into special ed," one friend told me, "if it weren't for the paperwork." How sad. My sister who is a special ed teacher claims most of her job is filling out forms.
I have been working in a special ed classroom this school year. It is discouraging to see how some students actually worsen both academically and behaviorally from August to April.
It is frustrating for teachers to watch special ed students flub the test when 10 minutes before they knew the material. With special ed kids, you never know what's going to set them off to keep them from performing their best. For autistic kids, it can be a strange smell or a piece of string on the floor! Just because they knew it once is no guarantee that they'll remember it when it counts.
For example, in my class this year, there is a student who is very low-functioning. We have been working on letters and numbers all year. In September he could sign all his numbers from one to ten. Toward the middle of the year he added 10-20 to his repertoire. Now that it's time for an evaluation, he acts as if it is all new material. He looks at us as if we've asked him to repeat the pledge of allegiance when we ask him to count. (Big deal since he doesn't speak!)
At the end of the school year he as lazy as a lump. He doesn't care at all. He just wants to suck his thumb and eat lunch and avoid moving around. It is as if the desire to learn has been completely extinguished. He makes me want to tear my hair out daily.
Another student has gone from hardly speaking at all, to swearing up a storm and whining nearly all day. He has gone from being able to follow simple commands to crying and screaming about everything. No amount of reward or punishment changes this behavior. I don't know if I can take the whining another year if I return to this classroom.
Then there's the little boy who had me wanting to quit after the first day of school. His middle name is stubborn. He ran away from me and would repeatedly bang his hands on the desk. He fought me over writing with markers. He fought me over everything. He is still fighting and he is still a pain, but one day out of this stubborn boy came a few words.
His little voice is the sweetest sound I have heard all year.
Wednesday, March 18, 2009
He's Moving on Up
It only took five years, 4 months and 37 days. But that's only from when I started counting. I probably had visions of this happening long before that, but that's when I really started paying attention to how long I've been whining about it.
My husband got a cell phone yesterday! Big deal, you say. Oh, what a big deal it is.
He has been hiding behind the excuse of "I don't want anyone to find me" for years now. Translation: he doesn't want me to find him. He cares less if people from work find him. But I think he's been hiding from me. I don't blame him. I can be a huge pain, high-maintenance, annoying, time-sucking and a general nag when provoked. I fully admit to these character flaws, and there are times when even I would love to hide from me.
It would be OK not to have a cell phone if he weren't a person of importance at his job. I imagine his secretary is giving a prayer of thanksgiving at this very moment, so grateful is she that she can now locate the chair of the department with all the major concerns of the department in a timely fashion. So grateful is she that when the dean calls to talk to Darren, she now has a number to give him. Lizzy, you deserve a raise. Maybe I'll talk to Darren about it tonight!
"He doesn't have a cell phone?" people would ask me over the years, aghast. "You've got to be kidding me!"
I kid you not.
Finally a couple weeks ago after a series of communication mishaps, I had lost it. I was trying to organize something with the family and had a last minute change of plans. Could I call him and tell him what was going on? No! So I went to find him. He was sitting at the physical therapists, getting his knees worked on.
I walked up to the table and told him in a not-so-very-nice voice that unless he got a cell phone within the next week, that there would be some serious consequences. And then I whispered a few in his ears. I do have some decorum.
The therapist working on him said, "Woa!" and tried to hide behind his little laser wand thingy, as to not get involved in a marital dispute.
"Uh," Darren said. "Could we discuss this later?" His face was turning red. But I had just got going. I was on a roll. I had reached my limit. Thoughts of every time I hadn't been able to find him over the years surged through my brain. There would be no mercy.
"No, we cannot. If you had a cell phone I wouldn't have to make a special trip down here, and embarrass you, to tell you our change of plans," I said.
"Well, maybe if you would stop changing plans, then there wouldn't be a problem." he retorted. But he sort of looked as though he shouldn't have said that.
I was speechless. I was dumbfounded. I was trying to save him time by coming to the physical therapists to tell him that things had changed, to please not go pick up our child. How dare he accuse me of changing plans. My blood was boiling over, despite my medication.
I decided not to make more of a scene, although I'm sure that therapist went home to tell his wife how grateful he was that she wasn't such a ___________. Fill in any word you want.
I just said, "You have about a week to get a cell phone, and I'm serious," and fumed on out of there.
It has taken about two weeks, and he has spent a lot of time down at the Sprint store talking to Russ about his options. Each time he has come hope empty handed, where upon I have had to whisper my threats into his deaf ears.
And then last night the phone rang. "Hi! I'm on my new cell phone! See you in a few minutes!"
"I'll believe it when I see it," I said, feeling hopeless.
And then he walked through the door with a little black device and when we said the prayer on the food for dinner we included thanks that our dear old Dad and husband had finally entered the 21st century.
Now he's got to figure out how to use it. He's going to pay his teenage daughters to enter in all his contacts and get him up to speed on technology.
I guess he can still not answer when I call, but I can still whisper consequences til the cows come home.
My husband got a cell phone yesterday! Big deal, you say. Oh, what a big deal it is.
He has been hiding behind the excuse of "I don't want anyone to find me" for years now. Translation: he doesn't want me to find him. He cares less if people from work find him. But I think he's been hiding from me. I don't blame him. I can be a huge pain, high-maintenance, annoying, time-sucking and a general nag when provoked. I fully admit to these character flaws, and there are times when even I would love to hide from me.
It would be OK not to have a cell phone if he weren't a person of importance at his job. I imagine his secretary is giving a prayer of thanksgiving at this very moment, so grateful is she that she can now locate the chair of the department with all the major concerns of the department in a timely fashion. So grateful is she that when the dean calls to talk to Darren, she now has a number to give him. Lizzy, you deserve a raise. Maybe I'll talk to Darren about it tonight!
"He doesn't have a cell phone?" people would ask me over the years, aghast. "You've got to be kidding me!"
I kid you not.
Finally a couple weeks ago after a series of communication mishaps, I had lost it. I was trying to organize something with the family and had a last minute change of plans. Could I call him and tell him what was going on? No! So I went to find him. He was sitting at the physical therapists, getting his knees worked on.
I walked up to the table and told him in a not-so-very-nice voice that unless he got a cell phone within the next week, that there would be some serious consequences. And then I whispered a few in his ears. I do have some decorum.
The therapist working on him said, "Woa!" and tried to hide behind his little laser wand thingy, as to not get involved in a marital dispute.
"Uh," Darren said. "Could we discuss this later?" His face was turning red. But I had just got going. I was on a roll. I had reached my limit. Thoughts of every time I hadn't been able to find him over the years surged through my brain. There would be no mercy.
"No, we cannot. If you had a cell phone I wouldn't have to make a special trip down here, and embarrass you, to tell you our change of plans," I said.
"Well, maybe if you would stop changing plans, then there wouldn't be a problem." he retorted. But he sort of looked as though he shouldn't have said that.
I was speechless. I was dumbfounded. I was trying to save him time by coming to the physical therapists to tell him that things had changed, to please not go pick up our child. How dare he accuse me of changing plans. My blood was boiling over, despite my medication.
I decided not to make more of a scene, although I'm sure that therapist went home to tell his wife how grateful he was that she wasn't such a ___________. Fill in any word you want.
I just said, "You have about a week to get a cell phone, and I'm serious," and fumed on out of there.
It has taken about two weeks, and he has spent a lot of time down at the Sprint store talking to Russ about his options. Each time he has come hope empty handed, where upon I have had to whisper my threats into his deaf ears.
And then last night the phone rang. "Hi! I'm on my new cell phone! See you in a few minutes!"
"I'll believe it when I see it," I said, feeling hopeless.
And then he walked through the door with a little black device and when we said the prayer on the food for dinner we included thanks that our dear old Dad and husband had finally entered the 21st century.
Now he's got to figure out how to use it. He's going to pay his teenage daughters to enter in all his contacts and get him up to speed on technology.
I guess he can still not answer when I call, but I can still whisper consequences til the cows come home.
Thursday, March 12, 2009
The Nervous Sun
Here I am, it's been a month.
Here's what's going on in my neck of Utah, the "I'm just not going to let spring ever come" state. I love how John Updike talks about March in his children's book "A Child's Calendar." He says,
"The sun is nervous
As a kite
That can't quite keep
It's own string tight.
Some days are fair,
And some are raw.
The timid earth
Decides to thaw.
Shy budlets peep
From twigs on trees,
And robins join
The chickadees.
Pale crocuses
Poke through the ground
Like noses come
To sniff around.
The mud smells happy
On our shoes,
We will wear mittens,
Which we lose."
This is March. The sun peaks out and hides, then starts the whole thing over again. When the sun's out it's tolerable and even exciting, but when it's not, it's not worth staying outside. My son thinks it's definitely spring, and likes to wear shorts and t-shirts to school when it's 30 degrees outside. Can I just say that I am sick to death of fighting with him about clothes. When I ask him to take a jacket to school, you'd think I'd asked him to hike through the Kalahara without water. Good grief.
Yesterday at school was the 5th grade maturation program for boys and girls. "But we were separated," Nathan told me. I couldn't believe when he got in the car after school and "shared" this information with me. I was stunned when he brought it up at dinner in front of his teenage sisters. "What did they tell you?" they giggled. Their laughing didn't deter him at all.
"About how we're supposed to wear deoderant and take a shower every day. Giggle giggle, blush blush from the sister section. "And how pretty soon we're going to start liking girls." Giggle, giggle.
"We all gagged and pretended to throw up when he said that," he added. Peals of laughter from all of us.
"Next year you'll learn more stuff," I said.
"Great," he said, and rolled his eyes.
My crocuses are poking through. Updike's crocuses are pale but mine are bright yellow and purple. I'm glad we made the effort to plant them last fall. Thankfully they can't go back into the ground after they've sprung, like the sun going behind the clouds. They are the bravest flower of all, to stand up to the fickle days of March.
Hope there's some sun wherever you are today!
Here's what's going on in my neck of Utah, the "I'm just not going to let spring ever come" state. I love how John Updike talks about March in his children's book "A Child's Calendar." He says,
"The sun is nervous
As a kite
That can't quite keep
It's own string tight.
Some days are fair,
And some are raw.
The timid earth
Decides to thaw.
Shy budlets peep
From twigs on trees,
And robins join
The chickadees.
Pale crocuses
Poke through the ground
Like noses come
To sniff around.
The mud smells happy
On our shoes,
We will wear mittens,
Which we lose."
This is March. The sun peaks out and hides, then starts the whole thing over again. When the sun's out it's tolerable and even exciting, but when it's not, it's not worth staying outside. My son thinks it's definitely spring, and likes to wear shorts and t-shirts to school when it's 30 degrees outside. Can I just say that I am sick to death of fighting with him about clothes. When I ask him to take a jacket to school, you'd think I'd asked him to hike through the Kalahara without water. Good grief.
Yesterday at school was the 5th grade maturation program for boys and girls. "But we were separated," Nathan told me. I couldn't believe when he got in the car after school and "shared" this information with me. I was stunned when he brought it up at dinner in front of his teenage sisters. "What did they tell you?" they giggled. Their laughing didn't deter him at all.
"About how we're supposed to wear deoderant and take a shower every day. Giggle giggle, blush blush from the sister section. "And how pretty soon we're going to start liking girls." Giggle, giggle.
"We all gagged and pretended to throw up when he said that," he added. Peals of laughter from all of us.
"Next year you'll learn more stuff," I said.
"Great," he said, and rolled his eyes.
My crocuses are poking through. Updike's crocuses are pale but mine are bright yellow and purple. I'm glad we made the effort to plant them last fall. Thankfully they can't go back into the ground after they've sprung, like the sun going behind the clouds. They are the bravest flower of all, to stand up to the fickle days of March.
Hope there's some sun wherever you are today!
Thursday, February 12, 2009
Stimulus and Stimulants
President Obama and I have a lot in common these days. He doesn't know me from Adam (or Eve) although I would have practically traded in my fuzzy red socks to see him get elected. I would have jumped ship temporarily (or house and home) to work on his campaign if I had been at a different stage in my life. No, he doesn't know me and never will, but we are both working for a common goal these days.
While President Obama is feverishly trying to stimulate the economy, I am desperately trying to stimulate my brain which has been misfiring all my life. The catch is that it's a lot easier to stimulate a brain IF you have the right tools than to stimulate a sagging, ailing economy. The irony is that it's taken me 42 years of struggle to find out what's wrong with me, and once discovered, it seems almost too easy. For our economy, however, there are multiple layers of reasons for its malfunction, and connecting the wires is a Herculean task.
I wish that creating jobs and improving the lives of Americans were so simple and fixable as my own brain. As all economists are warning, there is no magic pill, unfortunately. But for me, there is, or seems to be, at this moment. I am in the honeymoon phase of OBF optimal brain function (my own term) and each day's moments are lovely and relieving.
A couple of weeks ago I was diagnosed with adult ADD. That's Attention Deficit Disorder, for all of you whose brains are functioning optimally today. No, I do not have the ADHD type, "H" standing for hyper. Most adults don't actually. I have come up with a few of my own words to make it sound better, or sillier than it actually is, like ALWAYS DOING DUMB things or ALWAYS DREADING the DAY or ATTENTION: DRAMA DANCE coming your way or ATTENTION: DISASTER DEAD ahead or other nonsense.
Just one more: ATTENTION: DUH! DUH!!!!!!!!
But this disorder is real, as real as my heart pumping blood. Real.
Multiple times a day since the diagnosis I say to myself, "Oh yeah, that's why that happened and that's why I did that." If anymore light bulbs go on in my brain I will have to put on sunglasses to fight the glare of revelation that has opened up to me.
Since I started taking my stimulant medication I have gone from feeling half dead to feeling alive. The snow is pretty, not a pain in the butt. The autistic kids at school are funny instead of a pain in the butt. My children are busy, interesting and entertaining with lots of good things that I can be part of instead of energy sucking creatures that consume food, make a ton of dirty laundry and keep me taxiing around the city for hours a day. I love them so much!
Geez, will I finally be able to sit through church without wanting to get up and wander? Will I stop running to the store all the time? Will I stop overeating? Will I stop being the world's grouchiest MAMA in the mornings? Will I be able to function past 9 pm? Will I be able to finish a novel? Will I blog more than once a month? Will I start solving problems instead of creating them? Will I keep this same cell phone for more than six months? Will I? Will I? Will I? Perhaps, maybe, and I hope so more than anything.
Darren says I'm "firing from all cylinders" this week, like the Titanic without an iceberg in sight. Smooth sailing, calm waters, full steam ahead. Don't. Look. Back.
IT IS ABOUT TIME.
Whew! Mr. President, my fog is lifting, and I wish you luck in finding the light that can lift the mucky haze from the American economy and people.
I wish it were not so real for you.
While President Obama is feverishly trying to stimulate the economy, I am desperately trying to stimulate my brain which has been misfiring all my life. The catch is that it's a lot easier to stimulate a brain IF you have the right tools than to stimulate a sagging, ailing economy. The irony is that it's taken me 42 years of struggle to find out what's wrong with me, and once discovered, it seems almost too easy. For our economy, however, there are multiple layers of reasons for its malfunction, and connecting the wires is a Herculean task.
I wish that creating jobs and improving the lives of Americans were so simple and fixable as my own brain. As all economists are warning, there is no magic pill, unfortunately. But for me, there is, or seems to be, at this moment. I am in the honeymoon phase of OBF optimal brain function (my own term) and each day's moments are lovely and relieving.
A couple of weeks ago I was diagnosed with adult ADD. That's Attention Deficit Disorder, for all of you whose brains are functioning optimally today. No, I do not have the ADHD type, "H" standing for hyper. Most adults don't actually. I have come up with a few of my own words to make it sound better, or sillier than it actually is, like ALWAYS DOING DUMB things or ALWAYS DREADING the DAY or ATTENTION: DRAMA DANCE coming your way or ATTENTION: DISASTER DEAD ahead or other nonsense.
Just one more: ATTENTION: DUH! DUH!!!!!!!!
But this disorder is real, as real as my heart pumping blood. Real.
Multiple times a day since the diagnosis I say to myself, "Oh yeah, that's why that happened and that's why I did that." If anymore light bulbs go on in my brain I will have to put on sunglasses to fight the glare of revelation that has opened up to me.
Since I started taking my stimulant medication I have gone from feeling half dead to feeling alive. The snow is pretty, not a pain in the butt. The autistic kids at school are funny instead of a pain in the butt. My children are busy, interesting and entertaining with lots of good things that I can be part of instead of energy sucking creatures that consume food, make a ton of dirty laundry and keep me taxiing around the city for hours a day. I love them so much!
Geez, will I finally be able to sit through church without wanting to get up and wander? Will I stop running to the store all the time? Will I stop overeating? Will I stop being the world's grouchiest MAMA in the mornings? Will I be able to function past 9 pm? Will I be able to finish a novel? Will I blog more than once a month? Will I start solving problems instead of creating them? Will I keep this same cell phone for more than six months? Will I? Will I? Will I? Perhaps, maybe, and I hope so more than anything.
Darren says I'm "firing from all cylinders" this week, like the Titanic without an iceberg in sight. Smooth sailing, calm waters, full steam ahead. Don't. Look. Back.
IT IS ABOUT TIME.
Whew! Mr. President, my fog is lifting, and I wish you luck in finding the light that can lift the mucky haze from the American economy and people.
I wish it were not so real for you.
Sunday, January 11, 2009
Sex Education the Guy Way
It amazes me how men simplify things whereas women complicate things endlessly. Take sex ed at home.
Today we were reading the The Great Brain. We were at the when the brothers are talking about dog breeding and mating. Darren took this opportunity to ask Nathan what he knew about dogs mating and how it works. Go figure. Without a pause he moved right on to human mating before I could even blink. I was in the same room typing up something for my young women's lesson. I typed slower and slower and made more and more mistakes because I couldn't believe what I was hearing out of the blue on a Sunday afternoon.
It went something like this. Well, I don't want the parental controls to short circuit or anything, so I'll just say that my son will forever think that canine mating is the same as human mating, and that his Mom was laughing like a hyena in the background. I hope he can get the image out of his mind on his wedding night. Maybe someday he'll vow to explain things to his own children better that his own parents did. Or maybe Darren's right. The way to do it is to somehow weave the details into something that it remotely resembles, like animal mating. And then pray they don't want too many details.
In other words, the mechanics of it all was spelled out within five minutes and they were back to The Great Brain. When I turned around to look at Darren incredulously, he replied "What? That's how guys do it." Amazing. Nathan was bit red-faced and eager to get on with the story, but basically unscathed.
It was not like that for me and my girls. I worried and fretted when my oldest daughter started asking me questions--IN SECOND GRADE, NO LESS--and composed myself to come up with some textbook answers. She was young enough not to be embarrassed, and she sat thoughtfully after our little talk, with a bemused look on her face. Of course I was riddled with worry. "Is this too much information?" "Is she too young?" "Will she tell a friend?" all went through my mind. I was sick to my stomach that I had said the wrong things.
My second daughter would run from the room whenever I broached the subject, and we still have yet to have "the" conversation. Now she's 14 and it's too late. If I tried to talk to her now, she'd be halfway down the street before I could get out a sentence, madly texting her BFF how insane her mother is. "Can you even believe it, BFF?" she'd dash off.
So, Nathan's "done" so to speak. I do hope Darren smoothes things over a bit in the next little while. As for me, I'm through complicating things. I still have one girl to go, though. An approach somewhere between Darren's and mine would be ideal, but life isn't ideal.
I think I'm gonna buy her a book.
Today we were reading the The Great Brain. We were at the when the brothers are talking about dog breeding and mating. Darren took this opportunity to ask Nathan what he knew about dogs mating and how it works. Go figure. Without a pause he moved right on to human mating before I could even blink. I was in the same room typing up something for my young women's lesson. I typed slower and slower and made more and more mistakes because I couldn't believe what I was hearing out of the blue on a Sunday afternoon.
It went something like this. Well, I don't want the parental controls to short circuit or anything, so I'll just say that my son will forever think that canine mating is the same as human mating, and that his Mom was laughing like a hyena in the background. I hope he can get the image out of his mind on his wedding night. Maybe someday he'll vow to explain things to his own children better that his own parents did. Or maybe Darren's right. The way to do it is to somehow weave the details into something that it remotely resembles, like animal mating. And then pray they don't want too many details.
In other words, the mechanics of it all was spelled out within five minutes and they were back to The Great Brain. When I turned around to look at Darren incredulously, he replied "What? That's how guys do it." Amazing. Nathan was bit red-faced and eager to get on with the story, but basically unscathed.
It was not like that for me and my girls. I worried and fretted when my oldest daughter started asking me questions--IN SECOND GRADE, NO LESS--and composed myself to come up with some textbook answers. She was young enough not to be embarrassed, and she sat thoughtfully after our little talk, with a bemused look on her face. Of course I was riddled with worry. "Is this too much information?" "Is she too young?" "Will she tell a friend?" all went through my mind. I was sick to my stomach that I had said the wrong things.
My second daughter would run from the room whenever I broached the subject, and we still have yet to have "the" conversation. Now she's 14 and it's too late. If I tried to talk to her now, she'd be halfway down the street before I could get out a sentence, madly texting her BFF how insane her mother is. "Can you even believe it, BFF?" she'd dash off.
So, Nathan's "done" so to speak. I do hope Darren smoothes things over a bit in the next little while. As for me, I'm through complicating things. I still have one girl to go, though. An approach somewhere between Darren's and mine would be ideal, but life isn't ideal.
I think I'm gonna buy her a book.
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