The world is freaking conspiring against me this morning.

I should join The Dark Side. Not because I want to keep my loved ones alive forever (ahem, ANAKIN), but because I want unlimited dark and sinister power to make my kids grow up and go to school already AS IN TODAY.

Actually, not their fault. Mine for not controlling my emotions better and letting the morning get off to a rough start.

And in what-is-not-really-but-may-seem-like-a-tangent: is self-criticism harder to take than criticism from others? In some ways, no. I can say my own critical things to myself that don't hurt nearly as much as when someone else says the same thing. In other ways, yes. This is usually driven by depressing and negative thoughts brought on by criticism - imagined or real - from others. The whole "I'm not worthy" thing.

And to avoid such a negative downward spiral, I am going to stop for now. I will drink some tea, I will let Caillou or Clifford or Bob the Builder babysit Fruit Loop while Cracker Jack and I (separately) nap. And then I will get some coffee and we will drive an hour to swimming and I will mentally beg and plead and USE THE FORCE to get Fruit Loop to earn his Red Patch, and to get his teacher to stop prevaricating and GIVE IT TO HIM ALREADY, SO WHAT IF HE CAN'T FLOAT NATURALLY IT IS HARD WORK AND HE IS DOING EVERYTHING YOU ASKED HIM TO. I should Jedi mind trick her.

GAAAAAAH, me and my pathetically spoiled WASPy, self-centered, abject misery.

Notes on the news lately:

****

Dude. You think Sea World is all happy dolphins?



Okay, so only the end of that is really relevant, and even then not so much. I actually find it a bit crude. However, I do enjoy me some King of the Hill sometimes, and frankly I just wanted to embed something. And, oddly, that was the first association that came to mind when all of my rainbow-and-unicorn-themed illusions were SHATTERED by THIS: SeaWorld trainer killed by killer whale.

I'm pretty sure this Monstro is the one thousands of children and parents go to SeaWorld expecting to see, chanting and cheering for: THE one and only (or, rather, named after the original) Shamu*. It's such a tragedy, and it re-ignites the debate over keeping such large mammals in captivity.

THE PLOT THICKENS: Two disparate accounts of the incident. SeaWorld's official account is that the trainer slipped or fell into the water and drowned. A witness and anonymous SeaWorld employee say the whale came partly out of the water, grabbed the trainer by the waist, and shook her. I don't want to sensationalize or marginalize the tragic nature of this, but it's interesting that there are two such different accounts...

We went to SeaWorld last year. We saw Shamu. Twice! Fruit Loop loved it. We sat in the splash zone just so Shamu could splash us. (Which he didn't. Bum whale.)

We haven't told Fruit Loop.

****

And then we have this: OVERRATED and TOTALLY UNSTABLE. Way to represent the U.S. Olympics Ski Team, ladies.

I mean, I'm sure the Olympics are more than a little stressful. I get that, nobody operates their best under stress. And yes, there may be some wounds involved (shins, egos, whatever), but SERIOUSLY: grow up. You are representing your country at THE premiere athletic event.

Vonn needs to quit w/ the swimsuit covers and concentrate on her performances. Also, lose the "Ah am so innocent aynd ah just wish ahll mah competitors such good luck aynd ah simply cayn't imaaagine whhyevah she would say such a thang aynd ah just want to race mah bayest."**

Mancuso should look into a buddy program with Susan Boyle. No, that's harsh - I'm sorry, Julia and Susan. I just don't think you girls are handling the pressure very well. It's not worth it. Do what you love doing on your terms, not the whole rest of us who are feeding a media-frenzied celebrity pop culture monstrosity.

So say I from the comfort of my armchair. Pass the peanut butter Oreos, please.

****

And for some levity: DEFINE CELEBRITY. No, no, I take it back. That's what everyone is saying. I don't think we'd really argue about the famousosity of these people, (for the most part), and while the term "celebrity" may be a bit generous, nobody really cares because it makes for better TV that way.

Why do these people do this, I wonder? The money goes to charity, so it's no direct financial incentive. I suppose it probably does all come down to money on some level, though, as this gets them in the public eye, puts them back on the map, revives interest, etc., etc., etc.

No real point to this, just that the show is still going on. Multiple seasons! Take THAT, Donald Trump Bankruptcy!

Oh! But! Wait! So on the real Apprentice, some season a few years ago (back when I religiously watched TV - I'm serious, and no, that's not funny) when it came down to Kwame and Rebecca (sp?), and the Donald gave Kwame the option to have BOTH of them be the apprentice and DUDE SHUT IT DOWN? Yeah, so I know Rebecca! Well, okay, I don't REALLY know. We were in the same year in college. She was good friends with a girl in my first-year house, a girl who then rented an apartment directly opposite Hottie McHots's apartment (which he shared with 2 other guys of quite unabashedly crude temperaments, in some respects). Anyway. What was I saying? Oh, that I know who she is, saw her on campus. She probably has no idea who I am, unless she is one of the legions of girls (yes, that many) who were hot for my Hottie McHots (back off, ladies, I WILL CUT YOU), in which case she would know me as The Girlfriend. Can I just say:



****





*As the article mentioned, "Shamu" is now a stage name used for any of the orcas. Which is totally lame. I mean, unless the orcas contractually demanded to have stage names in addition to their human-given monikers. The whale in question here is "really" named Tillikum/Telly. Apparently. ANYway, if you go to the Orlando show, you will see the showcase Shamu is this unbelievably gigantic beast of a whale. I think that one and Telly must be one and the same.

**I don't think she really talks like that. (Probably nobody does.) I'm mocking her pretension a bit, is all.

Or: Self-Delusion: Everybody's Doing It

Or: How I Kill My Child's Imagination and Dreams, One Answer at a Time

So, as most children his age are wont to do, Fruit Loop asks questions. Lots and lots of questions. Ones he knows perfectly well the answers to. Ones he has no idea what he's talking about. Ones that are intelligent. Ones that are...not so much.

And when he's not asking questions, he's talking. Talking, talking, talking. People remark on how articulate he is - it is because he never stops practicing!

Many, many times I am focusing my mental energies on something else, and I do one of several things: 1) tune out the myriad (often repetitive or similarly-themed) questions and running commentary; 2) give some vague sound for an answer for him to interpret as he sees fit (the problem being that Fruit Loop is not content with vague and amorphous thoughts, but instead MUST PIN YOU DOWN WITH AN ANSWER); 3) give a real answer (as in, words and everything) that makes no sense because I was not paying attention (see #1); 4) cut him off and tell him I really am not paying attention right now - the questions can wait while I try not to burn dinner (e.g.).

All of this leads me to be a bit...dismissive...of the wonderful, creative, awe-filled experience that is Fruit Loop, that is a child growing up and marveling at the world around him. For example:
*****

FL: Whoa, look at that hill of snow! Maybe some day we can go sledding, and that would be a good place to go sledding, right, Mom?
Me: Except that it's right next to the highway. (hears his little dream shatter before he gamely rallies with a "But that's still a good hill, right?")

FL: Maybe, after an earthquake and the buildings fall down and all of the pieces fall into the ocean, then a diver can go down and get them and they can build the building again!
Me: Mm, they'd probably just build a new building. (sees his crestfallen expression as she pulverizes yet another a great idea...followed by his confusion as to why anyone would pick such a boring alternative to his totally way cooler idea)

FL: (holding a Lego jet of his own creation, tearing around the living room and making airplane noises) Do jets go fast as this?
Me: No, even faster. (in a more defeatist than encouraging tone. You think I would have learned by now, don't you?)
*****

And that's just from the last five hours.

He is a precocious child, he is. But I get too caught up in the daily chores and outside things to get done that I don't stop and appreciate life through his eyes. I dismiss his big ideas, quash his imaginative musings, and discourage his curiosity with a lack of patience, my inattention, or my placing him second to all sorts of other things that can certainly wait - or do with less of my attention, at least.

He is growing up, and I am throwing these moments aside.

Gah, the mommy guilt. It pains me so.

Perhaps musing over how I can better enjoy life through his eyes is in store - with the help of a few pals of mine: Ben. And Jerry. As in, ICE CREAM.*



*Actually, it's just one pal, Dean. You know, Dean's ice cream, not Ben & Jerry's ice cream. But for some reason, that's just not as funny.

Am making yogurt today. From all reports, seems like a simple, straightforward thing to do.

AND YET. Let me tell you a little story, mmkay? About the first time I was left to my own devices when fending for myself in the dinner department.

This tale takes place many (many, many, many) moons ago. I was probably in 6th or 7th grade. I came home after some sports practice, Mom was at work, and we had our very first box of Kraft Macaroni & Cheese ("It's the cheesiest!") just waiting for me in the cupboard, begging my tastebuds and tempting my empty stomach to succumb to the tantalizing flavors of convenience.

(I write that as if I were some culinary virtuoso, with a palate to die for and all sorts of associated food snobbery. HA. Hahahahaha. Ha. Er...Of COURSE, that is all changed now. However, back then...Well, read on, dear reader, read on. You poor thing.)


(The box I used 15 or so years ago was not nearly so full of shiny marketing goodness.)


5 tiny little letters. That's it. And at first, I was so thoroughly convinced that I had done everything right, that I must have some substandard product, that they MUST have left that little five-letter word off the instructions...

No, just my complete and total ineptitude when it came to something putatively simple and straightforward.

Ladies and gentlemen, I made macaroni and cheese soup. Or macaroni and cheese broth, maybe that's a bit more sophisticated. It was ... well, disgusting is too mild, but that's what it was. I erred in several key areas:

*The macaroni was undercooked, resulting in hard-yet-chewy macaroni. It stuck to your teeth, it tasted like pasta glue, and it sunk like a stone to the bottom of my "broth." That wouldn't be so bad, though, if not for the following:

*DRAIN. Those five little letters, right there. Such a small little word, really, for such an INTEGRAL PART OF THE WHOLE MAC'N'CHEESE PROCESS, don't you think? And when you place such a small, easily-overlooked word in the middle of a veritable PARAGRAPH of Step 2 instructions, well, what do you expect? IT GETS EASILY OVERLOOKED!

(I harbor no resentment towards Kraft nor shame for myself re: this debacle. None. Really. What, it doesn't come across that way? Strange...)

Okay, so the whole thing is: I made Kraft mac'n'cheese from a box. I didn't cook the noodles long enough. I forgot to freaking drain the pasta water before adding magic powdery fake cheese-y "goodness," and then commenced to try and eat my concoction. After several bites, I called Mom at work and told her of my misadventures, wherein she quickly diagnosed the source of most of my watery mac'n'cheese problems: did I drain it?

DRAIN!

Don't try this, okay? It's the whole "I think I just threw up a bit in my mouth" experience, and not in the "that's such a cool and trendy phrase to use now when something weirds you out."

I don't have to drain yogurt, do I?

As I mentioned previously*, Fruit Loop takes swimming lessons. The program, the Chicago Swim School, is based on the Starfish Swim School curriculum. Children are taught foundational skills from the beginning, and build progressively upon that as they graduate through each level. I am really impressed with this program. The instructors are, for the most part, very experienced and knowledgeable, and the program is designed to be both fun and work.

Fruit Loop is currently in the Red level - the 2nd level, for children who have demonstrated an ability to float and be comfortable in the water. Red is notoriously hard. UGH. It's a big leap from the first level, White, to graduating from Red. Students must be able to submerge and float up, roll from front to back and float, and - the real kicker - jump in and come up to float on their backs all by themselves. (You laugh, sure, but for little 3 year olds - especially those who sink like a stone, thankyouverymuchHottieMcHots'sgenetics - it is WORK!)

With the first two skills, a ribbon (of the color matching the level with which that skill is a benchmark) is awarded. Upon completion of the final, culminatory (probably not a real word) skill, the child earns a patch for that color and has officially graduated to the next level.

So yeah. The Red level and I were quickly approaching not-speaking terms. Until! Today! HE DID IT!! Something done clicked in the fruit loop's brain, and he done did it! Now he just has to show his teacher it wasn't a fluke by giving a repeat performance at his class next week, and he'll have passed out of the Red level!

We have been in the Red level for over. a. year. That realization right there makes me want to tear my hair out. You have no idea.

(Unless, of course, you are a fellow parent whose child is enrolled in Starfish-based swim lessons and IS CURRENTLY IN RED LEVEL HELL.)

(I kid. It's not REALLY Hell. Duh. It's just long and arduous and NEVERENDING MISERY AFTER THIS LONG.)

(Of course, it's only really misery for the parents. The kids could care less. "Why, sure, Mom, I'd LOVE to go to swimming and spend the whole time splashing, talking/fighting with the other kids, doing things my way because I - at 3 or 4 years old - totally know way more about this stuff than any old teacher could tell me.")

(Not that Fruit Loop fights with the other kids. Though he does have permission to hit a kid if the kid hits him first. But that's a whole 'nother post.)

Anyway. Point. (There is one, I assure you.) Fruit Loop is this close to earning his Red patch! This has been a long time coming, and he totally deserves it. After all of his hard work, I am so proud of him. Yay, Fruit Loop!!




*I considered rubbing it in again: to all you yuppity-duppity moms out there, MY SON IS NOT IN PRESCHOOL!! (<-- said with much glee) Instead of preschool (read: daycare), he does fun, wholesome, well-rounded things. Like swimming! Art class! Soccer! Kumon! But that makes me seem like I'm anti-establishment or anti-yuppy-ism or a hater or whatever. Which I'm totally not. (In fact, see several of those activities = definition of yuppy or overprivileged or whatever you want to call it.) And, yes, I realize preschools typically put together a number of programs designed to produce well-rounded, socially competent children. I just enjoy the decision to remove myself and my family from the rat race that is parenting in these times of strollers that cost more than many people's monthly income.

...And yet, I still like me them strollers. Argh.

Cracker Jack has always (ALWAYS) been in a hurry to grow up. He sees Fruit Loop and can't contain his excitement. His desire to play like a real boy ("I'm a real boy!"..."Ah!") is palpable. And this is not limited to playing, oh no.

So it was inevitable, I suppose. A perfect maelstrom just waiting to happen. Cracker Jack has reached his first rebellious stage.

(Isn't it a little early for this?)

Okay, so, backstory: we do a lot of store-bought baby food around here. Gerber babies, indeed. Sure, Cracker Jack got the occasional bite of "real people" food, and he gets more as he gets older. He's only working with four teeth, but don't anybody ever say the boy limits himself. He would eat steak if I let him. Doesn't matter what it is, if he judges it to be "real" food, he'll down it. (Funny story: this morning he was refusing his usual baby cereal-based breakfast. Clever - read: sneaky and conniving - mom that I am, I pretended to scoop the food off of Fruit Loop's plate, when the whole time I only ever had baby cereal on the spoon. (I know, genius. Right.) Guess who gobbled THAT down?)

ANYway, so the whole day was pretty much more of the same. HOW DARE I? I mean, why would I even THINK that the baby would deign to look upon - let alone touch or eat! - anything of baby food ilk? He didn't even want his baby yogurt (a guaranteed success, once upon a time), and preferred to cast about with much wailing and gnashing of his four little baby teeth at the terrible lot in life to which he has been cast. When I finally gave him a whole wheat bagel with plain cream cheese, it was as if the heavens themselves had opened up and it was raining baby yogurt-covered manna from the sky.

AND YET. Who, I ask you, do you think was demanding - DEMANDING, when usually he could care less - to be breastfed AROUND THE CLOCK? Hint: it wasn't Fruit Loop, that's for sure. Dude, it's like I had a sign on me that said "All you can eat - open 24/7!" (And it's like Cracker Jack could read, and...eh, it was funnier in my head.)

What gives? I can't win! He wants to dine on real food, yet he's decided to regress back to his newborn days and nurse, nurse, nurse, cry, repeat.

I'm wondering if he's hit a serious growth spurt or something. Although he's obviously discriminate about what he eats (see: no baby food for YOU referenced earlier), which I take it to mean he's not starving and willing to eat whatever slop I put in front of him, so ... yeah. Not sure what to make of that.

Maybe it was just one of those days. In which case, I will go have some peanut butter Oreos.

If you're not familiar with the Kumon program/philosophy, take a quick looksee here. It's basically a math and reading preparedness program for young kids (3 and up), and evolves into extra study for students who are behind, needing to stay afloat, or wanting to get ahead (elementary, junior high, high school). Students visit the Kumon center 2x/week, do approx. 30' work per subject, and have homework remaining days of the week. There is a master system with appropriate times to complete work and percentage of errors that calculates in what level a student belongs.

Fruit Loop started Kumon shortly after his 3rd birthday. Within 6 months, he was moving through addition tables and reading. Great! Wonderful! But, oh, it was worse than pulling teeth to get him to do his daily homework by the end of it. He and I were both at our limit. (Here is your first - and certainly not last, I am sure - example of why I could never homeschool my kids. Less than ten math problems a day, less than 6 sentences of reading, and the Fruit Loop and I were soooo not on speaking terms after just that.) So we took a break from formal classes to instead occasionally work on our own. I'm sure that has slowed his progress, but:

I. Am. Amazed. He's mentally maturing enough to recognize math problems and words, to reliably interchange a word that he's sounded out almost but not quite right for what it "really" is. It's like I can almost see, in just a few short weeks, his brain growing and nimbly grasping where before it was much more laboriously "plug and chug".

Everyone asks if Fruit Loop is in school. After the medical school disaster and time he spent in day care during that, after visiting a few preschool programs and seeing simply "glorified daycare," Hottie McHots and I decided we'd make better use of these early years in Fruit Loop's life by structuring our own schedule for him = better than preschool! (*Gasp!* Yeah, I said it. Take that, all you hoity-toity $800 Stroller Moms.) We fill his time with activities (swimming, soccer, art class) and learning. Kumon has been HUGE in that. It's intellectually challenging but NOT pushy or overwhelming - you work at the kid's pace.

Anyway, the roundabout points I'm trying to make are: Kumon is everything it's cracked up to be (as long as you get good teachers and a well-run center, which usually seems to be the case and, regardless, is easily identifiable from the get-go), and I am so proud and impressed by the fruit loop's work. And he is proud of himself, too, as he should be.

So let it be writ:

I am taking the night off. Perhaps I'll make up this post sometime over the weekend. Probably not. :)

First, if there ARE any of you East Coast folks reading this (and I think I can safely say that, no, there is NOBODY reading this), you will think I am out of my mind. Guano crazy, as it were. HOWEVER:

I want to be snowed in! Obviously I am envisioning the snowed in where the heat and electricity and internet all still work, where we are warm and dry and toasty inside our battened down, fully functioning abode - inside looking out and all. Outside = snowy blizzard of DOOM. Inside = chestnuts roasting on an open fire. You know, THAT kind of snowed in.

Really, though, it'd be great. Hottie McHots wouldn't have to work - it would all be postponed/cancelled. We would have a great excuse to watch movies, eat feel-good junk food (homemade popcorn with REAL BUTTER - oh yeah, that's right, I said it), sleep, be lazy, goof off as a family. I wish we were snowed in.

But we're not. And Hottie McHots is pushing to close a deal by Friday - well, HE'S not pushing to close it. He's being pushed to close it, per the client. While we both acknowledge the paycheck is a nice one, it's not worth the stress and health risks and selling of his soul. I think a phone call is in order, wherein I ring the managing partners, give them a good what for, and institute a curfew.

Or maybe I'll just call in and sound all official when I tell them it's a snow day.

Or Chai or whatever you want to call it. It's goooood.

Masala Tea:
(serves 4 - or 1, if you're anything like me)


3T loose tea (e.g., Wagh Bakri Premium International Blend, available at international foods stores) OR 5 tea bags Lipton, Tetley, etc.
1-2" stick of cinnamon
1/4t nutmeg
9 cloves OR 1t ground cloves
7 green cardamom pods, cracked
1c. water

Put all in pot --> boil 2'.
Add 4.5c milk (the higher the fat content, the better) --> boil 2'.
Add sugar to taste.

Notes:
Lipton, Tetley, etc. are milder tasting and less caffeinated. If you use Wagh Bakri (or some other international blend geared towards Indian consumers), be prepared for a much stronger - and much more caffeinated - tea. (If using international tea, I recommend this as a breakfast or midday tea. It is way too strong to have before bed. I speak from experience - I, who am usually immune to the effects of caffeine before bed.)

After adding milk, SLOWLY bring to boil. The slower you do this, the less "skin" you'll have to skim off later.

Be careful, as milk will quickly go from barely simmering to full-on boiling over.

Once the pot has almost boiled over (but you have rescued it, you kitchen wonder you!), temper the heat so you can let the pot actively boil 2'.

After 2' of boiling, cut the heat and let the pot rest there on the burner. It will steep as it slowly stops boiling, and will also allow more of the skin to form (= easier to remove that way).

You will want to pour this into your mug via a strainer/sieve. This will catch all of the loose bits as well as much of the skin.


Having tasted the mass-produced chai, (Tazo, I am talking about YOU here!), you'll notice some companies include ginger in their tea. It's purely preference if you want to include it or not. However, I don't have any recommendations on what form or how much to use, so you'll have to 1) experiment, b) University of Google it, iii) ask me to make up some wildly unfounded guess (or ask me to University of Google it), or cuatro) go without.*



*Now I'm feeling all lazy. Here, try this: 1/4" fresh ginger OR 1t ginger (powdered spice). Don't say I never gave you anything.

This post can be taken either of two ways:

1) I am very poor at time management.

OR

2) I am a creative genius who can mastermind her schedule down to the nth minute.


When I turned 12, I already knew what my summer plans were going to be: detasseling. For those of you unfamiliar with this inhumane (yet lucrative, to a 12-year-old) form of physical labor, the long and the short of it is: you walk (or ride a machine, often both) through rows of corn, pulling off the tassel at the very top. Over. And over. And over. You leave for the fields at 4a to try and beat the heat, work through mid-afternoon, return home exhausted and barely able to keep your eyes open at the dinner table, and pass out asleep earlier than most grandparents...knowing full well that your alarm will go off far too early the next morning so that you can do this all over again.

IT IS FUN. And I haven't even mentioned the particularly unique buggy + wet corn vegetable-y smell that permeates the air...and your clothes, your hair, your skin. I haven't mentioned the layers of dirt and sweat and general disgustingness that you are caked in by the end of the day.

So you shower when you get home. And you shower again in the morning, just to try and stave off some of the disgusting that is to come.

And here (how many paragraphs - and I use that word loosely, Mrs. Michael, I know - in are we?) is my point: many moons ago indeed did I perfect the art of the speed shower. I'm talking (w/ long hair!) washing hair, face, body, all in five minutes or less. (Nowadays I - and Hottie McHots - are lucky if I shower at all! Love you, honey!)

I'm talking about TIME MANAGEMENT, people. I'm talking about valuable consolidation of activities. MULTITASKING. (Or plain old just saving time. You know who you are, Mr. Cutting Through This Gas Station Lot Because I Don't Want to Wait to Make That Turn. THERE IS A LAW AGAINST THAT, I WILL HAVE YOU KNOW.) I'm talking about all of those little tricks you do to shave some minutes off, save some time somewhere (only to fritter it away with you, dear internet, or with my Costco-sized jar of Nutella).

So you shampoo and wash your face, then rinse all together. You condition while you wash your body, rinse all together. You slip on your shoes while you're putting on your coat. You return phone calls while you're grocery shopping (and that has absolutely nothing to do w/ your phone NOT WORKING in your apartment, AHEM AT&T), you know which elevator in the building is the slow one, you know where in the hallway to the grocery store is the best place to pass SLOW PEOPLE.

It's like a game, right? See how fast I can be? See how creative I can get? See how I'm not neurotic, right? Right??

Where is the sitter?
Saturday night is date night.
We're ready. We're out!

Tried Tazo Tea's Vanilla Rooibos tea latte concentrate tonight. (No, NOT from Starbucks, Land of Burnt Tar Coffee. This was courtesy of a trip to and coupon @ Whole Foods. Yay!)

The verdict?

Grrrrreat! I am a fan of frou-frouey drinks, but there's more to it than that: this is a light, caffeine-free tea that is perfect before bed. Mix it with your favorite milk or milk substitute. You don't need to add sugar - the vanilla is sweet enough.

I don't have much more to say than that. I'm a sucker for new things, and am usually sorely disappointed, (because I get my hopes up too high? Or because the item is so underwhelming and, often, regrettable? I think the latter...). But this? No disappointment!

At some point in the future I will try posting my own Chai Latte recipe. (Or Masala Tea, Chai, Desi Tea, etc., etc., etc. Call it what you want, it's gooooooooood.)

Things I Love in the News:

Sussing out SIDS. Fact of life: parents worry about everything. Especially when you're a first-time mom, especially when you read What to Expect When You're Expecting, especially if you have any medical background. Or maybe just when you're neurotic, like me. Whatever your reason, I think every parent has experienced some anxiety over SIDS, and I know (I KNOW) you have all breathed a sigh of relief when your child passes those ages marking reduced likelihood of SIDS happening.

The problem - until now! See article! Yay! - is that SIDS is utterly mysterious. We know that putting babies to sleep on their backs has ostensibly yielded a lower incidence of SIDS. We also know that cooler temps and no loose bedding/stuffed animals are recommended.

Now there is science to help understand at least one of the mechanisms and/or hallmarks of SIDS. DO YOU REALIZE HOW HUUUUGE THIS IS?? We can quantifiably demonstrate a difference between babies who suffered from SIDS and those who didn't. What was once ambiguous and full of so much intangible ether has all of a sudden been transformed into concrete facts, a burgeoning understanding of something, ANYthing that goes wrong in SIDS.

In case you don't get my level of excitement over this from my writing, let me add: !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I don't have personal experience with SIDS. I just am thrilled at the insights and power of modern science. I am hugely interested in how the body works - and how it doesn't work, as the case may be - and the fact that science is elucidating details about a previously mysterious, deadly disease is cause for celebration.

This gives me much hope.


Things I Hate in the News:

Or: Why I Am Never Living in France. Mainstream media articles re: this subject (shockingly few and far between) all seem to frame it in the context that France has; namely, that it is a regression of social mores and a throwback to uncivilized, barbaric times to have a society in which women choose to cover themselves. (Divulgence: That is my rather slanted summation.)

Excuse me. Let me try that again. France (and, yes, I am generalizing this to the whole country, since it is their parliament, their representative governing body, pushing forward on this) thinks that any sort of excessive covering of one's body - here, particularly, the face - MUST mean that a woman is being subjugated and made inferior, and THEY WILL NOT STAND FOR IT! (Heavy on the sardonicism there.)

Does anyone else not see the complete and total backwardness of that sentiment? While the law being contemplated alludes to "any veils that cover the face," it is widely understood - and supported by real-life experience, because what other population or ethnic/religious garb is there to which this ban applies - that this is a ban on the burqa/nikab. (Examples: here and here.)

Facts: While there may be a very small minority of women who wear a burqa/nikab because of their husband's wish (and why that shouldn't be a problem is a whole 'nother post), a HUGE majority of Muslim women take this step ON THEIR OWN. It seems France, however, refuses to consider that possibility, and, in so doing, they are contemplating DENYING women the right to choose to cover or not, to have a religious or personal identity, to exercise all it means to live in a "socially advanced, liberal" country - oh, wait, I'm sorry, I forgot we were talking about France here.

Sarkozy says it's an issue of women's freedom and dignity. If he had half a brain he would be able to see that, were that actually the case (as opposed to the religious persecution that seems more and more common in Europe against Muslims), a BAN would DENY women's FREEDOM to CHOOSE DIGNITY - because that is what covering represents to a Muslim woman.

GAH, I could go on. You get the idea. This = me = NOT HAPPY. I do NOT love this.

And because this needs MORE things in CAPITAL LETTERS FOR EMPHASIS: WELCOME TO THE DARK AGES. Sarkozy + French Parliament's Burqa Ban Commission = BIG FAT NEGATORY.

There are 2 things I regret in my life.* I'm not talking about all the myriad little things we wish we had done slightly differently, or things over which we feel a small twinge of embarrassment or irritation or distaste. No, I am talking about things that you would give anything, or nearly anything, to undo. Things of such colossal, monumental failure, pain, suffering, disgrace, and whatever other negative words you can think of that nothing you do from here forward will ever make up for it. I'm talking about mistakes that are so much bigger than mistakes. I'm talking about the stuff your heart and soul cry out to God to fix, to ease the pain, to somehow make something okay out of the mess you just created.

Tonight you shall be treated to Regret #2; or, Second Biggest Mistake I Have Ever Made and Would Give ALMOST Anything To Take Back.

Hubs (a.k.a., Hottie McHots) and I met in college. The plan was always professional school for him, eventually medical school for me. We had Fruit Loop somewhere in that "eventually" part, though I continued to keep medical school in the trajectory of my/our life path. I took the MCATs while pregnant, started applying while pregnant, finished applying and interviewing after Fruit Loop was born, and was accepted. I deferred for a year to stay home a little while longer (having become a housewife/stay-home-baby-incubator several months into the pregnancy), and Fruit Loop and I spent all of our time becoming best buddies. (That's about all I did, really - baby baby baby, very little housework, no real cooking whatsoever, leaving Hubs to work his way through an extremely rigorous professional school and fend for himself re: meals, giving him nothing but the leftover me at the end of the day...Not too proud of that, really. Also on the regret list, but overshadowed by The Big Ones.)

When Fruit Loop was a few weeks shy of his 2nd birthday, I began medical school. Fruit Loop was thrust into a 10h+ day at daycare when all he knew before was all Mom, all the time. If I thought I didn't do housework and/or cooking before, I REALLY didn't do any now. I dumped my son in daycare, studied all day, fed him dinner, put him to bed, and watched TV for several hours before going to sleep. I did nothing for Hottie McHots, I became less and less invested in my relationship with him and with Fruit Loop, and I devoted all of my spare time to me (e.g., vegging out in front of the TV) or school (which, still, was devoting time to me at the expense of my family).

Hottie McHots started doing even more. On top of an extremely successful and demanding professional career, he picked up dinner, he watched the fruit loop for the entire weekend while I studied, he cleaned, he did laundry...He did the work of two parents, all so I could get through medical school however I felt I needed to. He got very little in return from me other than my expectation that he would be SuperHubs, that he would take care of everything, that I was entitled to such selfless giving on his part, that I didn't need to do anything other than be nice and be married for him to be happy.

Fruit Loop had it equally rough. A sensitive, emotional, exuberant, intelligent little boy, one whose world was so suddenly turned upside-down, he became duller, prone to sadness and/or extreme upset when I left, stopped growing and gaining weight well, slept fitfully (waking up NUMEROUS times every night).... I firmly believe he was clinically depressed after my first semester in medical school.

I was more independent, less caring of my family, more selfish, more emotional, short-tempered, anxious... I was not a nice person. I was not a happy person.

After reflecting on how the first semester went, and how NOBODY was happy, Hottie McHots and I decided to make some minor changes for second semester. That worked marginally better, but we came to the conclusion that it was either/or: it was either medical school or my family. There could not be both. It was too hard, it was too much of a sacrifice, it was taking too much of a toll on all of us and our relationships. Framed in that context, I decided to request a leave with the plan of walking away from medical school for good.

And, after some other tumultuous circumstances and decisions (none of which I will go into now), that is what I did. It was hard to make the initial decision to leave medical school, and Hubs and I both acknowledged a large part of that was due to other people's expectations, the sense of quitting a dream, and how this is such an achievement... But, ultimately, it always came back to the family. That was a no-brainer, then.

It has, however, permanently changed the family dynamic. I put far too much strain on my relationship with Hottie McHots, and both he and I assumed our relationship had more "give" than it really did. We sacrificed a lot of necessary TLC, and I will never be able to undo the damage to our relationship from my entitlement re: medical school. Moreover, I don't have the same relationship I did with Fruit Loop, and I never will. I am still more short-tempered and selfish in ways that I didn't used to be. My regrets over this make me sharper and angry/frustrated with myself, and feeling like that renders me a less pleasant person to be around.

There are some positives, such as realizing not to take Hottie McHots and our marriage for granted, realizing how much work it takes to sustain a relationship/marriage, how important my family is to me...but, boy, it sure came at a steep, steep price. Take-home lesson: people will say it can be done, and, indeed, many women do the whole career-mom thing; however, each family is different, each mom is different, and the career-mom thing is NOT for us.

I wish I could erase all of it. The entire time. It's not worth it.



*I'm not sure you will ever know of Regret #1, little blog. I'm pretty sure just typing it would cause some sort of mainframe implosion. Or something equally dire. Not like I'm dramatic or anything.

Lots of miscellaneous thoughts bouncing around my head tonight, but nothing that seems particularly bloggable.

I am feeling contemplative, desirous of achieving things but first needing to surmount an overwhelming sense of inertia, opinionated in a soapbox-y kind of way, and indulgent in a pop-culture kind of way.

So where does that leave you, little blog? Ooh, let me give you an abbreviated rant. (This would be a bit less opaque if I gave specific situations, but I don't mind the vagueness right now. And since I'm pretty sure no one else is reading this, I win re: vague blog posts that don't make sense to anyone but me!)

It seems society is trending so much toward "it's not my business/respect others' decisions/don't get involved" that we are rapidly losing a valuable moral majority. We are tossing aside a collective moral compass and sense of outrage over transgressions when we choose to ignore unsavory decisions/actions, allow individuals to destroy their lives' and the lives of those who love them, and maintain a delusional status quo where everyone is civil and polite and advanced and so accepting and everyone will always like them...

What I'm saying is: if you know of something wrong, you have a moral imperative to address that. Child abuse. Adultery. ET AL. What I'm saying is: GET IN OTHER PEOPLE'S BUSINESS. No one can hold you in the wrong for doing what's right. In fact, they should thank you.