Today, I was THAT woman. Yes, it's true. I was that woman you LOVE to hate. I was the woman who bought one of those THINGS in the grocery store. One of those things that nobody knows what to do with, but I did. I picked up that ugly celeriac/celery root that has nothing to do with celery and took it straight to my cart without a single shred of doubt on my face. You would have been so jealous, after all NOBODY knows what to do with some of those "things" in the produce aisle, but I was the master. But then, you would have burst out laughing when you heard someone say, "Excuse me, but what do you actually use that for?"

My reply was, "I have no idea, but I am going to go home and look it up on the internet and use it somehow. Maybe at the base of my crock pot with something else in it."

The gig was up, you would have understood. I too, the woman you would have hated just moments before, was just as clueless as the rest of the people in the store. So there. :P

Owning It

(If you choose to read this, make sure that you don't read with any angst or anger. None of that is truly present as I write, but I can see that it could be construed that way. )

Someone recently commented on how open of a person I am. I will tell almost anyone anything about myself or my family. She then remarked that I must have a high level of trust of others. Trust that they wouldn't take that information and spread it, use it against me, or mock me. At first I agreed, after ruminating on this thought of high trust for hours, it came to me that trust isn't really the issue.

It's not that I trust people more than others do. The real issue is that I am not afraid. I accept responsibility for myself, my actions, and my family. I own it. 

If I tell you something and you then turn around and tell people that I don't particularly know or like, who is that a reflection of? It's really not a reflection of me, it's a reflection of you. I cannot control you, nor would I want to. Quite simply, I am not responsible for anyone other than myself and my family (although I cannot control their individual actions either).

I'm also not afraid of anything being shared about me because I accept and own who I am, faults and all. I admit that I suffer from chronic depression. No one can use that to belittle me, because it's a fact and not something that I am embarrassed about. I accept it and own it. It's no more embarrassing to me than me telling you that I have scoliosis. It just is part of ME. Both of those, the depression and the scoliosis, affect me on a daily basis. Denying them is denying a part of myself.

So when I am wrong, I admit it. Sometimes it's humiliating to admit it, but I still try to. That's an example that I want to set for my children. Admit to your mistakes. Learn from them. Admit when you are wrong and grow as a person.

I accept that I share stories with people. My intent is never to humiliate anyone, it's to show others that no one is alone in his/her struggles and that I understand what that person is going through or at least empathize. I never try to be hurtful, but I do admit that tact is not my strong point. I tell things like I see them.

Let's say that I didn't share these (big) things about myself. Isn't that keeping a part of myself back? It would be a part that you couldn't know then. And, if you don't know that part, maybe there will be other parts of me that you don't know. And if you don't know multiple parts of me, do you really know me? What motivates me? What makes me laugh? Why I laugh? No.

My belief is that we can lift each other up when we share. However, if we keep things to ourselves, no one will know what we need and no one can help. So when I share things, it's because I want to lift others up. Help them. Love them. Grow with them. It's not about trust at all.

I'm One of the Funniest/Happiest People You Know

But only because you don't see me every day (especially weekends). Or when I'm not on my antidepressants. Or when I can't stand it any more and have to take a nap.

The reality is that I live in pain. I have a headache almost every day. It's probably because of my scoliosis, but since my mother, who doesn't have scoliosis, also has a headache almost every day, I really don't know. I suppose I should figure out why, but I really don't think that will make a difference. I won't take another medication on a daily basis, unless I have a REALLY good reason to. After all, I'm on an antidepressant (medication #1) that raises my blood pressure (medication #2). I have acid reflux (medication #3) and a slight thyroid issue (medication #4). I refuse to take the medication for my high cholesterol (caused by medication #1 and heredity). Migraine meds don't work on me because the headaches seem to be muscular/tension.

So I live in pain. Regardless, I need the antidepressants. I discovered that about 4 months after Janine (now 11.5 yo) was born. I stopped breastfeeding and wham! I was a wreck. I sobbed on the phone when I called my OB. Postpartum? Oh yes, only held off by breastfeeding for a few months. Funny thing was, once I got to the correct dosage of the antidepressants, I realized I should have been on them for years.

So when I got pregnant with Sami, I stopped taking the antidepressants. Didn't go back on them until she stopped nursing. I swear that took FOREVER. She didn't want to take a bottle, regardless of what was in it. Pumped breast milk in a bottle wasn't good enough for her. Honestly, I thought of her as a ball and chain at that point, and oh did that make me feel worse. I wanted to do what was best for her, but I REALLY needed my medication. When she finally took a bottle, I stopped nursing cold turkey (OUCH). Then I went back on antidepressants.

When I got pregnant with Thomas, I again tried to stop the antidepressants. This time it didn't work. I told the OB in the practice (not my regular OB/GYN, and this one is now a "neighbor", but I won't name names) that I had started taking them again because I had to be a decent parent to the 2 kids that I already had. I didn't think plotting my own demise (passively of course, like stopping my car in an intersection) was all that healthy, and it certainly wasn't a good plan for my 2 girls. I haven't been off antidepressants since then.

Trust me when I say that if I weren't taking them, you wouldn't know me. I would be hiding. I fight that most days. I laugh and smile and honestly have a good time when I go out, it's the *getting* out part that I fight. I would rather stay home. I would rather have someone else pick up my kids and/or take them places. I force myself to be social. If you haven't seen me for awhile, well, I am either busy with my kids or I am hiding. So this is why I think Mark is awesome for sticking by me and loving me. I don't know that I could be in his shoes and accept/love someone like me.

I *am* a funny person. I had the funniest grandfather. He was awesome. At the age of 16 (I think) he basically lost his right hand in a cornpicker.  The doctor did what he could, but my grandfather had a very mis-shaped hand - almost hoof like. He endured stares and discrimination, and countered it all with humor. Ask my sister or cousins and they will tell you how funny Grandpa Jones was. I don't know if I even have a fraction of his sense of humor, but every time I laugh or joke I think I am honoring him. So yes, you may see me as happy and funny, and I am, but now you know my story.

Lather, rinse, repeat

Autopilot. I feel like I walk around most of the time on autopilot. I notice lots of other people doing the same. Drop the kids at school, pick up the kids from school, take this child here, pick up this one there, cook some pathetic form of food for dinner (based on what I can actually get all 3 kids to eat and still be able to stomach somewhat too), clean up, go to bed. That's the bulk of my day, right there. Five days a week. Errands, laundry, cleaning, and homework are thrown in there too at times. OK, the cleaning isn't thrown in there quite enough, but hey, that's a choice I made.

Why?

Part of me relishes the time I spend with my kids, but really, I feel more like a taxi driver than a significant role model.

And is this all there is? Yeesh, I should ask for a re-do.

Ah, headaches

It's true. I have a headache almost every day. There are reasons for it, but I don't know all of them. I have scoliosis, so my back, neck, and shoulder muscles get a workout every day just to try to make me look straight. And of course my back curves low in my back, right where stress hits anyway. So I know this is part of my headache cycle.

I mentioned the headaches to my doctor the other day and he wants me to see the chiropractor on a rather aggressive schedule for awhile to see if that makes a difference. I know it will help, but I really don't think it's the whole story. Why? Because my mother also has a headache almost every day. And the scoliosis is hereditary from my father's side of the family, so my mother's back is fine.

My headaches aren't migraines. Very seldom do I have those traditional migraine symptoms of sensitivity to light, spots, or nausea. For me to be nauseous from a headache means that I am in pain overload because my muscles are tight from my feet up to my head, and it does happen every now and then. Migraine meds don't do a thing for me, because these really are not migraines.

I don't seem to have trigger foods. Red wine, chocolate, aged cheese may give me headaches, but they are different from what I usually endure.

So what to do. Sigh. I guess the chiro and I will become fast friends. Too bad I'm already married, because I should have married a chiropractor. :P

Where Do We Go From Here???

This has been on my mind a lot lately. Where DO we go from here? "Here" being the culture that allows the rape victim to be chastised on social media, as in both the infamous Steubenville, Ohio rape case and the more recent Connecticut case. Let me make something clear, the victim should NOT shoulder the blame.

Reverse the roles a moment since we know that some males in reality are raped, and those rapes are probably even more under-reported than the "traditional" rapes where the female is the victim. If a man was raped, would anyone question how he was dressed? Would anyone say that he was drunk and thus "asking for it"? Would anyone say that "he didn't say no"? I don't think so. So why do we treat female victims in such a manner?

How the victim is dressed is irrelevant. Saying otherwise assumes that no man can control himself when faced with a short skirt or low-cut shirt. Come on. If it were a man victimized, would you say that his clothes were too tight? Too short? No, so let's not go there.

"Was the victim drunk?" Seriously? If she/he can't say no, she/he can't say yes. Don't go there.

NO ATHLETE, no matter how well respected by the community, has the right to take advantage of a another person in any way shape or form.

OK, so let's get off the bandwagon. What do we do about this? We have created a culture where it is acceptable for athletes to do whatever they want and for people to ridicule and put down the victim for any number of reasons. How do we fix this? What should we do? How do we teach our kids to respect EVERYONE and to treat everyone with dignity?

Firstly, I think we need to call the media on every instance we see of them treating women differently than men. Every time we see a talking head on TV refer to a woman as a bitch, a witch, or anything else they wouldn't call a man, call them on it.

If, as was done with Nancy Pelosi, we see a woman being questioned on her role as a mother, call them on it. If they wouldn't question how good of a father a man is, why should the media question how good of a mother a woman is? Mrs. Pelosi was questioned on who would take care of her (then teenage) son while she was running for office. Are you kidding me? Does a teenager NEED a babysitter? Has anyone EVER asked a man that when he was running for a political office?

When we see magazines belittling women or setting them up as objects, call them on it (OK, this one won't change any time soon, but it will never change if we don't speak up).

Email the network or magazine editor, write a comment on their Facebook page, tweet about it in Twitter. Sign every petition you can when you see or hear of derogatory comments made in the media against women. Let the media know that this is NOT ACCEPTABLE. And don't forget to talk to kids about what you are doing, even if the kids are not your kids and are instead your nieces, nephews, cousins, students, friends or children of friends.

When we hear our friends or colleagues making a derogatory comment about anyone, call them on it. This also means that we have to be cognizant of what comes out of our own mouths. Set the right example. Treat people with respect. And if you don't and are called on it, simply admit that you are at fault and try to remedy it.

Contact your school boards and insist that rape education, meaning what rape is and what acceptable behavior is, be included in sex ed. Ask that women's studies, in some format, be included in the high school curriculum. Insist that there be a balance between male and female role models that are studied. Focus on women during March, International Women's month. Class/group projects on female role models should be standard. We study Martin Luther King, Jr. and presidents, so why not spend a little time at all levels studying women? Without women, there wouldn't be any men, after all.

Beyond this, I am open to suggestions. And, when I am less tired, I am sending an email to the superintendent of our schools. Thoughts? Comments? Funny stories to add (not that it's a funny subject)?

Blankies and Gwankies

My kids are all blanket babies. When they were toddlers, they all found comfort in a blanket that was special to them. And now...

I'll tell Janine's story first, since she is the oldest. She loved a white waffled blanket with satin binding around the edges. She loved that blanket and couldn't sleep without it. That particular blanket has been replaced a couple of times, but now she has even more blankets that she keeps in her bed. Unlike her siblings, and probably mostly because she is older, her blankets stay in her bed. However, she HAS TO HAVE at least one to sleep. Even on sleepovers, one blanket will go with her.

Sami still has her "yellow blankie", which is like Janine's, but yellow. And she calls is "yellow blankie". My mother had to rock her to sleep the entire weekend that she, at the age of 3, left yellow blankie at the preschool. Oh, she cried, and cried, and cried. She still takes yellow blankie in the car to school some mornings, although the blanket doesn't go into school with her anymore. Yes, I said anymore. For much of kindergarten and first grade, yellow blankie went to school each day, happily remaining in her back pack. It gave her peace of mind, so why fight it. Every night though we have to search for yellow blankie, because it travels around the house with her. Grrr.

Thomas chose one of his flannel swaddling blankets for his blankie. He loved it so. Unfortunately, his "gwankie" as he used to call it, completely fell apart and is now in pieces. He won't let me throw away the pieces, but he doesn't sleep with them anymore. Instead, he now sleeps with his blue blanket that is like Janine and Sami's. Gotta have the satin binding! Blue blankie travels around the house with Thomas, but doesn't leave the house. And unlike his siblings, Thomas can and does sleep without it. He leaves it somewhere, and sometimes we just can't find it.

So why am I talking about blankies? I had one too. I swiped the (pink of course) blanket off my bed. Of course it had satin binding. Mom replaced the binding many, many times. I called it "my rubbing" because I always rubbed my fingers on the binding as Sami does with yellow blankie. I kept my blanket until the tiny little hole that developed in it was big enough to stand in. I must have been 9 or 10 years old, because we lived in Wooster.

Anyway, the other day when I wasn't feeling great, Thomas offered me his blue blanket. I figured I would be cute and take it. I couldn't find it, however, so I took a different blanket from his bed. It has one side that is all satin. I napped with the blanket that day, and well, it's still in my bed. ;-)