Juggling Life

Ode From An Obama Mama

When I was a child

sitting at my mother’s knee

she would tell me

(with shining eyes)

about a time of hope

a time of JFK and RFK and MLK

and Civil Rights marches

 

This is the hope for change

she had when she was young

and starting her life as an adult

 

When I was young and starting out

I got Ronald Reagan

which didn’t give me a lot of hope

for change or anything else

 

It was not until a couple of years ago

that I began to feel my hope

A hope that was tiny and faint

(the kind of hope that follows

years of despair)

 

Today I see a dream fulfilled

the hope of a nation

CHANGE—I cannot say it often or loudly enough

I do not tire of the words HOPE and CHANGE

They do not become cliché

 

Someday my son, just 18,

and my daughter, 23,

will tell the children

sitting at their knees

(with shining eyes)

about a time of hope

a time of Barack Obama

and the fight for Civil Rights for gays

This is the hope they have for change

as they are young

and starting theirs lives as adults.

A Scar That Does Not Disappear

January 12 was the first anniversary of my sister's death. In a strange coincidence (or a piece of kismet--depending on your perspective) Time magazine ran this article on Borderline Personality Disorder.

I hope that many people read the article--especially those affected by this terrible condition, the sufferers themselves and their families, who often suffer as much or more as those with the condition.

I was moved to write a letter to the editor--it is Time magazine, so who knows if they'll publish it or not, but hey! I have a blog, I can publish it myself!

My sister was diagnosed with Borderline Personality Disorder as a teenager in the 1970's. How I wish that I some point before my reading this article my family would have become familiar with the work of Marsha Linehan--though I'm not sure it would have made a difference once my sister was an adult. She refused to ever consider that she might have a mental illness, instead characterizing her problems (in classic BPD fashion) as the fault of the world around her.

The wake of pain and devastation my sister's disease left in her path will likely be felt by grandchildren she will never meet. Her children and ex-husband have been irreparably damaged and my mother's heart broken. For me, I spent a lifetime trying to reconcile how a person whose heart was as good as I know my sister's was could willfully (it appeared) hurt so many people for so many years.

Sadly, it was her death from cancer last year, at age 41, that allowed our family to begin to heal. I cannot tell you how terrible it feels to think that thought and type those words and know they are the truth. I hope your article, and Marsha Linehan, provide help to people with BPD and their families, who are now suffering as we did.

Take Me To Your Leader

Yeah, it's exactly like that!

Adventures In Strikethroughs

On Thursday night I watched Surfwise, a documentary about a very non-traditional family whose childhood revolved around surfing and non-conformity. That's all I'm going to say about it accept to recommend you rent it and to send you over to From The Frontlines where Mary Alice does an amazing job of weaving the movie and the story of her upbringing together in posts that are a fascinating sociological study and great writing.

So, we're watching the movie. Dorian Paskowitz, the patriarch of the family, fathered 9 children in 9 years.

Danger Boy: Wow! That was one sterile I mean fertile dude. (Waits a beat, slaps head). Oh my god! Your blogging is infecting me! In my head that sentence looked like this: That was one sterile fertile dude.

In Which I Go Out On A Limb For A Giveaway (Blushing All The While)

Comfort Zone Check: Way Outside!

So I got this email the other day asking if I wanted to do a giveaway. Now other than the book reviews I do for MotherTalk, all the giveaways I've done have been things I've supplied myself. Apparently my blog is not on the Nintendo Wii  giveaway radar or the DisneyWorld focus group radar. Oh well, I'm happy in my little corner of the blogosphere with my books.

Back to the email. The company is called Eden Fantasys and I'm not going to hyperlink just yet--I got some 'splainin to do! Drew, who wrote the email was obviously somewhat acquainted with my blog, and seemed to think I would be a good fit for getting the word out on his company. My first thought was "???" Why would he think that? I mean I'm about as family-oriented and PG as it gets. I'm not Aaryn Belfer (who contributed lube to our BitchHer bags) or Bad Mom (who thinks proper storage of "toys" would make a useful high school class). I'm way more Mrs. G--who makes no bones about being a very modest person (in spite of her stable of Secret Boyfriends and Daily Mancake). Hmmm, maybe Drew realizes that I'm probably not comfortable shopping at F Street Bookstore and the Internet might be able to serve me?

I started ruminating on it--I do have a big family and we all know where babies come from--maybe that's what Drew was thinking about when he picked me. Or maybe he was focused on the self-confident, 21st century feminist vibe (pun unintended but humorous nonetheless) I give off (or at least I try to give off). Then again, maybe it was the post from my summer vacay where I blogged about the interesting games I found in our rental condo. Could it have been that my whole family is still laughing about the time Grownup Girl encouraged a friend's mother to teach her daughter about masturbation? Whatever--I was intrigued.

So I'm going to do it. Yes, I am family-oriented, but we all know that whatever makes a marriage (that would be marriage between any two people--BOO Prop. 8) stronger makes the family stronger. And we all know that hawt green beans is an important part of marriage-- and anything that helps with the cooking is welcome.

This is the product I picked--The Bedside Lover's Tool Kit. (If you're so inclined you can shop around the site on your own as well--I'm sure Drew over at Eden Fantasys would appreciate it). Leave me a comment and I'll pick a winner randomly and have it mailed to you in a plain brown paper box. Unless Aaryn or Bad Mom wins and then I'll have the mail carrier ring your doorbell and yell, "Your box of 'marital aids' has arrived. Have fun!"

Has It Really Been 28 Years?!

       I was 16, going on 17 . . . Boy, that was a loooong time ago!

 

Edited to add: It's not our anniversary--that is August 1 (1987). When I took this photo I was just struck by how long we've known each other.

Also, PEOPLE! Did you really think I got married at 16?! Or, even worse, did you think I was 54 instead of 44 (not that there's anything wrong with 54--at the right time).

Inside My Twisted Mind

MVP and I drove up to the mountains--Cuyamaca--to go hiking one day during winter break. Where hiking equals walking down a two-lane twisty highway to trespass into a closed campground and clamber over very slippery rocks and boulders in and around a small falls area running with snow melt-off.

I'm blogging my thoughts (where blogging equals shamelessly stealing the style of imitating flattering Bossy apparently).

I tend to have a wild imagination. I don't let it stop me from doing things, but it does make for an interesting soundtrack.

Wow, this is so cool to be out here all alone. I mean there is not another soul anywhere around. Hmmm, all alone. Except . . . mountain lions. I know there are mountain lions here. In fact, wasn't that woman hiking alone killed by a mountain lion in Cuyamaca?  She was! (I pick up a stick). Of course she was alone, there's two of us. Wait, MVP isn't carrying a stick, how is he going to beat the mountain lion off when it attacks me. I suppose he could grab my stick while the mountain lion is attacking me. I know you're supposed to make yourself big when a mountain lion confronts you--by big I think they mean tall, not wide. How am I supposed to be big--I'm not even 5'4. MVP is already big, he's 6'2. Maybe that's big enough for both of us. I sure hope so. C'mon, this is ridiculous. The odds are greater of us dying in a car crash on the way home than being attacked my a mountain lion. Oh my god, the 67 is the deadliest highway in San Diego. We're lucky to have even made it her and now we'll be probably be killed on the way home. I guess at least if today is my last day on Earth it will have been a really pretty one, I mean the sky is gorgeous and the weather is perfect. What if the mountain lion attacks me and I don't die, but am just maimed? I think I'm really strong, but will I be able to handle my face being disfigured? And how will students respond to me? What if they're scared? I suppose surviving a mountain lion attack could make me deeper and more inspiring.

Photo courtesy of Google Images. Because I'm an idiot who left the camera sitting on the kitchen counter.

Let Me Hear From You! Even If You Do Know Me In Real Life Or Are Related To Me!

In Which I Quit Whining And Get Happy

This weekend I went to the Bay Area for Mr. Fix-it's NorCal work party. Over the last couple of weeks when I contemplated going inside my head I've been pathetically sorta whiny. My litany of complaints went something like this:

• January 10 is the same day as my last CSET--now I have to wait until March to take it. Wah.
• Flying is such a hassle. Especially for just one night. I mean I could go for two nights, but Social Butterfly has to cheer at a basketball game Friday night and I don't want to take a late flight.
• If I'm only going for one night it would be totally stupid to check luggage, but can I really get ready for a fancy party out of one 1 quart bag filled with cosmetics and hairspray that are less than 3 oz. each?!
• I barely know anybody.
• It would be totally lame to take my laptop, but can I live without it?
• People in Northern California act so superior to Southern Californians. It drives me nuts.*

And then I got there. (After almost 2 hours worth of flight delays. Wah.)

And this was in the room:

And the view from the balcony looked like this:

Then I managed to eke this out of my 1 quart bag:

Followed by lots of drinking, making new friends, Blackjack and 80's music.

I took a lot of pictures and felt really stupid for my internal whinefest.

Oh  yeah, a little eye candy for the knitting bloggers out there:

 

*True story. This random guy starts to talk to me about my camera and 2 seconds into the conversation tosses out how much nicer Northern California is than Southern California. WTF? It happens every time.

Honey, We Need To Talk

Yeah, like that's going to happen.