Juggling Life

Dear Momastery

Glennon,

I am an admirer of your work and one of a collective of Monkee-like parents who have children just like you; wired differently than “normal.” You characterize it as “born with an extra dose of sensitivity to life’s own brutality and my own nakedness.” We know that what you are referring to is a complex interplay of genetics, biology, brain wiring, temperament and psychosocial influence.

Our Monkee community have all had/have/lost children with eating disorders. 

We've had some tough losses lately and I am hoping you will let me channel my grief into EDucating your readers about eating disorders via your blog. People are dying at the rate of 23 per day of treatable illnesses because the causes and treatment of eating disorders are woefully misunderstood in popular culture, society as a whole and even by most of the medical establishment.

What do we need people to know? My elevator speech is this: Eating disorders are serious genetic, biological, brain-based illnesses with a psychosocial component that seems to be tied to temperament.  An eating disorder is triggered by a period of negative energy balance that may or may not result in weight loss.  Many eating disorders begin with a diet and many do not—a stomach bug, surgery, wisdom teeth removal, training for a race, etc. are all common triggers.  Eating disorders are not disorders of choice, vanity or family dysfunction. Eating disorders occur across gender, ethnic and socioeconomic lines, in people of all ages, and appear to have been present in all cultures and throughout history. While co-morbid conditions frequently exist that does not make them causal. Eating disorders are treatable with early, aggressive intervention.

The good news is an explosion of knowledge in the field in the last 10 years is providing incredible hope for early, successful, evidence-based treatment of eating disorders. The bad news is that most people—and I include physicians, nurses and mental health clinicians in this—have no idea about the advances or even the ability to diagnose an eating disorder.

My Monkees are trying to change our corner of the world. We do this by first and foremost supporting and educating parents so they can save the lives of their children—even if they have no access to decent treatment. We mentor parents of those recently diagnosed.  We weep with those who have lost children. We strategize with those whose adult children are refusing treatment.  We share experiences on 504 plans and treatment centers and co-morbid conditions.

We travel to conferences and we soak up information to share. We help parents locate treatment and challenge insurers and national health systems who don’t consider treatment necessary unless the patient is at a metaphorical Stage 4. We lobby to create change legislatively.  We celebrate those who recover.

We work tirelessly and endlessly to raise the alarm that this can and does happen in ALL families—and when it happens in yours you will need the knowledge and resources to fight to save your child’s life.

My personal involvement in all this—the time, energy and thousands of dollars spent annually (thanks to a very supportive spouse who is also a fantastic father) is because things went right with our daughter and I want everyone to have the same opportunity. 

Three years ago our pediatrician wasted very little time ruling out other causes for Kinsey's sudden inability to eat many foods. I was able to find information on the internet that told me a huge red flag was a newfound interest in baking and not eating the baked goods. My kitchen looked like the set of Cake Wars and I couldn’t get away from Guy Fieri. Who knew?

On our one emergency room visit the doctor was quite vehement and straightforward in telling me she had anorexia and had I not already had an intake meeting set, he would have convinced me to do so.

We had immediate access to treatment at the Internationally-renowned UCSD Eating Disorder Treatment Center. The final piece was our insurer, Aetna, signing a single-case agreement that limited our annual contribution to $5,000. 

Today my daughter is studying at University of New South Wales in Sydney, Australia. She has been in strong recovery for 21 months and continues to follow the advice of a psychiatrist and have regular medical monitoring. Having been through relapse she is strong and sure of what she needs to do to keep living the wonderful life she has built for herself.  She is living the life she is meant to with the confidence that results from the hard work of good treatment. She is a Recovery Warrior in work she has done with writing and speaking to parents. 

But more important than all of that is that her smile lights up her face and her eyes sparkle with a zest for life.

Too many lives are lost or stunted; it doesn’t have to be that way. Please help us spread the word, Monkee-style.

Sincerely,

Jenn @ Juggling Life

aka JD Ouellette

(also several other names [SMH, long story] but those should suffice).

 

OMG! Call Already!

Grownup Girl and Grownup Guy are waiting to hear if they are hired for jobs in San Diego after they graduate next May. They're supposed to get word in August or September. They got a letter that said something about "next steps" and they were supposed to get a call after 3 p.m. on Tuesday. They still  haven't hard. I actually know the guy they're waiting to hear from and this is not like him; yet I've asked around and nobody has heard of any tragedy befalling him. So we wait.

And we text. (She is the gray and I  am the green.)

 

Grownup Girl's response to my query as to whether or not she was getting used to the waiting.

Think good thoughts for us! And yes, I do have a very large font for texting. The better to still be able to read it if I don't have my contact in or my glasses handy.

Also? None of my kids think they are good writers and I disagree with every single one of them.

32 +18* = 50

18 is the first Happy Birthday I wished him.

David's 22nd birthday: An old photo, instagrammed because . . . why not? Clearly he married me for my eye shadow.

Today, September 13, is my husband's 50th birthday. We will celebrate quietly and very, very cheaply (see: two kids in college). I'm having a small brunch for him on Sunday morning--five couples  we've known forever and raised children alongside) and Bloody Mary's and Mimosas (though I don't usually like to alter my Champagne with orange juice).  We will miss celebrating with another couple that were our long-time neighbors and in which the wife shares my husband's exact birthday as she's getting a surprise trip from her hubs for her 50th (see: also two kids in college. Hmmm). 

One of the husband's that will be there shares my husband's birth day but not year. We will be thinking of our dear friend, Thom, whose birthday was September 12. Yes, this birthday cluster was quite a bit of fun back in the day. I think all the common birthdays were discovered by one child saying to another, "It can't be your Dad's birthday today because it's MY Dad's birthday today . . . wait a minute . . ."

Happy Birthday to my husband--a man who is a wonderful husband, father, provider, son, brother, friend, employee, supervisor and just about any other role you can name.  He is the biggest cheerleader and support either I or the kids could ask for. He's dependable. He's kind. He's funny. And? He cleans house! Sometimes I'm not sure how I got so lucky. But I'm glad I did.

 

Our family circa June 2011 with The Girl Next Door and GrownupGuy

 

I'm hoping we get to wish each other Happy Birthday for many more years.

 

 

Oh, How the Mighty have Fallen

I took this picture to write a cute Wordless Wednesday post. Then I looked at it and a whole other post popped to mind.

 

Forget the nail polish, and focus on the filthy grout.

So. White tile with white grout. People said I was crazy. No way, I said--I'll keep it clean. And I did. For many years. Toothbrush and bleach on a regular basis.

That would be "for many years before I also had a full-time job outside the home."

I thought I kept my house spotless because those were my standards. It turns out my standards have had to be recalibrated to what I have the energy to do. Now there are days when I walk in, say "this house is filthy" and plop right down on the couch or head out to yoga.

I must admit that when I say "filthy" it is what many people would interpret as "in mild disarray," but still. 

It's the things like the grout. And the baseboards. And the bathroom window that nobody but us would ever have ocassion to look through.

Lest you think nobody helps me, the issue is that they DO clean. Just not to my standards. I have reached the point where I am willing to accept "their" clean because I'm too tired to get it "my" clean.

And really?

This is all probably a very good thing and a sign of growth on my part. 

I'm actually okay with it. Until I take a picture of my grout.

 

Thank goodness for blogging and entertaining. Toothbrush met bleach met grout as I was getting ready to throw a going-away gathering for Social Butterfly on Saturday. Related: I can see out my bathroom window again. I feel so much better!

 

 

 

Why Water Polo?

Karen's comment on my last post got me thinking: Why do I love water polo so much and, more specifically, why do I enjoy watching my kids play this particular sport?

I confess to not understanding the allure of watching my kids play a game as rough as water polo (I'm a band mom), but I *do* understand the awesomeness of friendship.*

Now is a good time to talk about the sport of water polo because a lot more people have been exposed it to it through the Olympics. Universally, people that have never really seen a game are shocked at how tough it is.

 

This t-shirt sums it up nicely. Danger Boy has had it in a couple of different sizes.

The "tough" aspect of the sport is why Navy SEALS specifically recruit water polo players. They have the lowest washout rate of any athlete who tries to become a SEAL. Water polo players--male and female--are generally made of hardy stuff and if they aren't they will either quit the sport or develop the fortitude to compete. There are those that stay and whine about rough it is (or their parents whine about how rough it is and the other parents roll their eyes), but usually not for long.

None of this gets to the root of Karen's question, though--why do I like rough and tough?

I think the root of that is that being mentally tough has served me well in my life (complicated childhood, broken home, absent father, alcoholic parents, mentally ill sister, yada yada, you know the drill). 

I have a theory that as parents we make sure our children are instilled with the qualities we value most highly; we parent specifically to that end. I am not saying we do it consciously, but if you reflect on it you can see it clearly.

I never realized how much I prize independence, and how my parenting reflected that, until someone pointed out to me that not all three-year olds could make themselves a sandwich as Social Butterfly could. Later, one of Danger Boy's friends drove home to me how unusual my requirement that even my daughters be tough enough to not depend on me to rescue them by telling the story (in amazed tone) of how when DB and SB would get into a wrestling match (oh, the wresting that went on in this house!) and SB would be on the losing end, I wouldn't caution DB to take it easy on his sister, I would tell her to "tap out" MMA style and take the loss. I rarely told my kids to stop wrestling, but just told them to take it outside. 

When the kids rode bikes, skateboards, etc. I seldom asked them not to do something because it was dangerous, but I did make them wear helmets and I sat outside with my Vanity Fair magazine and my first aid kit so I could take care of their wounds without them coming inside and bleeding on my carpet.

I allowed tears for blood, broken bones and encouraged them for heartache, but not much else and whining was seriously frowned upon; I must admit that I think knowing how to walk it off and cowboy up are valuable skills right up there with putting on one's big girl panties.

I was not an ogre; I kissed lots of boo-boos in my day, but I think I was always preparing them for the day when Mom would not be able to fix their problem--that in the end, every single one of us has to count on ourselves to get us through this life. If we are lucky--and kind and empathetic to others--we have the help of family and good friends when we need it, but every now and then it all falls on us alone to take care of business and I want them to be ready for that day.

 

 *Also? If Danger Boy had ever showed up for band practice the teacher would have been reduced to tears--that boy has not a musically artistic bone in his body. He got that from his mama!

 

 

 

 

 

 

To Answer your Question . . .

Mrs. G. asked, in of her question posts, about if/when you’ve ever feared for your life. I felt my answer deserved its own post. Here it is.

Our home was a one-bedroom duplex in the sketchiest section of Venice Beach, California. This was in 1968 or 69, and the difference between Venice now and Venice then was like Times Square today and in the seventies. That is to say, not Disneyland.

Outside was peeling stucco, cracked pavement and grass that was at once dying and overgrown (I plagiarized the last half of that sentence from a book, I’m reading; review coming soon).  It was homeless men; we called them winos. It was not a place my single mother planned on staying very long, but when you’re on welfare, with your kids in Head Start while you take secretarial classes, it’s what you can afford.

Inside were an Indian bedspread, a few throw pillows, and lots of Mexican pottery. The furniture, like our clothes, came from Goodwill. It was sparse, but homey and always clean.  My sister and I were asleep in our bunk bed, while my mom slumbered in her bed next to ours the night it happened.

I woke to the sound of pounding and the sight of my mother, with a butcher knife in one hand and the telephone in the other. My sister and I ran to her and, with the third hand that mothers seem to acquire when the need arises, she held us tight and smoothed our hair to comfort us.

“I don’t KNOW who it is. There are two men—they’re trying to break down the door. You need to get here NOW. I have two little girls!”

She was on the phone with a police dispatcher, screaming, pleading for help. We could see the shadow of one of the men as he rattled the window. My sister and I sobbed hysterically.

As the minutes—agonizingly long, a lifetime in each one--ticked by, my mother’s fear turned to rage as the police still did not arrive.

“If I was calling from F***KING Beverly Hills the police would be here by now! If anything happens to us, the Los Angeles Police Department is to blame. I cannot believe this!”

The men gave up before the police got there. It took them twenty minutes. The police were very apologetic to the beautiful white woman with the blonde, blue-eyed daughters. We weren’t what they were expecting.

I Am From . . . A Meme Worth Doing

A couple of my blog friends recently did this (Magpie Musing and Jason); I've done it before, but decided to do it again and use the same template they used. I do this writing assignment with students of all ages and the thing that is wonderful about it is that it is always different and always amazing. I invite you to play along--if you do, come back and link it in my comments so I can be sure to see it.

I am from ashtrays, lemon Pledge and Mexican pottery.

I am from the Pacific Ocean, manicured suburbs, long, hot summer afternoons spent at the community pool.

I am from Eucalyptus trees, big pots of pink impatiens and pines towering over a pup tent; from windowsill basil, mixed baskets of trailing petunias and lantana and camellias blooming through the winter.

I am from pick-your-menu-all-day birthdays and being outspoken, from Carol, from Lucille, from Dennis and Grant; from sort of two fathers and sort of no father at all.

I am from alcoholics and depressives, from anger and mental illness, from empathy and kindness.

From “you will be beautiful (once you grow up)” and “my, aren’t you assertive.”

I am from an atheist who encouraged me to make up my own mind.

I am from Glendale, California and Scotland and England and Germany and France and the tiniest bit of Cherokee. I am from tossed green salads that always had avocado and homemade dressing and baked potatoes heaped with butter, sour cream and chives.

From my mother coming home, at 17-years old, to all her belongings on the lawn; from my grandmother being at once loving and certifiably crazy. I am from a father that was never there, but a mother that did her best on her own.

I am from treasured costume jewelry, a shoebox of faded photos, unlabeled super-eight film, a treasure trove of cookbooks and every kitchen utensil Williams-Sonoma ever sold. I am from my mother’s hand-written recipes and the memories of the meals she made with love and copious amounts of time.

I am from breaking the cycle and from keeping the best and changing the rest.

The template can be found here.

Apropos for Labor Day: Keeping the Balls in the Air

I was anticipating the beginning of the school year. Would I get offered a job? I have applied for several teaching positions but I know the odds of getting one are nil—excessed teachers from all over the district need to be placed before anyone new is hired. And I’m sure you’ve heard about school districts and budget cuts. If I am to get a job it will be because numbers were high at a school and they would need someone to start tomorrow. As in the day after whenever the day I would get the call would be.

In my mind I kept ticking off the list of what I have going on this year:

1. Work on my master’s degree in instructional leadership. This requires a solid 8-10 hours a week of reading and writing. Non-negotiable.
2. Attend all or almost all of Danger Boy’s water polo games of this, his last high school season. Non-negotiable.
3. Ride herd over Danger Boy as he applies to colleges and communicates with coaches about playing in college. (Those of you with boys in high school know what I’m talking about here. It is the rare 17-year old boy that can and will keep up with all deadlines, communications, etc. related to college apps. And yes, I think that when he’s actually in college he’ll keep up just fine). Non-negotiable.
4. Take Social Butterfly to physical therapy for her rotator cuff twice a week for the next six weeks.  She can’t drive yet, Danger Boy has practice so he can’t drive her and Mr. Fix-it travels too much to be able to count on him. This is a 2-hour chunk of time out of every T/Th afternoon. Non-negotiable.
5. Cook, clean and do laundry. Somewhat negotiable (and I’m totally open to delegating and hiring help), but I sure would like to keep up with the healthy eating/exercise program that has me down 25 lbs. in 5 months.
6. Write for my blog. Somewhat negotiable. I would hate to see what I’ve built here fade away, but I am aware that I have my limits.

A couple of weeks ago this list started making me sit bolt upright at 2 a.m. and have the following thoughts. A full-time job? Opening a classroom?! How on earth can I do a good job at that AND finish my master’s AND take care of my family?! I know I can do a lot. I know I do do a lot. What if this is the time when I accept one more ball than I can actually juggle?! That could happen, right? I could drop some balls. And what about the students? They deserve a teacher who can give them 110%. I don’t think I’m that teacher this year. Oh my gah! What if I get a job?!

I fully embrace the idea that when your mind makes you up at 2 a.m. to have a conversation with itself, you ought to listen carefully.

So this is where things stand now.

1. I will only take a job if it is an opportunity I cannot pass up—this means a contract as a middle-school or high-school English teacher. I’ve said no to an 8-month sub job at my former high school. It was in history and I just don’t know that well enough to teach it without spending hours every night reading and planning. There are not enough hours in a day.
2. I am pursuing tutoring as a sideline. I’ve already got one student and am sure I will pick up several more through referral from the current student and another tutor who is swamped. I am embarrassed to say how much this pays. Let’s just say the parents in my neighborhood seem to value a good teacher.
3. I will work one morning a week in the classroom of a friend who is an English teacher at the school I worked at last year—this will enable me to have a classroom in which to do work I need to do for my master’s.
4. I will sub 2-3 days a week. I’m going to stick fairly close to home so that I don’t waste a lot of time commuting.

Mr. Fix-it is on board with the plan—as  much as the money from a full-time job would be awesome, the timing just does not seem right and he would hate to see my head explode (he’d have to clean up the mess). I am blessed and thankful that we do not need my income to put food on the table. To pay college tuition for three kids, yes—but not to put food on the table.

So that’s that, peeps—promise not to hold it against me if I have a whole NEW plan a week from now? Let me say though, that this plan is letting me sleep through the night!

Grandma’s Greasy Bun Burgers

My daughter and I had dinner at In-N-Out this evening and it made think of this piece—originally posted at The Women’s Colony. In-N-Out is good, but not this good. If you’re not familiar with In-N-Out, their burgers, fries and shakes are pretty spectacular. If you were a boy with a car in the late 70s/early 80s it was tres cool to have a bumper sticker with the “B” and the “R” removed, so your sticker read, “In-N-Out  urge.” Hahahahaha. Really.

My grandmother stood 5 feet tall (on her tiptoes), hailed from Kansas, sewed doll clothes that would be collector’s items if my mom had kept them and was an unmedicated paranoid schizophrenic.

She also made the best hamburgers I have ever eaten in my life. I seriously doubt that my grandma ever purchased extra-lean ground beef in her life and it certainly didn’t make an appearance in her burgers. So there was lots of fat, along with salt and pepper, in her patties.

My grandma also was not a “griller.” She may have lived on the boardwalk of Venice Beach, California, but she was strictly Midwestern in her sensibilities. Her burgers were made in an enormous cast iron skillet.

In the last minutes of cooking the burgers, she would place the buns upside down into the skillet and put the lid on top. The buns emerged from this process with hamburger fat soaked into every air pocket, rendering them delightfully greasy. Slather on some mayo and mustard (we were NOT a ketchup family), a thick slab of onion, a slice of tomato and some iceberg lettuce along with the patty and you had THE most delicious burger I’ve ever eaten in my life.

Did I mention their were homemade fries to go with? And I’m not talking baked.

What was your grandma’s artery-clogging piece de resistance?

Day 100!

I didn't do a 100th post because a couple of them were correction and addendum posts(before I used Live Writer), which I figure really shouldn't count. Because I always like to be on the up and up, I figured the unwritten rule book, which I've gleaned from other peoples blogs, meant 100 real posts. For me, that meant day 100. Which should be April 2, if my math is right. I cannot even believe I've only been doing this since Christmas Day 2007. And I have actual readers. I imagine that there are many people toiling away on their blogs after day 100 with a handful of friends and family reading them. But friends, I got lucky. Lucky in a big way.

I happened to be reading Derfwad Manor virtually as Mrs. G put out the word on the first Slow Cook Thursday. Never one to miss an opportunity, I composed and sent my Slow Cook Thursday post within the hour. I got the call-back before she'd even written the interview questions. I won the blog lotto--I was Mrs. G's first Slow Cook Thursday. The rest as they say, is history.

I also have to thank the lovely and intellectual Mary Alice from From The Frontlines who not only offered me early encouragement, she was my first commenter. Plus, she's a fellow "non-traditional" student with 3 teenagers at home, so she's my soul sister.

Okay, enough about the amazing, wonderful, blogger-to-whom-I-shall-be-eternally-grateful, Mrs. G.; on to me. In the grand tradition of the blogosphere, I give you 100 things about me on day 100 of Juggling Life. As an aside, if I thought I was juggling life before I started this blog, I was seriously deluded.

1. I was a natural blonde as a child; I'm still a blonde, it's just not natural.

2. I am an oldest child. Well, except for my dad's various love children, but I don't really know them so it doesn't count.

3. I was so painfully shy as a child that today I would probably be diagnosed with Social Anxiety Disorder today.

4. I had an epiphany at 14 that everyone else was just as terrified as me and that if I could be the one to make the first move they would be so happy they'd be my friend. I was right.

5. I got married at 23.

6. My husband and I started saving for retirement the day we got married.

7. I believe in having the best and most insurance you can afford.

8. I am a very strict parent.

9. But not as strict as I used to be.

10. I don't think I've ever been bored with my life.

11. I've never traveled out of North America, but I will someday.

12. The 80's were the party decade. I was in my late teens and 20's in the 80's. You do the math.

13. I was the biggest procrastinator in the world as a child.

14. I never procrastinate as an adult.

15. I never did my homework as a child.

16. I always do my homework now.

17. I'm terrified that my son will repeat my 18 year old mistake of thinking I was too smart to need to study in college just because I never had to do it in high school.

18. I have food issues.

19. I am a very good cook.

20. I am 44 and have lost half my birth family to cancer. That scares me.

21. I exercise 5 days a week. It hasn't made me thinner, but it does make me feel better.

22. The only time I've ever been depressed was when I had an adverse reaction to a common antibiotic. The depression lasted 5 days before the doctor figured out what the problem was. For the first time in my life I could relate to people who had thoughts of suicide. This incident left me with great empathy and respect for people who have to fight that fight.

23. My husband thinks I'm funny.

24. My kids are not convinced.

25. I am a loyal and true friend.

26. I am a problem-solver extraordinaire.

27. I am a good speller. I have a chalkboard in my brain on which I can write words. I didn't realize not everyone did not have that until Big Red (not a good speller) was in 3rd grade, and the teacher informed me he did not possess the brain chalkboard.

28. My favorite artist is Gustav Klimt.

29. I love quilts and quilting shows. Someday I will learn to quilt.

30. I like music but I'm not one of those people who cannot live without music.

31. I'm a huge fan of National Public Radio.

32. A.M. talk radio makes we want to drive my car into a brick wall.

33. I am fastidious about my oral health and have my teeth cleaned every 3 months.

34. I'm a neat freak, but not a germophobe. I totally think a little of the right kind of bacteria boosts your immune system.

35. I like to camp. Backpacking, not so much.

36. I count my blessings every night before I go to sleep.

37. When I was a little girl in Santa Monica, I was constantly mistaken for Tatum O'Neal. I ended up just giving autographs.

38. I love my blog--and probably your blog too!

39. I didn't used to be a big animal person, but Danger Boy changed me. Now I will always have a beagle.

40. I'm not much of an artist myself, but I am a good art teacher for children.

41. I can be crafty.

42. I'm pretty vain.

43. I would rather my hair be stylish than pretty.

44. If I wasn't going to be a teacher, I think I'd be a pretty good lawyer.

45. I'm personally conservative and socially liberal.

46. When my kids were younger, I took them swimming every single day from April through October.

47. I've never been able to be part of any organization and not end up with a leadership position of some sort.

48. I will never be the treasurer of any organization.

49. I have number dyslexia. Don't laugh, it's real. I once owed the IRS a whopping fine because I wrote them a check for $18.00 instead of $81.00.

50. I hate to sell things.

51. I played Field Hockey in high school.

52. My parents used to take books away from me as punishment.

53. I used to ride my bike by O.J. Simpson's Brentwood house on the way to Baskin-Robbins.

54. I hate string cheese. I love all other cheeses.

55. My favorite flower is Bearded Iris.

56. I clean whenever I talk on the phone.

57. I am not a morning person. I used to be a late-night person, but now I'm really more of a middle-of-the-day person.

58. When I cook I almost always cook extra and freeze the leftovers.

59. I tried to cut my boys' hair once. It was a disaster. Thank goodness they were too young to remember it.

60. If I come from a trip (to the mall or the East Coast) to a dirty house, my head will explode. It has happened.

61. I didn't do laundry for almost 5 years after I got married. I was in a car accident about 3 weeks after our wedding; my husband had to do the laundry and it just became a habit.

62. My husband and I are raising our kids to know the value of a dollar and to have a strong work-ethic.

63. I love to take photographs of children and sports.

64. I've worked outside the home for 5 to 10 hours a week for 17 years. I think it's been great to have that, and not just for the money.

65. I love jewelry. My husband loves to buy jewelry. It works.

66. I lived in Mazatlan for 6 months when I was five.

67. I have my mother's features and my father's coloring.

68. Even though I did not grow up knowing my biological father very much, I am shocked by the ways in which we are similar.

69. In the last year I lost a sister, but regained a relationship with a stepsister. That relationship means the world to me.

70. I am strong.

71. My drink is a Vodka Collins.

72. I read James Michener's Centennial in one weekend when I was sixteen. (The only other thing I did that weekend was go the bathroom a couple of times).

73. I drink a lot of water, I always have. Probably 80 oz. a day.

74. If I get up in the middle of the night to use the bathroom, I brush my teeth.

75. I've never tried to be a perfect parent. I'm content to be a good enough parent--I think it's better for me and for my kids.

76. I told my mom I was going all-night roller skating at Aquarius Rollerena every Saturday night of my senior year in high school. I've never been all night roller skating.

77. I check up on my teenagers. See above.

78. I've never had any surgery; well, except for oral surgery.

79. I love going to the movies. When my husband and I were first married, we sometimes went to 3 movies a week. We'll do it again once the nest is empty.

80. My favorite place to vacation with my family is Mammoth Lakes, in the summer.

81. I ride a mountain bike down from the top of the mountain once every summer. That's enough. The rest of the time I like to go around a lake. Little ups and little downs are more my speed,.

82. I am a laundry savant. I can get the stains out of anything. My family and friends call me the "Queen of Laundry." It's not ideal, but at least I'm the queen of something.

83. The song "Seasons in the Sun" by Terry Jacks still makes me cry. Yes, I know it's a pretty lame song.

84. I was the shortest person in my family as a kid and I'm the shortest person in my family today. They frequently mock me.

85. It is not unheard of for me to lose my temper.

86. I still feel badly about a very funny, but very mean, thing I said in the 8th grade. Yes, I've apologized for it.

87. I think life's too short to hold a grudge. That philosophy is why I have a relationship with my biological father.

88. My step dad walked me down the aisle. He and my mother were divorced by then.

89. I am frugal, but not cheap.

90. I've kept the same houseplant alive for over 20 years. My husband and I bought it for our first apartment.

91. My friends think I should give assertiveness-training classes.

92. I don't get sad when my kids are leaving a stage behind; I get excited about what's ahead for them.

93. I have always been happy, but I'm really happy now.

94. I am super competitive, but I can laugh at myself about it. 

95. My favorite color is cobalt blue.

96. I love organizing things.

97. Thanksgiving and Fourth of July are my favorite holidays.

98. I am an extrovert.

99. My nose is crooked from where it was broken when a scooter fell on it when I was eight. I had the chance to have it fixed when I was a teenager, but I wouldn't have been able to swim for most of the summer, so I passed. I'm glad I did.

100. I used to be a Diet Coke addict. Now I'm 95% soda and caffeine-free.

Wow, that was harder than I thought it would be. If you made it to the bottom, I appreciate your interest!