What I learned during Summer vacation

I don't know what it is about August, but it has always been hell month for me. It's not just the unending heat or the way my skin bristles every time the too bright sun touches it; life tends to triple its speed in August until I'm utterly worn out. By the time August ends, I am longing to hide in a cool bath in a dark room far, far away from telephones and to-do lists.

This August was no exception. Queen Teen had two trips to Stanford, plus a muscle biopsy (more on that later). Her recovery was good, but slow, and I got to battle with three different agencies for a shower bench (more on that to come later as well). I was frantically trying to finish the new website for Medusa's Muse before I went back to work (didn't make it). And then school started; I went back to teaching and she started the 11th grade. Rick and I juggled my return to work and QT's reduced school schedule (half days for now) with our usual strategy: take it day by day and stress out the entire time. Thankfully a good friend has helped out while I continued to look for regular child care

Now it is September and we are all starting to settle in to our new schedule. I harvested the basil this weekend and am making several pounds of pesto to enjoy this winter, and this year we enjoyed our first delicious crop of table grapes from our 8 year old vines. The summer was stressful because of the changes in Queen Teen's health. But it was also oddly peaceful. When I look back on the last few months, I see just how lovely our summer was (except for that dreaded August). And I learned some very important things.

What I learned during Summer vacation.

• Tomatoes need consistent watering or their skins will crack and the fruit become misshapen. 
• All those late nights and extra hours I spent teaching are totally worth it if I can have summer off. 
• It is important to spend time doing nothing. If you fill your days with tasks and to-do's and constant business, you never have time to truly enjoy being alive. Sit in your yard every day with your shoes off and watch your garden grow while listening to the humming birds fight over the flowers. 
• Doing the above is even nicer with a glass of good wine.
• Creating a peaceful space in your home, a place where no work is allowed, is very important for mental health. This space is even more helpful if you create it in your bedroom.
• Reading a book on a Kindle is fun. 
• Going to the mall with a typically developing teenage girl is fascinating, especially when you turn that girl lose in Abercrombie and Fitch.
• Having Queen Teen's best friend with her when Queen Teen had to get her biopsy made everything much better. We should always bring a friend (and not just one of my friends). 
• In-laws who will paint your bedroom and clean your kitchen are the greatest gift there is.
• Running feels good.
• A slower pace to match Queen Teen's lower energy is kind of a gift. Stress was reduced because she wasn't begging to do things all the time, and when we did go out, she seemed to enjoy it more.
• Sharing time with a person who is ill teaches you not to take things for granted. I know we've all heard that before, but when you're caring for your child who is struggling so much just to walk or eat, you realize how wonderful each moment of your life is. This child is precious and beautiful, and her time on this Earth is limited. We don't know how long, but I know I will out live her. So enjoy the days, the accomplishments, the set backs, the laughs. Enjoy and savor each breath. We all have limited time; don't waste your one beautiful life.
• But remember, enjoying your life doesn't mean filling it up with accomplishments. The time you spend with your family is far more important than what you think you need to achieve. 
• Working with your hands, rather than only with your brain, is extremely relaxing.
• Curious George is hysterical.
• Pumpkin plants need a lot of feedings if you want to make a pumpkin pie this fall. 
• A car with air conditioning equals liberation.

Born to be Silly

Queen Teen has a hard time signing the letter Y. Her pinky won't stick up as it should.

Yesterday, she told a friend that she can't make a Y. Instead, she held up her fist with just the thumb sticking out. "This is how I do it." Then she grinned and said, "I guess I was born to be silly. See." She moved her fist in front of her face with the thumb pointed at her nose, the sign for "silly." 

She laughed so hard she collapsed on her bed.

Later, she told me that she was born to be silly "...just like Rick." 

"What about me?" I asked.

"You're silly sometimes, but not all the time like me and Rick."

Dang! I gotta up my silliness to compete with those two. Guess I need to play "What's sillier?" more often.

Queen Teen- What's sillier, a banana or a watermelon? 

Mom - A banana of course.

QT - Yes. That was an easy one. What's sillier, a shoe or a hat? 

Mom - Ummm.... a hat?

QT - No, a shoe. 

This is a game Rick and Queen Teen have been playing since she was 3 years old. They are now the masters of silliness. I tend to over-think the questions, which is also why I tend to fail the DMV written test on the first try. 

QT - What's sillier, an egg or cheese? 

Mom - An egg.

QT - No. Cheese is sillier. Gee Mama, you just don't get this game. 

There are subtleties to this game that baffle me. I'll watch Rick and Queen Teen play and have no idea why they're laughing. 

Rick - What's sillier, a gold fish or a frying pan?

QT - A frying pan.

Rick - Yes! (insert hysterical laughter from both)

Mom - Why is a frying pan sillier than a goldfish?

QT - It just is.

Rick - How many people have been hit by a gold fish?

Mom - So the game is based on whether or not people get hit by something?

Rick - No.

QT - It would be funny if a person got hit by a goldfish. 

Rick - Yeah. Maybe a goldfish is funnier?

QT - Yeah! (insert more hysterical laughter)

Mom - Okay, what's funnier? A pie or a cake?

QT - Pie.

Mom - Not cake?

QT - No.

Mom - Why?

Rick - Because there are lots of pies.

Mom - But getting hit with a cake is messier, so wouldn't it be sillier?

Rick - No. The thing itself has to be sillier.

QT - Pies are silly.Cake is not.

Mom - That doesn't make sense.

QT - (sighing sadly) Mama just doesn't get it.

My definition of faith

All right, that's enough feeling sorry for myself.

I have to put a time limit on having the blues, because I can really let myself sink way down deep into the darkness. It's too comfortable in there, all safe and alone inside my depression. Eventually, I've got to drag myself back out into the brightness of the world, whether I want to or not. Besides, I've got a lot to take care of right now.

For starters, I obviously need to go back to my doctor and discuss upping my meds again. I may no longer be suicidal, but being bitter and nihilistic doesn't mean my depression is cured.

There are bills needing to be mailed, groceries to be bought, a play to write, and my book publishing company to be focused on. There is more ASL to learn and a girl named Queen Teen needing my attention. No more hiding in my room listening to Nine Inch Nails and Soundgarden. It's Spring in Mendo. The birds wake me up at 6:00 am when the first glimpse of sunlight brightens the eastern horizon. The yard is shaking off the winter frost and stretching back to life. Weeds are popping up thicker than the perennials. The worm bin is overflowing and my lettuce starts need room to grow. It's time to get my hands dirty outside.

I had an epiphany yesterday while washing the dishes in my cluttered kitchen. All of the sudden, the concept of faith popped into my head. From my earlier posts you've probably gathered that I'm not religious. I used to be "spiritual" but even that has vanished, leaving me feeling uninspired by much of anything (depression again?). So it seemed odd that I'd be pondering the meaning of faith like that. But in that time, I created my own definition of the word.

Faith: the belief that life is fine just as it is. 

I may not feel it right now, but I have faith that the people and things in my life are good. Life is fine.

This is different from blind faith, which is pretending that everything is fine even though you haven't changed the things that need changing.

Real faith in your life comes from the understanding that you've done everything you can to solve what needed solving and what remains is life. I can not change Queen Teen, but I have done everything possible to help her. Therefore, I must have faith that she is okay just the way she is.

My definition isn't all that original; it's a cross between Buddhist mindfulness and The 12 Steps of AA. But it helps me. Taking a deep breath and focusing on faith is a very hard thing for this Type A, depressed control nut with deep abandonment issues. It's going to take me a while to really absorb my newly discovered faith in life.

And probably a little more help from my shrink too. But it's a start.

Dancing my way through a mid-life crisis

The words "mid-life crisis" sound like such a joke, until you're in it. The joke isn't the crisis, the joke is what we do with it.

My mid-life crisis started when I turned 40 and realized I had no health insurance, no retirement, and no savings; I didn't even own a car. So I went to grad-school to fix those problems and when I graduated I got a job with the county of education as an Orientation and Mobility Teacher in the special education department. I now have health insurance, retirement, and the beginnings of a savings account. My family is more financially secure, so I should be happier, right?

Nope. Not happy at all.

Sure, I can pay the mortgage and go to the doctor now, but the deeper questions still remain, questions like, who am I other than Queen Teen's mom? Why can't I save her? Is there a god, and if so, why is she doing this to my daughter? Or is Queen Teen's disability caused by her karma? Is she atoning for past lives, or learning something important? Are the atheists right? Could it really be a random luck of the draw that caused her disability? What happens when things get worse? Will she die? If she does, will her soul live on or is there no soul? Will she just disappear? Do we all disappear?

I call myself a Buddhist, but I'm questioning my faith in that philosophy. Even my favorite teacher, Pima Chodron, the one Buddhist teacher who has been able to help me when faced with spiritual crisis, can't answer my questions. Which I suppose is part of the Buddhist philosophy on suffering: there is no answer.

But damn it sometimes I want a straight answer!

Questioning ones faith and place in the larger meaning of life is the heart of a mid-life crisis. Facing mortality and meaninglessness is what causes so many people to dump their spouses, buy a sports car and quit their jobs. Existential angst is painful, so who wouldn't jump at the chance to run from it? Much better to celebrate life, rather than worry about the other cliche: the meaning of life.

If we don't stop and face those questions and understand there aren't any answers, those questions will come up over and over and drive us to make one stupid mistake after another. In the middle of the night they'll haunt you, until you need sleeping pills or alcohol (or both) to get some peace. Am I being melodramatic? Probably, but a mid-life crisis is melodramatic. Life and death come crashing together on stage in flaming technicolor, and only the brave or slightly crazy can stand the noise.

Luckily I am both brave and a little crazy, so I'll be alright. The most important thing you can do when coping with these deep, psychological questions is treat yourself with the utmost compassion and patience. You will have horrible days when the pointlessness of everything will make you want to start drinking at 10 am. And you will have wonderful days when that pointlessness will actually look beautiful, because you'll feel free and open to all the possibilities of life.

Keep breathing, and don't jump the cute guy who gave you his phone number because you think he'll save you from getting old. No one can save you. The only one who has a chance of saving you is you, but that probably doesn't give you much comfort when you're hurting and confused.

Here's a song that brilliantly portrays the feelings of a mid-life crisis; I've danced to it several times, which helped a lot. Get out of your chair and start dancing. I think dancing might be the only way to survive a mid-life crisis.

Welcome to the Middle Class

My job gave me another day to teach, so I picked up three new students and actual office hours. The extra hours also qualified me for health insurance. Yes! This is why I went to Grad School and gave up three years of my life (and my family's life). All I wanted was health insurance, a little retirement and a steady paycheck. I wanted to be middle class.

When that first paycheck arrived back in September, I was ecstatic. At last, I am officially middle class. My husband and I together earn enough to pay ALL our bills and have a little left over for savings. We can even afford to go out to dinner at a nice restaurant on occasion, the kind of restaurant with cloth napkins and a wine list as long as the menu. We can go to the movies now and not have to sneak in our own drinks. And we can afford a tank of gas and groceries on the same day.

It seems that all of my middle class dreams have come true.

For the majority of my life, I've lived on some kind of government assistance. I grew up on government cheese and dental care from the free clinic. My parents worked, but they didn't earn enough to support two kids and not need Food Stamps. When I left home, I became a starving student, working my way through college with the help of Student Aid and two jobs. Then I became a mom, and when my daughter was diagnosed with disabilities, she received the support of Social Security, MediCal, and California Children's Services. We received In Home Support Services for her daily care, and I myself qualified for MediCal. Even when I married Rick, who has always worked two or three jobs, we didn't earn enough for health insurance. We did buy a house in an expensive area, but we needed to live in that expensive area so Queen Teen could go to the excellent schools there. Just making the mortgage every month was a financial juggling act.

I started my life as a kid on welfare, eventually worked my way up to "working class," and after more hard work, have reached "middle class."

I have no idea what middle class means.

On the day I calculated my yearly salary and then started leaping around the living room, yelling, "Oh my god, I'm rich," my husband sat me down and explained that after taxes and paying the bills, I would be broke again.

"But it's more money than I've ever made in my life," I argued.

"I know. But we're no where near rich."

A few days later, I bought a Motley Fool book determined to learn what "middle class" meant. I wanted to know why the middle class people I knew complained about being broke? Please! I'll bet not one of them has had to chose between groceries or medicine. Not one has had their power turned off. Oh boo-hooh, they can't afford cable. Whatever! Try not being able to afford gasoline.

I'm still reading the book, and I realize I don't have a clue how to be middle class. What is a 401(k)? Retirement? Do people still believe they'll actually be able to stop working someday? How the hell do you buy stock, and why would anyone in their right mind want to? Wait, you mean budgeting is more than just tallying your expenses at the end of the month while deciding which bill you can skip? Who knew?

I now realize that every social class has its own set of problems. Sure, many of the middle class have no concept of what real poverty is. However, they don't get much help sending their kids to college or paying their electric bill when money is tight. There are no programs to help middle class families pay medical bills that insurance doesn't cover (but I still want to kick a person if they bitch about the price of portabella mushrooms ).

I picked up the health insurance forms from work yesterday and I'm trying to figure them out. I'm also asking myself if I can actually afford health insurance. At 45, can I afford not to? But it's a big chunk of change out of my check every month. There goes any hope of buying a newer car  next year.

Hah! There I go. Sounding like a middle class person.

Oh boo-hoo, you can't afford to buy a newer car? Well at least you have a car! A car that runs! That doesn't break down all the time. And at least you can afford to take it to the shop to keep it running.


Getting used to being middle class will take time.

Lead Free?

While Christmas shopping at a department store, I was perusing the toy aisle when I saw a Disney Princess jewelry set that proudly announced on the package in bold, sparkling letters, "Lead Free!"

Wait a minute...

WTF?

I know there have been warnings about lead in toys for years, but seeing that little package of pink plastic, Sleeping Beauty inspired necklaces with the happy announcement that the contents were indeed "Lead Free" made me look around the rest of the toy aisle nervously. I stared at the Barbies in their party dresses and sequins, at the Dora the Explorer play-sets and the Play-School dollhouses with brightly colored plastic furniture, and then at the plastic model ponies. So many lovely, entertaining, fun things our children can play with.

Which ones are full of lead?

And if they are full of lead, why are they being sold to anyone?

Why is it okay for a business to create, import and distribute toys that are toxic to play with? Do the people who sign off on toxic toys as "safe" know they're approving potentially harmful items to kids? And if so, do they then allow their own children to play with them?

Okay, maybe I'm making a big leap here by assuming that just because a toy doesn't have a "lead free" sticker it must be full of lead. This is probably more a marketing gimmick than a statement of fact. But you gotta admit, it does raise a lot questions about the toys are kids are playing with.

Often I hear a politician or business leaders say on the news that stricter controls on lead and other toxins would be bad for business and could cause larger economic harm. They say if manufacturers had to test for hazards, or if those hazardous materials were banned from toys and other items, thousands of jobs would be lost because of the drop in profits for the business.

But I want to know, why should we have to trade the health of our children for jobs?

When I run the world, there will be no toxins, especially lead, in any toy or item of clothing or food or anything our kids might come in contact with. Period. No exceptions. And anyone who bitches about how taking toxins out of consumer goods is "bad for business" will be fined one million dollars. That money will go directly to children's health care.

It will be a great day when every single toy can have a label proclaiming "Lead Free." It will be an even better day when lead in toys will be such a thing of the past a "Lead Free" sticker will be considered quant and old-fashioned.

If you'd like more information about lead and products that may contain the toxin, check out the Environmental Protection Agency website at http://www.epa.gov/lead/

What is Veteran's Day?

Queen Teen came home from school yesterday frustrated. "They were trying to tell me why there's no school tomorrow, but I don't understand." It's Veteran's Day, but Queen Teen has no idea what a veteran is.

I showed her pictures of soldiers and told her they are people who work very hard for us. That's why we all say thank you to them on Veteran's Day. She studied the pictures and asked a few questions, but still looked confused. Then she asked what one of them was carrying.

"That's a gun," I said.

She stared at me, unable to hear me. So I pantomimed the universal finger sign for gun that every four year old knows. She shook her head.

"I just don't get it." 

My daughter has no idea what a soldier is, or a gun. She doesn't know what war is, and doesn't understand killing. And I decided I'm okay with that. 

But that doesn't mean I don't think about our soldiers. I have a great respect for our soldiers and I worry about them fighting in Afghanistan. In fact, it drives me crazy that people so easily forget that we're at war. We go about our daily lives untouched by the hardships they face every day, our biggest complaint being the price of gas. And it enrages me how our elected officials fight over raising taxes or reducing the deficit. Really? You don't understand why there's a huge deficit? It really has nothing to do with the fact we've been fighting two wars for the last ten years? And I know no one wants to think about this, but maybe if our taxes were higher and we were forced to live with the specter of war every day, we'd all demand that the troops come home now. What better way to bring down the deficit then to bring home our soldiers safe and alive?

This Veterans Day, let's remember the men and women who are fighting and dying right now. 

Never blog drunk

Have you ever written something for your blog, posted it, then a day later re-read it and asked yourself, "What the hell did I write?"

Yeah, me neither.

A few of you read my last post called "Too Much Information" (thank you Barbara for commenting), which was me questioning just how much information about my daughter and my personal life I should really be putting on the internet. There were also some rambling thoughts about privacy and how much time I spend writing my blog when I should be working on my book. All good things to think about, but when I wrote them down I had just shared a bottle of wine with my hubby. Hence, I wrote a rambling piece about something important that didn't make any sense. I knew what I was trying to convey, but wine got in the way. 

No big deal, until you're convinced it's the most brilliant thing you've ever written on your blog and must be posted immediately.

When it won't stop raining, make your own sun

...and then tape it to your ceiling.

(The sun is on 3' x 3' butcher paper, created by Queen Teen and her mom, and now hangs proudly on the kitchen ceiling. It's a good thing to dance under)

Living the Theory of Relativity

image from Prosperity Blogger 

Time slows down to a crawl when I'm home. I feel as if I'm zooming as I clean and cook and work in the yard; as I work on promoting my press and answering emails; as I help my daughter dress, make her bed, comb her hair, do an art project. But in actuality, time inside my home slows down as compared to the outside world. When I think only a few days have passed, I discover that in the outside world a week has flown by. I feel like I'm inside Einstein's theory of relativity and I am the twin traveling at the speed of light, in which time slows down, while my sibling ages and dies back on Earth, where time continues to flow at a somewhat-steady 365 days in a year.

For example, it is the last day of May. This afternoon I have a job interview, which I'm very excited about (and nervous! I've never been interviewed as an O and M candidate before. What are they going to ask me?). The application process requires three letters of recommendation. No problem, I thought. I'll just ask my Master Teacher and my Instructor and the woman I worked with when I was a Family Advocate... holy cow! Is it really May 26? I thought I still had three weeks to get those letters from people. Now I have two days before a holiday weekend!

Frantic calls netted me two of my letters, but my instructor is slammed with work right now and won't have time to write me a letter for several weeks. Oh well, two letters are better than no letters, and I'll be able to show the hiring committee the third letter when it arrives. I hope.

This time management problem isn't a new phenomena, it has been going on for years. I don't return phone calls when I should because I get so busy keeping up with Queen Teen and helping my husband that its evening before I realize I never made the call. This can go on for several days, which can be annoying to people. In fact, talking on the phone is difficult period. I prefer email, because an email can adapt to my own, home-time-zone while talking on the phone jars me into dealing with the speed of the outside world.

In this day of technology, why do people insist on chatting on the phone?

Time management was easier when I was in school, because I was constantly having to navigate the two time-zones that were my life. When I was interning, I discovered the only way I could get any work done was to stay away from home. Once I set foot in my house, time slowed down again and all of my attention landed squarely on my husband, child and dog. Never mind that I needed to write client notes or return a call to my master teacher. My daughter needed something and my husband wanted to chat about his work and the dog was hungry.

It doesn't help that I'm still suffering from the post-grad school fatigue I've been feeling for a month. I suppose playing video games and watching movies isn't the best way to get any work done.

When I am working, I'll need to find a way to go back and forth between "Earth" and my "rocket ship" more easily. The outside world demands focus and speed, while my home world demands the same, but at a slower pace. Speed is relative. 

What has changed since asking for help

Well, Ty Pennington hasn't shown up at my door yet, and I still haven't won the the lottery. We're still working our assess off to keep a roof over our head and food on the table, and my car is starting to show signs of wearing out (why do my door latches keep "clicking"?). Queen Teen struggles to make sense of an increasingly incomprehensible world while Rick and I desperately try to communicate with her. Things really haven't changed much around here...

... except me.

In December when I reached the limit of my mental endurance and yelled for help, my life felt beyond overwhelming. Here it is May, and life is whole lot easier to navigate. Of course, finishing grad school helped. What I realize is that my life is hectic without school, so how on earth did I manage to fit a graduate degree into the mix? I must have been insane.

Some of that insanity has lifted, and it isn't just graduation. What has changed is the idea that I'm some kind of super hero who can do everything all by herself with one eye closed and my feet tied together. I don't need anyone, I'm a rock. Grad school showed me how much I do need help, and that it's okay to need help. It's okay to publicly announce to my friends, family and a hundred strangers that I need HELP. And by doing that, I set myself free.

There wasn't an outpouring of tangible help, like casseroles showing up on my door step or friends asking to help with the yard work. Some people I was certain would call didn't, but many people I thought would never offer to help actually did. And more of our friends and family are learning sign language so that they too can talk to Queen Teen without having to go through me all the time. And like I said, it doesn't look like Extreme Makeover is coming to my house any time soon, so I guess Rick and I will have to fix the kitchen on our own. All of that is okay. We have wonderful support from our friends and neighbors and Queen Teen is loved by everyone. We really aren't alone, even when it feels like we are sometimes. I had to admit to human frailty and imperfection in order to see that.

By letting go of always having to be on top of everything, in charge of everything, being strong and fearless all the frickin time, I have set myself free. My life didn't change, I did. And that makes my life so much sweeter. 

The conflicting emotions of this hippi chick celebrating Bin Laden's death

I know, I know... I'm not supposed to feel this way. I am supposed to be beyond blatantly celebrating the death of another human being. What is the point of all those hours reading Buddhist books about loving your enemy and even more hours meditating on compassion? I am against killing, against war, against our military fighting for the rights of corporations to control foreign governments. I fly the colors of peace and condemn all acts of aggression.

And yet here I am on this beautiful monday morning, celebrating the fact that Osama Bin Laden is dead.

Happiness isn't the word. Elation is a better description. There are butterflies in my belly and my chest feels tingly. I want to run outside and high-five a stranger on the street and giggle madly at the vision of Bin Laden being shot in the head.

Where is this blood-thristy, vengeance seeking, kick-the-terrorists-in-the-nut-sack feeling coming from? It is so not me! Right? I'm not like this... am I?

Many of my friends condemn the celebrations over Bin Laden's death, saying we should not celebrate the death of anyone. Doing so puts us at the same level of Bin Laden and his followers. And they caution us about the retribution that will surely come now that every wanna-be terrorist and actual al-Qaeda operative will seek revenge for Bin Laden. Scenes of New Yorkers dancing joyfully in the streets, reminiscent of armed militias in Afghanistan celebrating when the Twin Towers fell,  only fuels the hatred and will lead to more bloodshed. I know they're right. I know that I should not revel in another human being's death, no matter how much I may think he deserved it.

But I'm sorry, I can't help it. I am so happy that SOB is dead I want to cry.

I am glad Osama Bin Laden is dead and I am glad we killed him. There, I said it. I'll probably lose some friends over that statement and a few of you will stop following my blog, but that is honestly how I feel. I know I "shouldn't" feel this way, instead I should reflect on his death and think of the people he harmed, in the hopes that they will find some measure of peace. But I can't. I'm happy he's gone. I have no intention of flying an American Flag and praising God for Bin Laden's death, but neither will I bury my emotions and pretend I don't feel the way I do. And I imagine there are a lot of people who call themselves progressive, peace-loving, liberals who feel exactly the same way.

Bin Laden brings out the worst in people, even in death.

Tug of War, and I was the rope

On a gorgeous California spring Saturday, Queen Teen and I took our dog, Bourre, for a walk. With Queen Teen in her traveling throne (aka wheelchair) and the dog on her leash, we set out on our usual route toward the Farmer's Market.

Everything was perfect, until another dog stuck his head out from behind a fence and scared the hell out of Bourre.

We walked past a large bush and suddenly there was another dog standing right next to us, looking about as startled as we were. The dog's yard was on a terrace so the dog was practically my height and the fence posts were so wide apart the dog, big and black, could slip right through.

Bourre, a large, brown, 70 pound boxer, stopped in her tracks and jerked back toward that dog, pulling me with her. The wheelchair, over 100 pounds with Queen Teen in it, kept rolling forward, pulling me with it. I still had one hand on the handle, but that was angling the chair toward the edge of the sidewalk and the street. So there I was, pulled with by my left arm backwards and my right arm forwards. I planted my feet and pulled them both back as hard as I could, yelling at Bourre "heal!"

Luckily, Queen Teen slammed on the wheelchair's brakes. Then she turned around and yelled at Bourre too. "Bourre! You bad dog! Stop!"

Thank god she didn't freak out, panic, freeze, and then roll off the sidewalk.

And thank god both dogs didn't freak out either. They just stood there and stared at each other, wagging their tails. (And thank mom I don't tie that leash on the wheelchair).

The whole event lasted about 5 seconds. Very quickly, everything was under control, but I swear I felt like the rope in a tug-of-war. This time, the rope won.

Once everything was under control, we continued with our walk. My back felt a little tight, but nothing hurt. Whew.

Until the next day. That's when my back seized up and I could hardly walk without pain shooting down my leg. I wonder if tug-of-war ropes have that problem?

One week later, my back is better, just a little tight, but at least I'm not limping anymore. It completely messed up my work out schedule, though. I was finally feeling some results and starting to jog again after one month of gym membership, then WHAM... one week and it's all gone.

At least my butt looks fab from pushing a wheelchair 100's of miles over the last 10 years. You want a tight firm ass? Start pushing a heavy wheelchair all over town.

But try to avoid any games of tug-of-war while you're doing it.

It's the one year anniversary of the Gulf oil spill: How can I help?

image from Salon.com

Yesterday was the one year anniversary of the BP Gulf oil spill, an environmental disaster that is still being felt by the people who live and work along the Gulf coast. To say it was a catastrophe is an understatement.

When the spill happened, I was horrified by the deaths, the incompetence, and the pictures showing the destruction from the oil that continued to pump into the Gulf for months. I felt that I had to do something, but what? I couldn't go to Louisiana to help clean up, and I couldn't stop driving my car or heating my home. Our nation relies on oil; it's in everything, including some of the food we eat (I know. Gross). The Gulf spill seemed like a wake up call, though, something we all needed to listen to and act upon.

But how?

I decided to start with my shampoo. Looking at the things I buy, I realized that I could reduce my reliance on petroleum products, and thus the need for increased drilling, by eliminating the things I buy that use petroleum for no good reason. Why should oil be in shampoo? Or face cream, lotion, make up and sunscreen? What purpose does it serve, other than as a "cheap" filler. Is it really that cheap when oil drilling is so expensive? When our sons and daughters are sent over seas to die for oil companies, just so we can all buy "cheap" shampoo?

We all need to drive our cars, so getting rid of the car isn't realistic. We all use plastic containers, elastic in our clothing, computers, take medications and watch movies on DVD's, all of which use a lot of oil. Petroleum should be saved for those things that need it, like medicine and airplanes.  There is absolutely no logical reason to put oil into beauty products.

For the last year, I've stopped buying beauty products that use petroleum in their ingredients. Yes, I pay a little more money than I used to, but remember, that cost is a tiny percentage of the real cost of oil.  Finding a new shampoo was easy (I now use Giovanni Root 66. Smells great and makes thin hair full and bouncy). There are lots of great shampoos out there that are surprisingly inexpensive. But when I had to switch my face cream, that's when I ran into trouble.

I've used Oil of Olay since I was in high school, some twenty-mumble-mumble years. I love it because it has sunscreen and it doesn't make my skin break out. To say I have extremely sensitive skin is an understatement. Just looking at a rose makes me itchy. And here was the ironic part: I'm not allergic to chemicals. Pour on the petroleum distillates and solvents and my skin stays calm. Add some aloe or primrose oil and I'm itching like a 6 year old with chicken-pocks. Even so called skin soothers like chamomile make me break out. The last thing I wanted to do was put something on my face that would turn it red and flakey.

But I was determined to give up petroleum in my face cream, so I turned to a girl's best friend: her esthetician. I'm lucky because I have a friend who is a fabulous skin care specialist who happens to specialize in sensitive skin (I've been her guinea pig for years. If she can find something that doesn't make me break out, then she's pretty certain it won't irritate other sensitive types). She gave me some suggestions, but a lot of natural skin care products use Vitamin C as a preservative, which makes my skin peel off like a bad sunburn. Eventually, she turned me on to Grateful Body, a skin care line that makes a moisturizer my skin could tolerate, and one that feels great. Occasionally it isn't quite enough moisture for my aging skin, so about three times a week I rub a small amount of Avocado oil on my face at night (food grade, pure Avocado oil. cheap). Works great. I spend more for my face cream now, but I use less at a time, so I think it's actually working out about the same cost per month.

Unfortunately, Grateful Body doesn't put sunscreen in their face cream, so I had to find some type of sun protection. Enter Bare Minerals, a mineral powder makeup that provides spf 15, plus it makes your skin look fabulous. I'm still playing with this makeup, but so far, I really like it. For extra sunscreen I use Mexitan's Tropical Sands SPF 30, which I also lavish on Queen Teen. I first tried this product last year when she and I went to Disneyland and neither of us burned while we were under that extra-hot Southern California sun. And it doesn't make us break out.

By cutting oil from my beauty products, I've also inadvertently cut chemicals, some of which can make us sick (why is it in our children's bubble bath, then?). I know it's not a lot... I mean, how can switching shampoo to a petroleum free one reduce our dependence on oil? It's such a tiny drop in the oil bucket. But it's a start. Imagine if every family in America did that! That would be a lot of drops, adding up to gallons of oil saved every year.

Plus, by making some sacrifices of my own, even in small ways, I am taking responsibility for my part in the Gulf spill disaster. My demand for oil has contributed to the disaster along the Gulf coast and the fisherman who are now out of work. In a small way, this is how I can help. 

Too busy for lounging

When school finished, I imagined that I would spend several weeks puttering around my garden, watching movies in the afternoon, finishing a cup of coffee before it got cold, and writing... lots of writing. But the reality is mighty far from my plans. Instead of basking in a little post-grad school lounging, I am almost as busy as I was in school; the only difference is that there are no tests to study for.

9 months of to-do's are now demanding my full and immediate attention, as in NOW. There is no time to read a book, you must sort the filing cabinet in preparation for taxes and Queen Teen's IEP and medical appointments. And while we're on the subject of appointments, you should make a few for yourself. Those teeth are mighty stained from all that cold coffee you've been chugging, and when was the last time you went to the gynecologist? If you can't remember your last PAP, then it's been too long. Plus, those clothes won't iron themselves and those weeds in the back yard are two feet tall. Oh, and your in-laws are coming.

Which was nice, actually. My in-laws live in Texas and fly out once a year to visit and help with Queen Teen, who was out of school on Spring Break. They stayed a week and during that time helped me clean and organize the pantry. Look, there's food in the pantry behind all that crap. Who knew we had so much Saki and oatmeal? It wasn't all chores: we went for walks in the morning and chatted on my deck with a bottle of wine before dinner, and took a day trip to Healdsburg for lunch. By the time they left, my house was cleaner and my daughter was smiling. I wish we lived closer, but California is too expensive for their liking, and since I refuse to live anywhere Summer lasts 9 months, Texas is out.

This week I'm preparing for the Anarchist Book Fair in San Francisco where Medusa's Muse will have a table. I hope to sell lots of books and network with other indy publishers. I'm amazed my poor publishing company is still alive after three years of neglect, but miraculously, we made a profit in 2010. Of course, I didn't spend very much because I didn't have time to do any promotions, but a profit is a profit. Plus, Uncle Sam will still give me permission to call my publishing company a business and not just a hobby.

To "force" myself to write, I signed up for Script Frenzy. I will attempt to write a 100 page, full length play in April. It started April 1st and I've written 4 pages. Queen Teen goes back to school tomorrow, so I'll be spending the morning working on my play. Far more fun than pulling weeds or ironing shirts.

Hello blog world. I'm back. What did I miss?

Hello, Brain. Are you there?

image from For Ladies by Ladies

Are you there Brain? It's me, Terena.

Mmummmmmblmummblemm...


Thanks so much for being there when I needed you during my Cert test. You really came through for me.

Mmmummmmblemmm....


But I kind of need you again.

Brain?

Brain? Are you there?

Mmmmmm waaaaaaatchinnnnnnnng tv


I mean, I know the Cert test is over, but I have one more exam I need to take to graduate. My master's exam. You remember that? It's the one I have to take to get my Master's degree and graduate.

Mmmm yeah I remmemmmberrrrr


Well, I should really study a little for it. I know it's not as intense as the Certification exam, but I need to go over street crossing and intersection analysis, and I'm a little weak on some of the eye conditions.

Mmmmmm oooookaaaaay......

And there's a lot to do around here. The house is a mess, especially the pantry. There must be two years of crap shoved in there. I could use some of your organizational skills right now.

Mmmmm yeah suuuure whateverrrrrrrrr


Plus, Queen Teen's transition IEP is coming fast and I need to schedule meetings with the Regional Center and follow up on Audiology and Endochrinology and I really need to concentrate on ASL now. I'm about a year behind where I should be on Sign Language.

Mmmmmm, iiiiis thaaaat johnnnny depp onnn tv?

And oh my god, I still haven't done the taxes for Medusa's Muse and I know I'm late getting Laura her 1099 misc form. I have to tally up all the sales for 2010, which shouldn't take too much effort actually because there weren't that many direct sales and Lightning Source has already tallied the sales for the year, so that shouldn't be too complicated...

Mmmmhmmm

.... but it's not something I can do without you, so if you could just wake up a little bit and help me get organized that would be really great.

Mmmmmm, johnnnnnny prrrrrrreteeeeey

Brain?

Brain?

BRAIN!

Mmmmmm....


Will you please snap out of it? We have more work to do.

Mmmmmmmkay

For god's sake stop staring at that TV and help me!

Mmmmm no


What do you mean no? You can't say no! You have to do what I say!

Mmmmnoooo I doonnnnnn't.

But I can't do any of this without you!

Mmmmmmm yeaaaah


What am I supposed to do? Let the work keep piling up while you stare at Johnny Depp all day?

Mmmmmhmmmmm...


But there's no time for that!!!!!!

Mmmmmyeah   therrrrre issssssss


Fine! I'll just sit on this couch and watch TV until you're ready!

Mmmmmkay


Because lord knows there's nothing else that needs doing but staring at a television watching some gorgeous hunk dressed like a pirate play with his sword.

Mmmmmmmmmmmmmm


Although... it is Johnny Depp and he is my favorite actor and well... it's only for a little while because I've been working so insanely hard and haven't had much of a break since Burning Man...

Mmmmmhmmmmm.....


.... and I suppose things can wait for just one more day while I take some much needed R and R.

Mmmmmhmmmmm


It's not like the world will end or anything...

Mmmmmmmmhmmmm


Oh I love this part!  "The only rules that matter are these: what a man can do, and what a man can't do."

Mmmmmm


Kind of true when you think about....

......

.....

.....

.....

Brain.

Mmmmm


Tomorrow we are getting the Medusa taxes together and studying for that test.

Mmmmmmmh weeeee'll seeeeeeeeeeeeee

Happy 44th

February 4th was my 44th birthday. It wasn't exactly my ideal birthday; I've been sick for over a week now and on my birthday all I wanted to do was sleep (seems to me that if you're sick on your birthday you should get a fabulous do-over). But my hubby did his best to make my birthday special. The sitter stayed over night with Queen Teen while Rick and I stayed at the house of out of town friends. We ate take out Thai food and watched the Home and Garden channel on TV, something special for us because we don't have TV. I went to bed early and slept in until after 9 AM, then read my book in the sunshine until it was time to go home. I know it sounds mighty boring, but after the hectic year I've had and a virus that turned into a sinus infection, it was divine. But wait, there was more. For my gift, my hubby had my Honda Odyssey cleaned, polished and detailed, inside and out, from the tires to the interior roof. Plus, he installed a new car stereo to replace the one that kept eating CD's. The car bath was exactly what I wanted. Now my old mini-van smells brand new and gleams in the sun, despite her chipped paint.

The dog is never riding in my car ever again.

I think I can actually say I've learned something when I was 43. On the day after my birthday I was supposed to race down to Fremont to a workshop on teaching Orientation and Mobility to toddlers, a good three hours from my home. And I was ready to do it, despite feeling like hell and sounding like a ten pack a day smoker. Last year, I would've gone, because people were counting on me to go, including a parent who couldn't go herself and was expecting me to bring back notes. I actually felt guilty for a couple of days before my birthday because I wasn't sure I'd be able to go. Then, on my actual birthday, as I was thinking about packing for the trip while blowing my nose for the hundredth time that morning, a voice inside my head said, "What the hell are you doing?" That's when I packed my overnight bag just for the evening I would spend with my hubby and not for the day after in Fremont. Sorry people, but there's no way I can safely drive three hours on my own, exhausted and slightly dizzy from a head full of snot.

Yep, I think I learned something while I was 43, and the lesson stuck. Maybe I'm over trying to be Wonder Woman.

Revenge of the teenage girl: how to embarrass your mother without even trying

Queen Teen and I took a walk to our favorite cafe (well, the only one open on a Sunday in Ukiah), something we do every Sunday when the weather is fine. She ordered a Vanilla Steamer and I a decaf-Cappuccino, which is our usual order. Settling in at one of our favorite tables, we sipped our drinks and played the "Eye-See" game.

Queen Teen: "I see a tree outside."

Me: "I see a big black truck."

Queen Teen: "I see a red hat."

Me: "I see a napkin on the floor."

The cafe was quiet with only a few customers: a man reading the newspaper at the table near ours and a couple talking intently while staring at a laptop screen. Even the barristas were quiet, one lazily wiping the counter while the other stared off into space. Queen Teen and I stopped playing our game and slipped into the same peaceful Sunday mood.

And then Queen Teen said, so loudly her voice echoed against the metal tables, "Mom, why are you playing with yourself?"

Every person in that room stopped what they were doing and stared at me. The room became absolutely quiet. I swear, even the announcer on the radio had paused for breath.

"I have a hangnail," I said too loudly, showing Queen Teen my torn cuticle "It's bugging me."

"You shouldn't play with yourself like that."

The man cleared his throat to keep from laughing, I think, and the barristas started whispering with big grins on their faces. The radio began playing another song as the couple with the laptop murmured about their work again, but the young man stared at me a bit longer.

I told Queen Teen to finish her drink.

You can't be shy with people who can't see you

You probably don't know this, but I'm shy. I know it might be surprising, especially since I keep a blog and reveal far more details about myself than most people find comfortable. But in person, one-to-one, I'm as timid as the proverbial door mouse, tongue tied and terrified of saying something stupid. The idea of having to engage a person in conversation makes me nauseous. At parties I tend to hang in the background and wait for people to approach me, or I tag along with a few people I might already know. I can chat and fake it, pretend to be clever, or at least not stupid. And sometimes I have no idea how to end a conversation, so I probably hang around too long, like one of those annoying people at parties you can't shake.

I've been told I'm aloof and sometimes intimidating. The reality is I'm so shy I don't know how to say hello.

This became a problem when I started working with visually impaired people.

How does a person who can't see you know that you're there? How do they find out who you are, your name, and if you're still in the room or if you left?

You talk to them, of course.

Simple, right? At work, when you enter a room and there is a visually impaired person present you say hello and even if they already know your name, you tell them who you are ("Hi. It's Terena."). In fact, wouldn't it be great if everyone did that, instead of having to fumble for names? Or if you pass on the street an acquaintance who is visually impaired, say hello. It's rude to just walk on by as if they don't know you.

What did I do the first few weeks of my internship? I walked into a room and tried to be quiet so I wouldn't "bother anyone." When my instructor was talking to one of her students and she forgot to introduce me, did I say hello? Nope. I pretended I wasn't there. I kept waiting for the other person to acknowledge me first, just as I do every day, rather than take the first step. This tactic doesn't work when people can't see you. As I've forced myself to stop being rude (which is exactly what I was doing by not letting a blind person know I was there), I've also had to deal with my shyness. I'm now wondering, If I can be more outgoing with my students, can I also be more outgoing with people in general?

I've decided to give it a try. I can at least pretend to be outgoing, and then maybe eventually it will stick.

Mom Jeans

My mother gave me "mom jeans" for Christmas. You know, those high waisted jeans that make me think of little old ladies with their pants pulled up to their armpits. Really Mom, you gave me "mom-jeans" as a Christmas gift? Is that really something you should give your 43 year old daughter in the middle of a mid-life crisis?

They were the right size and length, so I put them in my drawer to save for the day when I ran out of clean pants.

That day came a week ago Monday.

I'd been too busy to finish the laundry so when Monday morning arrived I discovered I had nothing to wear to work.

Nothing, except for a pair of clean, bright blue, mom jeans shoved in the back of my pants drawer.

I put them on.

And then I discovered that they fit perfectly.

More than fitting perfectly they covered my muffin-top so that my clingy shirt fit smoothly over my ever-expanding grad-school belly.

Oh.... so that's why women wear mom jeans.

All day long, my jeans felt secure. I wasn't hiking up my pants or unbuttoning the top button when I sat down for long periods of time.

Usually, I prefer hip-huggers because I hate the way regular pants cut into my stomach. Hip-huggers are also cool and hip and trendy, all those things I still think I am. But hip-huggers also have a terrible tendency to  cut into the fat around one's middle and squish it upwards into a perfectly formed, succulent muffin top.

But not so mom jeans.

Yesterday, I wanted to wear a stretchy knit top, but unfortunately this favorite shirt did little to hide my aforementioned grad school flab. And then I thought, "I wonder if the mom jeans will work?"

I slipped them on, zipped them all the way up past my belly button, then pulled on the lovely red top. My muffin top was reduced to a sweet, delicate mini-muffin, no longer one of those giant muffins that overflows the muffin tin.

So now I have to say, thanks Mom. I think. Thank you for introducing me to the joy and beauty of mom jeans. Or at least, thank you for giving me a pair of pants that will fit until I lose these 15 pounds of belly flab which is my graduation gift from sitting on my ass studying for the last 2.5 years.

Although I can't get that image of a granny with her boobs hanging down to her elastic waist band out of my brain.