Williams - Herbie & Sage

Eating again. It is a hourly thing. Just in case you are wondering, I vacuum at least twice a day or more:)

Williams - Sage

Sage had ballet & tap today. She also had a soccer game.

Williams - Visit from Friends

I had a surprise visit from some friends on Sunday and it made my day. Libby Williams and Audra Bunderson stopped by on stayed the night on Sunday with us. It was so fun to see them. I worked at Lins Supermarket with them when I was in High School. We have some great memories working together. They were both working in Alaska this summer and were on their way home.

Williams - It's Blog Night

It has been far too long since I posted and read this blog. I have lots of things to share so I may have a couple of separate posts. We painted our house so here are a few of us working hard!

To the Mercy Killers

It has been a poetry-post overload. I have been spending too much time reading my old book of poems, but I am enjoying it. Some poems, some phrases, some lines, are on microfilm stored inside my granite skull. Earthquakes rattle them up, and the words reverberate on my bones, but they are safe and constant inside my head. They are retrievable.

December, last year, I retrieved this:

If ever mercy move you murder me,
I pray you, kindly killers, let me live.
Never conspire with death to set me free,
but let me know such life as pain can give.
Even though I be a clot, and aching clench,
a stub, a stump, a butt, a scab, a knob,
a screaming pain, a putrefying stench,
still let me live, so long as life shall throb.
Even though I turn such traitor to myself
as beg to die, do not accomplice me.
Even though I seem not human, a mute shelf
of glucose, bottled blood, machinery
to swell the lung and pump the heart- even so,
do not put out my life. Let me still glow.
-Dudley Randall

It was mid-December. The Lake House was cold. Anika was sleeping in an unfamiliar crib at the foot of my unfamiliar, squeaky brass bed. Her crib, or maybe the floor, was slanted and she kept rolling into the side and waking up crying. I wondered if she, too, was starting to feel sick like I was.

During her short periods of sleep I would peek out the sheer curtains to the moonlit lake and crusty snow. I was keenly aware of the index card and pen I had placed on the nightstand. My thoughts were racing and I couldn't bring myself to jot anything down. Alex's memorial was in the morning and I was going to speak.

The cold was pouring through the single-paned window.
And I was getting sicker.

Brandon lay awake, motionless beside me. He had been helping with Anika and was aware of my impending doom. He knew, as I did, that I would soon be in the throes of food poisoning, yet he was typically unaware of the storm blowing up inside of my soul.

I soon got violently ill. I went down the hall and vomited in the toilet. "This is the first time", I thought, "I have ever tried to vomit quietly." I was in the top of an old A-frame home and was worried about my family scattered throughout. It didn't end with vomiting. This was the kind of sick you remember forever. The kind, like childbirth, you remember but can never recall the severity of.

I collapsed on the linoleum and curled up next to a heater vent that was underneath the cabinets. My chilled and shivering body lay there awaiting the next wave of vomiting. I remembered how Alex used to call this the "fetus position" instead of the "fetal position".

"It's between the In N Out Burger or that italian sausage.", I thought. Something hadn't agreed with me. I was suspicious it was grief.

My thoughts took me to the last time I was this sick .... It was December, four years ago. It was another A-frame Lake Arrowhead house, cold enough that I saw my breath in it once... Alex's house. It was the Christmas of the epic storm and we were trapped on the mountain. One of my tacos from our favorite eatery tasted funky but I ate it anyway. This was also to be the remember-forever type of sick. I was on my way back from the bathroom, almost to my bed, and I blacked out. I was alert for the first half of the collapse, trying to steer my heavy body away from the nightstand I saw coming towards my head. Blackness. My head hit the hardwood floor instead.

Alex must have heard the thump because when I woke up he was there. He frantically asked me what happened and if I was okay. (Have you ever stubbed your toe, been solicited for feelings, and snapped at someone?) I must have snapped something at him in my agony because he turned and left the room. I clearly had hurt his sensitive feelings.

So many small regrets.
So many big regrets.
Total loss.

"It could..." I thought... "It could be the grief."

There on the linoleum in the fetus position, I prayed. The only thing that came out was "Make it stop. Dear God, make it stop."

I don't remember getting sleepy. I had fallen asleep there on the bare floor. It was still dark out and I didn't know how long I had been there. I nervously remembered what had happened and quickly took inventory. "Do I need to throw up?" - "Can I roll over?" It had miraculously passed. Never in my life has food poisoning lasted less than 24 hours. I couldn't believe it. I felt okay. I felt comforted.

I nibbled on cookies all day and eagerly spoke at Alex's memorial.
It was a miracle.

Mortality.
Our corruption.
My grief.
My sick body.
This mouldering pain inside my flesh.
A clot. And aching clench.
A stub.
A stump.
A butt.
A scab.
A knob.
A screaming pain.
A putrefying stench.
Even though I seem not human....
still let me live, so long as life shall throb.
Dear God, do not put out my life.
Let me still glow.

___________________________________________________________


The Lake House.... mere hours before sickness ensued.

The cynic in me

Only one word can describe the way I feel right now...

"whatever"

This may require a phone call to Alana instead of a blog.  Yep.  Dialing....

Like a car stuck in gear,
a chicken too stupid to tell
its head is gone,
or sound ratcheting on
long after the film
has jumped the reel,
or a phone
ringing and ringing
in the house they have all
moved away from,
through rooms where dust
is a deepening skin,
and the locks unneeded,
so I go on loving you,
my heart blundering on,
a muscle spilling out
what is no longer wanted,
and my words hurtling past,
like a train off its track,
toward a boarded-up station
closed for years,
like some last speaker
of a beautiful language
no one else can hear.

-Getting Through, Deborah Pope

I wish... she was mine.

When I taught you
at eight to ride
a bicycle, loping along
beside you
as you wobbled away
on two round wheels,
my own mouth rounding
in surprise when you pulled
ahead down the curved
path of the park,
I kept waiting
for the thud
of your crash as I
sprinted to catch up,
while you grew
smaller, more breakable
with distance,
pumping, pumping
for your life, screaming
with laughter,
the hair flapping
behind you like a
handkerchief waving
goodbye.

"To a Daughter Leaving Home", Linda Pastan

This is going to sound crazy. When Anika was a teeny tiny baby I broke down. I broke down daily but this time it was over something that was a seeming eternity away... my daughter leaving home. She couldn't even sit up yet and here I was bawling at the mere, and first, realization that she didn't belong to me. I realized that the day would come when she would move away from home. I realized that the day would come when she would slam the bedroom door and say, "I hate you Mom". I looked at her little angel face and knew she wouldn't know how much I love her until she cradles her own.

I must admit. I must admit I was more attached to the nursing than she was. I liked to tell myself and others that it was only a nutritional thing but I am heartbroken it is over. All those days of nursing and cursing it. "Oh, I can't wait until this is over and she can eat a happy meal." I love watching her grow but I hate the days passing. Phases and stages coming and going, never to return.

And the fear. I fear her going away from me. Unspeakable fear.

Anika's self-weaning has been a lesson in letting go. This is my first little practice test and I am failing miserably. I love her. She is part of me.

What if she meets some boy someday and moves away... far away? (I already want to kill that son of a......) :)

I will learn. I will practice. Letting go.

Anika darling, my wittle one. You will know what this is like someday. Someday you will know what this love, this incredible love, feels like.

Beautiful daughter, you have brought me happiness. I want to freeze time and keep you just like you are. But... I want you to grow and discover who you are. Each day. Each moment. Just having you. It is enough. Because of you, I have enough. I am enough. It is enough. You are my joy.


I tried to tell her:
This way the twig is bent.
Born of my trunk and strengthened by my roots,
you must stretch newgrown branches
closer to the sun
then I can reach.

I wanted to say:
Extend my self to that far atmosphere
only my dreams allow.

But the twig broke,
and yesterday I saw her
walking down an unfamiliar street,
feet confident
face slanted upward toward a threatening sky,

and

she was smiling
and she was
her very free,
her very individual,
unpliable
own.

-Offspring, Naomi Long Madgett

I found my old tattered and torn book of favorite poems. Some so close to me. I have been flipping through the old thing and likely will be sharing some of my all-time faves in the coming days. I also found my equally tattered and torn Journal of Summer! Yeah, you know the one. I will for sure be sharing some selections from that old thing.

Looks like a big snow mountain:

Not depressed anymore.  No more writing at midnight.  You always read it in the morning and wonder why you just didn't go to bed or watch cable or something.

Brief history:  Got my BA (for free- gotta love the scholarship).  I think I have the same degree as Ashlynn's hubby because we had all the same classes.  He was one of the normal ones.  Really nice, always happy.   Maybe that's not normal.  I digress.

Got a double major in Advertising and Public Relations.  Went to San Francisco to start my masters (DREAM DREAM DREAM).  It is an art school- I got accepted into the creative ad program.  That's when God stepped in.  He literally said, "Go Home," and after I kept saying NO, He basically struck me with lightning.  I went home and met Q that very night.  We got married and then fell in love.

I never really got over it.  I'm so selfish.  Q said he would never live in a big city so I realized I'd have to do something else since small town ad is SOO not fun.  I hate sales.  He gave me New York and I went back to school.  I started completely over and took out a BS in English Lit with a teaching endorsement which tacked another year 1/2 onto the dealio.

So here's the icing on the cake.  No, I'm serious, not sarcastic.

On Wednesday there was a coupon for a free pizza in my box from Pier 49 pizza.  They wanted to thank teachers.  So I took the opportunity then and there to drive straight to the pizza parlor- wait- first I stopped for a snow cone- and say "you're welcome."  I ordered an Alcatraz.  San Francisco Irony?  My life has now come full circle.  I may never have my dream- but I can at least get a good sour dough pizza pie.

-

Plus, I get to spend my weekends at this luxurious retreat.  PV is the bomb-diggity.  I took some teacher friends up.  Holy Cow- Why won't they put out the fire???  Forsythe is full of flames- there will be no quaking Aspin grove to hike through this year.  We could literally see trees combusting from the back yard of the cabin.  Love love love this place.  Wanna go up next weekend?

About the snowcone:  I saw this sign on the shack that said  add cream for 75 cents.  "What's this?" I pondered out loud.  It was the MAKES IT LOOK LIKE A BIG SNOW MOUNTAIN phrase on the sign that finally sold me.  Who wouldn't want a big snow mountain.  I went full out- cream on top- and I didn't regret it.  Any chance you have to add more calories you take it.

Not what it should be

Right Now...

I'm just feeling so... like I'll never be paid what I'm worth.  Quinn said he wanted to talk tonight. I was so excited, I dropped everything right away and gave him my full attention (Alana will know)... He told me he was thinking about how amazed he was that I drove to Cedar all that time, everyday, and took 20-25 credits a semester of heavy lit. stuff and still got a 4.0.  He couldn't believe I had the drive to go back, start completely over, all while working special ed at the middle school and teaching dance at night.  

I'm not trying to toot my own horn....  It's just that I remember how hard it was and has been and how hard I've worked... and

It just made me really truly sad.

I went to college for 10 years

Worked my ass off

saved my money

earned 3 majors and two separate Bachelors

spain, hoops, freshmen, hoops, MONEY, more hoops hoops hoops

walked away with perfect grades

...and for what????

I teach middle school kids who are completely self absorbed and have parents who will never appreciate the hours I spend or just how hard/tough/difficult it is to get their kids to write well... and then how painful and time consuming it is to grade their papers.

I feel like I have nothing to show for my time/my effort/my sacrifice.

Why did I do it?  I'm not any further ahead then my friends are.  Comparisons.

No one will ever know how hard it has been.  How much push it took.  How much determination I had to have.  The late late late nights and early everything else.

...And certainly no one will ever pay me enough for it.

Not a sob story.  Please don't write back about how being a mother is just like this.  Remember, I'm the one who gave up years of motherhood for....  ???  Not regret, just...

I'm fine.  I'm happy.  It was just a really long, rough, uphill road and the view from the top isn't what it should be.

Hate Kenly Club

...So, I'm not usually a hater in the house, but this girl is SERIOUSLY driving me crazy!!! She is so talented, and so good as what she does, but she canNOT take a shred of constructive criticism. She is so defensive and plays up the attitude. She can't DEAL with suggestions because she thinks they are attacks. If it's one thing that I can't take- it's someone who can't take criticism, who doesn't LISTEN! Put down your wall Kenly!

So...because of her completely sarcastic-oh no you don't- attitude, I am officially changing my pick for fave to Leeanne.

P.S. If you don't know what I'm talking about, why on earth have you not been watching Project Runway????

You hate me now, don't you?

Off course I don't believe in bailouts... you're talking to the chick who thinks well fare is a gift from the devil except it's me, middle class U.S.A, who has to stand trial at the judgment seat.

Now before you go all thinking I'm some selfish white privileged bigot... you know what, never mind. Think away. Glenn Beck has it right. It is our responsibility to give, NOT our government's responsibility to take.

I'm not a completely heartless git. Fine, you want well fare? Great. Just put some mandates on it-

My great grandfather Smith (true story) stood in long lines each morning for government work during the great depression. At the end of the day, after he dug a ditch, built a dam, cut down a tree, they'd send him home to his family of 10 children with a loaf of bread and some food stamps. That's the way to do it. God forbid we build another dam in this country and help the energy crisis.

...but in this example lies a euphemism. Though people actually worked (ie: produced labor) for their well fare, it was still the government providing the jobs. Soooo not the way capitalism should work. Here's what I think: Government should give tax rebates or deductions to companies who provide jobs. That way, we build up domestic companies, strengthen the job infrastructure, and get more people off their couches. It all seems too simple, right?

...and then you're going to be all hatin' on me because you had your baby on well fare and you now realize that I may not have been the biggest fan of that. Fine. The truth comes out: All things have an order- birthcontrol, insurance, baby. I did it- why should I have to pay for others who didn't make the sacrifices and put in the long hours that I did? Now I'm really going to hell. Whatever. I made certain that my husband and I got jobs that would cover us should anything happen (hipocrit alert: I work for the government).

Some people say: Life is too short to spend it working somewhere you hate. I say to them, when they get cancer and can't pay for the cure, good thing you lived your life while you could... seeing as how it's so short. That's when I whip out both of my 401k's, my pension plan, social security (like it's still going to be there), and my savings and enjoy the retirement I've sweat blood, tears, and sleepless nights of anxiety for.

Which brings me to the health insurance crisis and Oprah. Here's the ethereal question: Should it be a human right in America to have health insurance? We think it is a right to learn to read and get a high school education- Why is health care, a matter (in some cases) of life and death, any different? Would I fall deeper into hell if I say, "Because I don't want to pay for it!"

Probably. But this brings me back to point A: It's not the government's job to provide health insurance. It's the companies of America who should step up and offer better/more packages. That leaves responsibility up to the individual to fight for the American dream and earn their keep. I'm fighting every day. It's called 9th grade English- and I'm earning my keep every wretched snot mouthed comment and misplaced comma. I have insurance because I am earning insurance. (remember when I told you about being a hypocrit because I work for the government???- well, maybe if the voucher ammendum had passed, I wouldn't have too! See tautology comment below).

The irony, however, lies in the tautology of business in these United States. How can business step up if the government is pushing them down the ladder even further? Companies can't offer health insurance because they're being taxed up the ying yang so the government can give it away like candy. It's a circle and Capitol Hill should grow up, stand up, and "STEP OFF" (Seinfeld). If they don't make the first move to back out, how will businesses loose the chains of big government so they can grow, progress, and give the citizens what they (NOT CONGRESS) should have been giving them all along.

Next issue: BIG SPENDING.

It's not my fault you may have bought a huge, gorgeous house at 100% interest-only adjustable-rate mortgages, why should I pay for it? Furthermore, why are shady-greedy companies being bailed out when it's the conservative middle class that should be rewarded? Oh that's right- some idiot in the Senate missed out on reading Animal Farm and the Russian Revolution in grade school and didn't realize that when you eliminate the middle class, you basically annihilate capitalism- the basic foundation of democracy.

So as for the bailout.... It scares the crap out of me. Every fiber of my being says no way! I pay for my mistakes, why not you.

BUT THEN AGAIN

If we don't bail them out, we all crash and burn. $700,000,000,000.00 is a lot to give, but that's also one of those numbers that takes everything else with it if it falls. Do the math, that's $2000.00 per U.S. citizen. So the real issue is:

Am I willing to fork out $2000.00 to keep the economy floating?

I mean let's face it, even if you're anti-bailout, you can't ignore the fact that if you don't offer a bailout this time, none of your other money is going to matter... be worth a lick... stand as more than a shadow next to the Euro... be recognized by your children.

Do I like it?

No.

Do I want a depression, one that -this time- we'll have to try and weather without morals, values, and the basic family supportive unit?

No.

So does that mean I'm going to fork out my share of the $7 billion????

Do I have to say it out loud?

proposed bailout for private banks...

Socialistic? Un-American? Immoral? Our only chance in hell? For the first time in recent history, I'm going to keep my big mouth shut. I want to know what YOU, my fellow friends and Americans, think.

Crazy B

Well, here comes the madness. The Big B is at it again. This time, it's the Big One.
I'm unsure whether "Nutty Professor" or "Rain Man" is most appropriate for what I witness each night. You've all seen Brandino's stained glass lamps and now he's creating a monster. He is making preparations and collecting materials for this ball. Yes, stained glass again, soldered together! He is insane! Did I mention it will be 4 feet tall? By the way, the soldering is done with lead. Does this explain anything? I suppose, then, that I shall add "Caligula" to that short list. We have been knee-deep in cardstock shapes at our house as Brandon builds his standard prototype first. I can't take the insanity. It's looking to be a lonely six months but I predict 18 months. It's simple: just multiply all of Brandon's estimates by 3 and you get reality. Not even kidding, it's a tried and true formula. Good thing I just signed up for Netflix. He plans on selling it. Let the bidding begin.

What are you wearing???

HI Alana. I noticed that we are on at the same time. I've just been reading all your funny posts. There were about 10 new ones since the last time I looked. How is work at the P Factory? Miss you all!

Cry for the trees.

These people are crazy. I suppose the above clip is so intriguing to me because I am studying global warming in class right now. Seriously, who raised these people? You gotta watch this video.

P.S. I have this serious suspicion that a girl at work has a crush on me. Let me not leave out the fact that she is a teacher.

Currently Loathing a Scandinavian Pedigree

The next time you eat a salami sandwich look very closely and you just might recognize your best friend's face!

Let's get one thing straight. I am grateful for my tolerable face. I get by. I feel to insert that disclaimer for fear I will be humbled with a battery-acid accident or meth cravings.

So I have freckles? I have freckles from head to toe! Look closely some time and you will know what I mean. Pregnancy hormones darken pigment and I swear a new sun spot appeared daily.
I wear sunblock religiously. When I don't, a thin mustache of freckles appears on my upper lip. Even my eyelids are freckled. Surely the 80 SPF will spare me becoming an old leatherbag, but what about the spots?

I have never worn any type of foundation. Maybe I should start? Maybe that Bare Minerals I have seen on infomercials?

I love infomercials.

Any make-up advice wold be appreciated.

The Chalice and the Blade

Naw, it ain't the Star of David.

I have a little disease where once my wheels get spinning, it is extraordinarily hard for me to go to sleep. I want to go to bed but now I am thinking about my soap box of Feminism and must purge simply to rest. Binge and purge, purge to rest.

Please Alana, make it quick and painless.

Of course I am a feminist. What do you think I am? Some dumb broad? Just kidding. Ok. Women work outside the home. It's OK now. But, in some sense, it's almost expected. Not around here in "these parts"... but... you know... out there... in the world.

My beef is this: Thank you Feminism! But hey, we are equal and different! I don't buy into the idea that gender is a myth. Feminism should (and is) slowly developing an addendum that the point all along was: We have the right to choose. Some great feminist movers see this as the equivalent of printing a retraction. If I want to stay at home, let me! I have been working a bit and realized how much I missed the socializing, but when it comes right down to it, I'd rather be home with "my girls"... and that's okay.

Please, all you girls out there, read The Proper Care and Feeding of Husbands.
by Dr. Laura Schlesinger. Move over Margaret Atwood! Don't you just love Dr. Laura? I used to listen to her radio show with my Mom every day. Dr. Laura stands bravely alone, calling women out on this over-the-top, blame-the-man syndrome that has ran rampant.

I am for feminism, but I love my femininity. We are equal, but different. Women expect men to fill so many roles that they aren't even capable of, while failing to fill their own roles. (whether these are assigned or not is a tale for another day) I'm surprised Dr. Laura has yet to be burned at the stake for saying such reproachable, disgraceful, and utterly sinful things such as:

"Put a little perfume on and some make up before your husband comes home from work."

"Are you guilty of frump syndrome?"

"All a man needs to be happy is dinner on the table and lots of sex."

...and best of all...

"When was the last time a Woman was expected to be romantic in our popular culture?"

A woman expected to be romantic? What a crime! I cry Witch!

Come on, this isn't female oppression! She didn't say submit and obey. Encourage and praise your man for what he does do... bringing home the bacon. But if you want to bring home the bacon and fry it up in the pan too... more power to you.

I think Dr. Laura is a revolutionary. I think this is what modern modern feminism will look like.

I bring home a little bit of bacon now. We're talkin' little bitty... Bacon bits? And I fry it up in the pan. (sprinkle them on deviled eggs?) But Brandon cooks quesadillas on Sunday, and makes me my microwave nachos at the slightest request. I try and gussy up a bit before he comes home. I try to be cheerful. I'm a little psycho about socks on the floor, like most women, but don't want to be. I tell him how much I like his beard and that I appreciate how he supports our family. If I want a MAN, I had better treat him like one. He treats me like a Queen... I want him to think I am his W O M A N. It pampers his manliness, and I like manly! I think the more non-androgynous the individual roles in the relationship, the happier the couple. "Witch!" they cry aghast, "Witch!" ..."How dare she say such a thing!?"

Basically, the day I re-wrote my expectations of Brandon and myself, satisfaction in marriage grew deeper.


more reads:
Goddesses, Whores, Wives and Slaves: Women in Classic Antiquity, Sarah Pomeroy.

Failing at Fariness: How Our Schools Cheat Girls, Myra Sadker, David Sadker.

This gender schooling business has been on the news the last few days. The ACLU was freaking out, as if gender-specific schooling is such a sin! Again: We are equal, and different! Gender is NO myth!


Never again Alana. It is hard for me to post things, especially in the evening, because I can't quit. I have such a big mouth. Hopefully, I will be able to sleep now.

housebroken

I have been thinking about the term "housewife".

It's creepy.

The first thing that comes to mind... say... if I were doing a word-association psychological evaluation, is "housebroken".

"Is your bitch housebroken yet?", says the man to the other man.

"Not quite... but she is going wee wees on newspaper.", says the other man.

"Mine is an outside dog. She sleeps, though, in the garage.", says the man.

____________________________________________________________________


"Does your wife stay at home?", says the man to the other man.

"Yeah... but she does sell tupperware.", says the other man.

"Mine is VP of sales. She sleeps, though, in another mans bed.", says the man.


Is there some sort of status men hold if "their woman" stays at home? What is "stay at home" supposed to mean, anyway? I go lots of places. And what if Brandon is my bitch?

Is there some sort of status men hold if "their woman" has a high-power job? What is a high-power job anyway? I am controlling. I want one of those.

At the rodeo parade yesterday, a big crew (herd, flock, whatever...) of bikers rolled down Tabernacle. I scanned quickly to find a woman, just one, who was driving one of those bikes. None! You had better believe that if Brandon and I ever join Hells Angels, I'm going to be the one driving and wearing the t-shirt that says, "if you can read this, the bitch fell off." I want to feel that big motor rattle between my thighs as much as the next guy.

Has the feminist movement taught us nothing? We have the vote, so why not the handlebars? Drive that bike, ladies. Make that greasy guy choke on your hair as that free blowin' wind whips across your pretty little face.

Antique Roadshow

We like to watch Antique Roadshow, me and the B.

Just moments ago I heard Brandon mutter under his breath, "holy crap, hundred grand for some measly paintings".

Have you ever noticed that when the expert tells someone their antique is actually worth something, 90% of the time that person replies, "Oh... Ebert will be so pleased." ... again, in that same voice we were talking about the other day... you know, the one I use when I read, "and the quiet old lady whispering 'hush'"to Anika.

"The Elderly", to be totally and securely PC, (or is it advanced in years?) are so into "The Show". I think that's what the hip ones call it these days.

Replace Ebert with any old name and it's still the same... "oh, so and so will be so pleased".
How is it that nearly all Roadshow attendees are on some sort of field trip away from their invalid partners? Are there that many arthritic bed-bounders who can't go with their "lover of decades" to the show? ... I'm sorry... The Show.

I have an even bigger point to ponder. Who are these experts? Where do they come from? And how does one learn that much about Abraham Lincoln memorabilia?

I am helplessly perplexed.

I think I'd like to go to the Roadshow someday. The Roadshow.

housewife

i think the big b might be trying to put me on an undercover diet. whenever he goes grocery shopping he comes home without my requested junk items. why i oughta.... he says he doesn't want the junk in the house because he doesn't want to eat it. i was unaware anyone was forcing it down his throat. i'm having a hard time coaxing myself to bed without my ice cream. he bought a cantaloupe. i'm surprised i could even identify it as a cantaloupe, as it's been months since anyone has carried a fruit across the threshold of this joint. he and his fresh melon will be honeymooning for breakfast and i've got nothing but one measly twix to last me through a sabbath.?? ... oh no he didn't. implied pronunciation: dit-ten. in context: "i got pregnant by yo baby's daddy." "oh no you dit-ten." or... "step off", said Tyrone. "oh no you dit-ten!", exclaimed Shanequa.

goodnight.

parade

Obscure fact: Alana loves the rodeo! I love the music, the hot dogs, the show, and the boys, of course. We didn't arrange to go this year and I am wishing we had. We did catch the parade, quite by accident. Brandon built Jenny a bed and we went to the glass shop to move it to her house and the roads were blocked off. We killed the time by going to the park and parade. Anika has been to a few parades before and she loves it. She waves at the beauty queens, dances to the bands, and especially loves the big fire trucks.

I did manage to make it yesterday to the sun bowl to show Anika the rodeo cows and horses.

rodeo.
mama likes.

old people, enzymes, roofies, oh my!

My Brandino, the old timer.
I took Brandon to get an epidural steroid injection in his neck at the Zion Pain Management clinic. The place was full of old timers and I couldn't help but panic. We have such a long way to go that we just can't start going down hill yet! Brandon's neck has been in pain for pretty much the whole time I've known him. He has a ruptured disc that he has traced back (with his fanciful imagination) to Josh Leavitt tackling him at the sand dunes years and years ago.

Hopefully, this will provide him some relief and I will start seeing that Brandon he's been promising me for all these years... you know, the one who isn't completely senile. The neck pain has been his scapegoat, and rightfully so, but he just deserves some relief.

Pampered Princey, pampered Princey, night and day its pampered Princey. Rub my backey, ice my armey, juice me up some nice fresh juicy.

Back to old age: I can't imagine it! Inching along with a walker with the voice I use when I read "and the quiet old lady whispering hush" to Anika does not sound like a way to live. Hopefully, I will age well, like my Mother. She is 68 and still doesn't even have gray hair. She has a few growing out of her crown now that she makes me pluck with tweezers. I am the only daughter that will do this chore. My nephew Ian tried once and just cringed when he saw the scalp rebound. She gave birth to me, after all, and I hope Anika will pluck my grays one day.

I fear it may be official, this child-lead weaning business. I have read about nursing strikes, or self- weaning but never thought Anika would be the child to do it. It all started that week Ciara was here and I was out at night occasionally. I have tried all sorts of things to get her to nurse again, all the while wondering why the hell I can't let go. Again, as usual, it's Mama with the separation anxiety. Mostly, I worry a lot about her nutrition, and was always comforted that at least she was getting a few ounces of liquid gold.

Anika's pediatrician said I could give her Pediasure 3 times a day. I gratefully took some samples home and when I looked for the nutrition facts on the package they weren't there! Isn't that regulated by the FDA? First ingredient: water. Second ingredient: sugar. This can't be good. I had to look up the grams of sugar online. 18 grams of sugar!!! That's 4 1/2 teaspoons, 3 times a day! The equivalent sugar-dose for my weight each day would be around 150 grams of sugar. The bottle has a cute, healthy, energetic bear on the package... and I am thinking, shouldn't this cute teddy also be preparing its insulin injection? Complete, balanced nutrition. (Yeah, if you want an Autism Spectrum Disorder, diabetes, or ADD). "All the vitamins and minerals you need". They should add, "negated by the sugar." How sad. Even sadder is that her own Doctor recommends whiplashing my little one's pancreas. Trust me, there will be plenty of time for cotton candy, Lady! Worthless!

Her ped said it was good because it has 30 cals/ oz. instead of breast, formula, and cow with 20 cals/ oz.
Aren't we trying to get her to eat? It tastes like melted ice cream and probably is. I don't think bananas will taste good after a diet of ice cream.

I have been achieving this 30 cals/ oz. with rice dissolved with breast milk, but can no longer pump enough now that Anika wont nurse. The rice just will not dissolve in anything else! So... after much pondering for a solution, I bought some capsules of digestive enzymes. I just break them open and dump them in her rice cereal and cow milk. In about 10 minutes... VOILA! Runny and bottle-ready, just like breast milk! Sure, I feel like I'm giving her a roofie, but... it works!!! I suspected success, but I still felt like I won the Mommy Nobel Prize. 30 cals/ oz., iron fortified... and no mountains of white sugar.

I didn't think I would let myself go off like this again about Anika but I can't help it; it's what my life revolves around. She still loves mowing up her Cheezits and spitting them out. She likes yogurt too, but after much observation and experimenting with elimination, I have discovered its the yogurt that gives her the runs! It's awful, even waking her at night. What a joke it has been trying to figure out what Anika's deal is. Maybe I will try goat's-milk yogurt, as it has less lactose.

Do you find this as fascinating as I do? After early childhood (around when natural weaning occurs!!! hmmmm?) our bodies quit making the enzyme that breaks down the "milk sugars". So many people have dairy trouble, like Brandon. Give him a "Greaseball special" from Pasta Factory and it is bad news. Human beings weren't meant to eat like we do. Supplementing enzymes will help Anika generally, besides making her rice runny. Fascinating! Read THIS.

Speaking of Pasta Factory, I went in this morning and Jenny trained me on the new computers. I'm nervous for some reason. I don't know if it is because I don't want to screw up or just because I've hardly tasted fresh air for two years, let alone, associated with human beings. I think it will be beneficial to me, mentally and emotionally, to get out for a few hours.

I promise I'll try to rant less often. I should quit worrying about Anika's diet and work on mine! I have completely forgotten about my own health and nutrition, and I know I don't produce any "chimichanga enzymes." Officially, ... chimichase???

What the...?

Come see me shake my hips, thrust my chest, and move my butt.  

For some crazy reason, I decided to cheer at 1/2 time for homecoming this year.  "It'll be fun..." I thought.  Not quite spot on.  They're doing something new this year.  They are teaching the alumni a dance to perform out on the field.  

Some easy-smeasy, appease the crowd novelty kind of routine you're thinking right???

So was I, Until I WENT tonight to learn the sucker.

It's the real deal.  I can honestly vouch for having seen these exact moves on a Utah Jazz Dancer last season during the forth quarter break.  

Holy crap!  What are they thinking?  They weren't going to get any old decaders like me?

Probably.  I'm the only one with hips to shake... which, oddly, gives the moves an entirely new meaning.

P.S.  Quinn likes the new moves.

Kissing Cousins

Well, I was wrong... it's the CTR 5. Anika woke up really early Sunday so we were able to force her to nap for 45 minutes at 9a.m. She was really good in Sacrament and also sharing time. She loved seeing the kids and was calling them "babies", "babies happy", and even sang along to some primary songs. Eventually, though, Brandon had to take her out so I was trapped alone for lesson and closing time. What a joke! Nicole, I think it's worse than nursery. One kid was on his head half the time. Anika wouldn't nap the rest of the day and was so delirious, going to bed at 7p.m. I can't wait for the new year and new church time. That way, it wont be in the middle of Anika's nap and it might be do-able, and somewhat less of cruel torture for me and her.

I don't mean to give you guys a play by play, but I think I need to shop for a new and easier religion because I'm too lazy for this. Think of the righteous ones that do it all: temple night, cannery assignment, pandemic training, enrichment, visiting teaching. My goal is to be super on top of things like that, because that's our only sure bet to raise our family. The good and non-exhaustive part: it really all does bring blessings. I just need to get back into the swing of things.

How about this awesome rebound shot of Mike just after getting it in the face with a ball. You can see the culprits blurry hands on the side. Emmet! This picture makes me laugh.

Uh oh, can't have any of those "kissing cousins".

BIG NIGHT FOR THE BIG B

Brandon got nominated to stay home with both of the kiddies while us adults went out to the new Scaldonis. The new Scaldonis is so uptown and loungy and it was friends and family discount night for their opening. Alex's girlfriend, Lu, is in town visiting. She just graduated from law school, moved back to Chicago, took the bar, and has been in Lake Arrowhead for a few weeks to pack and ship her things. She drove up for the weekend to see us. Lu is like another sister! I love that girl! It was nice to get out. Guess what else? I am on the schedule next week at Pasta Factory for 2 nights, and I honestly am thrilled. I wish I didn't wait so long to do it. Well, talk to me next Saturday, I suppose, and we'll see if I've changed my story. I hope Anika wont miss me those few hours as much as I will miss her. She goes to bed at 8, so really it's only 2 hours I will be gone. (in Anika time)

Williams - 4 Generations of Herb's

Herb, Herb, Herb, & Herbie - Confused yet?

Warning! Alana Warning!

Since posting the information about Herb on the blog, he suddenly booked a trip out of the blue for Las Vegas. Advice for Alana: Don't leave your house, better yet don't go near any windows.

Little Did I know...

When was somebody going to tell me that Herb was a pole vaulter? I really feel out of the loop. There were other great things I learned about Herb while Ciara was here. For starters, he is a CIA agent, though he will hardly admit it. You're not pulling the wool over these eyes, Herb. Did you also know that his Dad took him to a Grateful Dead show in Las Vegas when he was 15? That's one quick way to get an education! We got to talking and discovered that this was the same show my sister and brother also attended.

I'd heard many stories of Dead shows, but especially appreciated the one where little Herb got a second-hand high. His Dad took him to some relatively fresh air until the nausea abated. My only question is this: Herb, did your Mom know about this? It's such a DAD item. Perhaps the best imagery, aside from naked people, 4 foot bongs, and nitrous oxide balloons (surely better than the whipped cream can) was this: people selling vegetarian burritos displayed on blankets alongside their cars. I am still laughing. Thanks Herb for the great story.

The day I moved my things into my dorm in San Francisco, there was LOUD music emanating from... I just couldn't figure it out. I was highly concerned I had loud neighbors. Little did I know, I lived right across the street from Golden Gate Park but just didn't know it yet. The noise was the opening band for the Dead. That was the same show that Jerry Garcia didn't play because he was sick, and he died a while later.

Other funny Herb item: The Patch! I don't know why that was so funny.

Full circle: Today I happened to see a cottonwood with the tips of the branches tinged yellow. I look for that "first" like I look for the first tulip or cherry blossom in the Spring. I guess that's what got me thinking about Herbs story because my first yellow cottonwood always brings THIS to mind. I used to have a tradition of going up to Zion to my secret rock to see the yellow- tipped leaves, the Autumn-blue sky and enjoy my last rose of summer, and that song always reminds me of that. The trigger was either the tree or my Cherry Garcia I ate last night.

And Ciara, surely you remember THIS.
Fire, fire on the mountain.

Can anyone say "Vaginal Yeast Infection"?

...The one time I put paper down instead of squatting...

(too much information???)

HAPPY SUPERCOLLIDER DAY!

.


..It's also my nephew Jake's 20th birthday, which is funny because he and I have been calling it the "Hardon Collider" for 6 months now, ever since he saw it misspelled in the news. He said, "you can go as high as you like in scholarly fields, but never will you escape funny misspellings." Who is the lucky sucker that got to throw the switch today?

I don't know about you, but I'm rooting for the black hole... and not just some teeny guy. (What? "teeny" isn't an official term in particle physics?)

It's really the only merciful way to end this mess.

Good luck! I hope they find him!!! (Higgs boson) I started reading the book The God Particle years ago, but God kept being referred to as "She" and "Her" and it just wasn't doing it for me, so I quit half-way. Perhaps it could do it for you?

It's happening. It's really happening!

Withdrawals

Well, I am not handling my Ciara detox very well. I forgot how boring a regular day with no lunching, movies, and girl talk can be. I hope you had a good drive home Ciara. The thought of that drive, especially after a week of being away from home, just sounds EXHAUSTING.... all the while keeping up on the homework. I am so amazed by all of you, my friends. Ciara, you have so many responsibilities. My head was reeling after our talk at Nicole's, and... pretty much I do 1/100th of what you do! Not to mention Nicole going to school for 10 years!

Also, after all that nursing talk, Anika is refusing "lady milk" the last few days. WHAT?! It could be because her nose seems a little stuffy or ...maybe she's just over it. I would be totally bummed out if she was done, but I'm not about to argue with it. I guess we will see what happens here in the next few days, as she decides if she means it or not. I feel ever-so-slightly rejected. Help, I totally want another baby. What am I saying? Get yourself together Alana. As cute and snuggly as a newborn seems, I know I am suffering some sort of memory loss and/or distortion. Does anyone know the odds of two colicky babies in a row? Maybe I would get a happy, peaceful baby. I am going to wait a good long while before I have another but it IS amazing that my brain can even begin to go there after that whole nightmare. Sorry Nicole to horrify you the other night with bleeding and scabbed nipples, postpartum depression, and cauterized granular tissue, but I wish more people had shared reality with me.

My baby is all grown up :( Tear.

"My milk, my milk, my lovely lady milk..."

Oh yeah, girl talk must be powerful. Somehow weaning was magnetized to me, and somehow all that nursery talk magnetized a Primary calling to me... so thanks a lot girls! Yep, me and the B, Primary teachers... CTR 7 or something. This should be interesting with Anika missing nap. It's not like she gets a little cranky but more like: being unable to physically hold her in my arms as she writhes and wails as if I was misting her with muriatic acid. I'm going on faith and hoping for a miracle. Guardian angels: stand by and make my baby miraculously make it to 2:00 without a nap!

So...

When did I become the short stalky chubby one?

"poor little malnourished thing"

I just have to laugh about this. Everyone tells me how skinny and undernourished Anika is. It's especially tragic when it comes from a stranger at KMART. Thank you to everyone for bringing so many smiles, laughs, and tears, seen and unseen, to me.

First of all, her weight is just fine and she has been tracking the same her whole life! For most of her life she has been above average in length, in fact. Her Ped doesn't blink an eye.

Yes, Anika struggles with solids. She eats yogurt, organic cow's milk, some formula, rice cereal and... breast milk. This, for some reason, freaks people. "When will you quit nursing, Alana?"... and the answer is... When the World Health Organization thinks I should!!!! The World Health Organization's recommendation is a minimum of 2 years, while the American Pediatric Society recommends a minimum of 1 year, so cut me some slack. Nursing a toddler is normal, God-intended, and proven by science time and again. For now, it's cultural, like how through the 50's and 60's, breastfeeding was so out-of-vogue. You were a freak if you didn't give your kid the new fancy formula.

Anika had a Doctor appointment today. The doctor is sending her to a speech and feeding therapist to help her learn to chew and swallow. She says this happens sometimes, especially with reflux babies. They just have weird aversions and fears of certain textures and a hyper gag reflex. Anika just tends to mow things up and spit them out, rarely moving it to the back of her throat to swallow. Does everyone think I am so dumb that I haven't tried starving her to get her to eat solids? I've tried it all. I have all the live long day, every day, to try every kind of food again and again, just hoping it will take. Luckily for Anika, I am still willing to pump and give her rice cereal, as the enzymes in the breast milk are the only thing that make it bottle-ready.

For the record: The protocol for an underweight baby is to cut back on solids and increase the fatty milk-intake, whether whole or breast. If she was indeed underweight (which she isn't) I would be told to do just what I am doing.... Surprise!!!! The other surprise is that I learned to add in grade school. Simple math of adding up her daily caloric and fat intake tells me she is getting all she needs (and then some) of the recommendations for her age. Quality calories and impeccable nutrients. She scores a 91% under "Percentage of Ideal" at the pediatrician.

Extended nursing reduces illnesses and allergies, increases IQ scores tremendously, and infinite good things. Culturally, we are just starting to evolve. This would have been even freakier back in the day when even my own Mother (who eventually breast fed all her toddlers) couldn't believe her Aunt was nursing after her baby got teeth.

Don't worry about me and "Poor Little Orphan Anika". Though who doesn't love unsolicited advice? If you haven't noticed, I am hypersensitive to being judged as a parent. I think all parents are sensitive. I think I'm especially so because I pride myself on being well-informed. TRUST ME: I read all the parenting books. I am a smart girl. I'm pretty sure Anika is in good hands.

I am not some thoughtless broad who just gives baby breast and bottles because it's easy and won't tick baby off. I am the world's biggest fan of ignoring baby's bad behavior. If only it was that easy for me to brush off the commentary of those less- (and mis) informed.

It is now safe to take CPS off your speed dials.

Sorry I'm so irritated.
You guys have met me, right?
I wish I didn't feel everything so intensely.
Ahh, look at that, I've gone and embarassed myself again.
Forgive me.

The greatest thing my sister Janna taught me about Parenthood is the fact that, as Parents, we will be judged by everyone, even our own Mothers. Everyone out there thinks they could do better with your child. "Oh, you bet she'd be eating happy meals for me." ... or, "Oh, I'd have that little thing potty trained in a day." This has been one of the greatest Motherhood lessons... I don't judge other parents because they, like me, have known their children from their first breath, and love them most.

I think I'll have another dinner party when Anika's 3 and whip IT out, just for a tease. I certainly WILL NOT be nursing that long, but you all know how I love a good shocker.