Pack your bags m'dear!

Today was my birthday. It wasn't very exciting. My husband had to work, we're pretty broke, and my car was broken down. We didn't have any plans, but Zoe and I decided to spend the evening together being lazy.

Around dinner time, a good friend called to wish me a happy birthday. I hadn't talked to this particular friend in a couple months, and we just kept talking and talking. It was great to catch up. After we'd been on the phone for just over an hour, Zoe finally slams her fist into the couch, stands up and starts crying.

"Mom! Why do you care more about your friends than you care about me??" She stormed off up the stairs and shut herself in her room, crying. I continued talking to my friend while slowly getting things together to start dinner.

About 15 minutes later, Zoe calls down the stairs, "Mom, could you get me two sandwich baggies, please?" I'd already gotten off the phone and was finishing up dinner. I grabbed two for her and met her at the bottom of the stairs. "Thank you, Mom." Then she turned and went back up the stairs.

Ten or so minutes later, I heard a strange noise coming from the stairs in the front hall.

Thump, thump, thump, thump, THUD! Running up the stairs.

I just stopped what I was doing and listened.

Grunting. Thump, thump, thump, thump, THUD!

"Hey Zoe, Do you want veggie sticks or green beans with your chicken wrap?" I knew she would pick the veggie fries, with Ranch dressing, of course.

"Umm..." I heard her say in the front hall. She paused to think for a minute. "Hold on a second."

Grunting, CRASH! Then nothing... Grunting, CRASH!

"Zoe! Come get your dinner!" I grabbed her plate and began carrying it towards the front hall where I found Zoe trying to pull her big green suitcase, stuffed to the brim, back up the stairs. "Were you packing your bags to move to Nana's house," I asked very calmly.

She stared at the ground for a moment and mumbled, "yes."

"Did you call her already? Is she on her way?"

"No."

"Well, she lives over nine hours away. We should probably call her to let her know she needs to come get you."

"Can I eat dinner first?"

I set her plate down on the table and walked back into the kitchen. "Why don't we eat dinner and we'll call Nana after, ok?"

We sat together, eating our dinner, making our carrot sticks battle one another for possession of the cherry tomatoes. While I was cleaning up the plates and loading the dishwasher, Zoe came into the kitchen.

"Mom, can we just forget about the moving to Nana's house?" I looked at her and nodded. She ran over to me and gave me a big hug around my waist. "Good, can you take my suitcases back upstairs for me?"

Job Description: Mother. Compensation: $0.00 Job Requirements: Must either know everything or be very skilled at Google searches. Must be able to lift at least twice your body weight. Must possess diplomacy skills, conflict resolution experience and have a very even temper.

Meet My Family, The Psych Ward

Raise your hand if you think your parents are crazy!

::raises hand slowly... looks around::

Well... I'll just assume your hands are all up. Even if you can't admit it, I know... I've listened to too many of you gritching, more than once or twice, about your parents.

Over the last few years, I've become what I'd like to refer to as an adult. I know I'm not ALL the way there, and I still have a lot to learn, but I've grown up. I've expanded and opened my mind and left it to air in the breeze.

I wouldn't say I lived a sheltered life as a child, but I might say it was privileged with limitations. I was allowed to have friends, do fun things, spend money frivolously. I had a car to drive to school when I was able, and I never went wanting for anything. I always had more than I needed.

My mom was the "cool" mom. My friends in middle school actually referred to her as "G Mom" because she was so gangsta! No really! She was the cool mom and hosted many slumber parties through my school years. She was almost TOO lax with the rules and kind of let me "do my own thing." We also fought like cats and dogs when I did or said something wrong, but we were so closely bonded that when we recovered from our fight, things were wonderful and fun again. Y'know... the honeymoon phase?

When I was older, out of high school, and working on my own, my mom allowed me more into her memories and shared a lot about her past that I'd never known. I began to understand why my mom had the emotional issues she did and why she raised me the way she did.

She and her brother had been physically beat with a belt repeatedly in anger for the indiscretions of her 2 younger siblings on many more than one occasion. It sounded as if it were daily, for my mom (being the eldest child), anyhow, throughout a particularly bratty time in one of the others' childhood. These were the days of housewives who wouldn't do the disciplining. So when Dad got home, he was informed that it was time to beat the children for what they'd done during the day while he was at the job he hated so much. So he was both upset and inconvenienced simply because he wanted to just relax, and the frustrations were taken out on the kids' backsides.

She'd been picked on at school without defense or understanding from her parents, bullied, beat up, called names. (Remember the time before they had the "No Bullying" policies in schools? Back when no one cared about the abuse? Well, that was the time. but then again, the parents were beating the kids, too. So name-calling wasn't so bad.)

She even began her period with NO warning or information as to what was going on with her body. She fashioned pads out of toilet paper and duct tape for an entire YEAR before one of her friends finally got her period as well and she found out she wasn't actually dying, or spontaneously bleeding to death. She was TEN years old!! TEN!! Can you imagine how scary it must have been??

I know she had some good times growing up, specifically with her grandparents, but the bad times were bad. There are SOOOOOOO many other independent incidences that would make you cringe in HORROR that someone would do that to a member of their family, especially a "Christian" family... Ha! Don't get me started there...

I began to understand WHY my mom parented me the way she did. She wanted me to feel loved, unrestricted and free to live my life, make choices she hadn't been allowed to make and know I had support behind me. While I know she had the best intentions, I feel that I might have had a different direction with my life had I had a little more discipline. My mom was my best friend, not really a Mom.

It wasn't until I had a daughter of my own and moved out of my mom's home that I realized how abnormal my mom's parenting was. My mom suffers from a type of PTSD because of her traumatic childhood, and lately it's been causing a LOT of tension between us. I love my mom SOOOOOO much, but I really had to try to distance myself from her (which was easy because she lives 600 miles away). My husband pointed out to me that when I would get off the phone after talking to her, I would either be upset, irritated or crying. I really hadn't noticed. That was just how we got along...

So I began to distance myself more, but this time, my mom had a meltdown. She pretty much tore me a new one, cut me down to size and really dug deep with the dagger. (Any other cliche' that I missed??) She was angry for so many things and had built up so much rage, hurt and depression that she just... snapped!

After all the pain, hurt and anger between us, I think we've reached a level ground. She's taking some time away from people to seek professional counseling and guidance as to how to proceed. I'm really proud of her. She chose to do this on her own, not because someone gave her an ultimatum. I really hope she can stick with it long enough to see the changes in herself. I love my mom, but I can't fix her. As a general rule, you can't fix someone else until they have the motivation to change themselves. My mom wants to change herself now... That's why I have faith that it will work.

I was thinking about airing all my dirty laundry and telling you about ALL my family problems, but I do, after all, need something to write about tomorrow. ;)

P.S. The picture above is NOT my family... If you DON'T know who they are... leave. Leave now...

What do YOU value?

I normally work in the healthcare field, but due to a leg break and all the horrible complications of my gluten allergy, I decided to take some time working in a normal office. A fairly slow-paced, sit-down desk job.

Since starting here in mid-June, I've come to realize something VERY disturbing about our society. I've worked in the ICU, I've watched people die. I know the heartache and pain that comes with losing someone you love. I've had to deal with the pain, rage and explosion of emotions when a parent NEEDS you to fix their child.

Those emotional outbursts PALE in comparison to the rage, anger and emotional outbursts I've heard since working here.

"What do you MEAN you can't fix my TV?? I've already spent over $100 @#*&^ dollars on this $*&^*#$ TV and your @!#&*^ technicians can't fix it?? I want my @#^%& money back!!"

Yes... this is the call I JUST took. I've had to deal with stress, but after the stress I've dealt with in hospitals, this stress is UNCALLED for. I've had more patience, understanding and forgiveness from parents watching their child die of an unexpected brain bleed. If those parents can be calm and understanding with their child's life, why is it so much to ask that people be patient with their electronics?

It really isn't about what you value, it's about YOUR value.

"It seems to me that the value of a man should not be determined by the money in his wallet, the knowledge in his head, or the home in which he lives. It should be determined by the way he treats his fellow man, the way he reacts when he's angry, and the way he speaks to his loved ones."

- Heather L.

Getting UNsick

Well, I'm now on my 3rd week of living gluten-free. Wait... maybe I should give you a little back story here, so you can understand exactly HOW much this gluten-free lifestyle has impacted me.

I've always been sick. All my friends were used to me saying, "I feel sick." all the time. And not the "I'm gonna throw uuuaaaagghhhhhhhh" kinda sick. The "my lungs hurt and I can't breathe" kinda sick. I had asthma, but I was always having trouble with it. I had rotating bouts of pneumonia, strep throat and bronchitis all throughout high school. I missed 63 days of my senior year. I got pregnant after high school, had a baby and my body went from bad to worse. Over the following 9 years, my lungs became progressively worse, my immune system just seemed to shut down. My body ached, my brain was depressed, my lungs hurt. I was a mess.

Last year, I finally graduated from college with a degree in healthcare, in the field I've dreamed about for years. I got my dream job at a children's hospital (my DREAM job), and being around all the lovely little germ factories made me even sicker. I'd only been at my job, working in the hospital for ONE MONTH before I was hospitalized. They attributed my symptoms to my asthma, my exposure to all kinds of flora in the hospital and poor medication control.

Following my hospitalization, I was put on seven NEW medications, and my existing four were increased in dosage. I started seeing a chiropractor to be adjusted 3-4 times per week in my rib cage and sternal area, just so I could breathe. I continued on working at the children's hospital, in hopes that my doctors would discover why I felt so horrible.

In March of this year, I fell while doing yard work and broke my left ankle. Because of this traumatic break, I wasn't able to use my leg, or work. I was let go from my job, and that's about when I hit rock bottom. After a month, my insurance was gone, my money was gone and I was still awaiting a determination from the unemployment office as to whether or not I qualified for benefits. Being practically broke, I started slowly cutting my medicines out of my regimen slowly. I was SICK. I'd even stopped taking my Zoloft for depression, my Nexium from GERD (reflux), and my Metformin for my Polycystic Ovary Syndrome (PCOS). I was off almost all my meds except for the ones over-the-counter I could still afford.

I was SICK, mentally and physically. I slept 14 hours per night and still needed a 3-4 hour nap every afternoon, and I was STILL exhausted. I attributed most of this to depression and brushed it off, saying once I got a job it would be better. I continued looking for work, but after a couple months I decided my health was too bad to continue working in healthcare, so I started looking for something else.

My first day working at the electronic company, I got on the internet during my lunch and decided to get on a medical journal website, just to browse. The first article was about a recent research study about the link between PCOS and gluten. After reading through the entire article twice (just to be sure I didn't misread anything), I was convinced trying a gluten-free diet would be the first step towards finding a cure, or at least some symptom relief.

We were going to Houston on a road trip, so I decided the taco carts, with all the yummy corn tortillas would be a great way to start on my gluten-free diet. Once I realized I just needed to avoid wheat and barley it wasn't so bad. but then, I realized the ingredient "caramel color" found in most sodas, is made from Barley. It was pretty discouraging to have been eating no gluten, but still having bowel troubles and not knowing why! So no brown soda. I could do that!

After the first 24 hours, I woke up feeling better than I'd felt for a LONNNNG time. I'd been doing breathing treatments at least 4 times per day every day for almost 3 months, since I'd stock piled them while I had insurance. I'd been chewing Tums like candy to relieve my heart burn, and Beano to relieve my gas pains before every meal.

After about a week, I had only needed a breathing treatment ONCE. From 4x/day to ONCE per week??? After talking to a few colleagues, I determined that I'd been responding to my gluten allergy with an anaphylactic-type reaction in my lungs! Really???? I'd been diagnosed with CHRONIC BRONCHITIS in just the months before. And now I've been asthma-attack free for over two weeks? I was even out working in the yard in 102 degree 99% humidity, hauling 400-600lbs of dirt in a wheel barrow UPHILL. I didn't have a single problem.

After all the evidence gathered, using the scientific method at home, I've drawn my conclusions, and I have a theory. As long as I continue feeling good, having energy and keeping that desire for life, I'll keep avoiding the bread. Don't feel bad for me, though. Saying you're sorry I can't eat bread is like saying, "I'm sorry you don't have gas, constant diarrhea or chronic bronchitis anymore." That's silly... Feel happy that I've found my Achilles' tendon.

I know I don't have insurance, I know I don't have a medical diagnosis, but I have results. I have feelings, and I have a desire to LIVE my life for the first time since I've been living it.

I'm a Cradle Robber

I married a youngin' I suppose. I really never thought 4-ish years would have much impact on our interaction on a daily basis, but it really does. We watched completely different cartoons as a kid. Don't get me wrong, I had little brothers, so I saw a lot of the cartoons Bryan watched.

The other day, he was watching over my shoulder as I typed in a web address. I typed www.gmail.com into the bar. Bryan snickers a little bit over my shoulder. I turn around slowly with a confused look on my face. He mimics my face and laughs.

"You still type the www part in your web addresses," he asked with a hint of surprise.

I thought about it for a minute. I never really stopped typing in

that part because when the internet CAME OUT, we had to specify if we were going to an intranet or the WORLD WIDE WEB. Yes, children, that's what the "www" stands for at the beginning of those web addresses.

It's not just the emphasis on him being four years my younger. There are also some sad reminders that I am, in fact, four years his elder.

Seeing as we ARE a married, adult couple, I'm not ashamed to tell the world that we have a very healthy sex life. Over the last week, I started having trouble with my right hip. So naturally (and all in good humor), Bryan immediately attributes it to h

is "rocking my world" and my failing elderly joints. I sadly accepted this as fact, not remembering that my right leg had just done 20 hours of driving to and from Houston, then just yesterday, 14 hours of driving to and from Sioux City, IA. (By the way, AVOID I-29 if you're headed north. The detour takes you 40 miles east. Just go up MO 71 through Maryville to I-80, then west to IA-59. I care about you enough to warn you, remember that.) All of this driving has been done in the last two weeks, mind you.

I finally remembered this to be the contributing factor to my aching hip, ya know... accelerating, braking, back 'n' forth all day? I do NOT have elderly joints. I'm only going to be 29 next month... I'm still in my prime. OK... I may be a few days pas

t the expiration date, but waste not, want not, right?

Despite the age difference, Bryan has proved to me time and time again to be the most amazingly mature younger man I've ever encountered. He is wise beyond his years, that's why the age on his ID didn't matter much. Age is just a number... once you're over 18, that is.

Life 101: Big Questions, No Answers

So I've done it... I think. I've gotten married, had a child, graduated college, started my career. Well, OK... Not exactly in that order. I'm supposedly living "the dream" right now. Why do I still feel quite awake and firmly grounded?

Society has painted the image of a nuclear family with a working dad, upper middle-class home in a nice neighborhood with no crime. Alright June Cleaver... Let's get back to the REAL reality. The one that exists right outside my front door. The reality which contains uni-bombers, terrorists, bad drivers, tsunamis, rabid dogs and Peeps. OK... I kinda like Peeps, I guess. Do I have a point? Why YES! I do! The point is... How exactly are we supposed to have an idealistic image of what our world should be when the ones we USED to have are tainted, torn and smeared all over the graffiti-painted walls of downtown... wherever you live. Unless you live in Fargo, ND. Then, you don't have any graffiti, just ice sculptures of gang signs.

So here I am... Pondering all of life's big questions. I know I can't figure them out all at once, or all in the same lifetime, even. But I'm trying, just barely, to get by. Little by little, bit by bit. I will survive.