The Assessor Only Rings Once…

Or, Scoop & Hide: the Second Installment of My Saga of Domestic Ineptitude

Honestly, I didn’t expect to be writing this so soon after the first installment. I thought I’d have a little time to hide my secret shame. But fate sometimes takes some funny turns –and  this one was too funny not to relate.

This afternoon around 2:00 PM Kevin called from work and casually mentioned that a Real Estate Appraiser would be coming by around 3:00 PM. “Why,’ you are probably wondering.

Well, we all react to stress differently but a common element is the need to take control of some part of your life. So, when Amanda got hurt I threw myself compulsively into this blog. Kevin decided to refinance the house. Rates are low, our credit score is good and, in all honesty we are probably facing some major medical and remodeling costs to accommodate Amanda post-accident.

With my head buried deep in Blog Land I didn’t realize that the refinance had moved along so quickly. Having spent the morning at the doctor’s with Amanda rather than making beds and doing dishes the house was in even worse shape than normal.

No worries. I resorted to my tried and true house cleaning secret – The Scoop & Hide. One of my favorite things about this house is the 6’ by 12’ walk-in closet in my bedroom. After getting off the phone with Kevin I literally ran around the main floor, grabbing stray shoes, books, backpacks, papers, clothing and toys and tossing them in to this lovely, huge closet.

Viola!   The scoop and hide was complete. I pulled out the Shark Floor & Carpet Sweeper and ran it over all of the rugs and hardwood floors. I rinsed the dishes and stuck them will-nilly into the dishwasher then wiped off the kitchen counter. I was about to tackle the rooms in the basement when…

Ding Dong

“Mom”, said Danielle. “There’s a guy at the door with a huge tape measure and a camera.”

“Huh? A camera? Oh shit. Oh, well at least the main floor looks okay,” I thought.

I answered the door and invited the man inside. He gave me a slightly strange look so I immediately started to apologize for the chalk and toys littering the front porch. “Oh, sorry, the kids are home for the summer and I’m trying to balance my older daughter’s recovery with the younger one's desire to play outside. I meant to get her toys off the steps before you got here.”

He smiled and came in. He walked through the house, measuring each room and photographing it. I felt pretty smug until he opened The Closet. I just had to laugh and say, “Normally I wouldn’t let even my closest friends look in my closets…” He took a picture if the  closet, crammed full of clutter then moved on to the basement. I didn’t even bother to follow him down there. I figured, “At least the closets down there are clean.” (Of course that’s only because the floor was knee deep in toys.) Fifteen minutes later he came back upstairs and said goodbye.

It was only when I walked him to the door that I realized there was a dead mouse on the front steps. No wonder he looked at me so weird when I said I hadn’t picked up my child’s toys!

My oh, my oh – Mysticism!

I push the Ouija board. I always have. I just don’t believe in mysticism.

So every morning when I drop Danielle at school and one of the mothers suggests that we bring Amanda to a Pranic Healer I want to hide.  According to the official Pranic Healing website,” Pranic Healing® requires no drugs, gadgets, not even physical contact with the subject. Physical contact is not required because the practitioner is working on the bioplasmic or energy body and not directly on the physical body.” [i]

This woman is convinced that pranic healing can not only mend Amanda’s broken hip, but cure her of autism. Forgive me if I doubt either claim.

She has told me that this healer can cut his hand and close the wound within half an hour. She has told me that he cured her own son who was diagnosed as having Asperger’s Syndrome. I admire her faith and enthusiasm, but I have met her son many times. He doesn’t make eye contact. He doesn’t respond to questions directed to him. Mainly, he sits by himself and plays on his I Pad. I have never heard him speak. I wonder what behaviors the master “healed.”

Now she has arranged to have this pranic master come to Danielle’s school to perform “healings”. She has explained that “this is the opportunity of a lifetime” because thousands of people in India line up to have him heal them. Well, thousands of people in India bathe in the River Ganges for spiritual cleansing and healing, but I doubt the wisdom of that as well given the contaminants in the water.

The fee is only $100 for 10-15 minutes of his time. She says that she made this special arrangement with him because she was tired of driving her son an hour back and forth to Atlanta. I tried to politely avoid the situation by explaining that I couldn’t transport Amanda by myself yet. She countered with the claim that this master could perform a “distance healing” on Amanda. All I would have to do is pay the fee and he would send his psychic energy to her in our home.  Of course, my first thought was if he can do these distance healings, why did she bother to drive to Atlanta, and conversely, why would he be willing to drive up to Alpharetta?

It reminds me of the time a dear friend hired a “pet psychic” because her cat was peeing in their laundry basket – on top of the clean clothes. Again, this psychic was able to communicate with the cat through distances so she simply called on the phone. [ii] I have a mental image of my friend forcefully holding the phone up to her disgruntled cat’s ear.  Guess what the pet psychic said? She said that the cat was “angry”. Well, duh, he was just held up to a phone for 30 minutes. The psychic probably put on some muzak and walked away. My friend was out $85 and her cat still peed on the clean laundry.

I place my faith in science and modern medicine. However, I acknowledge that there are many cultures that practice alternative medicine and that in some instances, for some individuals, these practices appear to work. It is similar to the”laying on of hands” some Christian groups practice although I imagine that they might resent the comparison.  I can’t help thinking of the 1992 movie, Leap of Faith, where Steve Martin plays a bogus faith healer. In the movie when asked if he is a true believer he responds, "If I get the job done, what difference does it make?"

---

 [i] http://www.pranichealing.com/what-pranic-healing

[ii] http://thepetpsychic.com/order-services/

I Hate to Iron

The First installment of My Saga of Domestic Ineptitude

Some of my friends grew up at the knees of domestic divas, the unsung Martha Stewarts of their generation. I did not. Other moms baked their own bread and sewed their own clothes before anyone realized that being a homemaker could be marketed.  My mother routinely burned food and passed it off as our “Minimum Daily Requirement of Charcoal”, just like we had a MDR for vitamins. My brother once wrote a school essay entitled, “Morning at My House.” Apparently it started with “I come downstairs and smell the burnt toast…”

Mom didn’t wash dirty dishes immediately; she hid them in the oven. Needless to say, she didn’t bake. She hated to vacuum. When we were in preschool she paid me or my brother 5 cents to vacuum the entire downstairs.  When I complained about the poor wages later in life she said “I got what I paid for.” I never saw her dust. I was 14 before I realized that other people dusted their homes.

My mother, however, DID do laundry. She was almost compulsive about it. When we were very young we had a washing machine but no dryer. I remember laundry hanging out on a square clothes line in the summer and from the rafters in the basement in the winter. And, she loved to iron. She ironed everything from our sheets to my father’s boxers.  She had a frosted glass spray bottled filled with scented water. She would spray the clothes and then roll them carefully. One by one she would unroll the damp item and iron it, then carefully fold or hang it with all of the buttons buttoned, the zippers zipped and the snaps snapped.

I toss clean laundry on the floor of the laundry room. Dirty laundry is typically on the bedroom floors, so we can tell it apart from the clean stuff.  One of the flaws with this “system” is that our clothes are always wrinkled. I once had a neighbor tell me that she’d rather send her kids to school without breakfast than wearing wrinkled clothes. I guess we all have different ideas of good parenting…

I own an iron and even an ironing board. I bought them for my mother when she came to visit.  Kevin gave up on the possibility of me actually ironing a long time ago and takes anything he wears to work to the drycleaners. As for me and the girls, well… I have a few tricks. Like my mother, I own a bottle of scented water. Unlike my mother I just spray the clothes and toss them a back into the dryer. If there isn’t time for that I spray them with Downy Wrinkle Releaser and hope. In really extreme situations I’ve been known to straighten hems using my flat iron. (Finally, a use for the beauty products I buy and never use!)

Sometimes I feel a tiny pang of guilt when I drop the girls off at school and see all of the other children neatly pressed.  And then I think smugly, “at least mine have had a good breakfast…”

Tellus – as in, Tell Us More about Science!

On my list of accessible family fun within an hour of Alpharetta, Tellus Science Museum in Cartersville ranks high.  I know, if you live in the Atlanta area Cartersville may as well be Tennessee. Trust me, this is worth the trip. We discovered Tellus over the Winter Break from school.

The first time we walked into the main gallery Danielle yelled, “An Apatosaurus!” I had to check the sign. Sure enough, she was right. Now we’ve been there so often that Danielle walks in and calls out “Hi, Patty!” (She’s named the skeleton.)

The draw for Danielle was obvious. It is the biggest display of dinosaur fossil replicas that I have ever seen.  I’ve never counted, but I’m certain that there are at least 20. In addition to Patty, there is a T Rex, a mammoth, a megalodon jaw, a giant armadillo, and a host of plesiosaurs and pterosaurs. There are fossilized tracks including a T Rex track - and even fossilized feces! (Dino poop that you CAN touch.)

Tellus takes its mission of teaching children very seriously. While most of the exhibits are clearly marked “Please Do Not Touch,” in every gallery there are items marked ”Please DO touch”. What a nice change for both children and adults! There are buttons to push, fossils to touch and things to explore everywhere, not just in the large children’s playroom, My Big Back Yard . Every weekend during the summer they host “Science Saturdays” with hands on learning stations throughout the museum.

The girls, of course, love the exploration area. I love that it’s a place where they can play together – not always easy for two such different children.  

In addition to the My Big Back Yard Gallery there are two more wonderful hands on areas. Children (and adults!) can pan for semi-precious gems or uncover fossils. Both areas are designed to be wheelchair accessible. Even better – both of these activities offer free souvenirs! Each child is allowed to take home a small (1”) Ziploc bag of the gem chips they find and one real fossil. 

What kid doesn't love to splash in the water? The Gem Panning area contains an authentic water wheel and a running sluice. It also has low, wheelchair accessible sections and an elevated area where young children can reach in to the running water to pan for gems.

In the Fossil Dig site you can uncover pretend skeletons as well as real fossils. The array of small fossils includes sharks' teeth, fossilized clams and sea urchins, crinoid stems and others. Danielle has been known to spend half an hour pretending to be "Paleontologist Danielle," discovering a new species. There is also a nice desk-like space where a wheelchair fits so the person can “dig” dinosaur bones.  

There are two other galleries to explore. The Weinman Mineral Gallery houses the collection from the old Weinman Mineral Museum.  We have touched petrified wood, banged on a drum head to create seismograph waves and stood near the "core" of the Earth. There is a very cool "glowing rocks" (fluorescent mineral ) display which both girls like.

The final area, The Science in Motion Gallery, includes antique cars and motorcycles as well as replicas of biplanes and space capsules. Kevin, Danielle & I have all had our pictures taken "wearing" a space suit (not accessible for those in wheelchairs.) While Kevin & I are both interested in space exploration this is probably the girls' least favorite area of the museum. Amanda did enjoy playing with the ship controls in the temporary At The Controls Exhibit.  

My kids really love sliding pennies down either of the two Coin Vortex machines. The smaller one, located just outside of the Gem Panning area, has shoots that are easy for Amanda to manipulate coins into. The girls get so excited "racing" their coins. I know that we are literally throwing money down a hole, but as long as I load up on pennies before we  go I don't mind if the girls have 50 races since it only costs me $1.00.

 

There is a great planetarium– one of only two digital planetariums in Georgia.  They offer three or four different shows every day, including one suitable for young children (3 and up) and a "Live Tour of Tonight's Sky." The show for younger children currently features Sesame Street characters.

The theater shows free documentaries on Saturdays during the summer. Both the theater and the planetarium are accessible with ramps and include areas for wheelchairs with companion seating.  

The Solar House is powered completely by alternative energy sources. The Observatory houses a 20" telescope and a seismograph used to detect earthquakes all over the world. The earthquake data can be viewed on an interactive monitor in the Weinman Mineral gallery. Both the Solar House and the Observatory are open only during limited times.

The Museum is on lovely grounds which are marked “No Picnicking on Grass.” That may be my only disappointment with the entire museum. There is a large covered picnic pavilion with accessible restrooms which would be great for a family gathering or field trips, but that lush green lawn just cries out to be played on!

The museum is all on one level with automatic doors, level walkways and clean, spacious restrooms both inside and out. There is plenty of permit parking and a call button near the parking lot for mobility impaired visitors who need to borrow a manual wheelchair to tour the museum.

For $95 we got a Family Membership good for admission for an entire year. The membership also included 4 planetarium passes and discounted admission to special events like Astronomy Workshops at the observatory.

So, no excuses, go to Tellus and tell me how it was!

http://www.tellusmuseum.org/index.htm

https://www.facebook.com/tellusmuseum?sk=wall#!/tellusmuseum



Cyclical Friendships

We all have them: friends that come and go throughout your life. Maybe you chose different paths, live in different states, or don’t like each other’s chosen partner…  The reasons are myriad. Facebook and social networking sites have created new cycles for us. We are able to reconnect with people we haven’t seen in decades and reassess our friendship.

I seem to have two categories of friends in my life. The first are those rare few who have never left, who stuck with me through the bad haircuts, bad boyfriends and big glasses and are with me today, intimately involved in my life. They not only know my kids names, they know their birthdays.  They were there (at least in spirit) when my children were born and when my mother died. More than friends, they are my true family.

Then I have my “guy friends,” as Kevin calls them. They aren’t necessarily guys. It’s just that our friendship is more like that between two guys. We share a common interest or enjoy a common activity. Sometimes I have to tread lightly because all we share is this interest. In these cases I know that if a conversation strays unto religious or political topics we may be in trouble.

When that stage in our lives ends we grow apart; perhaps we’ll come together again, perhaps not. There is no animosity or a single breaking point – circumstances change for one or both of us and we move on along our individual paths.

I’ve had some wonderful “guy friends”. There was Melanie who taught me to ride horses in my early 30s. I was about ten years older than her. In fact, I took her out for her first legal drink. We were at different points in our lives. I was married with a job; she was still in college. I didn’t have any kids yet and so we spent a lot of time together, riding, teaching, and going to clinics with famous equestrians. It was fun and we truly enjoyed being together.  However, it didn’t extend comfortably outside of the barn.  I’ve had a lot of barn friendships over the years that ended when I left the barn.

Then there were the friends I made when Amanda was a baby. For the most part we all still live in the same town, but we have grown apart. It may be because Amanda has special needs and so she doesn’t attend our home school. It may be because some of them have gone back to work or simply found other interests now that their kids are in school all day. If I see them at all it’s a chance meeting at the grocery store or Target. I still like them. I’m always happy to see them and hear how their kids are doing. I also know that (for the most part) the “let’s get together soon” comments are sort of like when a guy would say “I’ll call you” at the end of a date. I’d be surprised if anything came of either.

Now I have Danielle and a whole new group of “guy friends.” These are women I like and admire. Strong, smart women balancing complex lives. However, I am 15 years (or more!) older than most of them. I know that under other circumstances they wouldn’t think to ask me out to a movie or over for drinks. We have no common frame of reference. Some of them were born the year that I started high school. Songs I grew up loving have always been “oldies” for them.  They didn’t know that Madonna was Catholic before she embraced Kabbalah (really?!?) They can’t remember a divided Germany with the Berlin Wall still standing or a united Soviet Union.

I’ve been down this road before. As we move deeper into summer I can already sense the shift – the start of the cycle. The kids will all be going to different schools in the fall. Some of the mothers are looking for jobs. Others are expecting another child. As the kids form new friendships so will we. Instead of talking to each other every day, now we talk once a week. Eventually it will taper off to once or twice a month and then several months may go by. We’ll still like each other. We’ll still have fun when we see each other, but we won’t see other often. Only time will tell whether we stay in touch or drift apart. And the cycle will start again with a whole new group of friends for each of us…

Fireflies

Last night Kevin's Facebook status read, "Took Amanda and Danielle out into the yard to watch the fireflies tonight. Beautiful ... and then it began to rain like crazy. Amanda loved both, so we stayed out in the rain for as long as we could." It's hard to describe how meaningful those 20 minutes were for our little family.

The last few weeks have been difficult and chaotic. We've cried more than we've laughed; yelled more than we've played. Our nerves have all been raw as a result of Amanda's trauma. People have tried to help and yet it has been impossible for us to define what we need.  Many people have sent Amanda cards or gifts. Some have brought food.

Yesterday we got the best gift of all. My Aunt Beth brought us a ramp that her son-in-law borrowed from a friend's mother. And, yes, it was important to me to specify the complete train of people involved to demonstrate how monumental this gift was. Five people, two of whom we didn't even know, collaborated to bring us a ramp so Amanda could leave the house for the first time in two weeks.

Danielle was literally dancing with joy as we laid the ramp down over the garage threshold. That seven inch step had proven an insurmountable obstacle since Amanda got home from the hospital. Danielle begged to be the first one to push Amanda down the ramp. Kevin, with some reservation, agreed.

It was early evening and the fireflies had just started flickering under the trees that line our driveway. As we walked down our very long drive, Amanda looked from side to side, grinning.

Just as we reached the end, the first drops of rain began to fall. We started to run into the garage until we noticed that Amanda was laughing. The fresh, cool rain must have felt so good on her skin. Kevin ran around in the rain, pushing Amanda while Danielle and I stood off to the side laughing. The rain washed away all the stress and tension of the past few weeks and we went back into the house a happy family again.

"'Cause I'd get a thousand hugs
From ten thousand lightning bugs
As they tried to teach me how to dance.."
 - Fireflies, Adam R. Young

I'm Special, too!

"I'm Special, too!" Danielle yelled the other day.

It turns out that when we euphemistically refer to Amanda as having "special needs" all Danielle hears is special. She doesn't hear the need.

As tough as it is having special needs, it is also tough having a sibling with special needs. Danielle was very scared about Amanda "breaking". She struggled with her hospitalization. The first night we came home without Amanda & Kevin Danielle said,"I can't sleep without Amanda in the room next to me." She missed her big sister.

Some days it must seem like the whole world revolves around Amanda, especially during the weeks following her emergency surgery. Amanda gets cards and gifts in the mail. People visit Amanda. They bring her presents and balloons. To a four year old it must look like one long birthday party. At her age she has no idea what happened or how much it hurt - nor should she.

I have a vague idea how she feels. As much as my parents would resent hearing it, I grew up with a brother with special needs. My brother is brilliant. I think the euphemism my parents used for him was "eccentric genius". Like Danielle loves Amanda, I adore him.

My brother is off the charts smart. However he has some quirks. For instance, he typically develops a "uniform" - jeans and a plaid shirt which he buys in multiples and wears every day. He's done this since he was a child. My mother just accepted that he preferred certain clothes over others and worked within those constraints. However, to compensate I had to wear whatever she told me to. That means that I wore dresses to school nearly every day for years. When we visited the grandparents I had to wear hideous itchy dresses because my brother would be in jeans and a plaid shirt.

My brother also only ate a very limited diet. Again, my mother adapted. She used to tell a story that once, during a PTA meeting, she heard a group of mothers discussing "the bad mother who sent her child to school with only cereal for lunch." She realized (with horror, I'm sure) that she was the "bad mother." Therefore, everyday I had to eat a sandwich on whole wheat bread with lettuce and a piece of fruit. No cereal and yodels for me.

As much as I loved my brother I also resented having to be "normal" to compensate for his eccentricities. It seemed horribly unfair to me as a child that not only did he get to wear what he wanted and eat what he wanted, but that he was the child that my parents bragged about. No matter what odd choices he made his overwhelming brilliance overcame all else in my parents eyes.

I don't want Danielle to be put in the position of overcompensating for Amanda's "needs". I don't want to force her to be smarter or more athletic to make up for the skills Amanda lacks. I want to allow her to be whomever she is, just as I accept Amanda for who she is.  In my eyes, both of my girls are SPECIAL and I hope that I can help them see that.

Compliments I could have lived without...

"You look good for your age."  Were those last three words really necessary?

"That shirt  looks nice - have you lost weight?" Implying -either that all of my other shirts don't look nice or that I typically look fat.

"Were your teeth always that white?" No, yesterday they were green...

"Your gray hairs look just like highlights."  You might as well hand me my walker and buy me a box of Depends...

My mother, on the other hand, was a master of the thinly veiled insult.  Let me see... there was the time she left me an etiquette book after staying with us.

Or my personal favorite - the time she said she thought my "decorating with body fluid colors was an interesting choice."

In any of these instances was I supposed to smile and say "thank you"? Typically, I cringe and laugh and move on. Life is too short to dwell on this stuff. I have, however, finally formulated a suitable response that I would like to share with you now:

"I always appreciate hearing from someone who's opinion I value." (That's sarcasm...)

Times of Stress*

Times of great stress test friendships.  Some survive and some fail.  What is it that makes some rock solid and others crumble?

I’ve been thinking about this since my seven year old daughter had back surgery to correct a 70+ degree curvature.  During the five hour surgery she had two “growing rods” inserted along her spine to improve her posture and prevent her heart and left lung from being crushed.  Removing the bandages after a few days I could see that the incision ran the length of her spine.  It must have been 22 inches long.  It was terrifying. 

Amanda, age 7

Seeing it, I was suddenly scared to cuddle her, even though I’d been holding her since she came out of the recovery room, groggy and attached to half a dozen machines.  She was on oxygen, an IV, a pulse oxymeter and several things I couldn’t identify – and yet nothing could have kept me from her side.  Why was I so frightened when confronted with the reality of what she had just been through?

Facing reality is often the hardest part of what we go through as parents of children with special needs.  Last spring my 21 year old nephew was diagnosed with Hodgkin’s lymphoma during his senior year in college.  The diagnosis was devastating.  I called.  I sent cards and gifts.  I flew 1,000 miles to see him to make sure the boy I remember as a little blond baby was going to be alright.  When I got there all of his hair was shaved off, lost to chemotherapy.  Such close proximity to potential death scared me but, again, nothing could have kept me from his side.

Right or wrong, I find myself reassessing my friendships based on how people reacted to Amanda during her surgery last summer.  People we barely knew came to the hospital, to see us and her, bringing snacks and stuffed animals.  And, yet my closest friend never visited. 

Now the roles were reversed and my child was the one in the hospital.  I wondered, what could have kept my friend away?  Was it fear?  Was it the horrible reality of seeing a child in pain, something we all know should never, ever happen? Was it a lack of compassion?  Or did I simply misjudge the depth of our friendship? 

It was almost three weeks before she stopped by the house to check up on us.  I don’t know what I expected from her or my other friends.  Not knowing how the surgery would go or what the recovery would be like I didn’t know how to ask for help.  I had visions of my mother’s friends from my childhood, always appearing with a casserole or a Bundt cake when a crisis loomed. 

These days I judge people by how they treat my child.  They rise and fall like the tide in my estimation based solely on their reactions to Amanda.  Some of my friends have fallen away, unable or uncomfortable with being close to a child with special needs.  Others have fallen to the wayside due to what amounted to a false sense of compassion – for instance, the one who acted friendly because it impressed her Bible study group.  No one wants to wake up to the reality that someone considers them a charity case. 

I’ve decided that it’s not what someone does for you during a crisis that matters; it’s that they do something to let you know you’re not alone.  A few friends have stuck by us over the years, quietly in the background, solid; offering support and assistance without preaching or pity. 

They are the friend who showed up unannounced with my accumulated mail in one hand and three containers of homemade spaghetti sauce in the other; the friend who called every time she went to the grocery store to see if we needed bread or milk.  Never asking what they could do to help, simply finding their own way to help. They are true friends, not sand to shift with the tides but rocks that can’t be easily eroded.

*The original appeared on the Exceptional Parent website in 2007.  For my other articles, please go to http://www.eparent.com and Search Sarah Connell

Twinkie, Twinkie, little cake...

I confess that since purchasing the skirted bathing suit I have embarked on the first diet of my life. I am not a dieter by nature. Self-deprivation isn't in me. I like my little indulgences - going out for ice cream with the girls or having a glass of wine with Kevin on the deck. I'm not about to eat rice cakes and cottage cheese for four months. That's why the Twinkie Diet fascinates me.

In short, "For 10 weeks, Mark Haub, a professor of human nutrition at Kansas State University, ate one of these sugary cakelets every three hours, instead of meals."* During that time he lost 27 pounds and reduced his bad cholesterol. In addition to the Twinkies and other junk food he took a multivitamin and drank a protein shake daily.

I'm not about to eat Twinkies every day - chocolate cupcakes, maybe... This wasn't a highly scientific, controlled medical study. It was just one man's project. What it demonstrated is that the key to weight loss is calorie reduction rather than food content. I'm not advocating a lifestyle of eating nutritionally deficient foods, but what this seems to suggest is that reducing calories will result in weight loss regardless of what you eat.

That explains why there are so many diet programs out there. I'm reasonably sure that if you researched any "fad" diet you'll discover that to lose weight a typical women needs to restrict her caloric intake to about 1600 calories a day; a man needs to limit it to about 1800 calories. I checked Jenny Craig's website. They state "Your personal consultant will help you determine your optimal calorie level based on your age, height, current weight, gender and your activity level. Our lowest calorie level is 1200 calories per day, based on the latest Dietary Guideline recommendations."

My personal diet plan is simple and cost about $25. First,  I had to acknowledge that if I couldn't lose weight by burning more calories I was going to have to lose weight by not consuming as many calories. Heading into the summer with two kids and my crazy life  I wasn't going to start going to the gym every day. I knew I didn't have a fortune to spend on prepackaged foods like Jenny Craig or MediFast. After a little online research I chose the Flat Belly Diet.

Why? Well, partly because my mother had a stroke and ultimately died from a heart attack. There is some connection between abdominal fat and increased risk for these diseases. A Wall Street Journal article dated May 3, 2011 stated, "In the study, which pooled data from nearly 16,000 patients with heart disease, the researchers found that the bigger your waistline, the higher your chances of dying in the months and years after a heart attack or major heart procedure."
(http://online.wsj.com/article/SB10001424052748704569404576299440848946156.html)

I thought a flatter belly might not only improve my health, but allow me to buy a bathing suit with out a "tummy minimizer". I ordered "Flat Belly Diet! Pocket Guide" ($8) and "Flat Belly Diet!Family Cookbook"($17) from Amazon.com. I added a dollar sticker book for Danielle so that I could get Free Super Saver Shipping.  I skipped the "Four Day Anti-Bloat" portion of the diet and jumped right in. I also downloaded a free app for my Iphone, My Net Diary.

In essence, this is a 1600 calorie a day plan, based on a Mediterranean diet. It includes olive oil and nuts over foods containing saturated fats like butter and bacon. Having read a lot before embarking on this I understood that the MUFA (monounsaturated fatty acid) component of the diet plan wasn't a magic bullet. However, as my Mom used a pound of butter a week I also thought it might overall be a healthier way to eat.

First, the food is delicious and easy to prepare. Kevin says these are some of the best tasting meals I've ever made.  I like it because it doesn't involve deprivation. I can still go out for ice cream (frozen yogurt) or have a glass of wine if it fits within my 1600 calories. There is chocolate on this diet, but not Twinkies.

I have lost 8 pounds since May 24th and I've eaten well. I hope that I have managed to maintain a healthy cholesterol level as well as other important health markers. In this instance I think I may have struck a balance that works for me - reducing calories without sacrificing flavor or spending a fortune.

* http://www.cnn.com/2010/HEALTH/11/08/twinkie.diet.professor/index.html

Evasions, Fabrications and Polite Fictions

"Can you do me a favor?" 

My mother taught me to answer, "Probably - what do you need?" Her theory was that you didn't want to immediately say "yes" in case they asked you for a kidney or to be a bone marrow donor. Unlikely, I know, but what if they asked for $1,000 or to borrow your car for a month? Would you have already wanted to say "yes" before you knew what the request was? Some questions require consideration or even a little clever evasion rather than an immediate response.

For instance the "can you believe..." questions. You probably can believe whatever it is, but you know better than to say yes. For instance, if I ask you "can you believe she thinks I'm hot tempered?" Well, you & I both know that I am. We also both know if you say,"Yes, actually I've been thinking of suggesting that you get some anger management counseling" you're going to see more of that hot temper.

The same goes for questions like "Can you believe she said that I dress badly?" or "Can you believe I ate an entire pizza by myself last night?" It doesn't matter if the questioner dresses like a street-walker from the 1970s or if she tips that scales at 250 pounds. Trust me, you do not want to be the one who tells your 50 year old friend she looks ridiculous in thigh high boots and leggings. If you are a friend you feign amazement and say, "Really!?!?"

That single word is an effective evasion. It's tempting to add to this simple response -but  try not to! Don't go overboard and tell your friend that she is one of the best dressed people you've ever seen.

Not that there aren't times when a little fabrication is helpful. We've all reassured a friend that that she is just big boned or that no one really looks good if they are too thin. When we care about some one we care about their feelings and that leads to the little white lies we tell.

I've got a few more evasive responses in my arsenal. "That's interesting" is very useful. It avoids having to agree or disagree with a statement. Very few people are going to argue with you if you say that their religious or political views are "interesting" and then politely change the topic. However, if you tell someone that that their beliefs are foolish or short-sighted you can pretty much guarantee you're in for a lengthy justification of exactly why they think or feel the way they do.

If a friend tells you that pranic healing closed an open wound before her eyes or she saw the face of Jesus in her french toast, simply respond "that's interesting." Unless of course, you don't like her, in which case tell her what you really think.  It's a surefire way to get wackos out of your life.

Another stock phrase that I learned from Kevin is "I hear you." Say someone tells you a story about how angry they are that they got a reckless driving ticket for talking on their cell phone while going 70 miles an hour down the highway. You can of course tell her that you've always thought she was a speed demon and can't believe this is the first time she's been caught. Or, you can say, "I hear you." Would telling her change anything ? Would it elminate the ticket or get her to slow down? Probably not. Sometimes its better to keep your thoughts to yourself.

The same goes for the urge to provide "constructive criticism." Face it, folks, this is a complete oxymoron - "a figure of speech that combines contradictory terms". No criticism is constructive. Feedback may be constructive; a critique may be constructive. Criticism is just... critical.  People are going to get defensive. Feelings are going to get hurt. And, in the end, they are not going to follow your suggestions. So, why go there? Remember what your mother told you, "if you can't say something nice don't say anything at all."

Included in this is the natural desire to "correct" people.  If your friend is devastated about a medical condition, don't pull out your copy of the Merck Manual and tell her that all will be well. Shut up and listen. She's not asking for your medical advice, she's asking for your compassion.  A friend will give her what she needs. These are the polite fictions that prevent the fabric of our friendships from unraveling.

The Tale of Two Lasagnas

This week Amanda had her eighth surgery. It wasn't planned, but we took it in stride, being experienced.

I've noticed that people aren't comfortable visiting sick or injured children in the hospital. I used to think it was odd that people would come to a hospital to see a newborn baby, but not to visit a sick child. Now I understand. Most people can't bear to see a child suffering or in pain. And they shouldn't have to. Everything in us cries out when a child is in pain. We are practically hard wired to protect them.

So people offer to cook. It satisfies the need to DO something without exposing them to the suffering. That brings me to the lasagnas. Over the years we've had lasagna in every shape and size imaginable. We've had vegetarian lasagna, Alfredo lasagna, tofu lasagna (ick) and many, many variations on regular lasagna. I think I may still have two in the freezer left over from Amanda's last surgery - two years ago.

Every now and then an intrepid soul decides to veer off the lasagna path. I appreciate the thought but it has resulted in some weird foods being delivered to our door. There was the tuna casserole which, due to my seafood allergy, landed in the trash the moment the unwitting chef left.

One friend delivered an entire roast turkey. When I cut into it, the breast meat was reddish pink. Apparently she didn't know that you had to defrost the turkey prior to roasting it - or that it needs 5-6 hours if put in the oven frozen. The neck and giblets were still tucked inside the cavity, frozen solid.

And then there was the "diarrhea loaf". A neighbor kindly brought over a meatloaf she'd made. I don't know if she had old hamburger that she thought she'd just use up or if she forgot to wash her hands before she made it. Either way, it made us incredibly sick, forcing us to spend the night in separate bathrooms.

Now I ask friends NOT to cook for us. If they really want to bring something I usually ask for fresh fruit or some breakfast foods or snacks. It's easy to order a pizza at 8 PM, but much harder to get breakfast delivered.

The moral of my little tale is simply this, "Please give your friends food, not food poisoning."

I am a self-confessed mall rat. I love strolling along, looking at things I'll never buy, sampling free tea and hand lotion. By the time I was twelve I was begging my mother to drive me and my friends to the mall every weekend. The nearest mall was 45 minutes away so it was a serious trek for a non-shopper like my Mom. Still, about once a month she gave in and gamely drove a carload of giggling girls to the Westfarms Mall in Farmington, CT.

My Mom typically sat in the car, listening to NPR and reading a book while we roamed the two levels of the mall with its exotic glass elevator. I think the big anchor stores were local chains Sage Allen and G Fox & Co. (both of which no longer exist). The "boutique" shops were places like 5-7-9 and Merry Go Round Clothing.

Every now and then my Mom and I would go to the mall alone. I loved those trips. She'd wander around with me, looking at costume jewelry and clothes. There was a Walden Books and an Orange Julius. Sometimes we'd have lunch at the Chinese restaurant in the strip mall across the street.

A day at the mall is a mother/daughter thing -  a bonding experience like no other. So, yesterday, on Amanda's last day home alone with me before she started summer school we went to the mall. It's the kind of thing moms with typical children take for granted, or, like my mother, even dread a bit.

Going shopping with Amanda isn't like going with a typical teen. I had to pack the wheelchair because it is too much walking for her. She is non-verbal so I keep a running one sided dialogue while we shop, even though it draws stares from other shoppers. Kevin has joked that I should get a blue tooth so people will just think I'm talking on the phone. When we stop for a snack it has to be a place that serves semi-soft food with no soy so we can manage her dietary restrictions. Still, we had a great morning together.

Amanda likes the same stores any pre-teen girl would, although possibly for different reasons. We go to Build A Bear because she likes to play on the computers. We go to the Disney Store so she can watch movies on the big screen at the back of the store. We shop at Justice for Girls because they have a TV with music videos playing at all times.  

Amanda played with my iPhone while I tried on dresses, rolled her eyes when I showed her clothes and chose pizza for lunch over healthier alternatives. All in all, very typical for her age.

Justice for Girls $38, Sbarro $13, a day at the mall with my daughter, priceless...

The Dreaded Skirted Bathing Suit

Today I considered joining our neighborhood "country club". It's not large or prestigious, but it has a pool and a small fitness area. More importantly, it is essentially in my backyard. No excuse not to work out!

Danielle and I went over this morning to check it out. The pool was pleasant although, like the club itself, not large. There were a dozen families with young children playing in or around the pool. To my surprise, a lot of the mothers were in bikinis.

I know that there are women who have never harbored a malicious thought about women who are richer, thinner or prettier than they are. I'm not one of them. 

My first uncensored, uncharitable thoughts included, "Trophy wife....those can't be her NATURAL breasts (or even her children...)" 

Even when I was young I was never extremely thin. Some people are naturally ectomorphs with small frames and lean muscle mass; some of us are endomorphs with softer, rounder bodies. I was over 120 pounds at my lightest adult weight. "Size zero" didn't exist in the 1980s. I think the smallest size was a 4/6 or 5/7. Of course, sizes- like styles- change.

The current "size zero" in the US system is equivalent to a UK size 4 -- with a waist measurement of 23 inches, the average girth of an 8-year-old girl. Depending on height, being a "size zero" may linked to anorexia nervosa and bulimia.  A healthy body mass index (BMI) for an adult woman is between 18.5 and 25. An index of less than 18.5 is considered underweight.

I know that my BMI is 23.5 - within normal range for a woman. Still, the vision of those 20-something, skinny moms, bouncing playfully in the pool leaves me a bit sad.  I'm not in love with my mature body. No matter how many tummy minimizers I try on or how hard I suck in my stomach I am a middle-aged woman.

I have to accept everything that life has brought me as the years that have gone by, even a little paunch and some sagging skin. As one friend pointed out, the paunch is from having babies and I don't regret my kids for a minute. In fact, Danielle tells me that she loves to snuggle on my "squishy tummy." And sagging... well, that's gravity. Can't fight that.

I think it is more important to feel good about yourself and your body -- and dress to suit yourself -- than to try to attain an artificial ideal. If we can embrace beauty in all colors of skin, why can't we embrace beauty in all sizes and ages as well? I intend to march confidently, beautifully onto that pool deck and make friends with the bikini mommies. After all, they might benefit from a Mother Figure.

Which brings me to the dreaded, skirted bathing suit. This summer I officially became a matron. I  purchased the hideous bathing suit with a "tummy minimizer" and a skirt designed to mask the flaws of my aging body. Or, at least, not gross anyone out. I'm pretty sure that my father threw out several just like it after my Mom passed away.

Summer... Ice cream on the front steps and the scent of gardenias in the night air. Right now, for this moment, I am completely content.

Sweet sleep, Happy dreams...

My friend took a picture of her daughter sleeping in the car the other day. We'd been at the Zoo for hours. It was hot. We were all tired and a little sticky from cotton candy, but happy. The baby looked so completely at peace, sprawled in her car seat with her arms over her head.

Babies are cute sleepers. I've taken pictures of both of my girls sleeping. As an infant often the only way Danielle would sleep was curled up on Kevin's chest like a roast chicken. Now she sleeps with our cat. I have a silly picture of Amanda sleeping with her bottom in the air. You can't even see her face, just a mass of blond curls.

When I was a child my friend's mother painted her while she was sleeping. I remember my Mom asking her why she'd painted her daughter asleep. The reponse was, "Its the only time she holds still." Having tried to sit while my father painted me I know there is a great deal of truth to that, but there was also much more behind her motivation to paint her sleeping child.

Watching someone sleep evokes a deep protective response. The sleeper is so vulnerable and trusting. You don't want to let anything disrupt that serenity; you want to preserve it. Painting or photographing it makes sense from that perspective.

Years ago my friend posted a picture of his wife asleep on the couch with their two dogs sprawled over her legs. (She looked fine, by the way - not snoring or drooling.) While she may or may not have appreciated it I understood the love that motivated it. He didn't just want to capture the memory, he wanted to preserve her contentment in some manner. 



Make Way for Goslings

A flock of geese made us late to school today. Okay, we chose to stop and watch a flock of geese and consequently were late to school.

I love seeing the world through my children's eyes. This morning we were running a bit late. Getting two kids out the door, dressed and mostly clean can be a challenge some days. I was driving along, one eye on the road and one of the dashboard clock when a large Canada Goose calmly stepped onto the road in front of me. Several adults and a flock of maturing goslings followed his lead.

There were claps and shouts of "Oh, cool!" from the back seat. The girls periodically remind me of where my focus should be.

Instead of cursing because the geese were crossing the road in front of the car we pulled over and watched a creche of Canada Geese cross the road, waddle down the bank and swim off across a small pond. All Spring we've been waiting to see the goslings up close. We knew they'd hatched but the adult geese had been keeping them well clear of the road. We'd only been able to see them at a distance.

Danielle climbed on to my lap and yelled "honk honk" out the window. She looked back at me, "What? I speak Goose," she said. Of course she does. I opened the side door of the minivan so Amanda could get a better look.

Once the geese were safely in the water Danielle hopped out and retrieved a long grey wing feather. She held it up to me and then ran back to find a feather for Amanda.

The geese glided off and we resumed our trip to school, happy and relaxed even though we were half an hour late.