Love Uncluttered

I spent the past two weeks pretty entrenched in family stuff. My Dad is selling his house and buying a condo on the beach. My sisters were in town, so we’ve been furniture shopping and started to sort through some of the stuff in the house, figuring out what he’ll take with him (15%), what my brothers and sisters and I will take (15%) and what will be sold at the massive garage sale we’ll have (we can all figure out this percentage, I hope).

I’ve talked in the past about the mounds and mounds of clutter and crap my stepmother amassed. My Dad lived in a house full of clutter with her for thirty-five years and never complained. The house was always relatively clean, but there was nary a surface unoccupied. And as each of us moved out of the house she took over our rooms and filled the closets and drawers with little gifts she thought the kids would like, or napkins for a future dinner party, or address books (we’ve found at least twenty, filled with the same addresses over and over and over again). There are hundreds of glasses, every kitchen gizmo and gadget you can think of (and some we still have no clue about), family heirlooms and enough serving dishes to give one to every soldier in Iraq. Well, not really. But a LOT.

Now that she’s not there my Dad’s innate need for order (I am an accountant’s daughter) has resurfaced, and with a vengeance. He cannot tolerate any new mess, any new clutter. Extra food brought into the house for the duration of my sisters’ stay is already out of the house, and my sister doesn’t leave until tomorrow. This after noon he asked us to clean up the kids’ toys, about 1/2 hour before more grandkids were showing up. We explained and he relented, but the mess really bothers him.

His new home will be very different from the one he lives in today. The furniture will be less ornate (his new bedroom and dining room sets are lovely and elegant with very clean lines), there will be surfaces uncluttered, and likely there will be empty drawers. To me a much more relaxing place to be.

But that’s not the point.

What’s so fascinating, so wonderful, so cool, is how he adapted for the woman he loved. She brought him so much joy that he learned to live with the clutter, the shopping bags, and the bills. He didn’t try to control the house or her love of stuff. I don’t think he even noticed that much; not until she was gone.

We all deserve to be loved like that, don’t we?

Free Yourself

Last night was the first night of Passover, the Jewish holiday where we celebrate the exodus of the Jews from Egypt and their freedom from slavery.

As I was sitting at our Seder last night I started thinking about slavery and its many forms. There’s the type of slavery that the Jews experienced in Egypt and that African Americans experienced right here in the USA. Insidious and heinous, these types of slavery are not choices, not voluntary. The slaves had little or no control over their lives. A horrible way to live…

Then I started thinking about other types of slavery. Slavery to a job or career. Slavery to debt, or weight, or fashion. Slavery to keeping up with the Joneses, or philately, or being right. Slavery to perfectionism, or isolation or caffeine.

These types of slavery are different because we’re slaves by choice. We started it. Only we can take back the control we’ve always had and choose to make better, healthier choices.

There’s a difference between enjoying something and being a slave to it.

Is there anything you’re a slave to? Well, this is Passover. Whether you’re Jewish or not you can still choose to be free from something that has control over you. Free from this moment on. Make your own emancipation proclamation.

Free yourself today. I am.

Nobody’s Fool

I am anything but a party pooper. I love to have fun, I do.

I just don’t enjoy having fun at someone else’s expense. That’s why I won’t be playing any April Fool’s Day jokes on anyone this year.

I don’t think being made to feel foolish and stupid is fun. I’ve never thought practical jokes were fun for anyone but the people perpetrating the joke.

Honestly I think it’s a bit sadistic, a bit bullying.

There are shows that trade on this subtle sadism (Punk’d, the old Candid Camera - and Borat), and they are often quite funny for us in on the joke. I admit I’ve laughed at many, and even participated in a mild joke a time or two (I did take pleasure in telling our old boss, at a critical, stress-filled time, that we were all giving notice when we had no real intention of doing so - not that he believed the foreshadowing event for a second). But more often than not I feel embarrassed for the person, and my own cheeks turn red in an empathetic sympathy blush.

We delight in acts of cruelty performed on others because it means that, just this once, we’ve avoided being the butt of the joke. Laugh loudly enough and, fingers crossed, the bully’s glance will not fall on me the next time he is searching for a victim. I’m sure there are those that will say I need to grow a sense of humor. Being berated for not joining in on the “fun” is just another type of social shaming, isn’t it?

It seems we’ve never left the schoolyard playground.

I’m sure I’ll still laugh at some of the practical jokes I witness. I don’t know how not to do that. I just hope to teach my son that being the butt of anyone’s joke is never fun, and hope my own example will be enough to instill a nice, huge scoop of empathy in his psyche.

Will the Real Baby Daddy Please Swab Up

There are home pregnancy tests, home HIV tests and home drug tests. There are home ovulation tests, diabetes tests and cholesterol tests.

Home medical testing is a booming market, and so it shouldn’t come as a surprise that you can now answer the Who’s your baby daddy? question without leaving home. Just go down to the Rite Aid and drop $20 per possible Daddy. A cheek swab and another fistful of dollars for the lab later and you have your answer.

Maury Povich and Judge Hatchett must be shaking in their Manolo Blahnicks.

My first reaction to this news was a serious eye roll, followed by the usual lamentations about the deterioration of the family and it’s effects on society. Blah, blah,blah. I just couldn’t imagine someone getting pregnant and not knowing who fathered the child.

And then I remembered my Mom.

When I was thirteen someone broke into our apartment and raped her. I was on a sleepover at a friend’s house, but my sister was asleep in the bedroom next door. My mother did not resist; she was thinking only of my sister’s safety.

The next day she brought a huge Siberian husky home, and a few weeks later she found out she was pregnant. She didn’t know if the baby was her fiance’s or her rapist’s. She had enough issues, and didn’t feel that she could take on raising the child of her rapist. She couldn’t take the chance that it was his.

So she had an abortion. While I’ve always supported her decision, I’ve always felt a profound sadness when I think of the loss of my little brother or sister. I’m sure the experience has led to my own feelings about abortion.

Yeah, this test would have been good to have.

And people make errors in judgment. I thought back to a certain get-rid-of-the-new-guy-and-get-back-with-the-old-guy indiscretion in my youth where I could have been faced with this possibility if not for my at-least-two-and-sometimes-three-methods-of-birth-control-at-all-times policy.

So amidst all of the drama of uncertainty and irresponsible promiscuity that makes it’s way onto the public stages of Maury and Jerry and all the rest, I hope these tests can give some terrorized, ravaged, brave women, and some other regretful, now-making-better-choices ordinary women, some private peace of mind.

Is Your Decision Not to Vaccinate Your Child More Important Than the Population’s Health at Large?

Nothing like a little controversy on a spring afternoon…

When I was a little girl I remember standing in a long line in the elementary school gymnasium, waiting to get my state-mandated immunizations. They wouldn’t let me in school without it, and I’m sure it never entered my parents’ minds to even consider not getting us immunized.

I also remember kids getting mumps, and measles, and other diseases you rarely see today.

When I was pregnant with Son I became more aware of the concern about a possible link between autism and immunizations, and the concerns are still there. The Thimerisol used as a preservative in many vaccines was such a cause for concern and received so much bad press it’s no longer used as an ingredient in vaccines today. The link between vaccines and autism has been the subject of many scientific studies; they just can’t seem to find any science linking it. But the passion behind the “anecdotal evidence” is hard to ignore, or dismiss, especially when you are a new mother thinking about allowing these vaccines to be injected into your child. Which left me confused.

Are the vaccines worse than the diseases they supposedly protect from? The vast, vast majority of children suffer no ill effects, and many of the typical diseases that were still around when I was a kid have been mostly eradicated due to the great majority of children being vaccinated. I’ll bet the parents of many autistic children, and children who may have had other suspected or proven vaccination-related issues, would say yes, the vaccines are worse. They may regret their decision to vaccinate. And who can blame them?

So as a new parent I was very afraid. But in the end I decided to go with the odds and have Son vaccinated, though I spread out the timing a bit. That probably did nothing but make me feel like I was doing something to mitigate the risk, but whatever. Apparently I’m not above a little self-delusion.

Every day I searched for signs that he was having “ill affects”. I willed him to make eye contact, which he did. And when it became obvious that he was having some speech delays I was terrified. We put him in speech therapy and enrolled him in school two mornings a week, and we prayed. We’re lucky that he was done with speech therapy at age 3, and I recently had him evaluated and the results were all typical for his age. Thank you, G-d. We are blessed.

Still, I’ve wondered if there is truly a link. I have friends who have chosen not to immunize, and I’ve always understood and supported their choices. I still do. It’s such a personal decision.

Recently I heard about the twelve children in San Diego who contracted measles, which can be a fatal disease, especially in the very young or immuno-suppressed. Nine of the twelve had not been vaccinated. Three were too young, and six had parents opposed to the vaccinations. On the Today Show the other morning they ran a story about this, and asked the question, “Is your decision not to vaccinate your child more important than the population’s health at large?”

That’s quite a question.

Vaccines are not 100% effective. Children who have been vaccinated can still contract the disease. The more unvaccinated people there are, the more risk of transmission.

So, where does your right to decide for your child end and your responsibility for the public health begin?

I don’t know. I just don’t know.

I’m reminded of a story I read many years ago, while still in high school. Now I want to warn you, this is one of the most depressing stories I’ve ever heard, but what can I tell you, I was reminded.

I don’t recall all of the details, but it involved people hiding in an underground bunker hiding from oppressive forces (Nazi’s?) * searching for them. A woman was holding her very young infant, and the baby’s cries were putting the entire hidden group in great danger of discovery. The mother put her hand over the child’s mouth, and eventually the soldiers moved on. Everyone survived, except the baby.

That story has haunted me ever since. What a horrible, horrible decision to make. What a horrible, horrible action to take. What a horrible, horrible thing to live with. There was just no way to win.

Can we win? Isn’t parenting just making the best decision you can, and praying for a good outcome? The decisions I make as a parent, even decisions that seem to be only related to my family, can have far reaching effects.

What do you think? Did you/will you have your children immunized? Does the population at large factor into your decision?

*  Edited to add that Husband says I didn’t read it, but that it was a scene in an episode on M*A*S*H, and the oppressive forces were the North Koreans.

A Miracle For One Family, Heartache For Others

Back in December Zack Dunlop’s devastated parents were faced with the horrible decision of either keeping their son hooked up to life-support equipment or pulling the plug and letting his body follow his brain into death. He’d been declared brain dead, all of the tests showing no blood flow to his brain after an ATV accident, and his parents eventually decided to let him go. But they wanted to honor his wishes and have his organs donated.

So a helicopter was dispatched to pick up his heart. Then, as his family said their final goodbyes, his cousin (a nurse) ran a knife blade along his foot. And he moved it. They pressed into his fingernail bed. He pulled away his arm.

His family was shocked, and hopeful, and guarded. The doctors were dumbfounded. But how much brain damage was there?

Some, but not much. Since that day 21-year-old Zack Dunlop has made extraordinary strides in his recovery. He’s walking, talking, ready to drive. He still has some issues and is still in therapy, but he’s alive. And vibrant. And alive.

I’m so very happy for Zack, and his family. They truly got a miracle. The doctors cannot explain what happened. As Husband and I watched his appearance on the Today Show and heard his story I got tears in my eyes. Husband noticed my reaction and said, “That’s great, isn’t it?”, assuming my tears were for Zack and his miracle.

But my tears weren’t for Zack, or for his family. My crazy brain was thinking about the many families who had walked in Zack’s family’s shoes. Families who decided to end life support for their child and had no such miracle, and experienced the mixture of grief and guilt that I can only imagine anyone would feel in the aftermath of that decision.

What were they thinking when hearing Zack’s miraculous story? How many were second-guessing their decision? What if…? The unthinkable.

Chances are that there was no hope, no missed miracle for their child (or husband or mother, etc., but I was thinking at that moment only in terms of parent and child). But now, in addition to their grief, they’ll have a whole new level of guilt.

That is possibly the only pain worse than losing your child, I imagine.

And who the heck needs that?

No Skin Off My Nose

Random acts of kindness are wonderful things.

I remember being a little girl and riding in the back seat of my Mom’s car with my sister. We’d be driving on the Garden State Parkway, AM radio (providing the soundtrack for my early life) turned up loud. Back then tolls were only 25 cents, and my mother, free spirit that she is, would often pay the toll for the person behind us. As we drove away we always looked behind us to see what would happen.

The reactions varied. Some people argued with the toll collector, others would quickly speed off, hoping they could get away cleanly before the “mistake” was discovered. Sometimes people would catch up to us, smiling and waving. Sometimes people drove by without even looking our way. No matter the reaction we were always smiling, laughing, and feeling good about what we had done. And, really, 25 cents was no skin off my Mom’s nose, even as we struggled financially.

Even better than random acts of kindness are the kindnesses we do for the people in our lives. Doing things because they make someone else we love happy, even though they may not mean much to us.

For example, my mother doesn’t just sign a greeting card. She underlines the words and phrases that best represent how she feels. Sometimes there’s one line, sometimes two or even three if she feels really strongly about it. Once I even got a four-liner.

Sure, sweet. But a little annoying, too. I rolled my eyes every time. When I was younger I’d send her cards, but I wouldn’t underline anything. Eventually, after I got over my anger and resentment about her mental illness and just accepted that she really did the best that she could, given what she knew, I started underlining phrases in cards I sent to her. After all, it was no skin off my nose, but it made her happy.

I’ve had this conversation with Husband before, about his mother. A telephone call in the middle of the week, just to say hello, would make her day. A big hug and kiss when he sees her instead of a perfunctory kiss on the cheek would make her swoon. And, really, it’s no skin off his nose to do it. Same with his sister, or his grandmother.

Husband loves it when I look to the right as we cross the train tracks and report on whether or not a train is coming so he can look to the left. When we see a train approach while we’re driving somewhere, Son loves it that I always stop the car so he can watch it go by, even if it means turning around.

No skin off my nose. And it makes them so happy.

Simply acknowledging the people I love in little, thoughtful ways is such a powerful healer, a day brightener, a blues lifter. For the people I’m acknowledging, and for myself.

Funny. Whenever I focus out my in feels better.

Sunday Drive

I love a long drive.

Yesterday Son and I drove over to the west coast (of Florida for those non-Floridians who assumed differently) to visit some friends. It’s a just under two hour drive, making it long enough to qualify as long, but short enough to hopefully not have to stop for a pee break (which can only be accomplished with a three-year-old if you refuse to let him drink anything an hour before you leave).

This journey involved taking I-75, affectionately knows as Alligator Alley, across South Florida. This is one of the few South Florida roads not crowded with condos and shopping malls and tourists in white knee socks (much love to those tourists, who keep our state income-tax free!). What you see along the ninety or so miles is sawgrass, a few trees, sawgrass, brush, flatlands, sawgrass and the occasional alligator and cow (though not usually hanging out together). And lots of sawgrass.
On trips like this my thoughts often focus inward. Having a great soundtrack enhances the experience. Yesterday I listened to James Taylor’s Greatest Hits, one of my all-time favorite albums. His earthy, soulful tunes always touch me in a place I can’t pinpoint, and that I’m sure is in no anatomy book.

It was a beautiful day, and as I drove I felt lots of emotions building up within me. I always feel an immense sense of freedom on the open road. Freedom and adventure, hope for what the future will bring, peace at having left whatever current problems and stresses behind. I feel stronger, happier, prettier, more powerful and effective - me at my best. I rejoice in the beauty of nature - the sawgrass swaying in the breeze, the blue sky and white puffy clouds, the cows resting in the shade of the lone tree in the pasture. I feel very close to G-d, and in those moments I am never more sure that He is up there, watching me enjoy life.

As I drive the miles I just feel invincible. Suddenly I can see new possible solutions to long-standing problems, my energy level soars, I forgive myself for my perceived flaws and re-commit myself to losing weight, getting more exercise, having more patience and using coupons. I think about the people in the cars around me, and I wonder about who they are and where they’re going. I wonder if they are having a similar experience, and I hope they are.

The joy I feel is incredible, and it often brings a tear to my eye. I look at my son, who always lives life as if he’s on the open road, and he smiles at me. I smile back.

Powerful stuff, that open road.

The Choice

I have a cousin who is the bravest person I know.

She hasn’t had it easy. She was diagnosed with MS in her thirties, but wouldn’t let her doctor write it in her chart until after she was approved for the adoption she wanted so badly.

She got her wonderful son, and he has brought so much joy to her, and to our family. Her disease progressed to the point where she can’t see all that great, and she’s needed help walking. But still she lives life to it’s fullest. Always has.

Then a couple of years ago she was diagnosed with leukemia. She fought it, hard. It took a toll, but she was well enough to kvell at her son’s Bar Mitzvah last year, and she clawed and scratched her way into remission.

Then, today, I got a call from my Dad I hoped to never get. The leukemia is back.

Of course we are all devastated. My Dad asked me to call my brothers and sisters, as he just was having a hard time with it. She is his first niece, and has always held a very special place in his heart. With my stepmother’s death just seven short months ago, the knowledge that he will soon lose another woman he deeply loves has left him bereft.

And lose her we will. She doesn’t want the chemo this time.

That’s a hell of a decision to make, isn’t it? Either path promises pain and sadness and tears and sickness and heartbreak and death. How do you choose between spending as much time with your child as possible or spending less time, but hopefully feeling better? Just making that choice shows more courage than I have.

I’m just filled with sadness that we’ll lose her, sadness that her son won’t have her holding his hand into adulthood, sad that I won’t be getting her silly/beautiful/poignant e-mails.

Sad that my aunt and uncle will suffer the loss of their daughter, every parent’s biggest fear.

But there’s really no time for that. We could have her another six months, at least I hope so. I won’t waste another moment.

If Fat People Can’t Eat at Restaurants then Stupid People Can’t Vote

That way the lines at restaurants and voting booths will be shorter. It makes sense, right?

Well, apparently it makes sense in Mississipi.

You heard about the Mississippi politician who introduced a bill that would ban obese people from eating at restaurants, have you not?

I’m not even going to go into the ridiculousness of the bill, or his reason for introducing it. At 5′11″ and 230 lbs, it’s obvious that he’s aiming to make the all-you-can-eat buffet lines at Sizzler as short as possible.

(Really, some posts just write themselves.)

As a decidely un-svelte person, I can assure you that Republican Rep. John Read is the only fat person on the planet who apparently doesn’t know that he is, indeed, fat.

I’m sure there are a great number of highly intelligent people living in Mississippi. Their influence, though, is apparently undermined by the number of stupid people who voted for this pleasingly plump politician.

Because, really, if we’re going to start legislating the bad choices people make, I could suggest a few other laws. Who wants to introduce a bill banning mullets? How about landing strip beards? Camel toes? Public displays of gastro-intestinal ability (Oh, wait. Camden schools are taking care of that one)?

What new laws would you like to see passed? Let’s make a huge list and see what other social ills we can annihilate!

Then contact your own local pleasingly plump politician, preferably one with the very social ill you are seeking to abolish, and have him/her take it to the people.

I love the democratic process!