Hmm, a little dramatic much? Perhaps. But nonetheless, that what it feels like. It's been an interesting month folks, one like I've never known.
For starters... Remember that last weepy post? You know, the one where I'm all crying about how I have no idea who I am and if I can just find my family, all will be right with the world? Well, guess what? I found my family. No shit. Don't worry, it caught me a little off guard too. Here I have been looking off an on for the past 10 years, admittedly more off than on, and I sign up with a search group, and here's my family, found for me in about a week and a half. Right before Mother's Day, to be exact. Talk about irony. So, how is it, you ask?
Well, here's the thing. I like to pretend that I am a happy, well-adjusted, non-judgemental type person. I mean really, nobody on this earth is perfect, and I am a shining example of the opposite of perfect myself. Maybe it's just because I have always had this romanticized notion of my "real family" coming in to save me from the insanity of my adoptive family, that finding out the truth is a little, well, disappointing. My mother is a meth addict. Actually, the way she was found was through her most recent possession arrest. That was last year, and she has done the rehab thing and is clean for now. Apparently, she goes for long stretches at a time, being clean, holding a job, being a parent, etc., until the stress overwhelms her and she turns back to the drugs. OK, I'm not talking to her here, or to my friends and family that are all hanging on my every word, waiting for me to show some sign that I'm NOT thrilled with this whole deal. I can be honest with you people, right? Good. Boo freaking hoo. You know what? We all have stress. I understand she had a lot to deal with at a young age (more about that some other day), and still carries around a lot on her shoulders. I don't mean to make light of that. I really don't. But I have never once in my life used drugs as a crutch to forget about the crap in my life. There are so many times I wanted to. Do you know I have never once in my life tried an illegal substance? That I didn't even start taking TYLENOL until I was over 21? I always said it was because I was raised by an addict and was scared that something like that would happen to me. And that's true. But now I wonder if perhaps I didn't know somehow that there was a hereditary weakness in there as well. Because guess what? I have a sister in jail for stealing cars while high as a kite. Oh, and a brother who's been in and out of jail 3 or 4 times on meth charges. Gosh, let me tell you, I am just so freaking proud of my family right now.
It's funny. I started this whole blog thingy because I was depressed and feeling sorry for myself. Why? Because amongst my so called friends, I felt like trailer trash. Hmm, I'm a felon (for something not entirely my fault, but whatever), I'm married to a felon (for an idiotic act when he was 18), and I have spend an alarming amount of time in trailers that were literally falling down around me. I'm always broke, even though I make good money. Nothing I own (OK, very little) is new - I buy everything at thrift stores and off Craigslist. I don't own a home, and my credit is in the toilet. So yeah, not exactly the friend you're proud to show off to your family, right? But at least my parents are semi-respectable. Yeah, my dad's a drunk, but by god he can hold a job. And yeah, my mom's crazy, but when she's medicated, she's great. Not to mention she's a financial genius. So to find my "real" family, and have them be what they are, well, right now, I'm just a little sad about the whole thing I guess. I don't love them any less. I had just hoped for less... I don't know... drama I guess. I just wanted one thing in my life to be normal, or as close to it as I can ever hope to achieve, and it's just not happening. And it makes me sad, ad it makes me angry. But you know what? I'll get over it. I always do. Just not today.
Speaking of today, how was your Father's Day? Mine was great. I spent the morning cooking my husband and my dad a huge lunch (if I want to see my dad while he's sober, it has to be before noon). My poor husband is working nights right now, and he only gt a short nap before we had to wake him up for lunch, so he was grumpy. The whole time, I just felt really disconnected from him. Like he would have rather been anywhere else. Which, hey, with my family and his combined around, I can see that. Not to mention, this is his first Father's Day since his dad died. So he's a little bummed. He left for work tonight without telling me goodbye. Again, I figure he's having a bad day. And I don't blame him for that. Then I find out that he had logged into my email earlier to forward something my dad's girlfriend had sent me on to his mother. Umm, what?
OK, prepare for me to be a giant hypocrite. Ready? Good. I am a private person. I won't talk on the phone if there are other people around me. I can't stand having people read over my shoulder. Someone reading my emails gives me the absolute creeps, even if it is my husband. It's one thing for someone to ASK first. It's even better if they just ask me to log in myself and forward the message on. It's royally pisses me off to have someone just take it upon themselves to log in and send away. HOWEVER, I freely admit to reading my husband's email when he's not home. I have my reasons, none of them very good, but they do exist. Although, to be fair to me, I haven't done it in over a year. Until he started acting all distant and moody, I probably wouldn't have, but that coupled with the email intrusion on his part, well, I kinda lost my head.
Ever heard the expression curiosity killed the cat? I understand exactly what that cat feels like right now. I feel like someone just stabbed me right in the chest, or possibly back, I don't know, but my chest literally hurts, and I feel so sick to my stomach it's all I can do not to throw up right now. Maybe it's blowing things out of proportion, but " please don't call after 5 , that's when she gets off work usually . course that isn't to say i don't go places without her and might be able to call if you wanted sometimes . " kinda sounds like perhaps there might be something going on behind my back. Best news? That was dated April 29th. I found another message from a week or so ago from the girl he wrote that too. Nothing overtly incriminating, but oddly enough, even though I could see that it was a reply to something he sent, there was no record of any other emails between them, including the one that he sent her to get that reply. So, my dear sweet computer innocent husband has started to learn how to cover his email tracks. Not to mention all those motorcycle rides he's gone out alone on. And all the calls he makes when I'm not home. And why his cell phone went over his minutes for the first time ever last month.
And so, I'll be doing one of two things over the next couple of weeks. I'll either be blogging like crazy because if I don't I'll scream, or I'll shut down completely and deal with everything internally, like I am trying to teach myself not to do but have been doing anyway (hence the several long absences).
Someone out there, please send some happy thoughts my way? I'm seriously tired with dealing with the shit pile all the time, for once, I'd like to see the flowers at the top.
Monday, June 16, 2008
Friday, April 11, 2008
Are you my mother?
So, once again, I've been off in my own little world. It took me a little longer to process this one into even a semblance of coherency, and honestly, it's still not over, but I have to spill some thoughts now or I won't be able to deal with what's coming. To protect the innocent, I have tried to use initials only, but that may get confusing, so we'll see how it goes.
I think I've mentioned before that I'm adopted. I've known from birth that I was, my mom never wanted me to "find out" in a bad way and hate her for lying. I still have the book I got on my second birthday - "Why Was I Adopted?" which, incidentally, is an awesome book for adopted kids. Perfect for probably to 5-8 age group, but works well outside of that too. My adoption was a little outside the norm, in that it was arranged between a friend of a friend and handled completely privately, through an attorney, as opposed to an agency. All that really means for me is that in some ways, information is a lot easier to come by. In others, it can be 10 times harder.
Now, for as long as I can remember, I have known certain things regarding my biological family. For starters, I know my BM (birth mother)was 17 when I was born, and that she already had a 2 year old. I know that my AM (adopted mother) used to take my BM and BS (birth sister) shopping. I know that my BM was working as a babysitter to G, a guy who worked with my dad, and his wife E. Which is how they met - G & E knew my mom and dad were considering adoption, and they knew about my BM's circumstances, so they introduced everyone. And by waving the magic attorney wand, I had a new family.
I have tried a few times over the years to find my BM and BS. The fact is though, I've never really put a lot of effort into it. Why? I don't know, really, other than even though my life has never been easy, I'm comfortable with it. I don't hold any animosity towards my BM, I don't really have the need to demand answers from her. I guess I've always viewed it pretty simply - she was 17, she already had a kid and likely no education, life is hard. Maybe it was because I have always known I was adopted and there was never any attempt to hide anything from me. Maybe it's because even though my life was difficult, mostly through my own choices, it was comfortable. I have never been hungry, I have never wanted for anything I have ever needed, and very few things I truly wanted. I went through a restless phase about 15 years ago, that lasted probably longer than it should have, where I felt like I was searching for something, but never during that period did I attempt to search for my birth family. John doesn't understand that while the act of searching is something I want to see through, and I want to hold that information in my hand, I have never given any thought to actually MEETING my family. I don't know if that's because of my inherent social awkwardness, or if it's because I'm trying to protect them from any pain or discomfort, or if it's because, while the idea of having another family is something I've always dreamed of, it's not something I need. Yes, my family is a train wreck in it's own right, but I wouldn't change them - they are who they are, and I have accepted them, flaw for flaw, as they have accepted me.
After my son died, a few things became very clear to me. First of all, tomorrow is never guaranteed. Never live your life so that it's full of regrets for all the things you never "had time" to do. You have the same amount of time as everyone else in this world - it's how you choose to make use of it that counts. And so, for myself, I never want to say on my deathbed, "Oh, I wish I could have just met them once, just o see what they're like." Second, there are a lot of truly terrifying health issues in this world. My son died of a type of leukemia that is not genetic, that is truly an accident, but there are other types of cancers and other diseases that are hereditary. My husband comes from a family with lots of heart disease and diabetes (and, accordingly, lots of obesity as well). At 36, he became the youngest member of the family thus far to be diagnosed with Type II Diabetes and chronic high blood pressure. Even though I know I am adopted and that I share no genetic ties to my family, their medical history is remarkably similar to my husband's, and I worry about setting my kids up for early deaths. And so, I would like a complete medical history, or even just a general picture of what I can expect. And third, I learned from my son that family is everything. My definition of family is a little looser than most - blood ties mean very little to me. My mom and dad may have their issues, and I could discount them because there's no blood link between us, but they are my parents. They chose me, and now, I choose them. As an only child, I have no siblings, so I have made my own. I had a Big Sister when I was a little girl, that I still keep in contact with today. My kids call her aunt. Likewise, I have known my best friend since we shared a table in kindergarten. Her house was home to me sometimes more than my own was. Her mom is my "second mom." Her grandparents loved me and took care of me like my own would have had they lived here. She is my sister, in all aspects but blood. And so, I figure, if I already have two moms, why not a third? And you can never have enough sisters.
The point of all this is that I started searching again. So far, I've only researched some things myself, and signed up for a few adoption registry's. One in particular has been incredibly helpful and supportive, G's Adoption Registry. I also just found another group through Google Groups that I have been using. In the past couple of weeks, I have been on an emotional rollercoaster the likes of which I haven't seen since I was dealing with my son's illness and death. One day I'm ecstatic all day long, thinking I've found a clue, or maybe even found the right person - all the names add up, the locations kind of do, everythings great, and then.... The next morning, you find out that nope, it's not right after all. So you come crashing back down again, and start over at square one. And then you find another clue, or another name, or another phone number. And then no one will return your calls, so you're not sure if you've found SOMETHING, or if they just think you're crazy and are ignoring you. I tell you, it's crazy making.
I actually had started this post over a week ago, wanting to tell you all how I had found E and was meeting with her and she was going to answer all the questions I had about my adoption. Guess what? That didn't exactly work out. I talked to her once, made tentative plans to go to dinner, and never heard from her again, even after leavn several messages. So I have continued my search without her, and so far, no luck. So I'm just gonna stop here, and say, Mom, wherever you are, please contact me.
I think I've mentioned before that I'm adopted. I've known from birth that I was, my mom never wanted me to "find out" in a bad way and hate her for lying. I still have the book I got on my second birthday - "Why Was I Adopted?" which, incidentally, is an awesome book for adopted kids. Perfect for probably to 5-8 age group, but works well outside of that too. My adoption was a little outside the norm, in that it was arranged between a friend of a friend and handled completely privately, through an attorney, as opposed to an agency. All that really means for me is that in some ways, information is a lot easier to come by. In others, it can be 10 times harder.
Now, for as long as I can remember, I have known certain things regarding my biological family. For starters, I know my BM (birth mother)was 17 when I was born, and that she already had a 2 year old. I know that my AM (adopted mother) used to take my BM and BS (birth sister) shopping. I know that my BM was working as a babysitter to G, a guy who worked with my dad, and his wife E. Which is how they met - G & E knew my mom and dad were considering adoption, and they knew about my BM's circumstances, so they introduced everyone. And by waving the magic attorney wand, I had a new family.
I have tried a few times over the years to find my BM and BS. The fact is though, I've never really put a lot of effort into it. Why? I don't know, really, other than even though my life has never been easy, I'm comfortable with it. I don't hold any animosity towards my BM, I don't really have the need to demand answers from her. I guess I've always viewed it pretty simply - she was 17, she already had a kid and likely no education, life is hard. Maybe it was because I have always known I was adopted and there was never any attempt to hide anything from me. Maybe it's because even though my life was difficult, mostly through my own choices, it was comfortable. I have never been hungry, I have never wanted for anything I have ever needed, and very few things I truly wanted. I went through a restless phase about 15 years ago, that lasted probably longer than it should have, where I felt like I was searching for something, but never during that period did I attempt to search for my birth family. John doesn't understand that while the act of searching is something I want to see through, and I want to hold that information in my hand, I have never given any thought to actually MEETING my family. I don't know if that's because of my inherent social awkwardness, or if it's because I'm trying to protect them from any pain or discomfort, or if it's because, while the idea of having another family is something I've always dreamed of, it's not something I need. Yes, my family is a train wreck in it's own right, but I wouldn't change them - they are who they are, and I have accepted them, flaw for flaw, as they have accepted me.
After my son died, a few things became very clear to me. First of all, tomorrow is never guaranteed. Never live your life so that it's full of regrets for all the things you never "had time" to do. You have the same amount of time as everyone else in this world - it's how you choose to make use of it that counts. And so, for myself, I never want to say on my deathbed, "Oh, I wish I could have just met them once, just o see what they're like." Second, there are a lot of truly terrifying health issues in this world. My son died of a type of leukemia that is not genetic, that is truly an accident, but there are other types of cancers and other diseases that are hereditary. My husband comes from a family with lots of heart disease and diabetes (and, accordingly, lots of obesity as well). At 36, he became the youngest member of the family thus far to be diagnosed with Type II Diabetes and chronic high blood pressure. Even though I know I am adopted and that I share no genetic ties to my family, their medical history is remarkably similar to my husband's, and I worry about setting my kids up for early deaths. And so, I would like a complete medical history, or even just a general picture of what I can expect. And third, I learned from my son that family is everything. My definition of family is a little looser than most - blood ties mean very little to me. My mom and dad may have their issues, and I could discount them because there's no blood link between us, but they are my parents. They chose me, and now, I choose them. As an only child, I have no siblings, so I have made my own. I had a Big Sister when I was a little girl, that I still keep in contact with today. My kids call her aunt. Likewise, I have known my best friend since we shared a table in kindergarten. Her house was home to me sometimes more than my own was. Her mom is my "second mom." Her grandparents loved me and took care of me like my own would have had they lived here. She is my sister, in all aspects but blood. And so, I figure, if I already have two moms, why not a third? And you can never have enough sisters.
The point of all this is that I started searching again. So far, I've only researched some things myself, and signed up for a few adoption registry's. One in particular has been incredibly helpful and supportive, G's Adoption Registry. I also just found another group through Google Groups that I have been using. In the past couple of weeks, I have been on an emotional rollercoaster the likes of which I haven't seen since I was dealing with my son's illness and death. One day I'm ecstatic all day long, thinking I've found a clue, or maybe even found the right person - all the names add up, the locations kind of do, everythings great, and then.... The next morning, you find out that nope, it's not right after all. So you come crashing back down again, and start over at square one. And then you find another clue, or another name, or another phone number. And then no one will return your calls, so you're not sure if you've found SOMETHING, or if they just think you're crazy and are ignoring you. I tell you, it's crazy making.
I actually had started this post over a week ago, wanting to tell you all how I had found E and was meeting with her and she was going to answer all the questions I had about my adoption. Guess what? That didn't exactly work out. I talked to her once, made tentative plans to go to dinner, and never heard from her again, even after leavn several messages. So I have continued my search without her, and so far, no luck. So I'm just gonna stop here, and say, Mom, wherever you are, please contact me.
Monday, March 31, 2008
I think this pretty much says it all.
Kimberly says it best I think, so here you go. This is pretty much me this week.
http://parentingwithoutalicense.com/2008/03/31/if-this-keeps-up-i-may-have-to-take-up-scrapbooking/
http://parentingwithoutalicense.com/2008/03/31/if-this-keeps-up-i-may-have-to-take-up-scrapbooking/
Monday, March 24, 2008
And the stupidest thing YOU'VE ever done?
I grew up mostly in Alaska and Colorado. Winter sports capitals, right? Maybe when I was younger. My dad was a big outdoorsy type, lots of fishing, hunting, camping, ice skating, skiing, ice fishing, sledding, etc. My mom? Not so much. So when they divorced, when I was 6, my outdoors education came to an abrupt end. While I may have started out as a tomboy, I very quickly became as citified as I could get. John, however, grew up in rural Oklahoma. His mom's family surrounded him, and his dad's family was up the in the wilds of Minnesota, so he got a thorough education in all things outdoors. One of our goals when we moved here was to spend more outdoors time with our kids, and to get us some "toys" to help with that goal. And so, about 2 weeks ago, we bought snowmachines.
Now, some people may disagree with the way we went about this, but we thought it was best. We went out and bought the oldest, ugliest machines we could find that were still in running condition. We had many reasons for this, mostly centered around the fact that neither one of us was an experienced rider, and if we were going to break something, we much preferred it to be an old crappy machine we didn't really care about, as opposed to a nice new machine that cost more than my car. John had spent quite a bit of time on snowmachines when vacationing in Minnesota in his youth, but not much since then. The last time he rode was over 10 years ago. Me on the other hand, well, I've never even seen one up close. A word of advice to all of you: A few months shy of your thirtieth birthday is not really a good age to take up this particular hobby. Let me set the scene for you:
We had been trying, ever since we bought them, to find somewhere with enough snow left to take them out and test them. Yesterday, we discovered a nice spot about 2 hours away from the house. We saw the tracks running along the highway, and came upon a turnout with several empty trailers, so figured what the heck, looks good. We pull in, and a few other people come in behind us. Everyone is unloading these gorgeous, snazzy new machines - and looking at us like we are the worlds biggest idiots. (Turns out they were right, but we didn't know that at the time.) We finally heave our old dilapidated machines off the trailer, and commence the starting up process. They are a PAIN to start, like an old lawnmower that doesn't feel like working anymore. Anyway, finally got them started. Now, I wanted to go to the right, where I had been watching all the other people go, and where I had seen the trail from the highway. John, however, decided we needed to go to the left, where there was only one lonely track that had been snowed over a couple of times and could barely be seen. His logic? Less people and less chance of us hitting anyone. My thinking? Let's go where everyone else has been so we know there's no water underneath us. Needless to say, he won. So, over the embankment we went. At the bottom, we came to a rather sudden stop. It seems that all the warm weather we have been having has softened the snow crust, and therefore putting a heavy object on it makes you sink. So off we get to dig them out. Snow up to my waist, I'm tugging and pushing on this poor machine for all I'm worth. Turns out that the older machines do have one serious drawback - they have much shorter bodies, less height, and less lug depth. Which basically means, if you aren't on a well-packed trail, you aren't moving. A rather grueling hour later, we get them both unstuck, turned around, and back up the embankment. At this point, John says maybe I was right, and off we go on the path to the right.
I am actually beginning to enjoy myself at this point, all the way up until I hit my first big series of bumps. My right foot slides right off the running board, and gets stuck in the snow. As I can feel myself being pulled off the machine, I get a death grip on the handlebars to pull myself back up. Bad idea. See, when I grabbed the handlebars, my hand covered the throttle. So, not only was I still moving, I was moving FASTER. So here I am, holding on the to handlebars, sliding all over the seat on my belly, legs flying straight out behind me, can't see anything but the gas tank right in front of my face. I finally muscle myself back upright on the seat, whimper a little about my pulled groin muscle and twisted knee, and keep going. We get to the end of the trail and have to turn around. I go up the embankment and back down, and while the snowmachine makes it through the turn, I don't. Off the side I go, rolling about 10 feet before I finally come to a stop, face first in 4 feet of snow. After I dig myself back out, we resume the ride. Over all, we went through the trail several times, and those were my only major accidents, so I guess I did OK.
This morning, however, was a whole different story. I hurt, like I haven't hurt in years. I found muscles that haven't been used in decades. My right side is one giant owie. My arms are so sore I could barely get dressed this morning. My back is resolving into one big ache. Surprisingly, my legs are OK, my knee only hurting when I'm on the stairs, so I didn't do as much damage to it as I thought I had at the time.
So tell me, what idiotic stunts have you pulled, thinking you were still in the prime of youth?
Now, some people may disagree with the way we went about this, but we thought it was best. We went out and bought the oldest, ugliest machines we could find that were still in running condition. We had many reasons for this, mostly centered around the fact that neither one of us was an experienced rider, and if we were going to break something, we much preferred it to be an old crappy machine we didn't really care about, as opposed to a nice new machine that cost more than my car. John had spent quite a bit of time on snowmachines when vacationing in Minnesota in his youth, but not much since then. The last time he rode was over 10 years ago. Me on the other hand, well, I've never even seen one up close. A word of advice to all of you: A few months shy of your thirtieth birthday is not really a good age to take up this particular hobby. Let me set the scene for you:
We had been trying, ever since we bought them, to find somewhere with enough snow left to take them out and test them. Yesterday, we discovered a nice spot about 2 hours away from the house. We saw the tracks running along the highway, and came upon a turnout with several empty trailers, so figured what the heck, looks good. We pull in, and a few other people come in behind us. Everyone is unloading these gorgeous, snazzy new machines - and looking at us like we are the worlds biggest idiots. (Turns out they were right, but we didn't know that at the time.) We finally heave our old dilapidated machines off the trailer, and commence the starting up process. They are a PAIN to start, like an old lawnmower that doesn't feel like working anymore. Anyway, finally got them started. Now, I wanted to go to the right, where I had been watching all the other people go, and where I had seen the trail from the highway. John, however, decided we needed to go to the left, where there was only one lonely track that had been snowed over a couple of times and could barely be seen. His logic? Less people and less chance of us hitting anyone. My thinking? Let's go where everyone else has been so we know there's no water underneath us. Needless to say, he won. So, over the embankment we went. At the bottom, we came to a rather sudden stop. It seems that all the warm weather we have been having has softened the snow crust, and therefore putting a heavy object on it makes you sink. So off we get to dig them out. Snow up to my waist, I'm tugging and pushing on this poor machine for all I'm worth. Turns out that the older machines do have one serious drawback - they have much shorter bodies, less height, and less lug depth. Which basically means, if you aren't on a well-packed trail, you aren't moving. A rather grueling hour later, we get them both unstuck, turned around, and back up the embankment. At this point, John says maybe I was right, and off we go on the path to the right.
I am actually beginning to enjoy myself at this point, all the way up until I hit my first big series of bumps. My right foot slides right off the running board, and gets stuck in the snow. As I can feel myself being pulled off the machine, I get a death grip on the handlebars to pull myself back up. Bad idea. See, when I grabbed the handlebars, my hand covered the throttle. So, not only was I still moving, I was moving FASTER. So here I am, holding on the to handlebars, sliding all over the seat on my belly, legs flying straight out behind me, can't see anything but the gas tank right in front of my face. I finally muscle myself back upright on the seat, whimper a little about my pulled groin muscle and twisted knee, and keep going. We get to the end of the trail and have to turn around. I go up the embankment and back down, and while the snowmachine makes it through the turn, I don't. Off the side I go, rolling about 10 feet before I finally come to a stop, face first in 4 feet of snow. After I dig myself back out, we resume the ride. Over all, we went through the trail several times, and those were my only major accidents, so I guess I did OK.
This morning, however, was a whole different story. I hurt, like I haven't hurt in years. I found muscles that haven't been used in decades. My right side is one giant owie. My arms are so sore I could barely get dressed this morning. My back is resolving into one big ache. Surprisingly, my legs are OK, my knee only hurting when I'm on the stairs, so I didn't do as much damage to it as I thought I had at the time.
So tell me, what idiotic stunts have you pulled, thinking you were still in the prime of youth?
Thursday, March 20, 2008
Science Fair
I have come to the conclusion that the school science fair project is a new torture device, intended to punish parents for sending their kids to school all year long to annoy the teachers.
When I was in school, the science fair was never mandatory. I participated one year, in middle school, for the extra credit points for my flagging science grade. It was a pathetic attempt, with virtually no display, and a poorly thought out project done in a rush the night before the fair. I had no help at all (my mother was not the help-with-homework type), and while it was obvious some kids did, it wasn't the norm. My project was on growing crystals. There were several projects on growing plants with different fertilizers/liquids/sounds/etc., projects on building bridges out of wood, projects on the amount of insulation required to drop an egg and not break it, projects on changing the colors of carnations with colored water, and other similar, simple experiments. Elementary school has changed a lot in 20 years.
First of all, for grades 3, 4, and 5, science fair participation is mandatory. It's encouraged for K-2. Second, and most alarmingly, the packet my daughter brought home explaining the rules and restrictions had the line "While genetic experiments are allowed, experimenting on live humans is against the rules." How many 4th graders do you know that are out splicing genes? I mentioned this to a co-worker, who informed me there were quite a few. The elementary school her children went to, an "ABC" school held to a much higher academic standard than your typical public school, had demonstrations at this level, starting in 2nd grade science class. WTF? I think we have officially reached the point where we are forcing entirely too much pressure on our kids. Maybe it's just me, but it scares the hell out of me knowing there are 7 year olds who know more about genetic engineering than most adults.
Anyway, her school wasn't quite so bad. Most of the experiments there were at the levels I remember from middle school. A lot of the projects were hand-written, which I thought was interesting. I honestly figured they would all be typed. Princess's project turned out really well, I think, but we shall see what the judges have to say Friday afternoon. (That would be my other big complaint - it takes 3 whole days to grade them? Is there just one person doing it, or are all the teachers participating? I'm not a teacher though, so I have no idea what all is involved in the grading, and I am probably the most impatient person I know, so teachers, please don't hate me for that comment!) I''ll update as soon as I have her grade. And, if I can ever figure out how to put in links and pictures, I'll show you what she did.
When I was in school, the science fair was never mandatory. I participated one year, in middle school, for the extra credit points for my flagging science grade. It was a pathetic attempt, with virtually no display, and a poorly thought out project done in a rush the night before the fair. I had no help at all (my mother was not the help-with-homework type), and while it was obvious some kids did, it wasn't the norm. My project was on growing crystals. There were several projects on growing plants with different fertilizers/liquids/sounds/etc., projects on building bridges out of wood, projects on the amount of insulation required to drop an egg and not break it, projects on changing the colors of carnations with colored water, and other similar, simple experiments. Elementary school has changed a lot in 20 years.
First of all, for grades 3, 4, and 5, science fair participation is mandatory. It's encouraged for K-2. Second, and most alarmingly, the packet my daughter brought home explaining the rules and restrictions had the line "While genetic experiments are allowed, experimenting on live humans is against the rules." How many 4th graders do you know that are out splicing genes? I mentioned this to a co-worker, who informed me there were quite a few. The elementary school her children went to, an "ABC" school held to a much higher academic standard than your typical public school, had demonstrations at this level, starting in 2nd grade science class. WTF? I think we have officially reached the point where we are forcing entirely too much pressure on our kids. Maybe it's just me, but it scares the hell out of me knowing there are 7 year olds who know more about genetic engineering than most adults.
Anyway, her school wasn't quite so bad. Most of the experiments there were at the levels I remember from middle school. A lot of the projects were hand-written, which I thought was interesting. I honestly figured they would all be typed. Princess's project turned out really well, I think, but we shall see what the judges have to say Friday afternoon. (That would be my other big complaint - it takes 3 whole days to grade them? Is there just one person doing it, or are all the teachers participating? I'm not a teacher though, so I have no idea what all is involved in the grading, and I am probably the most impatient person I know, so teachers, please don't hate me for that comment!) I''ll update as soon as I have her grade. And, if I can ever figure out how to put in links and pictures, I'll show you what she did.
Wednesday, March 19, 2008
Ahhh, spring... Kinda.
A lot of people that happen to meet randomly on the internet, as well as in person when I been traveling all over the country, have told me "You're so lucky you live in Alaska." Most of the year, I whole-heartedly agree with this sentiment. Except in April. April is what we in Alaska refer to as "break-up season." That's when all the snow melts, and combines with all the gravel that was spread all winter long, to make giant slushy mud holes out of every intersection and turns every yard into a swamp as the ground unfreezes and tries to adsorb all the extra water. When the snow melts, it also reveals all the trash and animal feces that was covered up by all that gorgeous whiteness all winter long. It's an ugly, messy, disgusting month. And then, in May, summer begins in earnest. Volunteer clean-up crews scour the cities, picking up every spare scrap of litter. All the water eventually soaks in, along with the gravel, and the flowers start blooming like crazy. It's beautiful, but you have to make through April to get there.
So, I was fully prepared to enjoy the slightly warmer but sill snowy climate of March, when all that global-warming-crazy-weather-patterns bullshit struck. The last week of February and first week of March, we had temperatures in the mid-50's. That's virtually unheard of here until April. Several days in a row of gorgeous, sunshiney weather. The ice in my driveway melted enough I could attack it with a big stick, breaking out chucks of 6 inch thick accumulation. Half of my backyard snow melted, revealing last years accidentally uncut grass. Of course, the bad thing about the snow melting at the top of the hill in the back yard, is that it all ran down into a giant puddle at the bottom of the hill, trapped their by our fence. So my swingset was mostly underwater, but I bought a pump and a new garden hose and prepared to pump the water out into the front, where it could flow merrily on it's way down the city sewer system. Then, I woke up the next morning, and everything was frozen. It's back down into the teens, it's spitting snow, just enough to drive you crazy but not enough to play in. The lake in my backyard is now solid enough to ice skate on again, but after acclimatizing to the warmer temperatures, now no one wants to go outside and freeze again, so everyone is sitting in the house, moping. The streets are completely snow free, but the melt hasn't reached the sidewalks yet, so there's no where to ride bikes, and only dirty, icky snow left in the yard. In short, we all have a serious case of cabin fever.
In an attempt to relieve some of the cabin fever, we took everyone on a drive down to Kenai the other day. I found some cheap snowmachines on Craigslist, and thought what the hell? It will give us something to do next winter. So we all piled in the car and away we went. Keep in mind, this is a 4 hour trip, with 2 small boys, a grumpy husband, and a bitchy mother in law. Princess wisely chose to stay home and take advantage of the time alone to complete her science fair project without the assistance of her brothers. The trip down is relatively uneventful, although long and pretty boring. We found the place with no problems, picked up our new toys and headed home. Silly me, I had thought we could take the opportunity to do a little sight-seeing, maybe scope out some good fishing spots, and look for wildlife, since I had not been in that area since I was 10 at summer camp, and nether of the other adults had ever been there. But Mr. Grumpy, as the driver, chose to just turn around and go straight back home, no stops, no nothing. Now, I can't say that he was right or wrong, but I can say the return trip was hell. About an hour into the drive home, the blowing snow started. Darkness had fallen, and visibility was down to next to nothing. The best part? There's nowhere to stop on these roads. No gas stations, no hotels, very few houses, in most places no cell phone service, and just a two-lane, extremely bumpy road stretching out in front of you. The snow started to accumulate, making the roads, already a hazard due to frost heaves, even more treacherous. Twice, we slid all over the place, even in four wheel drive. The first time wasn't to bad, we were going up hill, with a pretty good sized ditch on either side, but nothing a tow truck couldn't cure if worse came to worse. The second time however, we were going around a curve, no guardrail, and only a big partially frozen marsh on either side. Some areas of that marsh are over 20 feet deep. We approached the curve, everything was fine, and then all of a sudden, we aren't turning, even thought the wheel is pointed in the right direction. Thank goodness for the extra weight of the trailer behind us, it really is the only thing that saved us from going over the side. A very tense three hours later, the snow suddenly stops, like it was never there. We have reached the south end of Anchorage, and the rest of the trip home was completely uneventful. So now, no matter crazy we are all going in the house together, I ain't leaving my house again until May.
So, I was fully prepared to enjoy the slightly warmer but sill snowy climate of March, when all that global-warming-crazy-weather-patterns bullshit struck. The last week of February and first week of March, we had temperatures in the mid-50's. That's virtually unheard of here until April. Several days in a row of gorgeous, sunshiney weather. The ice in my driveway melted enough I could attack it with a big stick, breaking out chucks of 6 inch thick accumulation. Half of my backyard snow melted, revealing last years accidentally uncut grass. Of course, the bad thing about the snow melting at the top of the hill in the back yard, is that it all ran down into a giant puddle at the bottom of the hill, trapped their by our fence. So my swingset was mostly underwater, but I bought a pump and a new garden hose and prepared to pump the water out into the front, where it could flow merrily on it's way down the city sewer system. Then, I woke up the next morning, and everything was frozen. It's back down into the teens, it's spitting snow, just enough to drive you crazy but not enough to play in. The lake in my backyard is now solid enough to ice skate on again, but after acclimatizing to the warmer temperatures, now no one wants to go outside and freeze again, so everyone is sitting in the house, moping. The streets are completely snow free, but the melt hasn't reached the sidewalks yet, so there's no where to ride bikes, and only dirty, icky snow left in the yard. In short, we all have a serious case of cabin fever.
In an attempt to relieve some of the cabin fever, we took everyone on a drive down to Kenai the other day. I found some cheap snowmachines on Craigslist, and thought what the hell? It will give us something to do next winter. So we all piled in the car and away we went. Keep in mind, this is a 4 hour trip, with 2 small boys, a grumpy husband, and a bitchy mother in law. Princess wisely chose to stay home and take advantage of the time alone to complete her science fair project without the assistance of her brothers. The trip down is relatively uneventful, although long and pretty boring. We found the place with no problems, picked up our new toys and headed home. Silly me, I had thought we could take the opportunity to do a little sight-seeing, maybe scope out some good fishing spots, and look for wildlife, since I had not been in that area since I was 10 at summer camp, and nether of the other adults had ever been there. But Mr. Grumpy, as the driver, chose to just turn around and go straight back home, no stops, no nothing. Now, I can't say that he was right or wrong, but I can say the return trip was hell. About an hour into the drive home, the blowing snow started. Darkness had fallen, and visibility was down to next to nothing. The best part? There's nowhere to stop on these roads. No gas stations, no hotels, very few houses, in most places no cell phone service, and just a two-lane, extremely bumpy road stretching out in front of you. The snow started to accumulate, making the roads, already a hazard due to frost heaves, even more treacherous. Twice, we slid all over the place, even in four wheel drive. The first time wasn't to bad, we were going up hill, with a pretty good sized ditch on either side, but nothing a tow truck couldn't cure if worse came to worse. The second time however, we were going around a curve, no guardrail, and only a big partially frozen marsh on either side. Some areas of that marsh are over 20 feet deep. We approached the curve, everything was fine, and then all of a sudden, we aren't turning, even thought the wheel is pointed in the right direction. Thank goodness for the extra weight of the trailer behind us, it really is the only thing that saved us from going over the side. A very tense three hours later, the snow suddenly stops, like it was never there. We have reached the south end of Anchorage, and the rest of the trip home was completely uneventful. So now, no matter crazy we are all going in the house together, I ain't leaving my house again until May.
Monday, March 17, 2008
Ooops.
Wasn't I just here a month ago, apologizing for my lack of blogginess? Ai yi yi, what a month it has been. Mostly, a lot of sick. I mean a LOT. As in, all my boys have pneumonia. Even my big boy, John. And it may be very stereotypical of me to say this, but my god, men are the biggest babies when they are sick. Other than a really annoying cough that wouldn't go away, I didn't even know the boys were sick at all, but John on the other hand, well... Between the whining and the PMS-like symptoms, it was pretty obvious something wasn't right. I think the thing that pissed me off the most, though, was the trip to the doctor.
John is currently laid off, meaning he is staying at home with the kids, while I work M-F, 8-5. I had been telling him for about 2 weeks that I thought the boys needed to been seen, the cough was really bad and getting worse. He argued that as long as they had no fever and were just as active as ever, they were fine. As he got whinier and whinier, and refused to do pretty much ANYTHING, because he didn't feel good, I finally just asked him why he wasn't going to the doctor too. His response, "I will, as soon as I find a babysitter for the kids." WTF? They are sick too, and their doctor and his are in the same building. He's sick with the exact same symptoms as them, and he'll take himself to the doctor, but not them? Needless to say, I was a little perturbed. After listening to my boss carry on for a week about the RSV epidemic that's hitting our area, especially those that use the Native Hospital (like us), I finally took a day off work and took them in. And what do I find out? No, not RSV - pneumonia. Two weeks, and two antibiotics later, Chunky is much better. Peanut, however, is about the same. I've taken him in twice, and they all say his lungs are clear, but every night he starts coughing again. He has huge circles under his eyes, and looks absolutely miserable. He's stopped eating for the most part, especially at night. So I'll be taking him in again later this week.
In other news, my mother in law, Dev, has moved back in with us. Last year, she came to visit in July, and stayed on as our nanny through October, when John got laid off. Now she's back, and will be staying until October again. God help us all. I love her, I really do. I even worked with her for 3 years at the same company, sometimes even as her boss. But living with her is a whole different animal. For starters, she smokes. I don't. My husband used to, but since we moved 2 years ago, he doesn't either (thank god). My son is allergic (we think, most of his breathing troubles/rashes cleared up almost instantly after John quit and we moved). She doesn't smoke in my house, but the smell clings to her all the time. And she smokes in my truck - she seems to think cracking the window a half inch is good enough. John thinks I'm crazy about this one, but it drives me insane - I fold up the kids clothes and put them away. I match up all the outfits that came together, shirt on top, pants on the bottom, on one half of the shelf. On the other side, I put all the pants in one pile and all the shirts in another that don't have "matches" but can be worn with anything. She picks out their clothes for the day by going in there and digging though all the piles until she finds something she thinks will work. Yesterday, my son wore the pants to his dinosaur outfit (complete with little dinosaurs embroidered down the sides) with his big red Elmo sweatshirt. GRRRRRRR. I know, in the grand scheme of things, it's a tiny thing. But it's not like she doesn't know that's how I put them away. I have even laid out their clothes myself, and she will completely ignore them. I don't get it. Part of the reason I do it that way is because it makes it easier. Just go pull the matching outfit off the top of the pile, and go. What is her freaking problem?
I have a feeling this blog is quickly going to descend into "my mother in law is crazy and let me tell you why" territory, so I will attempt to keep myself in check on this particular subject. But be forewarned, it may get worse before it gets better.
John is currently laid off, meaning he is staying at home with the kids, while I work M-F, 8-5. I had been telling him for about 2 weeks that I thought the boys needed to been seen, the cough was really bad and getting worse. He argued that as long as they had no fever and were just as active as ever, they were fine. As he got whinier and whinier, and refused to do pretty much ANYTHING, because he didn't feel good, I finally just asked him why he wasn't going to the doctor too. His response, "I will, as soon as I find a babysitter for the kids." WTF? They are sick too, and their doctor and his are in the same building. He's sick with the exact same symptoms as them, and he'll take himself to the doctor, but not them? Needless to say, I was a little perturbed. After listening to my boss carry on for a week about the RSV epidemic that's hitting our area, especially those that use the Native Hospital (like us), I finally took a day off work and took them in. And what do I find out? No, not RSV - pneumonia. Two weeks, and two antibiotics later, Chunky is much better. Peanut, however, is about the same. I've taken him in twice, and they all say his lungs are clear, but every night he starts coughing again. He has huge circles under his eyes, and looks absolutely miserable. He's stopped eating for the most part, especially at night. So I'll be taking him in again later this week.
In other news, my mother in law, Dev, has moved back in with us. Last year, she came to visit in July, and stayed on as our nanny through October, when John got laid off. Now she's back, and will be staying until October again. God help us all. I love her, I really do. I even worked with her for 3 years at the same company, sometimes even as her boss. But living with her is a whole different animal. For starters, she smokes. I don't. My husband used to, but since we moved 2 years ago, he doesn't either (thank god). My son is allergic (we think, most of his breathing troubles/rashes cleared up almost instantly after John quit and we moved). She doesn't smoke in my house, but the smell clings to her all the time. And she smokes in my truck - she seems to think cracking the window a half inch is good enough. John thinks I'm crazy about this one, but it drives me insane - I fold up the kids clothes and put them away. I match up all the outfits that came together, shirt on top, pants on the bottom, on one half of the shelf. On the other side, I put all the pants in one pile and all the shirts in another that don't have "matches" but can be worn with anything. She picks out their clothes for the day by going in there and digging though all the piles until she finds something she thinks will work. Yesterday, my son wore the pants to his dinosaur outfit (complete with little dinosaurs embroidered down the sides) with his big red Elmo sweatshirt. GRRRRRRR. I know, in the grand scheme of things, it's a tiny thing. But it's not like she doesn't know that's how I put them away. I have even laid out their clothes myself, and she will completely ignore them. I don't get it. Part of the reason I do it that way is because it makes it easier. Just go pull the matching outfit off the top of the pile, and go. What is her freaking problem?
I have a feeling this blog is quickly going to descend into "my mother in law is crazy and let me tell you why" territory, so I will attempt to keep myself in check on this particular subject. But be forewarned, it may get worse before it gets better.
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