I want my husband to come home. Now.

Why yes, honey, when your
father comes home I am going
to run away and then go
commit myself. 

As many of you know from my Facebook posts, my husband left Thursday for a week-long trip. To the Democratic Republic of the Congo. As in, 24 hours of travel, three flights and five hours time difference. Things are getting interesting around here, and I can't help but think of all those moms who raise children while their significant others are on their third business trip of the month or deployed for months on end. How on earth do you do it?!


So far we've had lots of treats. Popcorn before bed, ice cream and Wendy's, basically things that I wouldn't normally do if dad were around. As much as I knew I would miss him, I wanted this to be like an extended slumber party type fun time for us as we wait for him to come back. I planned on staying up late, working on projects, bachelorette-type stuff. "Cereal for dinner? Surrrrre!" So far, though, I'm too freaking exhausted at the end of the day to make any of those plans happen, and have done laundry most of the time. Lots of it.

My dear son... what can I say. He has apparently regressed in toilet training or just is missing his dad, I don't know - but he has literally spent most of the time since daddy left pooping. In his pants. Oh, the joy.

For some reason, it seems to happen at the most inopportune times. Like when I'm on the phone. Last night I saw him emerging from the darkness, coming upstairs to meet me, a wipe in hand and underwear missing. Panic. What were you doing down there? Is there more? How did you manage to find the wipes in the dark? I thought. I went downstairs to check and flipped on the hallway light - at which point the bulb blew out. Lovely. 

I've realized how much I need my husband around. Not just to help out with the children (although that's an integral part of it) but other things - like to motivate me to keep up with laundry. And not eat pints of ice cream for breakfast, lunch and dinner. To hold me accountable. And moving. The first day was kind of like a party, but now the fun has worn off and we're going postal. I mean, I cleaned the toilet this morning. I think he's rubbing off on me to the point where I actually clean when he isn't here. Wow.

In the meantime, there's always laundry. And after I did my third load, I came to the horrifying conclusion that there were indeed poop chunks in my washer. Great, now what?

And that's just day two.

State nutrition regulations are out of control

Photo: Jason Antony.

Yet another article is circulating on how public schools are banning bake sales during school hours and even birthday treats because of nutrition concerns. This comes on the heels of an alarming story of a preschooler who, when confronted by state health officials about the contents of her lunch - turkey sandwich, banana, apple juice and potato chips - was offered another alternative instead: chicken nuggets.

On what planet are chicken nuggets healthy? (unless you make them yourself) I'm sure food service outlets who provide this stuff to schools aren't using all natural, vegan ingredients. Heck, they might not even be using real chicken for all we know. And the school thinks her turkey sandwich is a threat? I'm guessing they took one look at the potato chips and that was the end of it.

And now, in the same school, a second mom has come forward to say that her four-year-old was also approached by officials because of her cheese and salami sandwich - on wheat! - with apple juice. She was sent to the cafeteria and given the ubiquitous chicken nuggets again.

I'm not sure which is more alarming: that health officials think chicken nuggets are an acceptable alternative, or that they take such a stance on the matter to the point of overriding a parent's authority. It's becoming an alarming trend in schools - we've been hearing more stories about California schools introducing "age-appropriate" sex education to students regardless of the parent's objections, and vaccinating kids without parental consent. There is a growing presence in the private lives of families by school entities who say they have your child's best interests at heart - but are they taking it too far?

In cases of true neglect, I would hope someone would intervene. Moldy sandwiches (or no lunch at all), bruises and other forms of negligent parenting should raise flags with school officials. But I think this is going to extremes, and makes you wonder what kinds of guidelines the state uses to determine what's healthy and what isn't.

And now on to the birthday treats - this one is kind of sad. Right up there with "holiday" celebrations instead of "Christmas," it sounds like they're trying to take every last ounce of fun out of elementary school and turn it into some kind of boot camp.

Thankfully my son's school hasn't gone this far yet, and I would argue that for the most part parents can exercise common sense in this department. It's hard, though, when so many kids have peanut allergies - peanut products are banned in the classroom because they have snack there, but allergic kids are at their own lunchtime table, which makes things a bit easier. It's also hard, though, when one kid will eat something and the other won't, and you begin to run out of healthy ideas after awhile that comply with everyone's needs. If the state were coming in to complain I'm not sure what I'd do - tell them to do the grocery shopping, maybe...

Although I will say this: because my children's school doesn't have regular cafeteria staff, they serve a "hot lunch" to the kids once a month - with parent volunteers making and serving the food. The person that coordinates the menu does a great job, but when it comes to the dessert portion that parents bring in themselves, it's pretty disgusting. Again, it's hard to find something that is reasonable and yet something they will actually eat - my banana muffins usually go untouched, I'm sure. But cupcakes laden with frosting three inches high is not my idea of healthy. On one hand, you have to let them have their fun, and figure it's one cupcake - it won't kill them. If they eat like that all the time at home, though, that's their business - what are you going to do about it? Surely the school could make suggestions and guidelines - reasonable ones - that help everyone without making it sound like the Food Police is going to show up and arrest you.

One friend has said her daughter's school has already banned birthday treats in favor of toys - which could get ridiculously expensive depending on how many kids are in your child's class. In order to cut costs, the Dollar Store is a great option - for cheap, frustrating toys that break before the bell rings and thus are a complete waste of money. Wonderful - more crap they don't need that breaks easily. I'd rather they have the cupcake!

What next? Will they decide you're an unfit parent because of the lunch you pack, following you home and inspecting your residence? What if you refuse vaccines - will they report you to CPS? You may think home schooling is an option, which many people do in response to things like this - but what if it no longer is? In a handful of countries around the globe, homeschooling is illegal - with "rare exceptions." Can you see how we could be heading down a slippery slope? Are we simply going where they've already been?

Some parents don't know any better - some don't care, and some think that in moderation, it's perfectly acceptable. And it's hard to know what to buy when things that are labeled "healthy" and "natural" are anything but. What do you do?

Another scary trend is to ban recess - which sounds unreal to me. Trapped in a classroom all day, with no chance for exercise - even adult employees are entitled to two 15-minute breaks during the day, depending on the length of their shift. Why not kids? Do we really expect them to sit quietly all day and diligently perform with no breaks, just so we can improve test scores? Or because we're afraid of lawsuits when kids get hurt on the playground?

Running at recess was banned last year in Broward County, Fla. In October, officials at an elementary school south of Boston banned tag and touch football. Elementary schools in Cheyenne, Wyo., and Spokane banned tag during recess. And this past summer, Portland public schools eliminated swings from their playgrounds, along with merry-go-rounds, tube slides, track rides, arch climbers and teeter-totters.

How else are you going to work off all those chicken nuggets the school is serving?

Kids Crafts: Pine cone bird feeder

For awhile now I've wanted to shift my focus somewhat - stop blathering on about my medical issues or birth for just a second and do something new. I originally wanted to do a series of posts on fun kids' projects, for a few reasons: namely, to get me off my butt and do something extra-specially fun with my daughter on her days off from school, and as a way to share ideas on my blog. Neither happened, sadly. LOL Series posts are great, but I am extremely ADD when it comes to sticking with a blog subject, it seems. But it did make me think - while we do spend fun time together, what else could I be doing with her and my other children?

I came across this idea a few weeks ago when I was looking for Sunday School crafts. I thought to myself, doing this stuff with the church kids rocks - why the heck aren't I doing it with my own?! While I have no idea now where I got it from, a simple Google search will probably come up with a lot.

So. Here we go.

If you have a pine tree, have one of the kids go out and collect the pine cones. While I haven't seen any in craft stores lately, (I haven't exactly looked, since we have plenty of pine trees) I'm sure they have great ones. (I do have some nice ones, but they're heavily cinnamon-scented, and I wasn't sure if the birds would dig that.) Also, some varieties produce bigger ones than others - my in-laws have some Chinese/Japanese pine something or other that produces awesome cones, but of course we forgot to collect them when we visited.

I don't know about yours, but mine got quite a sense of accomplishment during this part of the project.

Wrap a length of twine around the bottom of the pine cone and tie a double knot. Then make another slipknot to hang on to it by.

Next, take some peanut butter - I bought generic store brand - and really slather it on there. It's going to get messy, so maybe wear old clothes. It's been my experience that, at least with fabric like carpeting and sofas, peanut butter stains. Really lay it on pretty thick, and smoosh the peanut butter into the nooks and crannies.

Label warning: Peanut butter
contains peanuts, just so you know. 

Dip your pine cones into a Zip-loc container full of bird seed. When I was planning for this craft, I called up my fellow Sunday School teacher in a panic, because I didn't want to buy 800 pounds of expensive bird seed. Her solution: go to the grocery store and buy it in bulk. Duh. Much cheaper, and you only get what you need for the project. Unless you have a feeder and want that much, that is.

I mixed several kinds to get a nice variety - sort of like granola for birds. It was awesome.

After coating the pine cones with seeds, you are ready to hang it up or put it some place and watch the birds to see if they take notice. Of course, my husband asked, "How are they going to get to it?" when he saw how my daughter hung one up from an old post we have in our back yard.

I don't know - I'll let them figure that out.

Celebrity Baby Watch!

I don't know what it is about "celebrity baby bumps" lately that I find so incredibly annoying. Perhaps it follows on the heels of my earlier post awhile back about unnecessary inductions and our obsession with babies arriving "right on schedule," whatever that means. (You mean, our schedule, surely.)

No, I do NOT have a headache, and
no, I am not due "any day now." 

I've written a post about this before - how absolutely retarded the tabloids (and very frequently, the "real" media) sound when they're talking about pregnancy and childbirth issues. Natalie Portman, seen out and about (oh my God, someone call an ambulance! Get a stretcher, she's gonna blow!) in the 'last days of freedom,' as the Daily Mail put it, before her baby is due to arrive. Yeah, she looks like she's in an absolute panic that that kid hasn't popped out right now, there on the sidewalk as we speak, I'm sure. What the photo doesn't show are those invisible shackles growing around her ankles, because surely, facing the impending birth of your first child is likened to a prison sentence.

As far as I've heard, Natalie is due in June. When the photo (at left) was taken, it was still May - and that due date was probably weeks away. Although it's perhaps a trivial pet peeve of mine, it does underscore how completely dysfunctional our society is when it comes to understanding the process of pregnancy and birth.

(Reader comments were unavailable at this time. Probably because they were all totally stupid.)

"It looks like she could go into labor any second."
Yeah, or maybe two (or three or four) weeks from now. 

Another celebrity to meet the unfortunate gaze of the camera lens lately was Pink. Looking equally large as Natalie, she was also labeled as "due any day." (Note: when I originally wrote this post, like more than three weeks ago, it was "any day now," and apparently Pink has only just now checked herself in to deliver her child. Any month now, you mean?) "Incredibly Pregnant Pink Keeps on Shopping" is the headline of this dazzling photo, with the singer holding a bag from a Michaels craft store (hey, she has good taste!). (Doesn't it look like she's shopping with Britney Spears?)

Poor "incredibly pregnant Pink," whom the press are amazed can still walk around under her own volition even at this late stage in her "condition." You mean, women this pregnant actually go out? And socialize with people and eat real food and - gasp! - go shopping? I am making a mental note of when they start saying these celebrities are 'ready to pop' versus when they really deliver.

With my first, I had the audacity to eat at Red Lobster only hours before going into labor and having a cesarean (that made my anesthesiologist really happy, I'm sure). And with my second - I had just gone out the night before for Wendy's (the horror!) and sat eating it at a nasty old picnic table while reading Ina May's Guide to Childbirth just twelve hours before delivering my daughter.

And now, nearly a month later, Pink is just now delivering her child via cesarean because of breech presentation. On the eve of the impending surgery, one article read:

It is not usual for a breech baby to turn within the last three weeks of pregnancy, so it is assumed that Pink will be undergoing the surgical procedure to have their little one removed.

Removed? Excuse me?! Apparently Pink isn't pregnant, but rather is suffering from a seven-pound ingrown toenail. What a terrible way to describe the birth of your baby. And who says "it is not usual" for babies to turn within the last three weeks, anyway? I bet the author (a guy) leaned over his cubicle wall and consulted his office colleague, who probably gets all her information on pregnancy from bad shows on cable TV.

The media and tabloids are even obsessed with women who aren't pregnant but just look it. What a compliment. I can't remember who it was - Eva Longoria, maybe? who admitted she must have needed to lose some weight when everyone suggested she was pregnant (which she wasn't). How nice.

Their current obsession is Katie Holmes, who was spotted out shoe shopping and is apparently guilty of just "looking pregnant." She insisted that she isn't, and I suspect it's just her seriously ugly jeans that emphasize whatever belly she has while making her look square-shaped to boot. Either way, I'd take her stomach in a heartbeat.

Nothin' says lovin' like something from the oven

My son attends a private school, and as part of our "service agreement," parents are required to sign up for certain volunteer activities to help out once in a while. Since the school does not provide a regular lunch, once a month parents get together to make food for the kids. My most recent task over the last several months is to be a "hot lunch" baker and bring in two dozen something or others.

I try to make something relatively easy and fun, and sort of look forward to the challenge. It's an hour here, maybe two, spent baking and then you're done. It's only two dozen; it's not like they're asking one parent to feed the entire school, since I think there are 12 of us who split up the task.

Over the last few months when I'd drop stuff off, I'd notice the same tray each time: 24 completely insane cupcakes, loaded with what looked like a cup of frosting on each one and then some other craptastic piece of candy or whatever on top. It made my teeth hurt just looking at it. Today was no exception, as I saw a tray of them all lined up, ready to go. Not only did they have their usual crap load of frosting, but this time each one held a marshmallow peep perched on top - edible flashiness that screamed, "Look at me!"

It's not like whatever I make is necessarily healthy, as desserts go. This time I made chocolate sandwich cookies (that totally freaking rock, thank you very much) that were pretty easy and fun to do, but not exactly nutritious. Something different, I thought. Another mom, I noticed, brought in homemade chocolate chip cookies and that's totally fine. But who the heck keeps bringing a plate of cavities to school every time? Gross.

Not only that, but they're direct to you from the grocery store down the street. Don't like to bake? No time to carve an hour or two out of your schedule to do it? Then don't sign up, it's that simple. Part of why I like to do this is because I make it myself, a special something that I've whipped up just for them (including those banana muffins I bet no one ate that one time because I'm sure they just weren't exciting enough). Considering the volunteer force that this school counts on to help make the place run, I don't think it's too hard to expect that something actually be homemade, rather than swinging by the store twenty minutes beforehand and spending $100 on junk.

Of course when my son came home from school today, he told me how there were "lots of your cookies left, mom!" and that he (as expected) took a Peep cupcake. I imagine the sugar rush these kids get when they return to their classroom after lunch, and the following crash that will likely ensue. Speaking of my plain Jane banana muffins, I brought those in when hot lunch just happened to be a nice pancake breakfast. I pictured all those pancakes, all that maple syrup, and figured something a little more ... wholesome? might be in order. When I dropped them off, of course another ginormous tray of loaded-up Christmas-themed cupcakes, complete with three-inch deep green frosting, stared me in the face, mocking my mostly-nutritious muffins.

I pictured the scene unfolding much like a kickball reject on the playing field: the first 24 kids come in and scoop up the eye candy first, leaving the "leftovers" (including those muffins) for the rest of the unsuspecting student body. I then envisioned the old fart staff members eating my muffins when no one else would, maybe because it was a good source of fiber.

I don't know who keeps bringing them, but I don't think it's too much of a chore to turn on your oven and break out the whisk. Turn it into time well spent with your child, which is what I have often done in the past (at least when I didn't want to get it done in a hurry). Considering that some of these moms show up for classroom parties with a laptop computer, perhaps they need a few hours to go "off the grid" and maybe crack open a recipe box.

Is extreme couponing extremely nuts?

I used to clip coupons. Then I decided, the inserts they included in the Sunday newspaper stunk. There were more pages of ads for things like Haband! slacks and plastic sandals and bras than for anything I could use, so I gave up. I even made my husband take the Sunday newspaper back to the store once because the inserts were so bad, and I didn't clip a single couple from it. (And you know what? They took it back. LOL)

Groceries are expensive, sure. But the lady on Extreme Couponing strikes me as someone with an unhealthy obsession: she reminds me of those people who shop just for the sake of shopping, buying 42 pairs of black pants only to leave them hanging in the closet, tags still on.

An older friend of mine got me started years ago on coupon clipping, and I grew up with a mother who religiously clipped them and stashed them in a recipe box for trips to the store. I remember when some brand new (expensive) cereal came out on the market, and my friend had a coupon for it. She saved a dollar, whoopee! I kind of thought to myself, if you're not going to buy it anyway, then what good does it do? If the cereal you normally buy is cheaper than the stuff you buy with a coupon, you're not really saving, are you?

Like those coupons around Superbowl Sunday and during the summer - buy 18 packs of hot dogs and save 25 cents! I hate that. I don't need 18 packs of hot dogs, and unless I'm hosting the annual family reunion, don't want that many, even if they can go in the freezer.

Apparently this lady stockpiles stuff (but is courteous and at least doesn't clear the shelves in case someone else comes along) and I can only guess from the photo that that's her home, not the local grocery store. Great, so you are now the proud owner of 400 tubs of Lysol wipes and you saved $14,000 on your annual grocery bill. While it's nice to donate to food banks and give away to friends, it's not really your food bill, is it? Sure, we should all donate and that's wonderful and everything - but if you didn't donate, theoretically, you wouldn't be spending all that money in the first place. (No, I didn't study economics, but this is just how it makes sense to me in my mind. My husband does teach economics, though, so maybe I'll ask him.) Chances are, unless she gives half of her supply of wipes to a friend, they'll dry out or expire before she even gets around to using them.

Sixty boxes of cereal later, she realizes she has to give some away because ... duh, they will expire long before she can begin to consume that much. There you go. I hope you like Frosted Flakes, honey, 'cause I got a really good deal on them at the store...

I remember seeing the inside of my grandparents' bathroom closet once and spied like 50 rolls of toilet paper and probably just as many cans of shaving cream. Sure, when you're 80 you don't want to make all those trips to the store for more TP. That's one thing I can stockpile - actually, in a fog of tiredness or whatever it was I made two trips to Target in about a weeks' time and ended up with two big honkin' things of toilet paper. I think I need to pay more attention or stop shopping when I feel like crap.

So I agree, some things are worth stockpiling and toilet paper is probably one of them. But then comes the next problem. Where are you going to put it all?

I seem to have a premium on space in my house, at least space that isn't currently being used as a habitat for mice. I know they can often chew their way through a bar of Irish Spring in a matter of days, so there goes your supply of bar soap. What about flooding? Fire? Yes, I know those things are rare; but it is just stuff. Stuff you will eventually use (in about a year or three) but really don't need. 

I have a friend who is a bargain shopper much like this woman. Her daughter wears fancy, frilly dresses to church all the time - dresses that her mother buys out of season for next to nothing - and it seems like it's almost never the same dress twice. (Although I'm sure it is, she doesn't wear the same one as often as, say, my daughter - who has a fight with me if she can't wear her favorite skirt every day of the week.) Her husband told me he used to work in retail and as an employee, would get a substantial discount. Combine that with a clearance sale they had one time, and he was buying ties at 50 cents apiece. So he bought 50. I'm like, What do you need with that many ties?! Just because you got a good deal doesn't mean you have to buy a million of them.

Getting a great deal on name-brand kids' clothes is one thing, but I've found there's a nasty side effect to that, too: too many choices means my kids, at least, will latch on to one particular item and not want to wear anything else. It doesn't matter how many nice dresses or shirts they have if they don't want to wear them. Sometimes I force the issue because, hey, I did spend money on that stuff. But sometimes it's just not worth it.

I am reminded of the story of a friend who has spent close to 20 years living off and on in the Congo. He has reported how scarce certain supplies and items were - like spoons. When a group donated supplies, clothing and things like sporting goods to a particular church over there, they remembered to include a shipment of teaspoons, because the people there had few eating utensils to choose from. Apparently the idea of having one solitary teaspoon in your possession is a big deal to some people, and extreme couponing sort of pales in comparison.

I suppose the exact opposite of the hoarding extreme couponing mentality is the way my mother-in-law shops. Born in Europe during World War II, her tri-weekly trips to the store reflect her steadfast ways - and sometimes sparse upbringing - in a community that did not buy things in bulk but rather only bought what they could take home in a bicycle basket. I once asked my husband, "Why doesn't your mom just buy a gallon of milk instead of making two trips to the store in one week?" Because she was raised to often do without out of necessity (my husband often tells the kids that grandma first tried an orange when she was 12 years old), it became a force of habit for her.

Not having an endless supply of certain luxury items like cereal bars, goldfish crackers and even orange juice, I've found, sometimes does us some good in our household, too. I hate forgetting key items at the store when I've just been there, and don't feel like running back into town the next day for something that we can live without. Running low on your favorite cereal? Eat oatmeal instead - it's probably healthier for you, anyway.

While this woman makes it a point not to buy out the entire supply of an item to save some for someone else, not all extreme couponers feel this way, apparently. This kind of buying screams greed to me, with all your attention focused on what you need (or rather, want) instead of someone else. We like Roman Meal 12 Grain bread, and it's usually cheaper than other kinds of bread. Does that mean I need to take all seven loaves off the shelf? I feel extremely guilty unless I leave two or three behind for someone else.

Having a mouse infestation has taught me one thing: use it or lose it. You never know what could happen to your stuff, and after all, it is just stuff. 

More reading:
The Dirty Secret Behind Coupons! Psychology Today
The Problems with Extreme Couponing - Salon.com

Death of a Disco Kitchen, Part 2

The Disco Kitchen is dead and buried. I told the maintenance guy, hands raised in triumphant glee, "We're in the 2000's now! Yee haw!"

The kitchen floor looks great (despite my husband standing in the threshold to the hallway, telling me, "This is a different color than the other stuff," to freak me out). My daughter has already determined that "now my heel shoes will sound even louder!" and now all we need are new countertops, new cupboards, a real back door...wishful thinking.

Somewhere underneath that
beautiful exterior lies the lingering
memory of the Disco Kitchen. 

I am trying to be very appreciative of what I've received, despite being a little jealous: within eye shot of my kitchen window is my husband's boss' house, complete with their new, fully upgraded $60,000 kitchen (paid for out of the company's budget. "No bonuses this year, sorry! We don't have enough money!") When I heard that news, I wanted to choke. "Are you serious?" I asked incredulously. Apparently Mrs. HGTV Kitchen couldn't "cook in there for a family of six." I immediately pictured some of the kitchens in apartments on campus that are no bigger than a nice-sized closet, and the families of four (and soon to be five) cooking out of that, that hasn't seen an upgrade since it was built probably 25 years ago. I also immediately thought back to how, in the late 1980s, our entire house was purchased by my husband's employer for not much more than that. I saw red! I've watched enough home improvement shows to know that that's a lot of upgrade for the money - what'd they do, knock out a wall?! (Never mind, I thought, you don't want to know.)

Quickly evil thoughts of Mrs. HGTV Kitchen were replaced by thoughts of a new problem: a recent infestation of mice. We first noticed it a couple weeks ago, when a strawberry cereal bar had mistakenly been left out overnight. In the morning, some nibbles were missing and it had been moved, but wasn't totally eaten. (Is that a sign they're not as nutritious as I thought?, if even the mice won't eat them.) I sat on the computer one night to hear very loud nibbling coming somewhere from the "Chinese cabinet," as my kids call it. I knew Tater Tot's high chair probably yielded a virtual feast for any rodent who chooses, and I also know that our dear old 100+ year old house was as full of holes as a slice of swiss cheese. The beauty of an old house is coupled with the horrors of all manner of rodents: carpenter bees in the summer, bats in the spring (shudder) and now this. We might as well hang up a welcome sign and pass out engraved invitations!

I reasoned that my house is really no dirtier than it's ever been, and thanks to my neurotic behavior when it comes to vacuuming, I go on regular Crumb Control missions probably twice a day. I figured all those rogue neighborhood cats I used to complain about but strangely no longer see prowling around must be the reason we are experiencing Rodent Heaven at our humble abode. I try to picture Ralph S. Mouse, with a sports car and golf ball for a helmet, but unfortunately only see hanta virus.

I saw this on the stairs the other
day and nearly crapped my pants.
Oh, it's just a plastic triceratops. 

After hearing the suspicious gnawing, I reluctantly emptied out the entire contents of the Chinese cupboard and we moved the whole thing, only to reveal there was a virtual party going on underneath. Someone had found a tasty treat in the form of a couple pieces of old Kix cereal, which accounted for the decibel-level chewing I was hearing: those things must be hard as rocks when they've gone stale. We cleaned everything up and I promptly swooped into action mode, vacuuming like a freak and moving furniture around. I even went upstairs and moved heavy pieces of furniture, sweeping underneath and going nuts. I haven't gotten that much done in months.

My husband had heard them in the false wall behind the bathtub, for which their is a convenient, nasty little crawl space opening into our bedroom closet. I braved it and lifted the door off, flashlight in hand, to reveal something out of Tales from the Crypt: ancient, half-eaten pine cones, large pieces of newspaper from 1976, and a bunch of disturbed insulation. He recently said he heard, from the kitchen, what sounded like me dragging a string of beads across the bathroom floor, so he set out a trap that night, and heard a lot of "activity" (read: something trying desperately to get out or away from the trap, causing a ruckus loud enough for us to hear). He checked it the next day, but the trap was still there - yet the crypt had been visibly disturbed. So we knew something was definitely up. They were getting pissed, no doubt!

Unfortunately since the Disco Kitchen had been uprooted, it meant the workers still had to come back and finish the trim. I mistakenly thought my husband had said he would paint around the removed baseboards first and then they would attach the trim, when really he wanted them to do the trim first. The lightbulb went off in my head as I realized that meant the house was full of even more holes, and I cringed as I went along the baseboards with a flashlight and saw all kinds funky stuff under the cupboards, including what I hope is a big ball of fuzz that only looks like a petrified pile of mouse remains. That is not a skull, that is not a skull, I kept repeating to myself. I spied something that looked like a giant earthworm but I'm hoping was only a long-desiccated noodle from the previous tenant, whom I knew had a problem with ants. (After seeing their cleaning skills, I'm wondering if these aren't just 100th-generation mice who set up camp years ago. Let's not even go there...)

Now on to the basement. My biggest fear is that they will zip their way through my entire stash of fabric, perhaps taking a chunk of my scrapbooking collection with them, making nests out of my prized memories. I know they like to make nests out of piles of messy clothes and other crap lying around, and since I haven't felt like doing much down there in months, the place is probably perfect for their rodent escapades. That's a sign that I must (first wash everything) and get busy on my crafting stuff that I have neglected for too long. Since we have a stone wall foundation in the basement, my husband just this morning reasoned that all the debris and dust we've found all over the perimeter every so often is probably from mouse activity. No, that can't be, I say, in complete denial. Gag. Every time I open a cupboard, I half expect to have one come flying out at me. I look up at some of the open cupboards - you know, the ones the old tenant took the doors off of, for some reason - and wonder, have they been climbing all over my dishes? What about my computer keyboard? Gulp. Just because they don't poop all over everything, doesn't mean they weren't there. I think I just died a little inside.

I've done some research on mouse activity (and thanks to a few FaceBook fans and officially puking at all their horror stories of mice eating each other to get out of the trap and doing all kinds of whacky, carnivorous stuff). They're smart little boogers, and we humans are apparently the dumb ones. Needless to say, the idea of sharing our home with them has made me more than a little paranoid. The other day I went to make tea, and as the kettle heated up, it made a persistent squeaking sound. I cocked my head like an obedient beagle and went in to investigate. Since the spout is just about the right size, I turned the heat off and sloshed the kettle around a little, turning my head in agony as I poured the water out, praying that nothing else came out with it.

Every speck of dirt and piece of sock fuzz looks like mouse poop, and I find myself stalking around the house, plotting my revenge with Chuck Norris-style ideas to get rid of them, most of which involve completely inhumane methods. Okay, you little !@(%^&@s, since you like my oven so much, how about I turn on the timer so it comes on at 2 a.m.?! In my research, I found, among the "unconventional methods," setting bait made of chocolate and plaster of Paris, so they get a nice belly full of hard gypsum. That's even a little too bizarre for me. Besides, I don't want them to die inside my walls and stink up the house.

To prove just how smart they are (and how dumb we must be), my husband pre-baited the trap last night, and was officially freaked out to see that they of course took the peanut butter and cookie bait, as well as the glue trap. "It's missing," he gasped, panic in his voice. "They took the glue trap!" I thought he was going to scream like a girl.

"They might have gotten half stuck in it and taken it with them," I bravely offered, since now I officially know that sometimes they will chew off their own feet in an effort to get away. *shivers* Trying not to picture that, I offer him the following advice: "Move the trap, and pre-bait it again for a couple of days. Then set it." Yeah, me, the expert. "And if you see so and so this morning, ask him if he still has cats. And if we can borrow one of them."

Our next job is to plug up the holes, of which there are many. An old remodeling job in the bathroom (which used to be a tiny bedroom) reveals that some smart guy decided that leaving all the plaster and lathe exposed behind the bathroom sink was a suitable way to leave things, rather than plaster up his work. And under the kitchen sink, where most of them apparently take up residence, there is easy access to pipes, the basement and all kinds of other stuff, leaving them free to roam as they please. From there they undoubtedly make their way to the back porch, where another gaping access hole is, directly through yet another hole in the porch floorboards and out into the free world. (If I over-think this too much, I will die.) I am presently dispatching more maintenance people to fill them all, armed with dozens of cans of spray foam and caulking.

In the meantime, I look out the window towards Mrs. HGTV's house. I silently hope they all come to her kitchen. I know, I think evilly, we'll use those Hav-A-Hart traps and just turn them loose over there. I am evil. I know.

If it quacks like a duck

The idea of quack medicine has been on my mind lately, particularly after hearing about how thousands of people were scrambling to buy up iodine pills on the US West Coast in the wake of Japan's nuclear disaster. In hopes of counteracting any possible radiation from being absorbed by the thyroid gland, dozens of pharmacies have been selling out of the pills, and there already is a shortage of them anyway.

I started thinking back on a time period in US history where x-rays and radioactive products - sold over the counter and with little, if any, warning label - were all the rage. People would regularly go to shoe stores to have their feet x-rayed, supposedly in an effort to get a "proper fit," and some people recounted tales of how, while waiting for mother to finish her shopping, they would leisurely sit and x-ray their feet over and over again while waiting.

In the 20s and 30s, use of radioactive products containing radium, an element discovered by Marie Curie (that would ultimately cause her untimely death due to overexposure) was extremely popular. People would use radioactive toothpaste - "for that healthy glow!" - the thought is just horrifying. The Radium Girls - who worked in a factory painting the dials on watches and instruments, would soften the tips of their brushes by putting them in their mouths - sometimes painting the stuff on their nails and teeth for some glow-in-the-dark fun.

Of course, the big-wigs at the company knew of the dangers of it; they just conveniently forgot to tell those who were working the closest to the material. Funny how that slips your mind ... (To read more about the "Radium Girls" and the horrific consequences of their work, click here.)

As if the toothpaste wasn't enough, radium face cream was also on the market, complete with a very authoritative looking label and a brief mention of "Dr. Curie," whoever he was. No doubt there was no such person, but hey - it sounded good. How could you go wrong?

Even the ad portrays a creepily-lit woman, with some fantastical wonder cream that you're supposed to put on your face and neck - the very area that absorbs radiation - the thyroid. I cringed. How could anyone possibly think this was a good idea? Truth be told, even scientists who worked with these materials knew little of how dangerous they would eventually be - the notebooks of Marie Curie herself, who had worked extensively with radioactive elements, are still highly radioactive to this day.

The authenticity of these products, and the deadly hazards they posed to unsuspecting customers, is why the FDA came into existence: initially, at least, to protect the consumer. (Some would argue about that part today.)

Most of us today would probably say, "How could people possibly fall for that stuff?" I think it's easy, because they still do. I'm sure the FDA has little power to stop people from marketing all kinds of whacked out concoctions and other things, under the guise of being "natural" and healthy.

My mom is retired, but spends probably hundreds per year on various herbal supplements and other items. While herbs in and of themselves do have some merit, depending on what they are and how they're used, sometimes while reading the labels of her bottles I silently freak out a little bit inside. Bovine thyroid extract? I quickly panic and immediately think "Mad Cow Disease!" Of course, so much of what we use, apparently, comes from cow - so if there was a potentially life-threatening risk, we'd probably (I hope) see it in our population by now. A quick internet search reveals a million sites that are either on the fence or in opposition or favor of it - meaning, you may not be able to get any real, solid information.

Hello - scorched
eardrums, anyone?

Another one that used to really get me was ear candling. My mom did that, too, and excitedly brought home a disgusting bag of flaky-looking "wax." I was immediately skeptical, and while I'm no physics expert, can't even begin to think that would be remotely possible, or necessary. Something about creating "negative pressure" - which essentially means, a vacuum - is achieved while holding a lit candle in a person's ear, as the wax drips onto a plate underneath. Apparently people have been seriously burned (gasp!) while doing this, and I can't think of anything that could create more immeasurable pain than having hot wax dripped in your ear canal. Lovely.

Not much of the remains of ear candling even look like ear wax. As a mom who single-handedly wages a war on boogers and ear wax removal with each of my children, I can tell you (from my experience) that ear wax is usually dark and sticky. And that it will eventually, if left alone, work itself out of the canal. Itself. (Did you hear that part?) Not only that, but if you created a vacuum that strong, you'd probably be in such pain from having pressure applied to the ear canal that you'd likely pass out.

Ear wax is good - we know that. Your body produces it for a reason. Some people, like my kids, produce a lot of it, but in order to produce that much it would probably equal the amount two or three dozen people produce: there is no way that much ear wax comes from one person. If it did, it would be so impacted that it would probably be lodged somewhere inside your brain, and the ear drum would be completely covered. But that's just a guess.

And lastly, one practice in alternative medicine that leaves me skeptical is muscle testing. I had no idea what it was (and still am not totally sure, but my BS Detector goes off whenever I hear about it) until a speaker came to our church to talk to us about it.

Yeah, that probably sounds weird. But his story was even weirder.

His wife was suffering from a dairy allergy or some other similarly uncomfortable issues, and they were urged to go to a "specialist" for muscle testing. At first skeptical, they decided to give it a try. Apparently, it worked.

Muscle testing, from what I can understand, is somehow supposed to tell you what substances your body cannot tolerate, for example, or generally evaluate health by applying force to a particular muscle or group of muscles. The idea is that the patient must resist the force that the practitioner is applying, and the differences in muscle response indicate a "weakness" or "imbalance" in the body.

I agree that your body can "talk" to you - by sending you directly to the bathroom if you've had something with dairy in it that you can't tolerate. If you're allergic to something, you will likely know it by breaking out into hives, throwing up, stomach upset or any number of responses. How is, say, holding down someone's arm going to indicate that she's allergic to milk?

The speaker at our church talked about how his wife made miraculous improvement after having this testing done. She could eat at restaurants again, free of embarrassment! She felt great, physically, at least for awhile. Then something changed.

This normally happy couple began to argue. They slammed doors, he said, fighting on their way to church. Something was happening, and they didn't know what - but whatever it was, it wasn't good.

Somewhere along the line they perceived that muscle testing, and seeking out alternative medicine to cure ailments and what not, was negatively altering their relationship with each other, and, the speaker said, with God.

While that sounds like crapola to a lot of people, I've known plenty of people who didn't believe in God or hold any religious beliefs whatsoever to be very aware of an evil presence. Something doesn't feel right, a voice is telling you not to do something because you think something bad might happen, an omen, whatever you want to call it: just a feeling, or a presence. For as much as people like to discount such feelings in their lives, I knew what this guy was talking about - because I felt much the same way about some of the stuff my mom has been into for years.

Her first foray into alternative medicine left me feeling strange - a negative, heavy presence sort of hung over my head every time she gushed about this that and the other. Having her palm read, seeing a "healer," whatever it was - it left me angry and confused every time. Finally I just rejected it outright and said, if this is what she wants to do, fine - but I don't want any part of it. I couldn't even explain it, but it just felt wrong, and shook me deeply to my core. Was I perhaps, even as a teenager, tuning into something more sinister? Was my mom being used by some negative energy, as she likes to call it, presenting itself as good?

Who knows. Definitely something to consider.

I think it's good to accept that medical technology has given us some wonderful advancements in improving our health. Decades ago my sole treatment for my ulcerative colitis probably would have been steroids, and I'm so thankful there are a host of medications I could take, if needed, that would help me. But I don't think it's safe or wise to become a "Pill Nation" like we have, where we think a pill should be used to treat everything. That mind-body connection is important in our understanding that something in our body doesn't feel right, but it can also be very swayed by the power of suggestion. A good dose of skepticism, in either direction, probably wouldn't hurt.

More reading:
Cosmetics and Skin - A Glowing Complexion
The Radium Girls, Radium Jaw
Eben Byers - died after drinking radium water on a regular basis, for "health benefits"
FDA Takes a Stand Against Ear Candling

The Demise of the Disco Kitchen, Part 1

Yes, those are macaroni noodles on the floor. 

I've decided that lately some of the topics I've been blogging about have just been downright depressing. That, and really - I do talk about things other than birth. I've also decided that sometimes it would be a lot easier if I could turn off Professional Writer Mode in my brain once in a while, and not write everything in 'advertorial' voice. Kinda like peeling off those pantyhose at the end of the day and putting on sweats, finally. Ahh!

I told myself I would write about anything that affected me as a wife, mother, as a woman. I think ultimately most women want a nice kitchen, at least I know I do. An ongoing thorn in my side, the Disco Kitchen, as I call it, the culinary hub of my home, is about to get a bit of a facelift.

Notice I say a bit. Not a big one, I guess. But yesterday I was informed that that damned linoleum floor is going to be ripped out.

The heavens are singing! I can feel the vibrations!

After my husband had to swallow his pride and give in to the idea that they weren't going to rip it out and start fresh (which is what the maintenance guy in charge said he would do if it were his home, thanks for letting us know), but rather just cover it up, we've decided okay, fine - just get rid of it. We don't care how you do it. We're so sick of looking at linoleum that predates us that we're happy to get it over with already.

The house we live in was built as the Presbyterian manse, to house the pastor, in 1906. My husband's employer purchased the house in the late 80s from the church, and housed faculty in it. Not surprisingly, it is predictably Presbyterian throughout - with the exception of lovely hardwood floors throughout. Or at least, what would be hardwood - had it not been covered up with circa 1950s-style linoleum. I was hopeful that perhaps no, the maintenance department was wrong in telling me that there was no way the floors could be restored, that no, you wouldn't really need a hydrogen bomb to ply the stuff off.

Once I realized there was no hope, I stewed over it as I sat in church - the same church that used to own "our" house - and stared at the backs of blue-haired ladies wondering, Which one of you was it? Which one chose that crap to cover perfectly good hardwood floors?! I wanted to know. Now.

To further pour salt in my wounds, a woman from church came over and said smugly, "Yeah, I remember that floor." I figure I was must have been about six when that decision was made.

My precious wooden floors - which really aren't that precious - are probably the nicest feature of the house anymore, even though I can see through to the basement in several spots. There are holes drilled (which I've seen in another old house as well) which are no doubt to run TV cable through - my kids love to stuff things, like cereal, down the holes until there's a big pile of Kix on the basement floor. As probably only the third family to live here, we had to wait several weeks before the last guy - who rented a dumpster, he had so much crap to throw out - gathered his belongings and left for Greener Pastures. When I went inside for a quick peek, I was horrified: plaster coming off the walls, dingy paint, and that stupid disco flooring. The kitchen looked like a cave. Not that I minded their eclectic taste in furnishings and old movie posters, but honestly, a good cleaning wouldn't hurt. And it doesn't say a whole lot when the maintenance department was never allowed in. For 20 years.

Like most women, probably, I daydream about the wonderful renovations I want my kitchen to undergo. Knock a wall out here, add on there. A sun room, a play room. A kitchen that's functional. Nothing too fancy, just functional. Because right now, the state of my kitchen would be enough to make Paula Deen's butter turn rancid.

Last night I battled while making 8 pounds - 60+ servings "for a couple hundred!" people - of pasta. Elbow macaroni were everywhere, on the floor, a serving ended up in the sink. As I chopped celery by hand, a giant Tupperware container fell off the top of the coffeepot into the middle of my cutting board. I flung it on the floor. This never happens to Giada DeLaurentiis. I pictured Ina Garten's sleek, pristine kitchen island. I want one of those. It doesn't have to be stainless, or granite - just something other than an old table whose leaves are so warped that everything you put on it slides off onto the floor. (At least dirt doesn't show.)

So, Disco Kitchen, your days are numbered.

"They're coming to take me away!"

Gareth Cattermole/Getty Images

I couldn't help but think of the Tiny Tim song when I read last week about how comedian Chris Rock helped a pregnant woman in the mall when her water broke. I'm sure she was embarrassed - most people seem to be worried sick in the last weeks of pregnancy that something like this will happen. In all my years on this planet, though, I have never seen it happen in public, and don't know anyone else that's witnessed it, either.

Apparently Chris made a valiant effort to make the woman laugh and calm her down after the "pregnancy drama," as the Daily Mail calls it. As she was heading for the escalator, she 'started to go into labor,' and as one eyewitness put it, "She recognized immediately who he was and he stayed there until paramedics came and took her away."

Seriously? You'd probably have enough time to finish your shopping, go home and shower, change, eat a bowl of cereal and then walk around until contractions got stronger, then head to the hospital. As of press time, there was no word on the mother's or the baby's condition, but I bet we can guess, judging by the way things got started.

And don't you love the headline? "Chris Rock Rescues Pregnant Woman." They make it sound like she was dangling from a 40-story window and he just happened to catch her or something. Since when is spontaneous rupture of membranes an emergency? What, were they afraid she'd decide to set up camp in the mattress department and give birth in the middle of Macy's?

Side note: I bet Chris Rock would make a great doula.

The ultimate sacrifice?

Today is what would have been the 95th birthday of Ethel Rosenberg , the American woman who was charged with conspiracy against the US government in her "involvement" in selling secrets of the atomic bomb to the Russians. She and her husband, Julius, were executed in 1953. She was 37 years old.

Being a history buff, I've always been somewhat morbidly intrigued with the Rosenbergs. The other night I was surfing and somehow ended up in the black hole of Wikipedia searches that led back to these two. They were devout Communists, involved in the web of spying and espionage through her brother David Greenglass, who worked at Los Alamos on The Manhattan Project. David's wife, Ruth, was the one who encouraged her husband and Julius to get involved, and so it began.

In the end, both David and Ruth ultimately betrayed the Rosenbergs, implicating her as having more involvement in the whole thing than she probably did. David later admitted that he doesn't remember who did what, but Ethel had no involvement in it - and both he and Ruth gave false testimony if only to save themselves (and claimed they were encouraged by the prosecution to do so). To this day, he still says he has no regrets whatsoever in betraying his own sister, and says he would not sacrifice his wife and children, even though his own sister did so. Arguably if anyone "deserved" the electric chair for their involvement, it was David and Ruth Greenglass.

One thing that touched me in this story was how Ethel was a mother to two boys, who were only 3 and 6 at the time. The same age as two of my children. I pictured her giving birth to these boys, the glimpse of her fate only a distant glimmer. She probably breastfed them, diapered them and chased them around not much differently than you or I. I pictured her mother giving birth to her, and wondered, as many parents probably do, if she ever thought, Would my children grow up to do something wonderful? Horrible? While it was confirmed that Julius was guilty, people still speculate on Ethel's involvement. The fact remains, though: she knew about her husband's involvement in the spy ring and did nothing to stop it. The impact of selling atomic weapons secrets to the Soviets could (still) put millions of lives in danger - Russia has sold , or at least attempted to sell, military weaponry and nuclear technology to Iraq, Afghanistan, North Korea, Syria, and perhaps even Venezuela. Did the Rosenbergs, and others like them, have any idea of the long-term implications of what they were doing?

The young Rosenberg boys read of their parents' stay of execution

I wondered how two people could become so involved in a thing that would endanger their families so much. Surely they had to know that at some point, one or both of them would be caught. Once they finally were implicated and charged, the boys went to live with several relatives, an orphanage, and finally were adopted by another couple who were also Communist. Both boys grew up with normal, happy childhoods despite the pressure of being the children of such hated, reviled people in American history. Both were well-respected in their academic fields, and one son even applauds his parents for standing up for their beliefs and not "betraying their friends" by giving away the names of people they worked with (unlike their uncle, unfortunately).

Not betraying their friends? That struck me. What cause would I believe so deeply in that I would sacrifice my life and leave my children motherless? Even my belief in Jesus Christ, admittedly, might not even cause me to do that - even though the Bible says that believers should love him more than their own children. But based on my beliefs, somehow the rewards in Heaven for having done so far outweigh the perceived good of spreading communism, which has never worked and probably never will. No references I could find said specifically why the Rosenbergs believed so deeply in the cause, or why they got involved in the spy ring in the first place. While admittedly there was, no doubt, anti-semitism running amok in this country and elsewhere, the execution came less than a decade after many Nazi death camps had been liberated. Without trying to sound too crass, I think Ethel and Julius would have been better off leaving the Horn of Plenty that is the United States and defecting to Russia if they thought it was so great. Communism did nothing but essentially destroy Russia in the end, and isn't doing a whole lot for Cuba right now, either. What personal freedoms and quality of life do Cubans have in comparison to even the poorest people in the United States? If communism is so wonderful, why do Cubans still attempt to defect to America?

Some still despise the Rosenbergs for their actions, and others hail them as heroes for their cause. While in the beginning of her trial I doubt she thought she would actually be executed, as the date drew nearer she had to have known it was inevitable, and yet still did not speak up. An extreme case of loyalty? Hubris? Who knows. I wonder if it was all really worth it.

My very first blog giveaway!

As I said on my FB fan page, I'm in the mood to give something away!

Once my fan page gets 50 fans, I'll give away a new copy of Jennifer Block's Pushed to a lucky reader! Read and enjoy, or pass it on to a friend who might be able to use it. It's great reference material for those arguments on birth we often find ourselves getting into, (what, me? Argue?! Never!) and a real eye-opener as far as what's truly wrong with maternity care in this country today. If you have a copy already, pass it on - heck, maybe even donate it to your local public library so there is one more copy of a reliable source of information out there besides the same old same old that's probably been on the shelves since 1986.

Click on the FaceBook box to the left to go to my fan page and click "Like" to be eligible. Hope to see you there!

And while you're at it, check out Jennifer Block's website at http://jenniferblock.com/ .

The Best Answer

At least one of my regular readers is familiar with Yahoo! Answers, where I often go when I'm bored or hoping to encourage that certain pregnant someone who is on the fence about things or just needs advice. I'm no expert, obviously, but I try my best to be forthcoming and honest, as well as offer my personal experience. So my antenna went up the other day when the question "C-section vs. natural birth - pros and cons?" came up!

I checked my email today and found that the asker had chosen me as best answer! This is why I do this - this blog, this advocacy stuff: so that someone, even if it's just one person, can be more informed and know her options. Be encouraged to ask more questions and demand answers. To know that she's not alone, and yes, you DO have a choice.

The mom had a rather bad experience with her first, a vaginal birth, and was wondering if a scheduled c-section wouldn't be better for next time. I wonder if that isn't the reason for some of the c-sections scheduled today - because the experiences that first brought them into motherhood were so downright horrible that they never want to relive them again. What a way to gain passage into one of the most rewarding jobs ever.

She thanked me for my lengthy answer LOL and I even got two thumbs up. Which means people are reading and agree. Which means the information is getting out there. She might never read anything by Ina May or watch Ricki Lake's movie. But hopefully she will have been helped by my post, somehow. Yes, I tend to be long-winded, but it's just so much more than a yes or no answer - it's so multi-faceted and really, the more information, the better.

What I've been doing instead of blogging ... (pics)

I can't believe it's been like two weeks since my last post. I think that with the onset of summer weather, my brain has checked out for the duration. Garage sales are top priority now that my husband's done with teaching, and I've spent so much time outside it's sickening.

It all started when I was mowing the lawn one day. I've been eyeing that Neglected Flower Bed for over a year, and gradually advanced over to it with the lawn mower. Just a clip here, a nudge there. Before I knew it, 75 percent of it was gone. What a liberating feeling.

The Neglected Flower Bed started out as a giant kidney-shaped monstrosity in our back yard that literally took up most of our lawn space. Together with Neglected Flower Bed #2, we had a strip about 6 feet wide in the middle and literally a six-foot wide bed around the entire back and sides of the garage. My poor son lamented that he missed our old house because of the yard. I reflected back on the poor lazy-#*% loser who used to live here and thought, Yeah, once you start a job you should really finish it, ya know? Instead of leaving it for the next guy.

Something more painful than childbirth:
digging out 10+ years of someone
else's crap.

Over the year my husband has dug up more invasive, ugly-looking perennials that I can think of. Entire beds of pachysandra, the most widespread crap ever. In fact, Neglected Flower Bed #1 and #2 had probably the top three invasive perennials - vinca, pachysandra and Solomon's Seal, all of which I see at roadside plant sales and think, "I want to pay someone to get rid of this stuff, not buy more of it!" My father-in-law thought we should leave it and that it looked nice; I wanted to hit him over the head with the shovel and hide the body in the weeds, but decided that would be wildly inappropriate. (After being 7 months pregnant and moody that one summer and letting him talk me into planting ugly evergreens, which I hate, never again am I letting him give me gardening advice.)

So, back to the mower. The stuff reminded me of - sorry, it's disgusting! - untrimmed pubic hair, and I could finally stand it no longer. I have yet to spray RoundUp or anything similar, and was under the insane impression that digging up clumps of carpet-like roots would somehow do the trick. After a good rain, the ground is nice and soft, but those roots are still there, waiting underneath the surface to sprout once again and choke the life out of my new plants. And those trees there? The big ones are ancient pines; the smaller ones with lots of leaves are, I'm pretty sure, weeds that have gone to seed. Lovely, no? That other one in the middle I'm hoping is not a walnut, which are notorious for killing just about anything planted next to them. (Well, not entirely; obviously vinca thrive next to them!)

Two years ago: The Yard from Hell. Pachysandra to the
left of me; vinca major to the right...here I am, placing
an order for 10 gallons of RoundUp. 

I dug up an old picture from two years ago when we moved in: you can see the craziness and major weed trees and other unidentifiable ugliness going on in our midst. After looking at this photo, I'd forgotten just how heinous it looked. The picture's kind of dark, but I think you get the idea.

Ironically the campus that we live on decided the front corner and one side of the house looked bad, so they hired a landscaper to take care of it, but decided to leave this hot mess for us. WTH?!

And now ...

Sorry for the awful window screen in the way... You can barely see an outline of where the Neglected Flower Bed #1 and #2 used to be. It looks like we dug up a swimming pool or something. The brown spot in the bottom right corner is where I'm currently digging. But at least you can see - and get to - our garage now. Who knew there was a nice little brick and stone path under 20 years of crap?

So that's where I've been...just to prove to myself that I do have other interests besides birth. :D

Join me on FaceBook! (Another shameless plug)

Yes! I'm on FaceBook! Isn't it scary?

If you're a fan, I invite you to join The Deranged Housewife's Fan Page . Together, we will join forces to infiltrate the birth community! Or at least that's what I envision, anyway.

Feel free to "friend" me if you like as well! Whoopee! Ironically when I added my first "friend" the captcha word was "effacing." Is that a good sign or what?

Do-It-Yourself Pregnancy

*Disclaimer: I am not suggesting anyone be reckless, especially when it comes to their health or the health of their unborn baby. However, it is your body, and your baby, and you can - and should - essentially be able to do with it what you want. (Although try arguing that in a court of law...)

Anyway, I don't know what got me thinking about this lately, but while I was pregnant with my last I often would sit and daydream while waiting in the OB's office. What if I didn't seek prenatal "care"? Granted, I'm not exactly a good low-risk candidate, at least by my doctor's standards. After waiting upwards of an hour for one freaking five-minute visit where he just blows me off and his nurses do most of the work, I'd think, Why the hell can't I do that?!

Play along with me here for a moment. No one (usually) is there when you conceive. And you can walk into any drug store - even The Dollar Tree, if you're patient enough - and get a run-of-the-mill pregnancy test as cheap as ... well, a dollar. The ones your doctor's office uses really aren't any different (in fact, they probably got a better deal by ordering in bulk). So bam ... you're pregnant! You found out that information all by yourself, without any help!

Playing Devil's advocate, let's assume you have a healthy, normal pregnancy. No problems, no indications for a c-section. You've found out you're pregnant; the next step is to start taking your $4.99 a bottle prenatal vitamins from Walmart (or Target, if you prefer). While you're there, you can pick up a pretty good quality automatic blood pressure cuff for about $80 and you're set to take your blood pressure each month (heck, every day, if you want!) from here to eternity. Doing it yourself means you can get comfy in any position of your choosing, in the comfort of your own home, not having to worry about a nurse breathing down your neck asking you stupid questions like "Did you have a bad day?" when your readings are a little on the high side. (Whenever mine were, no doctor of mine ever offered me to lie down on my left side and rest for a few moments, which can sometimes help lower your BP.)

If you're like almost every woman in America, you have a bathroom scale. You'll be able to tell, just like anyone who can read numbers, if you're gaining weight and how fast you've gained. A good one will probably run you $30 or so, so chuck one in the cart while you're at Walmart. You can even get a fancy one that tells you body mass index and all that crap. Even your doctor's scale can't tell you that!

When it comes time to do the sugar test for gestational diabetes, you can go back to Walmart and pick up a home glucose monitoring system with test strips, if you choose. Diabetics do this all the time, and you can argue that really, if your pregnancy is uncomplicated, you'd only have to do it once if you were seeing a doctor. For probably less than $20, a box of urine glucose strips can detect protein in your urine, the same as it does at the doctor's office. (Tests you can take yourself, "in the privacy of your own home," touts the advertisement...)

Some argue that home glucose monitoring kits aren't as accurate, but in the case of the diabetic patient, they seem to work just fine for millions of people on a daily basis. They do have to follow certain manufacturing and accuracy standards and really, some would argue that perhaps the doctor's test isn't that much better. (Many women are often asked to repeat the one-hour test with a three-hour followup, often when the results are 'borderline' or even negative; one woman I know told me her doctor routinely ordered the three-hour test immediately, regardless.) While many doctors order the traditional nauseating 'flat orange soda' drink before a lab test, many OBs tell the patient to eat a candy bar or drink a glass of orange juice beforehand. Candy bar - less than a buck. Orange juice - around $3. Glucose tolerance screening test - $75-$85 (or more, probably depending on where you are). Think of the savings!

By now you're probably far enough along that you could, if you wanted to, have an ultrasound. Whether it's for fun, to check the gender, or look for fetal anomalies, you can have them done at "special" ultrasound places for a few hundred bucks. Normally I wouldn't recommend doing this because it's not a professional medical technician, and if they do see something wrong, they are not equipped to tell you so. But if you want to know that it's a boy, there you go. Maybe a quick check of baby's positioning just to make sure, even though Bub could still turn at the last minute. (But this is a normal, uncomplicated pregnancy, remember.)

If you're patient, you can just refuse the ultrasound and wait until the baby's born. After all, many reason that there are really very few things that can be done prenatally as far as birth defects are concerned, and many people just like to be prepared ahead of time. Assuming that you're having a normal, healthy pregnancy, this probably wouldn't even be a concern for the majority of the population. And you don't have to worry about hearing pressure from a care provider about what you'd plan on "doing" should something appear to be wrong with your baby. Added bonus!

The rest of the time is spent waiting. You can cruise through Babies 'R Us and while you're picking up the last-minute essentials, splurge on a fetal doppler monitor. Granted, some question the accuracy of these devices too, so remember it's just in fun. After about five months, you can even use a stethoscope to possibly hear the heartbeat, so maybe look for one at a garage sale in your spare time.

Now comes the hard part: labor and delivery. If you're smart, you'll stay home as long as possible until you feel that labor is imminent. If you're really brave, you'll have a do-it-yourself labor too, which many people have done. (My neighbors, a couple who are probably in their 50s, were planning an assisted homebirth in the 1970s and waited patiently for their doctor to arrive. When she didn't, dad had to step in, catching a healthy baby boy who lived to re-tell the tale.) Lots of people have unplanned unassisted births, spontaneously delivering while on the toilet, on the bathroom floor, in the car, on airplanes, and other random locations and do okay at it. (Notice how you'll never hear people tell you how dangerous unassisted birth is it were by accident: why not suggest confining a pregnant woman to a hospital bed once she hits 36 weeks, just in case?)

Option B would be to labor at home and call the fire squad. No doubt they have basic medical training when it comes to delivering babies, and they even get a fancy badge if they've done so, too. They also have quick access to medical equipment, just in case, but remember - this is a normal spontaneous delivery.

Option C would be to rush to the hospital when birth was imminent, ready to push. No time to argue over the over-administration of Pitocin, pushing flat on your back, or threatening to cut an episiotomy - just push that baby out! I'm sure this'll make you popular with caregivers, so beware.

If you should choose option A or B, you'll eat your own food, wear your own clothes, and sleep in your own bed. No free formula feeding bag, no blood pressure checks every hour on the hour when you're told to "rest." No Pitocin to induce contractions of the uterus; you've got boobs that can do that automatically, and for free!

Sure, I'm being facetious. But we've all heard stories of women who didn't know they were pregnant quite far into a pregnancy, sometimes even up until delivery, and manage, somehow, to have healthy babies. How does that happen?! They didn't see a doctor! Now that basically everyone is labeled high-risk (even though they really aren't), how can we possibly be trusted to care for our own bodies? If diabetics can do it, and people with other illnesses, (and pregnancy isn't even an illness) then why can't we?

I know we can't see into our crystal ball, but really, what percentage of pregnancies and deliveries are basically complication-free, spontaneous vaginal deliveries with *really* no need for intervention? Probably more than your doctor would like to admit.

Cleaning "house" and other cool stuff

I've been meaning to get around to doing this: accepting my very first blog award from one of my "readers"! (Readers ... wow. ... makes me feel so important, saying that.) When I first started this blog, I wondered if I would have even a reader.

I have officially received the ...wait for it ... Honest Scrap Award! Woot! (Better than Honest 'Crap' Award.) And if Heather hadn't told me in her post what I was supposed to do when I received it, I would have no freaking clue! I'm so new to this stuff.

Heather, a "reader" at http://qtberryhead.blogspot.com/ has her own cool blog, "Tact is For People Who Aren't Witty Enough to be Sarcastic." I can see why Heather follows my blog, I think, not just because she's a fellow "Birth Nerd," but because she sounds as sarcastic as I am. I also think she's the bees knees because she was probably one of the first to regularly visit and leave comments, which made me feel so loved! So read! So ... on the map! Thank you, Heather, for making me feel like I knew what I was doing!

As a result, I'm supposed to reveal seven things about myself that I haven't already blabbed about on my blog. That sounds pretty difficult, since I tend to be long-winded and talk incessantly. Some of which I wondered, if I really revealed to you, would make my readers instantly unsubscribe and run. I've decided to take my chances.

*sigh* Let's see. Seven things? That's a lot.

1. I am a registered Republican. (figured if I was going to piss off readers, might as well get it out of the way right off the bat)
2. I have never smoked anything, or been drunk, ever. (told ya I was boring - which might explain the Republican thing)
3. I have an unnatural fear of horseshoe crabs.
4. If I had the money to blow, I would buy a trumpet. (har har - no pun intended!)
5. I do not recycle and probably never will (at least not in the conventional sense, anyway).
6. I taught myself how to type when I was ten. (See? Aren't I exciting?)
7. I have four blogs total (although one is for close friends and family only).

And now for the last part of Heather's challenge: I must nominate other bloggers.

1. First and foremost - like she needs it - is At Your Cervix , probably one of the best blogs I've read that talks about birth (and other things) from a nurse's perspective. And if I were delivering a baby, I'd want her to be my nurse. Not only that, but there has been more traffic directed from her site than I can possibly imagine, and I can't thank her enough. Since you're all coming from there anyway ... you can probably find your way back. LOL

2. Next up: The Unnecesarean . Jill and company have basically coined the phrase, and unfortunately, so many of us can relate. Here are our stories, our heartaches, our triumphs. Through this site, millions of women are reached and can now probably put a finger on the 'missing link' that was their cesarean birth experience, as well as connect with other women who have, too.

3. A new blog (to me) that I found not that long ago: Whoz Your Doula . Just looking at her picture makes me think, 'If I were pregnant, I would love to have this lady attending my birth!' In my experience, having a doula was awesome, and I recommend it to everyone who is pregnant. Plus, you can follow Whoz Your Doula Birth Services on FaceBook.

As far as cleaning "house" goes, I have been meaning to change that stupid header for the longest time. Enter my pseudo graphic design skills. I do volunteer my self-taught (I use that word lightly) talents for my son's school, and my current project is a fun poster for the upcoming seventh grade production of Charlotte's Web. Ooohh. But at least it's one of my favorite stories.

In addition to the new and improved header (that's only half-done), I am considering changing the background to black and going to a three-column format. I have this idea in my head that I could design banners and such for the entire third column, free to pass on and easy to see right when you log on. Sort of like a public service announcement. LOL I'm such a nerd. I did "design" the "Once a cesarean is not always a cesarean" button on the left, in case anyone's wondering, and still need to add attribution for the poor chap whose photo I used. I have some other fun ideas I'd like to pass along, as soon as I get time...