Fivefingers, fivetoes

You knew I had to try this, right?

So for the last day or so, I've been wearing these off and on around the house, trying to gradually get accustomed to them as their little FAQ instructs. Yesterday I wore them for a couple of hours, including out for a drive! Today, I've worn them for most of the day, except I chickened out before walking the kids over to the dentist. You already stick out when walking with a kid on your back, I had no desire to amplify my oddness level.

Ok, first observations? My littlest toes, especially the one on the right, did not want to be straightened out and separated from the fourth toe. For the first couple of hours, the one toe felt cramped. Even though the separation is slight, the toe is protesting. Not in a painful, bad way, but in a definite, "I am here now and feeling weird!" kind of way.

I love being able to stomp around the house, in and out, with these, feeling nearly barefoot, but not enough to get that feeling of stuff sticking to my foot. I also love being able to feel the ground temperature. I was taking in laundry last night and quickly noticed the soles of my feet getting cool. That was a neat sensation.

Today, some muscles in my calves and my lower back are sore. I feel like it's important to note that it's a muscular ache, not a dysfunctional feeling ache.

So I took them off and put on my Crocs to walk to the dentist, and I quickly noticed an ache in the ball of my right foot. I've noticed that off and on since I dropped a bed rail on my foot a few months ago. I'm not sure if it was actually worse, or I just noticed it more because it wasn't aching while wearing the Vibrams. I may have to ditch the Crocs, though, as I notice it most when wearing them.

It's a weird and interesting feeling, wearing these. I will report further as I wear them more and for a greater variety of "stuff." I plan to try at least a little running in them, but very early in the morning, where fewer people are likely to see my crazy blue feet and stare and ask me things.

I Has ADHD?

"So, what would have happened if the parents had been more paranoid about the child's behavior being "different" from the rest of us lambs? What would have happened to his natural effervescence, his zest for enjoying other people's discomfiture at their expense? What would have happened to his excitement about all things new and novel? We all enjoyed his antics - they were quite harmless; actually we looked forward to it, as they were a nice distraction from the usual drab of rote-learning that school used to be those days."

Is this for real?

This little anecdotal article really rubbed me the wrong way. The tone of the article is all tsking and finger waggling, and yet, offers no factual knowledge of ADHD at all. His thirdhand account of his friend -- who is never identified as having ADHD -- is a useless comparison to kids who have been diagnosed with it.

The traits he lists in his friend, namely creativity and impulsivity, do not a diagnosis make. Believe it or not, people can also be inattentive, hyperactive, or impulsive without it ever reaching the level of "disorder."

There are lists of traits that fall under the umbrella of ADHD, and a diagnosis is only made when there are at least six or more traits persisting for six months or more, and it is causing significant impairment in functioning.

When kids are having significant problems in functioning, a diagnosis (and medication if necessary) are going to bring relief, not soul-killing, effervescence-stealing, or excitement-dampening. There are plenty of ADHD kids who were never diagnosed or treated, and that wasn't a positive experience for them.

So holster your waggling finger. Acceptance of kids' inherent traits IS a great thing. But shaming those who require or seek more help is really offensive. Maybe do some reading on ADHD before you offer the rest of us all the answers.

Sick! Again! Or Still! (with Birds)

I had something earlier in the month already, with the sinus pain and crud and the tender gland thing. That lasted a little over two weeks.

Now it's back! It loved me so much, it just couldn't leave me. Or something. I went to the doctor, who can't find any actual reason I should have tender glands and a sore throat, chills and fatigue; aren't I lucky? So if I remain cruddy all weekend, I get to go for bloodwork on Tuesday. This is so typical. I get into a good routine, I add more exercise into my life, and I get sick.

I only did one karate class this week, and no Bikram, but I think I'll do Bikram tomorrow and just go really slow, and sip a lot. All that sweating has got to help. If I tell the instructor beforehand, then I won't worry that they'll be thinking, "Oh, what a slacker," if I skip a pose or five.

Oddly, on the doctor's office scale, I weighed ten pounds less than I did at my last visit in January. Now, my own scale asserts that I am heavier than the doctor's scale (even without the clothes and shoes I wore at the doc's) and that my weight has only fluctuated within the same five pound range for the last year, and that my body fat percentage hasn't changed at all. So that scale, which has tormented me lo these many months, is going in the farging trash can. Thanks for stealing my $60 with your heap of electronic crap, WeightWatchers.

And, in other unrelated news, we have birds. I told this story to Carrie, because at the time (earlier in the week), it was just mildly annoying, bordering on amusing, and has since taken a turn for the worse.

Our house has a stupid and useless vent running from the downstairs half bath to the outside wall. No fan, just a tube with a grate on the bathroom end, with an upturned pipe capped with a little hat coming out the side of the house. Last year, and this year, a bird nested in there in the spring. Babies hatched. They made cute little noises -- when you were outside. If you went into the half bath, the noises were much more jarring, and after the babies had grown a bit, the bathroom took on this unpleasant "birdy" odor.

We almost never use that bathroom anyway, it's off the mudroom, so we just closed the door and went on with our lives. Last year, the birds moved out when the babies were grown, and the smell went away.

Two days ago, I went down there for some reason or other, and thought it smelled particularly bad. And I thought, "We should do something ... " and closed it up again.

Last night, I opened our upstairs, main bathroom door, and went, "Oh my god ... that is not feathers and poop." I suspect at least one of the birds has ... argh ... died in there, and the noisome funk is starting to spread through the ductwork. We closed that bathroom, after opening the window and turning on the fan, and I expect my husband to start doing some dirty work in that outside pipe this afternoon, which I hope to not be any part of.

We are finding more and more reasons lately not to want to buy this house.

the fifth year

So, I now have a five year old. How did that happen?

Wednesday was her birthday. In anticipation or in an eerie coincidence, both kids took two and a half hour naps that afternoon. That is SO out of character for Ani I thought she must be coming down with something.

We had ice cream cake by request, and she was so excited by her presents. Since we got her the Playmobil Take-Along Dollhouse last year, and it's been such a consistent favorite for so long, we upgraded her to the Playmobil Modern Living Dollhouse. I only got her two rooms' worth of furniture -- since they come separately -- but she'd complained before about the Takealong's lack of bathroom facilities, so I made sure to get that, and the living room set. It's a huge dollhouse and has about 18,000 add on kits available, so it should last her years.

Of course, not being particularly clever, I didn't put it together in advance, so I had to spend the next three hours assembling the forty billion trillion little pieces while two excited kids hovered over me and stepped on me and tried to play in the construction zone. I'll say this for Playmobil: they are very detail oriented and everything fits together precisely.

She also got a bunch of books from us, and a bug lantern. She's really into bugs lately, even having temporarily adopted disgusting things like grubs. ("It's a beetle baby and I'm going to be its mama and take care of it!") I think the lantern was a gyp, but it has a little light and makes cricket noises, so even if it doesn't catch things like advertised, they love it.

Ani also got three really cute sundresses from my mom, and two matching jackets.

Celyn is now asking repeatedly for "mine own birthday!" I thought maybe she deserved to start having half-birthday parties, since having your birthday right before Christmas means you only get stuff essentially once a year. Which sucks. She'll never get, say, summer clothes or summer toys for her birthday, which isn't quite fair. So I think next month Celyn will get to have a half-birthday celebration, even if we are the only ones to get her anything. Poor birthday-overshadowed kid.

Today Ani had her five year well visit. It may just be something he does with everyone, but he kept telling me how perfect she was, beautiful, healthy, yadda yadda. She's grown a lot, not only going up in height and weight but increasing her percentiles for both. (Still on the side of petite and slender, though.)

The birthday fracas isn't over yet, alas. We're having the requisite family party in two weeks -- due to scheduling conflicts -- and (ugh) a kid party in June. I hate kid parties like the plague, but she really wanted one, and I figured five was a big milestone. So, with trepidation in my heart, I have started to plan it.

My brain feels totally preoccupied at the moment with the birthday stuff and many, many, many annoyances related to the house we're in and renting in general. I'm kind of tired. And a little bit sick.

Celyn tells the same knock knock joke, over and over and over. It goes like this:

"Knock knock!"
"Who's there?"
"Bear!"
"Bear who?"
"Bear if you don't let me in! ... I'll poop on the floor!"

Except each time, she uses a different word or nonsense syllable instead of "bear." So it could be "orange," "googly," or "sheep." Whatever. Either way ... I think we have her father to thank for the charming little addendum.

I Hate New York

New York does it again, finds a way to screw people in order to waste their hard earned money.

Hey, New York? The reason people are buying online and not in your brick and mortar stores is because you charge too much goddamn sales tax! In our county, sales tax is 8.25%. Who in their right mind is going to willingly pay nearly 10% extra for the privilege of ... nothing? It's not as though we don't already have the second highest income tax and property tax in the whole damn nation, and for what? The burgeoning economy? The healthy infrastructure? The booming job market?

Well, no.

So the solution, you red tape idiots, is not to force strapped New Yorkers to pay those taxes no matter what. The solution is to lower the taxes, so we don't have to escape to other lands in order to get our money's worth. If we could spend our own money here without being robbed blind, maybe the whole economy would pick up.

But go ahead, you take that extra $50 million and buy yourself something nice. You may as well; don't bother wasting it on ill-conceived solutions to all of our myriad problems.

Breakfast, Bah

I have always had breakfast issues. I'm not a big fan of most traditional breakfast foods. Every once in a great while I'll get a yen for a breakfast food, but it's pretty rare. I'm generally not hungry first thing in the morning.

I remember vividly skipping breakfast before school, especially in middle school. I did it mostly to save time, so I could sleep in longer, but it helped that I was hungry at all. I noticed that on the days I did eat breakfast, I was starving well before lunch. I remember sitting in French class, feeling faint, and thinking, "I'm not usually this hungry now, this is agony." On days I didn't eat, I'd make it to lunch feeling fine, my stomach just starting to rumble a little.

Somewhere along the line, though -- and I think it was in the latter half of high school -- I succumbed to the breakfast dogma. I got into a habit of having breakfast, and of eating when I was not hungry.

I'm thinking, retrospectively, that it wasn't the best habit to adopt.

And of course, when I was in Italy, we didn't really have breakfast. Maybe some espresso and fruit, with a biscuit or two at most. We walked everywhere, as did everyone else, and if they suffered from the lack of breakfasting, you'd never know it.

Finally, someone else questioned the dogma of breakfast. And it makes me think, "Why AM I still eating breakfast?" I'm still not hungry in the mornings. Why am I wasting my time and food and extra calories for some conventional wisdom?

I'm not dissing breakfast. I think you should eat when you're hungry, and if that's as soon as your alarm clock goes off at 6am, that's cool. But I never remember hearing "... if you're hungry," appended onto the breakfast rule. And that annoys me.

So, screw breakfast. I'm not eating it anymore. If we were meant to need breakfast to function properly, we'd wake up to manna from heaven on our pillows in the morning.

So nyah.

I didn't eat breakfast this morning, in accordance with my new resolution, and it's 11:20am and I'm just starting to feel the faintest twinges of hunger.

Interesting.

Wedding Bells

We got word this weekend that my brother-in-law, who is adorable, has proposed to his girlfriend, who is also adorable. I am way more excited about this than I would have anticipated just a few weeks earlier, when we first got wind that this might happen soon.

Reasons for irrational excitement:

1) My husband is going to be a groomsman. Consequently, I might actually get to see him in a tux. That would be a first.

2) My daughters are going to be flower girls. The cute! It burns!

3) Excuse for a new dress and shoes. I almost never have "occasions" anymore. It's also not my family, and I will have no jobs or responsibilities beyond the usual, so I'm hoping it'll be relatively low stress.

4) We get to go to Long Island. I've been to LI a few times before, but only on business, and certainly never to the Hamptons, where we hear the wedding will probably be held.

So, I'm pretty excited for a new big family event. They're hard to come by, especially for me, with my tiny family of one sibling and no local cousins or aunts or uncles, etc.

Preoccupation

Yeah, I've been scarce. This week kicked my ass. Fortunately, it's over.

Friday was our big "moving" day. My brain is reeling from it -- not the event in isolation, but the reminder of how much of a hassle moving is, how much 'stuff' we've acquired, how much of a pain and expense it will be to move it all again, if we have to ...

I'm trying not to think about it. I feel both blessed and burdened by our new acquisitions, if that makes sense. A lot of it is absolutely fantastic, and a lot of it I shouldn't have taken and I feel weighted down with what to do with it.

The good: We have a new bedroom set. It's very large, very ornate, Chippendale style, and I think mahogany. It's from the days when furniture was made out of wood. Somehow, mentally, I didn't realize how large it was. We intended to just replace highboy with highboy, lowboy with lowboy, and it never occurred to me that their furniture could be so much larger than ours. Our bedroom looks so grown up, suddenly.

We also got a sleeper sofa, which is very soft and cushy, and also -- unfortunately -- white leather. It's in the spare room and I plan on covering it liberally with throws.

My daughters got the bed from the grandparents' set, since we already have a bigger bed, and I went out and got them a fun, bright new quilt and equally bright, zingy sheets, to make it less of "grandma's old bed" and more of "big fun happy new bed." Doing this also required liberal amounts of Febreze under a vinyl zippered mattress cover. They seem to like it. Our furniture sets are becoming all mismatched and strange, but I can't bring myself to care. We moved their twin and the accompanying trundle up into the attic playroom.

We also now have some new living room chairs, a second dining room table and chairs (both sets are still in the dining room, bah) and a huge china cabinet/breakfront. It has nothing in it at present, but Annika tells me we need to put things in it, "you know, fancy things."

I got two small tables for the playroom, one will hopefully hold the dollhouse we got for Annika's birthday, which is next week. Our garage is full, including a fridge and a freezer we don't need, and as Celyn would say, "alla kinda 'tuff."

Pictures to follow, if I ever get things relatively clean and organized. But now, because I have to while the kids are shopping with Quinn, I am going to KNIT.

Avoidance

I'm way behind. It is to cry. I have a day and a half left before the moving truck comes with Tons o' Stuff, and I'm just not ready. On top of that, I'm behind on laundry, everything is messy, and just ... waaaah. The kids want my attention, and they generate so much mess ... I'd give up if I thought it would get me anywhere.

It's now been four weeks since I started Bikram. I'm both encouraged and discouraged. Some days it feels much harder than others. Today I struggled a bit more than I had been. I'm finding it hard to stay hydrated enough. I didn't go to class on Monday because I ran out of workout clothes. I know, it sounds absurd. But when I woke up at 5:00am, and realized that all two of my semi-appropriate ensembles were in the hamper, it just seemed too big a problem to conquer with limited morning brain function.

My final complaint is that, as of yesterday, I have not lost a single pound. Yes, adding three or four hours of grueling exercise a week has not brought any weight loss. Dude. Whiskey Tango Foxtrot.

On the other hand, my breakouts have cleared up. I do think that even if I haven't lost anything, my body composition has changed. My clothes fit differently. I have more stamina at karate and better balance. I think I feel more relaxed in general. All of those things make it worthwhile to continue, even if my scale is being recalcitrant. It EVEN claims that my body fat percentage and hydration levels are the same, and I cannot understand how that could possibly be true.

I has theories. But I will save them for another entry.

Catching Up

Oh. My. God. I just killed (I hope) a centipede in my living room that was at least as long as my pinky finger. When I whacked it with the fly swatter, at least a third of it got squashed and the other two thirds ran away. The parts left behind were squiggling madly of their own volition. OMG so completely effing wrong. I know you're not supposed to kill them, they're wonderful little bug hunters and all, but I'm sorry -- my animal instinct is not going let me share my territory with anything like that.

Anyway ...

I've been so busy this week, hence the lack of posting. Next Friday, we have scheduled a truck and movers to go pick up a ton of stuff from my grandfather's house. He sold it, and has moved in with a lady friend, and has no need for most of his furniture or old housewares. I'm in a bit of a panic trying to clear space for things to come in. They're all things we can use, but it's a matter of clearing and refining space, which is really difficult to do when your children are Chaos Demons with powers transcending time and space and the laws of physics.

Despite that, I have tons of yardwork to do as well which won't wait. Today I ripped out half of the front flower beds -- which were all weeds -- planted some creeping phlox and laid new mulch. Whoopee, I know. I wrestled out an old burdock plant and got burrs in my clothes and my hair. I still think there are tiny prickles stuck here and there in my skin.

In the backyard, I added Italian parsley, black eyed susans, and more lavender to my slowly-growing herb garden, and planted collard greens in my square foot garden. I also set up an Earthbox Garden Kit on the patio. I had merely intended to put in some long rectangular planters, but when I saw this thing, I was intrigued. It was really easy to set up, and I'm planning to put a trellis behind it and grow melons in it.

My herbs from last year (chamomile, lemon balm, thyme and peppermint) have all come back gangbusters.

I also just hired an organic lawn service for the season, so we'll see how that goes. As you know, I am anti-lawn in general, but it's not my house and we live in a fussy neighborhood, so this is my compromise. The lawn is in bad shape from years of neglect. The soil is heavily compacted clay and weeds are rampant. The service will lay down organic fertilizer, aerate and amend the soil, and spot kill weeds in the front. The back is crazy with wild violets and wild buttercups and onions and dandelion, but I don't really care and I don't want herbicides back there where the kids roll around. (And I think all the purple and yellow is pretty, dammit.)

There is a lot of work to be done in the yards, and the more work I do, the more resistant I become to ever being dislodged from this house.

Which could be a problem, seeing as I don't own it.

Risk of Ignorance, 78.5%

"[Xochitl Parra's story] is a perfect example of why we need to improve sex education in high school classes and get rid of silly "abstinence only" education programs.

"Maybe if Parra knew more about how to obtain birth control pills and condoms and how to take care of her pregnant body, she would not have had to give birth squatting in a shower, where she could have bled to death."

We need better education, no argument there.

In almost every article I've seen on this story, there has been this big emphasis on bleeding out.

"'They could have bled to death; thank God that didn't happen,' the doctor said. 'She was very clever. She knew what to do. She wrapped the baby up and walked over here.'"

I'm sorry, what?

The risk of postpartum hemmorhage is 4% in all vaginal deliveries. Some vaginal deliveries have a much higher risk than others. The top risk factors for PPH, and their odds ratio, are as follows:

Prolonged third stage of labor, 7.6
Preeclampsia, 5.0
Mediolateral episiotomy 4.7
Previous postpartum hemorrhage 3.5
Twin pregnancy 3.3
Arrest of descent 2.9
Soft-tissue lacerations 2.0
Asian ethnicity 1.7
Augmented labor 1.7
Forceps or vacuum delivery 1.7
Hispanic ethnicity 1.7
Midline episiotomy 1.6
Nulliparity 1.5

Of these, we know she was Hispanic and nulliparous. Those are two very minor risk factors. She avoided the bolded risk factors, most of which are greater than her inherent risk merely by not being in the hospital in the first place!

So yeah, more education is needed, alright. Except, it's not just more education for teens on sex, birth control and pregnancy. It's more education for the general public and doctors about the process of birth. Contrary to popular belief, it is not quite the same as having an Alien spectacularly burst out of your chest.

(Information on PPH taken from the AAFP's page, here.)

Better'n Barefoot

You walk wrong, says Adam Sternberg in his article in New York Magazine.

When the kids were babies and just starting to walk, I was all over the Robeez and the Pedoodles, understanding that bare was best for the developing foot. Thin clad leather was the next best thing when barefoot wasn't appropriate. I still try to keep them in very soft soled shoes and barefoot, although now that they have opinions on the matter, I don't always get my way.

It never really occurred to me, though, that adult shoes posed similar problems for adult feet. The more I think about it, the more it makes perfect sense. I love to go barefoot, and in my SAHMdom, bare feet are de rigeur. (Sorry, FlyLady.) I do like shoes, I certainly do -- I just scored a pair of Naughty Monkeys off eBay for $0.99 -- but I spend far more time barefoot than shod.

Last year, during a five week dalliance with the Couch to 5K program that ended ignominiously with knee pain despite my fancy-schmancy specially fit running shoes, I did stumble across an article about barefoot running. I thought it must feel fabulous -- under perfect circumstances. I imagined running the roads and sidewalks in bare feet, encountering glass and sticks and stones and garbage, during the six months it's not frigidly cold in this climate, stifled a piercing shriek of horror, and promptly repressed the whole concept.

Then I read Adam's article, and saw the Vibram FiveFingers shoes, pictured above. Aren't they intriguing? Almost ... entrancing? My toes wiggle expectantly at the very idea. I'm no runner, but I imagine even walking with these would be an adventure. Why, I'd even try rock climbing or any other previously inconceivable crazy sport with these super soles.

And yet another expensive frivolity hits my wishlist, to languish endlessly alongside Yoga Sandals and the Backnobber.

Win an Ergo

I don't really need another Ergo, I have one and love it. If I won one, I'm sure I could easily find someone to gift it to. That would be awesome. You could do the same!

Win a Free Ergo Baby Carrier from Along for the Ride

Don't Let a Hospital Kill You

Ha! That title slays me.

According to the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention, Josh is one of 99,000 people who die each year because of infections acquired in the hospital. As Betsy McCaughey, the former lieutenant governor of New York, put it, "You don't often come across such a big problem that you can prevent."

This is a good read. Another useful link to bookmark or even print out for your medical file is 15 Steps You Can Take to Reduce your Risk of a Hospital Infection, from Betsy McCaughey's site, Reduce Infection Deaths.

There's another good tip: if you don't have to go, don't.

I wonder, too: who is going to do this for the patients who are incapacitated, or comatose? The patients who don't have the information, or can't speak for themselves?

Responsibility for overseeing medical professionals should not be a burden the patient has to bear.

Unfortunately, it doesn't seem like there are a lot of other options.

Child Haters aren't ChildFree

I love childfree people. I don't mean that sarcastically, I really do. I'll tell you why.

I love people who make conscious lifestyle decisions.

I love people who make socially and environmentally responsible choices. And let's face it, not adding people to the population, especially not even replacement people, has a lot to be said for it. Childfree families have the ability to use fewer resources and their nonexistent descendants don't use any.

I love the contributions they make. People without kids are able (though not necessarily willing) to put way more focus outside of their own immediate family and circumstances. They can make greater commitments to outside obligations and society at large.

Childfree people by choice are usually happy with their decision. So they add all these benefits to society, and they're not suffering for it. That's a beautiful thing, in my opinion. I am always aghast when I hear of people pestering the childfree to have children, or telling them they're selfish, or whatever other stupid completely unconsidered comment that is thrown out there. There will always be people having children; upbraiding people for not having children is absurd.

However.

There is a putative subset of the childfree population who are active child haters. If you stumble into the wrong places on the internet, you will find them, referring to children and their parents by really offensive, perjorative terms, describing their writhing agony at having to share the world with children and parents, whipping themselves into a froth at the most insignificant, minor encounters with this hated and despised population.

You will find long and completely uninhibited diatribes against "breeders" and "crotch droppings." You will find violent fantasies posted in lurid detail about ways to rid the world of these undesirables.

Those people are not "childfree." I'll tell you why.

Because they are actually more burdened by children than anyone else. They wear children like stones around their neck, monkeys on their back, and they do it by choice. They choose to wallow in misdirected hatred, make themselves miserable, butt up against this little thing called "Reality" kicking and screaming. Tantrumming, if you will. They engage in making up fantasy scenarios to rid the world of their "enemies" -- who are largely oblivious to their existence.

They're not childfree. They are childraddled.

And more than a little childish.

They're also bigots. This is perhaps one of bigotry's last stands, the last population group it is somehow safe to spew hatred at. (Because generally, children aren't going rally themselves and file lawsuits.) If you read any child hating diatribe, and substitute the word "black" or "white" or "mentally disabled" for the word "spawn," you will see what I mean. Hate is hate; the group you choose to spew that towards is largely irrelevant. It has little to do with them and everything to do with you.

I support and applaud people in a decision to be childfree. I will not support child hatred. There isn't (or shouldn't be) any "safe space" to incite hatred or fantasize about violence. Childfree people have legitimate complaints about the way clueless and tactless people treat them or comment on their lifestyle; that doesn't confer the right to sink beyond clueless and tactless into cruel and vicious.

If you're cruel and vicious, you're a miserable person. It's not the fault of the kids or the Jews or uppity women or wops. It's all you, baby. Get thee to a therapist, your head needs shrinking.