So about three years has passed in Virginia and the company that Mike's at is pulling operations out of Virginia and have offered us the option to move to Tennessee. We like the education levels here, especially for our gifted and talented daughter and that whole idea kind of shrivels the teacher in me. I'm sure it'll be good, but I'm thinking Virginia sure looks better on the education lists than Tennessee.

While one of my oldest online friends lives there and I'm dying to go there and see her, I also have strong considerations regarding living in the heart of the Bible Belt, where the bible thumping and revivals can rival the rhythm of a drum circle in Davis. Where in Utah, there's a Mormon church on every corner, the Baptists have the street corners covered here.

I also think it defeats a lot of the reason for moving here initially. I wanted to be able to see my parents a lot more. Right now, I'm getting to see them twice a year at minimum. I like that a great deal. With my father's diagnosis of Parkinson's, getting to see them is something I look forward to each and every time. Despite the fact that my mother is a little prickly, I've gotten used to it in my old mellowing age and I'm good with it.

Living in Tennessee will take us pretty far out of their travel routes and while we can drive and meet them somewhere, it's still going to suck. I like being able to cook for my parents. It's one of my favorite things to do.

We're trying to set up to fly out to Tennesee this weekend. Russell can watch Genny and I'll cook spaghetti ahead for them, so they'll have dinner for a few nights. I've never been there. Nashville isn't my idea of a good time either, so I guess I'm going to have to crank up the Dixie Chicks and suck it up.

Man, have I had it.

I live in a state now, that has mandatory ultrasound before someone can obtain an abortion. They also have counseling and all this other crap because apparently women are too stupid to make an educated choice.

No, I don't think that every pregnancy should result in an abortion, clearly. I have two kids. I just think that every pregnancy should be wanted. Children deserve to be wanted, loved, cherished, spoiled, and cared about.

I'm reading Jeff, One Lonely Guy, which contains a litany of lonely people who suffered abuse as children, among other things. I know that 20% of children in American have "hunger issues." My husband makes twice the average income for our area, but I've been to the food bank. We all know someone who was abused as a child. We all know someone who was molested. Numbers from the Centers on Child Abuse indicate that incidents of child abuse are increasing.

Yet attacks on abortion rights are also increasing.

It makes no sense to me at all to force women to have unwanted pregnancies. Yeah, that's a good idea. Suddenly, money is going to drop out of the air, groceries will magically appear in the fridge and the child will be clothed and fed and loved -- that isn't even happening before the kid is born. I can't imagine some divine magic wand is being waved. When I hear adoption, I simply want to puke. Are you kidding me? How many children of color are waiting adoption? How many special needs children are waiting adoption or are in foster care? I think that people who are willing to endure all of the risk and difficulties, most pregnancies are wrought with to give a child up for adoption are awesome, but I think that if a woman is going to go through the risk and physically daunting issues of pregnancy, that carrying a pregnancy to term should be what she chose to do.

Choosing something let's you own that decision. Choosing to continue a pregnancy means you're willing to contend with the outcome of that pregnancy -- the baby. That could be keeping and raising the child. That could be giving it up for adoption. However, I also think that an abortion has outcomes, too. I think that choosing to have an abortion means being willing to grieve for the child you're not having. I realize that not everyone gets pregnant at the drop of a hat and that they are often jealous of women like me who basically have to just bend over in a strong wind and when they stand up, they're pregnant.

I just think that women should be able to choose. Because they know what they're going to have to deal with -- the decreased ability to make money compared to a man, the cost of raising a child, the sadness at ending a pregnancy, the need to have adequate care for themselves and their pregnancy.

I think every pregnancy should have adequate pre-natal care. Every woman planning on carrying her pregnancy to term should have pre-natal vitamins. Every woman should have affordable regular ongoing care during her pregnancy and after her delivery and be able to afford it. My friend just had a premature infant who got necrotizing entercolitis -- basically, the baby had trouble figuring out food, so her little intestines started eating themselves. She was hospitalized for a month in the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit (NICU). My friend can't afford to go to her doctor for after-birth care because of the cost. She falls just above the cutoffs for any help. I just had to buy groceries for her, so she could get by. She spent all her money paying the co-pays for her daughter to get care. The hospital bill for her daughter's care came in a box and was two inches thick.

I didn't plan my children. I have trouble with current methods of birth control. I wanted my children though. They are loved and they know it. They know they can come to us because they do come to us.

They are beautiful. I am blessed. Everyone should feel like that about their pregnancies. If they don't, they should have the right to utilize other options such as adoption or abortion and should be able to do so without being judged. Every person knows what they can and can't handle. Let God handle the judging.

I am so angry right now, it's not even funny. I'm living in one of the handful of states that is considering some of the most vile and disgusting legislation to come about in a long while.


I'm writing letters to legislators:
My husband and I are proud parents of two children, R. (also a voter) and G., both of whom have special needs. You would think that would mean we are writing a pro-life letter, but we are not. We are very strongly pro-choice and the reason is that we think that every child should be a wanted child. My children have been wanted and loved. With nearly 20% of American children dealing with hunger issues, increasing rates of child abuse, and a world population burgeoning well beyond our global capacity to support it, I think that having wanted children is essential. Loved and wanted children don't typically grow up to be burdens on society. Abused and neglected children have different statistics.

I am writing to you to let you know that my husband and I are deeply saddened by the turn the State of Virginia has taken with the consideration of recent bills, specifically, HB 1, HB 62, HB 261 (incorporated into 462), SB 484, HB 1285, and HB 464.

HB1 is disturbing. Most states have fetal murder laws, which exclude abortions, such that any act of violence that intentionally kills a fetus (and by addition, usually the mother) is wrong. The idea of that law was to protect women against violence, as well as their wanted pregnancies and came about in the aftermath of specific heinous crimes of violence against pregnant women, where women were brutally murdered, often in an attempt to also kill their fetuses. HB1 is trying to ban abortion in its own way by defining a "person." I am writing to ask you to absolutely refuse to support HB1. If Virginia needs a law on fetal homocide, then craft one that specifically excludes abortions. Women should not be forced to carry a pregnancy, if they do not want one, but they should be protected against violence against them and their wanted pregnancy.

HB 62 is to repeal funding for abortions for low-income women in the instance that their child is going to be born with a gross and totally incapacitating physical deformity or mental deficiency. My son has cerebral palsy and has many of the accompanying health conditions. Suffice it to say, that we have teetered on the edge of bankruptcy for years trying to keep him alive and well, a burden we have carried willingly. A child should be wanted in any circumstance. Forcing someone who is already struggling to make it from day to day to have a child that will be a huge financial and emotional burden is unreasonable. Disabled children suffer enormously higher instances of abuse and neglect than almost any other population of children, according to the American Association of Pediatrics. (http://aappolicy.aappublications.org/cgi/content/full/pediatrics;108/2/508). Additionally, the financial costs to the State will be enormous at best to support a severely incapacitated child, especially, if that child ends up institutionalized. If a woman sizes up the situation and knows she can't handle a child who is incapacitated either physically or mentally, then trust them to make the choice that's best for them. Every child should be wanted and loved. Every child deserves that.

SB 484 and HB261/462 is simply disgusting and unethical. Any woman, who is considering an abortion in the State of Virginia already has to go through counseling that is to discourage them from having an abortion. Many of these "counseling" services show pretty graphic videos. I think, if after viewing one of those, someone still wants an abortion, then they probably have a particularly good reason to. Whether a woman needs an intra-vaginal procedure, where a wand is inserted into her vagina, should definitely NOT be a decision the State of Virginia should make, but should be left to qualified medical professionals! Forcing the insertion of anything into a woman's vagina is called, "rape." Requiring that a woman be forced to go through a medical procedure to further force the issue down her throat by essentially forcing her to see or hear the heartbeat of a fetus is just plain insulting. She's already getting counseling. I'm appalled that the Legislature of Virginia thinks it has the medical background to know and thus, require medical procedures and has singled out women for all of these sudden flashes of blanket medical knowledge.

HB 1285 "prohibits an abortion after 20 weeks gestation unless, in reasonable medical judgment, the mother has a condition that so complicates her medical condition as to necessitate the abortion to avert her death or to avert serious risk of substantial and irreversible physical impairment of a major bodily function." This seems to be completely unnecessary because 90% of all abortions are performed in the first trimester, i.e., the first 3 months of pregnancy and the remainder are typically only performed in those circumstances. This has the State trying to be involved in a process, which clearly should be up to the woman and her doctor. I think the language I find most upsetting here is this: "the physician is required to terminate the pregnancy in a manner that would provide the unborn child the best opportunity to survive." It's a felony if the doctor doesn't try to make the unborn fetus survive. What about the mother?!! The mother is alive and breathing! If the woman is having the abortion at this late date, it's because she's in some kind of danger, not because she doesn't want to have a baby. The way in which the procedure is done should be up to a medical professional and the woman -- NOT the State of Virginia!

HB464 reads along just fine until you get to the abortion language. Again, I think healthcare for women should not be dictated by law. The problem with disallowing coverage of abortion under healthcare in this manner, is that someone who constitutes the "working poor," who might be living check to check, and be paying for healthcare, as we all are, and may not be able to afford an abortion nor a child. Healthcare should cover all aspects of health and health risk. You risk children's lives by bringing unwanted children into this world! My mother worked in a law office and often spoke about having to listen to the despicable things people did to abuse their unwanted children. Please make sure every child in Virginia is a wanted child!

Every child should be wanted. Abortion is a awful choice, but it should be a choice left between a woman, her doctor, and God. I can not imagine that it is anyone's business what occurs in the vagina or uterus of any woman, other than herself, her doctor, and God. We teach our children that their private parts are theirs and are called "private" for a reason. Because they are private, they are expected to keep them private.

In summary, we expect private matters to be kept private. Let medical professionals make the medical decisions that are best for their patients. There are plenty of malpractice laws and lawyers. Additionally, we expect that every child in Virginia should be a wanted child. Children everywhere deserve to be wanted and loved. Virginia should be no exception.

Sincerely....

---

You bet I'm sincere. And now, 22 years after I protested in D.C. the last time about these same issues. We are here again, Marching on Washington.

This time, I get to bring my kids with me and hopefully, this time, stupid narrow-minded legislators will listen because I don't want to be doing this pushing 70.

Rain in December seems kind of awkward -- like Mother Nature figured we could use some water, but forgot to make it cold. So you try to be grateful, but you're really wishing she'd remembered the cold and snow.

I miss snow in all of its textures and Christmas kind of seems odd without it.

Tahoe is far away.

I tried working a very physical job for about a month. I gave notice because every inch of me ached and my brain couldn't work correctly for all the pain and brainfuzz.

I find I miss being active, but I don't miss the pain.

I need a pool.

So a couple friends send me this link and after having read through a lot of the Cleveland Clinic's menopause book, I think, "Holy, crap! It's the mother ship!"

For the sake of all that is holy and several things that are not, I've been buying soap and facial creams. Me, the woman who doesn't wear rings with protruding rocks on them because I know when I was doing one of the very manual things I do with my hands like garden, dishes, etc., that I'd lose the damned rock -- I've been buying moisturizing soap and facial creams.

I know, right?

And add to that, my son's recent arrival into adulthood on his eighteenth birthday and I'm starting to realize that my life no longer has to circle completely around my kids, their appointments, their after school activities, and all that stuff that I have essentially blown off working a 9-to-5 job for, for so many years. Like what? I have not a flipping clue. I'm starting by taking a 40 hour a week job. It's not probably one I am physically capable of handling with fibro, too much weight, and crappy knees, but I figured that it's a start and that it might lead me places as one thing leads to another and that at the end of it, I might find where I'm going. But I could actually do stuff I want.

I even told the boy when asked if I'd drive into town (half an hour)and pick him up from work and then driver further into town (another half hour) to take him to school (then get to drive back home for an hour, only to have to go back to pick him up at school again at 930PM for another two hour round trip)that I'd give him the $6.50 to take the bus. When he didn't beg me to death, I wondered what the hell happened. I resented that he figured it out his big self (a little)and then realized that this is the beginning of something: Freedom.

Then I came across the idea of throwing the leg of lamb out the window. I realized that I've been feeling like that some.

I still have the girl. There will be some kind of sports practices and menarche and boys and all those other things, but those will blur compared to weekly runs to the doctor's office for allergy shots for the past 2.25 years, occasional emergency room visits and the latest health issue to afflict the boy. Some of the strain of being the parent of a very special needs child is lifted.

He can take the bus. (*sound of meat breaking glass and hitting pavement*)

One Art
by Elizabeth Bishop

The art of losing isn't hard to master;
so many things seem filled with the intent
to be lost that their loss is no disaster.

Lose something every day. Accept the fluster
of lost door keys, the hour badly spent.
The art of losing isn't hard to master.

Then practice losing farther, losing faster:
places, and names, and where it was you meant
to travel. None of these will bring disaster.

I lost my mother's watch. And look! my last, or
next-to-last, of three loved houses went.
The art of losing isn't hard to master.

I lost two cities, lovely ones. And, vaster,
some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent.
I miss them, but it wasn't a disaster.

---Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture
I love) I shan't have lied. It's evident
the art of losing's not too hard to master
though it may look like (Write it!) like disaster.
___

Recently, as I've been setting my financial ducks in a row for filing bankruptcy, I've been confronted over and over again with what I've lost and have been grieving it some again.

He lost his job, so we lost our car and we lost our house. As a result, I miss stuff. I've mastered the art of losing, but the grief, I haven't got a handle on yet.

I miss my friends. I miss my house's view of the Washoe Valley and the nightly view of the sun setting on the Sierras. I miss dry desert air. I miss my van. I miss the friends my kids had. I miss the things I know and the people who knew me and my family. I miss having enough money to pay bills. I miss being able to pay for what my kids need.

I miss having security.

You realize at some point that you dislike someone enough to be apathetic to their existence. I'm at that place with my mother-in-law.

Mike asked to borrow money at the beginning of the summer because we had to pay the bills and he hadn't been doing his contract work until way too late and I hadn't been working because I was taking care of Russell. I was mortified, but I had been begging Mike for months and he was kind of passive aggressive and avoiding the whole thing. I don't know why, he just didn't.

I told him we could really use it and he just didn't do it until I finally explained the specifics of the situation and he finally got off his duff and started putting hours in the contract stuff. The contract stuff is really whatever time he wants to put in and it was something I told him he had to do for us to make bills, if I couldn't work because of Russell's asthma.

I got bitched out by her for not having a job and being frustrated with Mike for not doing his contract work.

She didn't ask about the kids and how they're doing. She didn't know when the Bear was in the hospital on suicide watch. She may be emailing Mike, but I know he doesn't communicate much.

I don't mind most of his family, but she's kind of like...Evil Incarnate.

My diabetes is getting worse, which upsets me three ways to Sunday.

My most recent HBA1C was 6.8 and that plain horrified me.

I've been working out all summer, normally, that would lower them and make them controlled better.

Getting old SUCKS!

So the second mammo was kind of ugly.

For one, no one can figure out why you're on xanax and wiped out, so you're just kind of trying to dance around it and every so often you get someone persistent and you have to tell them, oh, by the way, I've been abused to kingdom come and back, so this is a traumatic event.

The first two pictures weren't too bad. I mostly cried before the exam.

The third one I screamed and made her get it off because it hurt like hell. She said something about that the compression didn't even register on the machine and I said I didn't give a crap, it hurt and I refused that shot. If they'd bruised my boob, I wouldn't go back. They'd have to knock me out for it and she said they had an alternative method with a sonigram.

They did a sonigram of the remaining picture and said I have to come back in 6 months to make sure nothing has changed for the worse because it's still hard to see.

That sounds particularly ominous, but I'm going to take a xanax nap now and I can fret over it copiously later.

OK, considering my generalized horror over the mammogram, I was not thrilled to receive a call back to get more boob pictures done. The tissue differences between boobs is enough for them to require more information, so that they have an adequate baseline.

No, that doesn't freak me out. No sirree, Bob. It just sends me over the edge!

I'm just glad I still have 2 xanax.

I just told them to schedule it so my husband could accompany me, so Wednesday at 745AM, round 2 of my visit to Panic City.

Still dreaming of that tropical vacation.

The Bear had a rough day this week.

He was threatening to run away and screeching at me and the whole time, I kept thinking,"Is he suicidal again?" My heart broke a little more.

I called the police. I called the regional center who has his ISP and after not finding either his counselor or his case manager, I called the emergency number. The police calmed him down. Having the policemen talk to him seemed to make him realize I am not screwing around and that I take him and his threats quite seriously and that the alternatives they could offer were less savory.

While the police were here, I secured a safety plan of a sort from him -- no leaving the property and show up on time at 630PM for his in-home counseling appointment.

While I made follow up calls and got callbacks, the kid wouldn't leave the livingroom until I sent him away. Then, I had an epiphany. He needs reassurance because he just lost it. While I take it for granted that I love him, he needs a reminder. He needs to know I love him and forgive him. Just like the old cat upstairs. He needs a hug and assurance that he's still "The Prince" as Fares used to call him -- my prince.

After the calls, I had him come talk to me and I told him all those things -- I love you, I forgive you, need a hug? He smiled and laughed all afternoon.

Two hours later when his new meds were given, he was back to himself and apologetic and regretful, somewhat, but I let him know it was done and I'd let it go, so he should. More smiles, more laughter. Even the counselor was impressed at the close-knit nature of our family and the love and the laughter.

In the counseling, he realized for the first time, I think, the impact his behavior had on his little sister and was upset by it. I was glad he saw the fallout. We reminded him that that was a large part of why she went to my parents. He got a crestfallen look -- it was the first time I think that that had made an impact on him.

He had a few things to do out of counseling.

I need a vacation.

I would like to dye my hair fully gray, so when the scantily clad cabana boys go through and I flirt with them, we will both know they are safe. I will drink my cold blended drinks in bliss in the shade of a beautiful palm and keep Mike's towel as sand free as I can...

In the mean time, Mike and I are going to load my starbucks card, so we can date once a week at Starbucks, even when we don't have money.

We're discussing how to file bankruptcy at the moment. I have a job interview for a retail job.

We're hanging in.

I went to a new doctor yesterday because the old doctor couldn't figure out what to write to the insurance company so that I could get back on my beloved celebrex and be able to walk without wishing for a speedy death. I called this doctor's office, told them my problem, and they said,"Oh, we do that all the time." I said, "Cool, then when can you see me?"

I liked him well enough except for his obvious conclusion that I'm fat. Wow. Really? I had no idea. I just thought that was baby fat. Geez! I mean, seriously. I've been working on my body all summer and you just realized I'm fat? In one visit? That's amazing!

OK, sarcasm aside, I did actually like him. But in the course of our interview, I realized in horror, that I hadn't had an annual exam in two years. I asked him for referrals, started calling and found one that could get me in today. I've been uncomfortable and thought I might have a bladder infection, but I think it was more horror, that only a couple years after a huge cone biopsy, that I'd blown off my annual for two freaking years.

I saw a nurse practitioner. Of course, in the process of things, she asked me when my last mammogram was.

For several years, I've been avoiding a mammogram. I kept telling myself that it was because I was afraid of the pain. If you know me, I have a pretty high threshold for pain, so when I reasoned that out, I realized that was kind of bullshit. I had time to reason it today because the midwife was in and out a lot. I kept trying to figure out what was such a big deal for me?

We started discussing when and how I would get a mammogram. I asked for a couple xanax and she smirked at me and said something condescending and I said I was very afraid of the pain. Holy crap, if I didn't I keep panicking. In the back of my head, I'm thinking, "Why is this making me so panicky?" My stomach was jumping like a cricket on crack and my boobs ached at the anticipation of being squished within an inch of their lives and I wanted to run out of the office like my butt was on fire -- Still no sense of the truth of the matter for me. She said rather snippily, "Well, you can always choose not to get one, though I'm not recommending that."

And I'm thinking, "What the fuck is wrong with me?!" It's a stupid test. Simultaneously, it is all I can do to stay in the stupid chair and not bolt streaker-esque down the hall.

Then I suddenly blurted out, "When I was in my 20s, I was pretty badly abused. I really need a couple xanax and my husband can drive." She stopped, her jaw dropped a little and she looked at me and simply said, "Thank you for telling me that." I started to bawl like a baby. My brain might not have known, but my spirit sure did.

I feel sad and frightened, but frankly, mostly angry. I'm angry that there's still some vestige of a victim in me and that despite being in jail in another state (Man, I sure could pick them back then), that bastard can still bring me to tears. It's been 25 years -- a whole life time ago and still these tears. I'm waiting like a crushing teenager to pick up Mike at 5 because I need a hug.

The nurse practitioner brought me the 'script and my first mammogram is Tuesday.

Sick children suck. Nothing more, nothing less. Nothing sends me over the edge more than the honking cough of one of my children from deep in the bowels of the house.

It makes me want to reach for xanax because there's not a freaking thing I can do to help them. I can make them comfortable, but they have to duke it out with the cold/flu of the minute.

I had it and took antibiotics and killed the infection part, but the mucous just stays and stays. I swear I have thick paste coating my bronchii. Russell has full blown croup/bronchitis from it and is a wreck and man, that kid can cough sooo loud. It sucks.

His coughing puts me on edge in ways I can barely broach without feeling upset. I just wish I had a vacuum to suck all the goo out of him and make him feel better. :(

Weird how a move will mess up everything, including your ability to keep up your blog.

We have just now gotten to the infamous "garage boxes" which we've been opening on the front porch with dust masks.

Honestly, I thought the Bear was gonna die this year. His asthma got so bad and so life limiting, I really wasn't sure he'd make it.

But he's here and we're moving him out of the musty basement to a room that holds all the garage boxes and is painted a lovely shade of hot pink sponged over pale yellow. The room is slowly emptying. I'm hoping we can have him there by this weekend, when Piglet comes home.

Piglet has spent the past couple weeks at Grandma and Grandpa's house in New Hampshire. She got to spend the weekend with my brother, his wife, and her two cousins. She went to the Atlantic Ocean for the second time in her life. I always think it's funny to go to the beach in NH because there's only about 15 miles of coastline.

Virginia is freaking HOT. I hate heat, but I've decided I hate humidity more. I can tolerate it, but I prefer my air conditioning lots lots more. The one thing I've loved is the milder seasons, so I'll have my garden a while I hope into fall. It won't be gone the first of September, as it was in the Nevada high desert.

Thank God, the rental has a pool and that fat floats. :)

We're moving to Virginia. Mike got a good job there.

I'm excited on several fronts. The best thing for me is that I get to have my kids meet my family. I have a huge extended family back east and being there will mean that my kids can meet them.

Being in Virginia, means that we can spend summers meandering through Washington D. C. and hitting all the museums and cool stuff there.

It also means that when my best friend, Mell, moves to South Carolina, I can see her, too.

I leave in 8 days to drive cross-country because the moving company will only move one stupid car. I'm taking the kids and the dog. Mike gets to take Kitty. It makes me sad because for the first time in 6 months, Kitty finally jumped on the bed the other night to demand affection, a behavior she has been loath to exhibit up til now because we had the audacity to move from her home of 6 years. Now, we're going to fly her across country and traumatize her fuzzy little ass all over again. I supposed I can look forward to another 6 months of being completely ignored by Kitty and utterly adored by the dog.

I may torture Kitty anyhow and love her until she loves me again or she may never ever speak to me again. I don't know.

The kids aren't thrilled completely, but are ok with moving. The two friends I know in that area have very lovely daughters, who are my son's age. Russell is looking forward to meeting them, even if he only admires them from a distance because he's a big sorry chicken when it comes to females.

Genny is excited to see new places and do stuff along the drive. I'm making both kids journal and Russell will continue in his online schooling until we get a house set up there and know what school he's going to.

My folks are coming down to give me the opportunity to househunt sans kidlets. I can't wait just to get the hell away from the kids for a few hours. I've been with them all summer and because Russell can't go to school much, I haven't been alone in months. I'm sending him to school tomorrow because I'm just plain sick to death of no alone time. He can't imagine why.

I just need some time to myself. Quiet, time to pray, things like that.

Russell continues to be pretty wrecked. He has good days and bad days, but even his best day doesn't seem to mean he can leave the house. Sometimes, I pile him into the car anyway and work around him. His next shot is Friday. I'm taking him to the pool that night. He doesn't know it yet, but I am!

If I have to go to wallymart, I have him sit on the bench in the front with his phone. If I go to a store with a profusion of wheely carts, I take him with me. He was sure I was enjoying the fact that I made him take a wheely cart at Home Depot, but I was kind of puzzled. I just needed him to go with me because leaving him in the car when it's 100 degrees isn't an option and it makes him get the hell out of the house. I think being a teenager means that you exist in a constant state of torture by your parents though.

Genny has grown 2 inches this summer. I'm sewing ruffles on the bottoms of dresses to get more wear out of them. I really have no choice. She's growing out of everything and she's so skinny, none of her pants fit without a serious case of high waters or plumber butt.

I'm not sleeping tonight, apparently. I woke up with a bunch of worries circulating. I'm going to try again.

Just been way depressed. The job thing is really hard. Mike has been getting recruiters contacting him from all over the country, so we're just hanging in. We don't tell the kids any more because we don't want them to freak.

And Mike gets no vacation days at his job. If he wants a day off, he has to "make it up" or eat the pay. He continues to apply all over, but there's just not much out there at the moment.

I've been applying for secretarial jobs, but I am keenly aware of the bias people show towards obese people like me. It wouldn't matter if I were God, if I am fat, I'm probably not going to get hired over the skinny woman.

I continue to work out at the pool. My sugars are so high. I have to get my weight down. I'm thinking I might go earlish mornings and swim then, too, or at least go to the aqua-aerobics classes offered 3x a week.

Mike's helping me with my food stuff. Last night, I got low-fat sugar free pudding for dessert. It helped me get some milk, but didn't send my sugars to the moon. Of course, I also went to the pool last night, so my sugars should be decent this morning.

Taking the Bear for a blood draw to see if he qualifies for some new asthma/allergy regimen. Wish us luck! I'd really like to be able to leave my house with him!

It's official, asthma freaking sucks rocks.

Russell has been sick all danged month and that is pretty awful. I have been struggling with night asthma for the first time in years. We can't afford for me to take allergy shots, too, with the new healthcare, so Russell is the only one getting them at the moment.

This morning he scared the stuffing out of me at 520AM when I went to change out the laundry. We asked each other why the other was up and both answered with "asthma." *sigh*
__

I got laid off by the same jerk who promised me a full-time job and then reduced my hours to 15 hours. I'm doing little odd jobs at mech turk just to put a little bit of a gift card away for upcoming events like Russell's birthday and Christmas through the bankruptcy. Mike does the occasional programming job there, but the transcriptions are panning out well for me. Mike is looking for other work all over, but nothing has popped yet. He was second choice at his last interview behind a guy who'd worked there before. It would have been a sweet job and the guy told Mike's recruiter that if they had something else, they would call Mike. In this economy, I'm not holding my breath, though.

Recently, I've been transcribing some interviews of Ron Athey and ended up googling him to have a chance figuring out the transcription. I don't mind the content. I think it's artistic overkill, intellectually, but I understand the raw place that kind of art comes from. It reminds me of something I heard somewhere about how real blues comes from real pain. I haven't had time to hit another transcription, but I do notice that they're starting to offer more for it and no one has grabbed up the transcripts of those interviews in days because I'm sure the content has people freaking out.

I did mark in the comments some of the terms I learned from his work: Solar Anus, Trilogy, Hallelujah, and I gather in one of the triology pieces he uses a double-ended dildo and demonstrates castration of said item, which seems pretty gruesome, frankly. If there are a bunch of little old grammies doing transcription, aside from me, I can totally see them NOT choosing to do the transcription. I used to live in the Tenderloin in San Francisco and often clubbed at gay bars because I could dance without being hassled, so I guess I am more matter-of-fact about it, though the fact that I am old as dirt probably makes me a jaded old broad.

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I've been swimming about every other day, sometimes I skip a day, sometimes I go 2 days in a row, so it works out to every other day. My feet are achy from jumping around and I think I stubbed my toe, so I need to start putting on my watershoes. On the plus side, my knee feels better than it has in ever. It still hurts and all that, but basically, I feel stronger. I take the old lady cart less in Walmart. I sometimes take small walks. It snuck up on me, you know, the feeling better. I'm used to being in pain so much, I hadn't realized how it hurts less to get up. I get up and expect to wince, and I wince less. I don't know if that makes sense, but it is what it is.

I've also been doing my yoga pretty frequently. I get up after Mike leaves, often, so I just lay out on the bed and do my yoga. It helps to shake off the early morning stiffness of arthritis and age. It also helps me wake up enough to go shower.

We're still struggling financially. It's been, in fact, more brutal than any other time in our lives. The expense of medications for the children, even with insurance, the medical issues I am facing, all add to our expenses. I've cut back every way I know how.

I buy from a local Mexican market to get a lot of my produce because the food is inexpensive and delicious. Last night, I bought tamales and that was dinner with a salad and some salsa. I buy whatever I can there because unlike Walmart, I know more of that money stays in the local economy and lord knows, we can use that.

We're starting the process of bankruptcy. In that process, I've done so much research and reading. I found this personal finance guide site. I thought the articles were kind of generic, but ok. I really wished they had more on the bankruptcy process, but I guess that's why I have to pay the lawyer so darned much.

The best news is that some very dear friends got together and sent me a visa gift card and I was able to buy all of our meds at once. I woke up and took a sugar that was not perfect, but much better than yesterday's 132 -- 106. When normal fasting is supposed to be 80-95 and I usually norm at 115, a 106 feels super positive. I also swam last night, which I'm sure is helping.

I notice in my swimming, in fact, that things are a little sore in the mornings now -- that I'm actually working out and not just paddling around. I notice that my hips are smoother and my legs more defined. When I get up and am sore, I lay back down and do a little yoga, i.e., I assume fish position and force my body to warm up and wake up. I'm combining it a little with another movement program, so that as I exhale from fish I'm doing a small neck movement with my chin toward my chest and wow, if that little bit of daily yoga doesn't make a huge difference in my body for the day. My feet and hands are often sore from all the pool workouts, but not excrutiating. There's going to be an aquaaerobics class early at the pool next month, so I'm going to pay my $30 and go. I think it'll remind me what I'm not doing and help push me along. I figure the ultimate payoff will be worth it.

So I hang in there.

I kind of randomly found this link for a cat carrier with wheels. Of course, the whole site I'm sure is designed for lonely old cat ladies like Eric the Eternal Flame from college, but I think it'd be a whole lot easier to haul the dog around in one those, too. Heck, I used a carrier on wheels for my kids, so why not my cat or dog?

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Can you believe all the crazy-famous people dying lately? Ed, Farrah, and Michael Jackson. Of course, all kinds of people do that dying thing, but I think it struck me hard that Michael Jackson, also a Virgo, was 50. That's only 5 years away for me! It scared the crap out of me. Mike said, "Yeah, he apparently has been gearing up for his concerts in London. And you'd die of a heart attack, too, if you danced like that."

I ate my salad like a good girl, stayed away from seconds, and kept repeating to myself, "I don't want to die at 50."

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Mike has an interview tomorrow with a gaming company: good money, good bennies, lousy neighborhood (Vegas). I need to go press his suit or something. I'm a nervous wreck about it. We did manage to find the shoe bin in the garage though as a result of it, so that to me seems like a good omen. Shoes are always spiffy. I'm supposed to go to the office tomorrow morning, but I know I won't get much done if I do, so I'm going to stay home and hide aka sleep and do laundry.

Ok, so mostly sleep.

A health blog I was interested in the piece they had about tai chi in this.

Not surprisingly, an hour of exercise a day helps with sugar control, but they even used it with older folks and discovered that they had better balance when they were done. It reminded me of watching an old boyfriend of mine from college, sweating his way through Tai Chi workouts.

I've been swimming a lot and doing yoga pretty regularly, but there's no way I'm ready for Tai Chi. It requires so much knee bending I think I'd be in perfect and exquisite agony when I got all done.

So, in my hunt to find locations, ideas, etc., that help me with my diabetes, I've found a few recent sites.

The other was this health forum which looks at natural medicine approaches to health.

I used to be such a hippie and I guess I still am, so I thought I'd pass those on to you.

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As for my health generally...

I think I've been getting over some of the spinal headache stuff I had from the spinal taps in the hospital at the beginning of May.

My sugars have been up and down. I have been making it to the pool at least 3x a week with the warmer weather and it's been awesome. I do my exercise, I go to the hot tub and stretch, and I feel a lot better.

The stress stuff has been um, sucking. I don't want to go into it here, but suffice it to say it's been freaking hard as hell and if I had time to slow down enough, I'd cry like a baby for a week.

God's testing me. I just wish I'd pass the freaking test already.

Recently, many of us are stressing about our kids taking standardized tests that seem to have everything to do with our kids getting into college. I found the following vocabulary software http://www.vocaboly.com which is supposed to help kids build vocabulary for such purposes.

Additionally, Russell has been using Efofex for his math stuff. For kids on IEP's they offer free software that allows them to do math problems without dealing with handwriting. http://www.efofex.com THey literally turned around and had this back to him in 24 hours. Awesome!

I know I haven't written recently. I've been hideously busy and swamped. I promise I'll get back here soon.

I have had the weekend from hell with the child from hell. I posted that I was "very sad that her (my) 9 year old is making such lousy parent-testing choices." My mother-in-law said, "Gotta let kids be kids. She's only nine. Please be patient." So while I usually bite my tongue, this really pissed me off, so I wrote the following in response:

If you have questions about G or what's going on, just email or call me. I'm here, I'll tell you, but I really don't like the idea of my patience being questioned in front of all of my friends by someone who knows me far less well than most of the people on my facebook, half of whom have known me and my parenting at least 3 years longer than you and the other half who have known me for 10+ years beyond that. I don't think you should walk on eggshells around me, but I also don't think you should speak to things you don't know the back story on. You know my number, so if you want to be supportive, I'd appreciate a call. This weekend was a special trip to hell with this child. I think considering the crap she pulled, I was amazingly patient.

Genny chose not to sleep today. She does things like that. I am pretty sure she purposely set her alarm clock. Her brother likes to brag about being an early riser, so recently her thing has been to set the alarm early in the morning on weekends because she wants to harrass her brother and be cool like him. Saturday, I let her stay up a bit because we'd worked hard on the house. (Stupid choice, in retrospect. especially because I didn't check the freaking alarm clock.) This morning, she claimed that the cat woke her up, but I'm guessing it was her alarm clock because I didn't catch that she'd set it. Additionally, her brother tried to give her her medication which she initially refused to locate and bring to him. Her brother has always been an early riser, but she is not and while she likes to get up with him early, she really really needs to sleep and usually will if the door is closed and we make sure she doesn't set the alarm clock.

Yesterday, Russell was up and his palsy was bad because he's been sick, so he was bouncing off walls (literally) and I shut her door. Unfortunately, I did not know the freaking cat was in her room on her loft bed and was mad to be locked in, so crapped on her blanket. I can't get up the ladder to get the stupid blanket and she was completely freaked out and Russell was sick and was a raving whiny baby about getting the danged blanket for me to get it laundered. But I think it kind of put her off to not have her particular blanket (in the laundry) and to have the crapping kitty with her because she was nervous kitty might strike again, so she may have been more restless. Honestly, I really don't know.

Typically, like her parents, Genny likes to stay up late and sleep in like crazy. During the week, she often gets nowhere near enough sleep and god, it sucks, because she's a whirling dervish of destruction and mayhem without sleep, much like today.

Today she stole a commerative coin I've had from a trip to Washington D.C. when I was 12 (she claimed Mike gave it to her which Mike confirmed was a big fat lie) , stole cookie dough out of the fridge (didn't ask and this after she refused to eat her lunch), and stole the parts to the flashlight in the laundry room. I had been using the flashlight because Mike was gone and with 10 foot ceilings, I can't change the stupid bulb that burned out this morning, until he brings the step stool from the other house or we find one buried in the garage in the boxes. She knew this, so was just trying to stir the pot. Additionally, she got into Mike's cologne, while helping me unpack boxes (I'd gone to do laundry) and had that sprayed all over her room. It's not like he wears it, so she wasn't doing it to get a whiff of him, but just to be creepy. She also claims that the tiny tube of super glue she "found" just happened to "spray" all over her hands. Having used said superglue, I know that that also is a big fat sorry lie and that she was hoping, I would allow her to use nail polish remover to remove it. In fact, I probably have to go check for the nail polish remover and make sure she hasn't taken it and hidden it somewhere. Last weekend, she asked for a piece of gum, which I gave to her. She then PURPOSELY stuck her hair in her mouth with said gum in order to see if peanutbutter really does remove gum from hair and then came in requesting help removing the peanutbutter from her hair. Then she tried to lie to us about that she'd purposely done that. I also found that she helped herself to hard exercisers still in the package that I use with teenage boys in teaching, stealing those for herself. The fact that she'd snuck them and that hid them, demonstrates that she understood she stole them, by the way.

No one on God's green earth can possibly keep up with crazy-no-sleep girl. I am a crazy-no sleep mom trying to keep the house up behind this child and it's hard as hell. And with her, I have to know all her tricks, weirdnesses, eccentricities and crazy mindset to even keep close to even with this child. And yes, I have to be hard as nails with her because if I give this brilliant child one single inch, she assumes all is forgiven and she can go back to behaving like a creep, as she does at least understand logic. Mike recognizes this also and we coordinate discipline together.

As for our response, her alarm clock will be removed from her room next weekend, her door will be shut and the cat will be out. She didn't get dessert tonight and she has been grounded from doing fun stuff -- no TV, no swimming, biking, or computer. I will probably relent on the swimming as it's going to be hotter than hell and we're going anyhow. I think we'll go one night without her to get the point across and then just forego the electronics for the week as they make her icky and I think the exercise is good for her. She will, however, be required to clear table and work on the weeding, which are her two jobs, before she's allowed to go swimming because otherwise, she'll find any excuse to blow it off and I feel it helps keep the kids grounded to have chores.

There is a litany of other stuff, our light-fingered Genny has taken recently and which I have recovered. There is a litany of constant lying we are working on breaking. For example, she is no longer permitted to go into the car alone because if she does, she frequently steals things -- from my CDs, to change from my purse/drink holder, and then she lies about it. I understand that moving is difficult for children with special needs, but this isn't just about the moving, this is just pretty normal craziness for Genny.

Her world will be limited and we'll see how it goes. If it doesn't go well, then we may need to get her up to Reno to see her psychiatrist to consider changing her meds again because I will not live hostage to a 9 year old's totally whacked out behavior.

I think considering how difficult she's been, we've both shown incredible patience. I was singleparenting this weekend with Russell in and out of asthma attacks and Genny being a complete psycho. We are the parents of two children with special needs, which means that their behavior is normal for children with special needs, but not normal when compared to other children. In the future, if you are wondering what is up, please call me before posting requesting my patience on facebook. The fact that you'd say that, simply means that you have no idea of the patience I've already demonstrated.

Ok, the most disgusting things to me in the world are:

mice, reptiles,scorpions and roaches.

We are in Death Valley now and while we may have our usual assortment of mice and reptiles, scorpions and roaches are much more common. Scorpions are less likely in suburbia, but roaches? Roaches eat this shit up. The open can of borax under the sink should have been a dead giveaway, anyhow.

So I'm sitting on the porcelain throne, as is the right of every diabetic Queen in the wee hours of the night, and a roach goes scurrying. I wipe my royal butt and I get up and smoosh it.

And I think to myself,"Self, I betcha that stupid mop has more." So I lift up the mop and another one goes scurrying and it must have seen me limping around because it scurried to a corner I couldn't reach it. Sneaky little bastard.

Then it occurs to me that the kitchen is sort of a pit. So later this morning at first alarm, I'm making hubby get up and do dishes because with 2 bad knees, Momma ain't doing dishes at the moment except in small increments. And his first alarm goes off a good 25 minutes BEFORE he actually pulls his butt out of bed.

I have this one figured out.

Oh, and I am so using the boy's freak out over all things creepy and crawly to keep the dishes up. And I am soooo using the girl's freak out over the same to keep her bathwater in the tub. (Last night's bathroom was a man overboard thing -- so much water, so little time to drown the child.)

And yes, in my head, I keep wondering what implement I could realistically use to reach into that stupid corner behind the toilet to nail that freaking roach. And no, nothing I can reach comes to mind. So when the alarm goes off first for Mike, I am making him kill that thing.

Ok, so we get all moved in. Russell gets here after 2 weeks of no Bear.

I get the kids set up, I start my job.

Then I take a ginormous digger in the shower while trying to put soap away. I tripped on the lip of the shower and fell full force on my "good" knee. The other knee got banged a little and bruised, but I actually bruised the bone on my "good" knee. I also caught the door across my abdomen, so I'm bruised there, too.

I've been icing it and living on vicodan at night. At first, the doctor told me no driving because it's my right knee, but I can do stuff, so I'm just going to take some vicodan and drive home this weekend. I told Mike I wanted to stop at the midway point and spend the night both ways, so I can rest my messed up joint and ice the bejeebers out of it in between. He agreed.

I guess he didn't have much choice because the other choice was to fly him up there and let him pick up and load the truck himself, which he had already come up with about 10 reasons why that was impossible. So..yeah.

Next week, I'm going to be a sad miserable wreck in pain. And darn tootin' I'm going to blame my husband.

Well, Mike got the second choice job. We're losing the house. We have a rental near where his new job is and we're finishing moving there this weekend.

It's hard being between two houses. I have two pans, several bowls, all of my silverware except a can opener, and all of my stoneware, my everyday plates, and paper products. I have the pestle, but not the mortar. I have no pantry except for cake mixes.

I ate some leftover Chinese food and got food poisoning because I didn't want to waste anything in the fridge. I'm still paying somewhat today, but at least the belching weird fumes has stopped and the wondering if that's really a fart has let up. I know that's TMI, but hey, that's food poisoning.

My desk is a plastic table with a huge stain on it that has a homemade tablecloth on it. Everything left to move to here is pretty much in the garage of the other house. There are corners to finish packing, so tomorrow night, we leave to go to the halfway point, so we can get home before noon and snag the truck for the one-way run.

I have also set up an appointment with my doctor to say good bye and to see what the hell to do about my arthritis because this shit of not being able to move is sucking some serious doody. My mom said her arthritis got severe with stress. I can't imagine why she thinks I'm stressed...moving 2 special needs kids across a huge state, setting up their schools, setting up utilities, unpacking boxes, keeping everyone normal...no...that's not stressful. ;p

I have so little time I can call my own any more.

I get a couple hours each weeknight before I have to hit the hay and everyone seems to urgently and frenziedly need me at that time. Russell even cuddles now, which if you know Russell, is soooo unusual.

The cat is um...fucking ridiculous? She doesn't leave me alone at night. Last night, I was trying to cuddle with Mike and we finally just tossed her out of the room because she wouldn't let up.

I've felt sad several times when Genny's come home and her hair's a mess from Mike's poor hairdressing skills. Thursday night, I brushed her hair out and put it in curlers, just so when she woke up, she'd have pretty hair that her dad couldn't mess up. It still looked cute when she came home, so I'm going to try that again.

Yesterday, I went to Michael's (the craft store) and they had a bargain bin of beads and charms, so I spent too much. So far, I've made a set of copper chile earrings, a set of stars and moons copper earrings, a set of coffee pot earrings, repaired two old earrings, and made a single pair of brass lace heart earrings.

I've got a favorite set of earrings and a necklace which need repairs, so I am looking them over to figure out how to proceed without damaging them in the repair process. It's an interesting assortment of handpainted animals interspersed with painted wooden and glass beads of varying sizes. The necklace is kind of a sunburst pattern and I have a single earring with three different animals hanging off of it. Two of the animals look similar, so I am considering taking those two strands and making a pair of earrings out of them and then placing the third strand aside in the bead bin for later repairs. I only have a single wooden anchor bead, so I may change the anchor bead to something else similar, in keeping with the feel of the set.

Otherwise, I am anticipating a week of stormy weather to drive to and from work in. Mike leaves for an interview on Wednesday for a job that is decidedly second choice -- like a job that he would enjoy, but that would not entail allowing us to keep our home, but that we could survive on. I may or may not be able to change locations and work for my company near him. If I can't keep my job, then he will probably bargain for them to pay him on the lower end of the range and to pay his cobra from his old job, as they are offering no benefits. With Obama's changes to COBRA, it would only be $500/month, so they may be willing. I am not discussing a thing with my company until they offer him a job, though.

He had another interview which seemed to go very well and it would pay at least 2x more, but would involved a move out of state to a very pricey area. We haven't heard about a second interview, so we'll see what happens.

I keep thinking that if tired were a color it would be gray. And then I think about what I know about auras and I think that white is pure and clean and that black is poison and wonder what that means about my sense of my life as the color gray.

I think all the rain and snow and clouds makes me feel gray, too. I drove up this weird dirt road with Mike the other day because he resented me being on the phone on the way home from town. So I took him up the hill a piece and we watched it storm on the Sierras and watched the rednecks crisscrossing their big-tired rigs and ATV's across the desert and we talked and held hands. Then we drove home and unloaded the groceries.