Each time I see the posts about Robin Williams' suicide, it's like a slap in the face. I find it difficult to look at the images, read the articles, and tolerate the comments people put on the sites- defending him for what he did, saying it was ok because he was depressed, that it is an option for people who struggle.
I've been struggling with my father's suicide for two years, unable to come out of the closet and talk about it, because of the stigma of mental illness and what suicide does to a family. Suicide rips a family apart with secrets, inability to speak about the person who died unless you speak in code, and general isolation for everyone involved, because suicide is just something you don't talk about.
What I don't understand is what makes it ok for a celebrity to commit suicide and not a family member. A few weeks ago I had a confrontation with a family member because I talked to my children about what my father did and she hadn't told her children. I have family members who won't talk about it at all. She was afraid I was going to poison her children with the news.
The way I look at it, suicide became a part of my life when I was three, when my father lost his grip on reality. He was a paranoid schizophrenic most of his life and attempted suicide three times when I was a child. What that does to a child is tell her that not only is her father going to leave, he is going to kill himself to do it.
I can't imagine what the emotional toll did to my mother when I was growing up, but I am starting to have an idea. I had a huge amount of my childhood I blocked out, and now I know why. The constant emotional draining and chaos that my father inflicted on all of us traumatized me at a very early age.
Monday, August 18, 2014
Thursday, December 19, 2013
Book about patients
I keep saying I am going to write a book... a book about all the people I have taken care of... anonymously of course. It has crossed my mind in the last few days that people seriously do not understand each other, or humanity. What human beings are really like. Once you have taken care of them, it is easier to get an idea about what they are really like...
As a nurse you care for everyone. Sickness has no economical or social boundaries. It doesn't matter if your patient is in maximum security prison and has been shackled to the hospital bed with two guards standing by it and one by the door, or if he is a rock star leader of his community with the same guards at the door, but for a different reason... both of them can have a heart attack or get cancer. And yes, I have cared for both.
Patients can be really anyone. It was the alcoholics and drug addicts that took up most of my time, and they were rarely truly sick. Their illnesses were usually something secondary to their addiction, like the man whose toe and then foot had to be amputated because he was an alcoholic and ignored an infection. Then there was the woman with chirrosis of the liver who pulled out her IV repeatedly and left the hospital to buy liquor, the drug addict who asked for a cocktail so powerful at bedtime med time that she literally passed out and had to be reversed, and the patient who had bladder cancer and had a bladder created but was so drunk off Dilaudid all the time that she could barely function... these were the people who wasted the time of the people who were really sick.
The paraplegic who got into a screaming argument with me because she was on four narcotics and we can't give those all at once in the hospital- where was her pain anyway?
Then there were the husbands. Some men really can't handle their wives or mothers or girlfriends being sick, and they leave. Never show up. Or come halfheartedly and can't stay. Men with the opposite issue who can't stand to see their wives in a hospital bed and take it out on everyone- every nurse who walks in the door gets an earful of verbal abuse.
Speaking of abuse... then there are the families. A daughter who comes in at 7am right when I get on shift and demands to know why the night nurse didn't medicate her mother for pain, when she did at 6am, and screams at the top of her lungs until you find the doctor on call and give her some more, or the daughter who does the same thing and then calls you a liar and screams at you all the way down the hall... these were the people I got to work with.
As a nurse you care for everyone. Sickness has no economical or social boundaries. It doesn't matter if your patient is in maximum security prison and has been shackled to the hospital bed with two guards standing by it and one by the door, or if he is a rock star leader of his community with the same guards at the door, but for a different reason... both of them can have a heart attack or get cancer. And yes, I have cared for both.
Patients can be really anyone. It was the alcoholics and drug addicts that took up most of my time, and they were rarely truly sick. Their illnesses were usually something secondary to their addiction, like the man whose toe and then foot had to be amputated because he was an alcoholic and ignored an infection. Then there was the woman with chirrosis of the liver who pulled out her IV repeatedly and left the hospital to buy liquor, the drug addict who asked for a cocktail so powerful at bedtime med time that she literally passed out and had to be reversed, and the patient who had bladder cancer and had a bladder created but was so drunk off Dilaudid all the time that she could barely function... these were the people who wasted the time of the people who were really sick.
The paraplegic who got into a screaming argument with me because she was on four narcotics and we can't give those all at once in the hospital- where was her pain anyway?
Then there were the husbands. Some men really can't handle their wives or mothers or girlfriends being sick, and they leave. Never show up. Or come halfheartedly and can't stay. Men with the opposite issue who can't stand to see their wives in a hospital bed and take it out on everyone- every nurse who walks in the door gets an earful of verbal abuse.
Speaking of abuse... then there are the families. A daughter who comes in at 7am right when I get on shift and demands to know why the night nurse didn't medicate her mother for pain, when she did at 6am, and screams at the top of her lungs until you find the doctor on call and give her some more, or the daughter who does the same thing and then calls you a liar and screams at you all the way down the hall... these were the people I got to work with.
Friday, August 2, 2013
Soul Lessons
There are quite a few unpublished posts on this blog from the last three years, posts that just sounded wrong, or inauthentic, or just plain whiny. I would write them and look at them again later and want to just trash them, but I kept them. I thought maybe they were part of my process. In 2010 I started on the road to energy healing, Healing Touch and Reiki... and when you start pursuing the path you need to heal yourself first.
Each piece of life and writing and journaling is a little bit of clarity. However it wasn't until after my father died almost 18 months ago that the pieces started to click into place. Everything that I had ever been through started to make sense. My whole life was like a jigsaw puzzle that started to come together into a clear picture. Gluing the parts together seemed simple, as if my inner or higher self knew all along what it would all mean, and my conscious mind was just starting to get it.
When my father died, I pushed my grief down way, way below my feet, into the Earth. I buried it so deeply that I would either never find it again or never have to touch it. We were prepared for his death. He was sick for years, his mental illness got the best of him, he had tried to end his life before, he didn't want to live past 65 when his disability ran out, and he wanted to leave money for his daughters. The reasons went on and on, and they all made sense.
Monday, July 22, 2013
What suicide does to your psyche
My father killed himself. Actually, he shot himself in the head with his father's gun. Right through the palate.
Right when I am coming into a time in my life that I can say what I need to say, to the people I need to say it to, I am having to be silent on this issue. I really don't like it. I am not sure what it is about the above statements that scares people so much.
Yes, it is an ingracious way to die. I really don't think that is the problem though. I think it is our society's fear of mental illness and what they believe the ramifications are if you have a family member who kills himself.
Does that make my family crazy? Well, yes, and no. When someone you love commits suicide, you go over and over in your head what you could have done. You rehash over and over again the events that lead up to the death. And then you beat yourself up for what you didn't do. And the kicker is, unless you have people who understand to talk to about it, you are not going to discuss your process with anyone.
When our father committed suicide, my sister and I were unknowingly initiated into a club. In case you didn't know, there is a club out there of people who have had a family member die by suicide. Our first person to talk to us about it was the woman at the funeral home who set up the internment and lettering on the grave. She had been through a loved one's suicide, and she said that people will come forward once they know.
That is the other thing about not being able to talk about the manner in which your parent dies. If others don't know, your support doesn't show up. I have been surprised by the number of people who have approached or talked to me about their own losses from suicide. One of my friends has become one of my very good friends, now that we have unfortunately suffered the same loss.
You also lose a lot in the process. Suddenly you are part of a group that understands, and everyone outside of that group does not. Your closest friend in the world really doesn't understand because they haven't been through what you are going through. Suicide affects you for the rest of your life, because family members are left wondering what they could have done for a long time, sometimes until their own death.
Like another parent's death, you start to live more. You start to want to do things that you were afraid to do because you know life is finite. You start to appreciate others and life more. If your parent was mentally ill, you really look at yourself and your mental quirks and try to figure out if there is a solution to any problems you inherited.
If your parent died by suicide there is a darker side to the equation. When someone complains about bouncing a check, or their husband coming home late, or missing an appointment, there is a side of you that says, "I'm sorry, my father shot himself in the head and I am still dealing with that. What exactly is your problem??" It may look callous, but it is reality. The consequences of grieving a suicide are much deeper than what appears on the surface.
From what I know my father's road into mental illness started with a mental break when I was three. He was hallucinating and paranoid and thought people were coming to kill him. He tried to commit suicide three times when I was a tween. From what I understand the first attempt put him in the hospital and out of our home because he was supposed to be watching me and my sister.
There were nuances to his mental illness that were clues he was considering attempting suicide, that I didn't know about. There were signs and paths he had been down before, but because they were part of a mental illness, they were taboo subjects.
Right when I am coming into a time in my life that I can say what I need to say, to the people I need to say it to, I am having to be silent on this issue. I really don't like it. I am not sure what it is about the above statements that scares people so much.
Yes, it is an ingracious way to die. I really don't think that is the problem though. I think it is our society's fear of mental illness and what they believe the ramifications are if you have a family member who kills himself.
Does that make my family crazy? Well, yes, and no. When someone you love commits suicide, you go over and over in your head what you could have done. You rehash over and over again the events that lead up to the death. And then you beat yourself up for what you didn't do. And the kicker is, unless you have people who understand to talk to about it, you are not going to discuss your process with anyone.
When our father committed suicide, my sister and I were unknowingly initiated into a club. In case you didn't know, there is a club out there of people who have had a family member die by suicide. Our first person to talk to us about it was the woman at the funeral home who set up the internment and lettering on the grave. She had been through a loved one's suicide, and she said that people will come forward once they know.
That is the other thing about not being able to talk about the manner in which your parent dies. If others don't know, your support doesn't show up. I have been surprised by the number of people who have approached or talked to me about their own losses from suicide. One of my friends has become one of my very good friends, now that we have unfortunately suffered the same loss.
You also lose a lot in the process. Suddenly you are part of a group that understands, and everyone outside of that group does not. Your closest friend in the world really doesn't understand because they haven't been through what you are going through. Suicide affects you for the rest of your life, because family members are left wondering what they could have done for a long time, sometimes until their own death.
Like another parent's death, you start to live more. You start to want to do things that you were afraid to do because you know life is finite. You start to appreciate others and life more. If your parent was mentally ill, you really look at yourself and your mental quirks and try to figure out if there is a solution to any problems you inherited.
If your parent died by suicide there is a darker side to the equation. When someone complains about bouncing a check, or their husband coming home late, or missing an appointment, there is a side of you that says, "I'm sorry, my father shot himself in the head and I am still dealing with that. What exactly is your problem??" It may look callous, but it is reality. The consequences of grieving a suicide are much deeper than what appears on the surface.
From what I know my father's road into mental illness started with a mental break when I was three. He was hallucinating and paranoid and thought people were coming to kill him. He tried to commit suicide three times when I was a tween. From what I understand the first attempt put him in the hospital and out of our home because he was supposed to be watching me and my sister.
There were nuances to his mental illness that were clues he was considering attempting suicide, that I didn't know about. There were signs and paths he had been down before, but because they were part of a mental illness, they were taboo subjects.
Monday, April 15, 2013
What life is like...
are you afraid to go to the gym because you don't know how to work the machines?
are you scared to go to the grocery store because you'll forget something and have to go back because you panicked the first time you thought of your list and forgot half of it?
do you panic when you are riding your bike and think that maybe the garage door opener in your pocket has a battery that is dead and your neighbors aren't home?
No?
This is how I lived.
are you scared to go to the grocery store because you'll forget something and have to go back because you panicked the first time you thought of your list and forgot half of it?
do you panic when you are riding your bike and think that maybe the garage door opener in your pocket has a battery that is dead and your neighbors aren't home?
No?
This is how I lived.
Friday, June 22, 2012
The Help
Before I read The Help, I had one of those epic Facebook discussions on a friend's wall, about the racial divide in the South, how people up north don't get it (she is a professor at Drake in Iowa), and had all these ideas and indignance that I needed to share. I grew up in a racially, culturally, and socioeconomically divided city. Black people went to public schools, which were terribly underfunded and in a sad state- some of them didn't even have air conditioning. The whites that could afford it went to private school, mostly Catholic. There was little to no mixing. Whites had their golf and tennis clubs, neighborhoods, Mardi Gras clubs and parades, and suburbs. Blacks had theirs.
New Orleans East was built as a haven for whites, with big homes and was far enough from the city... and then it was populated with blacks looking to get out of the inner city. The white people then headed for the Northshore of Lake Ponchartrain, and build out in that area exploded. What I never understood, and still do not understand, was the disparity of it all. It is unfair in a lot of ways, but white people have not yet understood what they have done to themselves. Segregating their kids into private schools and then paying taxes on public schools is paying twice. Giving no oversight or funding to public schools means that the graduates of those schools have no skills when they graduate, some of them can't even read and write. This is the job pool that white employers have to draw from for their businesses, and spend extra money training things that could have been learned in high school. Also, moving across the lake means an hour commute to and from the city, and an hour and a half to the CBD.
New Orleans East was built as a haven for whites, with big homes and was far enough from the city... and then it was populated with blacks looking to get out of the inner city. The white people then headed for the Northshore of Lake Ponchartrain, and build out in that area exploded. What I never understood, and still do not understand, was the disparity of it all. It is unfair in a lot of ways, but white people have not yet understood what they have done to themselves. Segregating their kids into private schools and then paying taxes on public schools is paying twice. Giving no oversight or funding to public schools means that the graduates of those schools have no skills when they graduate, some of them can't even read and write. This is the job pool that white employers have to draw from for their businesses, and spend extra money training things that could have been learned in high school. Also, moving across the lake means an hour commute to and from the city, and an hour and a half to the CBD.
Friday, September 2, 2011
What the heck just happened?
Suddenly, I find myself the mother of three children in school. How exactly did that happen?
Sometimes these things happen when life just flows- opportunities come along that seem too good to pass up. I had looked at the Montessori Kindergarten at a private preschool, that was originally going to be affiliated with the Charter school, in April. I decided that it wouldn't be a good fit based on the teachers and Justin's learning style, which didn't seem to fit into their way of doing things. So when the kids got into the lottery, I didn't bother to register.
Well, over the summer a few things happened with the Board of Directors and a new Principal/Director was hired as well as all of the teachers. I know two people on the board and kept up with the goings-on at the school. Everything seemed to be falling into place for the school so in August we decided to look at the school for Elle, because we felt she needed to be around more kids every day her own age, and because she needed some formal instruction in math. We were falling further and further behind in the curriculum because it didn't fit her.
Sometimes these things happen when life just flows- opportunities come along that seem too good to pass up. I had looked at the Montessori Kindergarten at a private preschool, that was originally going to be affiliated with the Charter school, in April. I decided that it wouldn't be a good fit based on the teachers and Justin's learning style, which didn't seem to fit into their way of doing things. So when the kids got into the lottery, I didn't bother to register.
Well, over the summer a few things happened with the Board of Directors and a new Principal/Director was hired as well as all of the teachers. I know two people on the board and kept up with the goings-on at the school. Everything seemed to be falling into place for the school so in August we decided to look at the school for Elle, because we felt she needed to be around more kids every day her own age, and because she needed some formal instruction in math. We were falling further and further behind in the curriculum because it didn't fit her.
Fall in Florida
Here we are! It's fall in Florida and we're still here. Amazingly enough, Eric made it past his one year. He's battered and bruised, but has won the admiration of one of the top chefs in the company, which means that the sky's the limit from here. He's been talking about going to South Korea, but I don't think I am ready to take the international plunge just yet. Marriott makes going overseas very attractive, with a nanny, driver, private school, insurance all paid for. It's something we'd like to explore in the future. This summer was fun with weddings in New Orleans and Michigan. It was good to be back in the Midwest and see family and friends in Iowa too. Being in Iowa reminded us what down to Earth, do anything for you people are like, and we'd like to get back to that. We're in the process of firming up which places we'd like to go to. |
Monday, August 15, 2011
What Homeschooling has taught me
Wow that's a heady title, isn't it? I am at a point in my life where I can see pros and cons of the homeschooling lifestyle, and they are widely disparate and that makes me uncomfortable, because it really is a lifestyle change, much like breastfeeding or not vaccinating or going on a different diet was.
Pros-
Lots and lots of time spent with your child(ren). This can also be a con. What homeschooling affords you is time to get to know your children as people, not things. People who have their own styles of learning, relating to others, writing, reading, drawing, dancing, talking, adding, subtracting, building, crafting, the list goes on. When my kids were in school I felt more that they were things to be moved from here to there, school, soccer practice, dance class, playdates, parties, you get the idea. Perhaps it is also because they become their own individual selves, instead of a toddler or baby who absorbs your emotions and reflects them back at you. Your kids also get to know you. Your story before you had kids, stories about growing up, the pets you had as a kid, little things they get to know about you because they spend so much time with you and are curious.
Pros-
Lots and lots of time spent with your child(ren). This can also be a con. What homeschooling affords you is time to get to know your children as people, not things. People who have their own styles of learning, relating to others, writing, reading, drawing, dancing, talking, adding, subtracting, building, crafting, the list goes on. When my kids were in school I felt more that they were things to be moved from here to there, school, soccer practice, dance class, playdates, parties, you get the idea. Perhaps it is also because they become their own individual selves, instead of a toddler or baby who absorbs your emotions and reflects them back at you. Your kids also get to know you. Your story before you had kids, stories about growing up, the pets you had as a kid, little things they get to know about you because they spend so much time with you and are curious.
Wednesday, July 6, 2011
Life Lessons
So I have been taking this course, Soul Restoration, that I found through a friend in Iowa. It has been amazingly life changing and has helped me see even more patterning that I need to change. It really is amazing how many lessons I have learned since we moved to Florida.
The first and best lesson I learned from this course was about boundaries. Setting them, honoring them, not allowing people to violate them, walk all over them, or destroy them. What I didn't realize is that I have had permeable boundaries for as long as I have been living. When you are young and your "no" statements are over-ridden, either by words or by force, you don't learn how to develop and keep boundaries. Then when you get a bit older and have the language to say that you are being hurt and would appreciate it if the person would stop, and the person says that you are "too sensitive", that is a violation of your boundaries. If you don't stand up for yourself again, the person thinks that it is ok to continue being abusive and will walk all over your boundaries as long as you let them do it.
The first and best lesson I learned from this course was about boundaries. Setting them, honoring them, not allowing people to violate them, walk all over them, or destroy them. What I didn't realize is that I have had permeable boundaries for as long as I have been living. When you are young and your "no" statements are over-ridden, either by words or by force, you don't learn how to develop and keep boundaries. Then when you get a bit older and have the language to say that you are being hurt and would appreciate it if the person would stop, and the person says that you are "too sensitive", that is a violation of your boundaries. If you don't stand up for yourself again, the person thinks that it is ok to continue being abusive and will walk all over your boundaries as long as you let them do it.
Thursday, March 31, 2011
Sunday, March 27, 2011
Spring!
Has sprung! I hope everyone is enjoying it. Spring in Florida is beautiful! Homeschooling is going well with Elle, we did learning profiles on the website after reading the book Discover Your Child's Learning Style, and that has helped tremendously. It turns out that I am a print/auditory/producing (think workbook) learner and she is not. She's a visual/picture/tactile learner. So the curriculum that I was picking out for math wasn't meeting her needs at all, it was black and white and boring! The unit study or literature approach she likes (we started Five In A Row in November), and I lucked out on the phonics workbooks because they are mostly picture learning. She's also a relater, which means that she needs to talk things out to understand them, which was driving me crazy because she would constantly ask questions about what she was learning. Turns out, she needs to talk it out to understand. We went on a field trip to a composting place to learn about worm composting, and it was partly lecture and partly hands-on. When I questioned her about the lecture, almost nothing had been absorbed except for the hands-on part of the lecture. She doesn't learn that way, she is completely visual. Art is her favorite subject and she started taking a homeschool enrichment art class on Thursdays which she loves.
Tuesday, March 22, 2011
The Drama Triangle
Drama. It's a natural part of life. Right? Right? I keep asking myself this question lately. In high school my mantra was "Normal people are boring." or "It's boring to be normal. Who wants to be normal?" I never understood my motivation when I created drama with girlfriends by playing them against each other and being involved in a three way friendship. Or gossiping and expecting secrets to not be told, or telling secrets that were not meant to be told. All high school-ish behavior, but the glee and manipulative behavior while acting sweet on the outside was classic passive-aggressive.
When I was seventeen I met my Husband. I knew he was special the first time we met, love at first sight. I couldn't put my finger on it, we just clicked. He didn't think anything of my feminine wiles. He knew I didn't trust women because of what I knew I was capable of myself, and he played on that in a big way. Told me I didn't need those girls, who I didn't like anyway, I just needed him. He understood how I really felt about my friends, because he knew about the drama I was creating.
When I was seventeen I met my Husband. I knew he was special the first time we met, love at first sight. I couldn't put my finger on it, we just clicked. He didn't think anything of my feminine wiles. He knew I didn't trust women because of what I knew I was capable of myself, and he played on that in a big way. Told me I didn't need those girls, who I didn't like anyway, I just needed him. He understood how I really felt about my friends, because he knew about the drama I was creating.
Wednesday, March 16, 2011
Change at the Speed of Snail
My pediatrician said to me on our first visit that it takes 20 years to change clinical practice. That parents are changing the treatment of autistic and sensory children simply because they demand it. And that if we waited for clinicians to do it, we'd be waiting too long because children grow up too fast.
In that same vein I just read this article on gluten sensitivity: http://online.wsj.com/article/SB10001424052748704893604576200393522456636.html.
In two separate places the woman who runs the gluten intolerance group of north america says that patients have been told that it's in their head or they are crazy if they don't have celiac but still react to gluten. Their symptoms simply written off as psychiatric. It also says, "Peter Green, director of the Celiac Disease Center says that research into gluten sensitivity today is roughly where celiac disease was 30 years ago."
Tuesday, January 25, 2011
On Being Toxic
That's kind of a catchy title, and I'll get to it in a few. What follows is probably going to be just a spewing of everything that is going on with us. And it's not pretty.
First of all, the surest way to figure out what your flaws and weaknesses are is to invite your children to live with you, full time. Homeschooling is so much fun and such an interesting way to learn, but it is something more. All of my imperfections I now see reflected in my oldest child. My worrying, my fretting over something new, my ability to take a situation apart piece by piece before it's ever experienced, she's reflecting back at me. It's not a character trait I'm proud of. And I didn't expect this, at all. I didn't expect to have to deal with my SHIT, right now, before it ruins my child.
First of all, the surest way to figure out what your flaws and weaknesses are is to invite your children to live with you, full time. Homeschooling is so much fun and such an interesting way to learn, but it is something more. All of my imperfections I now see reflected in my oldest child. My worrying, my fretting over something new, my ability to take a situation apart piece by piece before it's ever experienced, she's reflecting back at me. It's not a character trait I'm proud of. And I didn't expect this, at all. I didn't expect to have to deal with my SHIT, right now, before it ruins my child.
Sunday, November 28, 2010
Wallowing
This was going to be a letter but is turning into a post...
Things have not been good. I had been circling the drain a few weeks ago for several reasons. One, first and foremost, my husband works too much. People say they understand what it's like to have a husband who is never there, but they don't. When he leaves before we wake up and misses dinner for five consecutive nights in a row, you really don't get it, do you? No, you don't. I am starting to be convinced that wives of chefs are either gluttons for punishment or were raised by single parents, so are assured that they can go it alone. I think I fall into the latter group. I had a wonderful role model in my mother so I know for sure I can do this alone, I just don't want to have to.
Things have not been good. I had been circling the drain a few weeks ago for several reasons. One, first and foremost, my husband works too much. People say they understand what it's like to have a husband who is never there, but they don't. When he leaves before we wake up and misses dinner for five consecutive nights in a row, you really don't get it, do you? No, you don't. I am starting to be convinced that wives of chefs are either gluttons for punishment or were raised by single parents, so are assured that they can go it alone. I think I fall into the latter group. I had a wonderful role model in my mother so I know for sure I can do this alone, I just don't want to have to.
Tuesday, October 12, 2010
Autumn
So the last update was May I think? A lot has happened since then! Of course, we moved to Orlando. We miss our Iowa peeps dearly. I think we had gotten so used to the way life is so different there, that it is hard to get back into a Southern state of mind! Not that Orlando is slow paced by any means, just the plain talk in Iowa was a breath of fresh air, and now we are back to the niceities of the South. Blech!
Miles is doing phenomenal, I can't believe how well he is growing up! Too fast if you ask me. He'll be 23 months today. Our eight month battle with yeast finally ended when we moved down here, perhaps because of the humidity, perhaps because our new diet was such a shock to the system, who knows? We were in the hotel for six weeks, eating out all the time. Anyway, he is talking in four word sentences and his fine motor skills are unbelievable, he can catch baby lizards! Just picks them up like it's nothing.
Sunday, October 3, 2010
Kicking and Screaming
Well, maybe not that dramatic. But it felt that way. Leaving Iowa was one of the hardest things I have ever done, even though it didn't seem real until we did it. The date was just there, a few months away, then a few weeks, then a week, and all of a sudden we were gone. That's kind of how my life goes, with three kids I really don't have time to prepare for anything, life just comes at me.
So when we left, we drove down to New Orleans. Through many, many states, including Illinois this time. When I think Illinois, I think Chicago. I didn't know that the majority of it is farmland. Anyway, by the time we left Iowa I was on a real high, energy kick, and driving down to the South was like being sucked into the Pit of Despair. That is the only way I can describe it, because there is a negative energy vortex around New Orleans (note I didn't say bad or wrong, it's just negative), which is the complete opposite of places like Iowa or Sedona, Arizona, or Portland, Oregon, or places you have heard of that have very positive energy.
So when we left, we drove down to New Orleans. Through many, many states, including Illinois this time. When I think Illinois, I think Chicago. I didn't know that the majority of it is farmland. Anyway, by the time we left Iowa I was on a real high, energy kick, and driving down to the South was like being sucked into the Pit of Despair. That is the only way I can describe it, because there is a negative energy vortex around New Orleans (note I didn't say bad or wrong, it's just negative), which is the complete opposite of places like Iowa or Sedona, Arizona, or Portland, Oregon, or places you have heard of that have very positive energy.
Saturday, June 26, 2010
My, how things change
Just in the past year, things have shifted so much. Today I took my first cold shower of the summer. I don't remember ever feeling this hot in 89 degree, 64% humidity weather. I also never lived where it got down to zero degrees, either. The last truly cold shower I remember taking was at Camp when I was 12. I guess I got used to the cold, fast.
I make fun of Eric a lot because he basically gets in his car in the garage, drives to work, parks in a garage, and works in 72 degree bliss all day long, gets back in his car in the garage, drives home, and parks in the garage. Basically he doesn't have to deal with cold unless I haven't finished shoveling the driveway, or I need to come inside and Miles isn't ready to stop playing in the snow.
I, on the other hand, get three kids in the car, drive to school and drop off, and I prefer to walk Elle to the door, but don't always get to, so I usually get out of the car to say goodbye. Then I drive to preschool, drop Justin off, drive to run errands, and yes grocery loading is a pain in freezing weather and so is pumping gas. Then I pick Justin up, and so I don't use gas I park and walk to get Elle. Then we spend time outside in the afternoon either walking in the snow, playing on the ice, or shoveling.
I make fun of Eric a lot because he basically gets in his car in the garage, drives to work, parks in a garage, and works in 72 degree bliss all day long, gets back in his car in the garage, drives home, and parks in the garage. Basically he doesn't have to deal with cold unless I haven't finished shoveling the driveway, or I need to come inside and Miles isn't ready to stop playing in the snow.
I, on the other hand, get three kids in the car, drive to school and drop off, and I prefer to walk Elle to the door, but don't always get to, so I usually get out of the car to say goodbye. Then I drive to preschool, drop Justin off, drive to run errands, and yes grocery loading is a pain in freezing weather and so is pumping gas. Then I pick Justin up, and so I don't use gas I park and walk to get Elle. Then we spend time outside in the afternoon either walking in the snow, playing on the ice, or shoveling.
Wednesday, May 19, 2010
A Louisiana Girl's Iowa Observations
First of all, everyone here is blonde. Everyone. It is uncanny how many blonde haired, blue eyed adults and children live here. Someone said they are of scandinavian descent, but I'm not sure.
Snow does not kill weeds. I thought for sure it would. It does not kill grass, either. It melts and the grass is just as green as it was in Autumn, and the weeds you left in the Fall are still there.
Snow also doesn't melt like I thought it would, into rivers of water. It melts slowly, from the top of the pile, like your snowball does. It also retreats from the edge of the curb like the waves at the beach. Curb to sidewalk. For some reason I didn't think it would go that way.
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