Losing Words

I have 4 blog posts queued up, waiting to be finished.  One tells about Rip Claw, and how we finally finished the lengthy process of gifted testing and enrolled him in the program at a new school.

Genius!
Well, Gifted, anyway. 

He'll start later this month, and we have high hopes that he'll enjoy 2nd grade in a way that he was not able to enjoy kindergarten or first grade.  In another post, I excitedly started to share my Summer Reading list (#1- Nica of Los Angeles by Sue Perry [Bonus! If you want to solve the vague mystery of my real first name, check out the dedication page. That's me!] #2-#5 Connie Willis' time travel series starting with Doomsday Book and ending with All Clear. #6- One Summer by Bill Bryson which I know I mentioned before, but still haven't been able to talk to anyone about, so I'm pushing it on you again.  Read it!) by rambling on about a dream I had where the ocean turned into buildings.  Two posts are mostly about my running, but also about racing, Facebook, training, life, job searching, migraines, blogging and cheesecake.

Homemade cheesecakes with from-scratch caramel sauce and fresh, real whipped cream might deserve their own post.

The one thing they all have in common is that they all end right around here.



Not this time!  See?  You keep scrolling, there are more words.

The problem, of late, is something like writer's block.  Oh, and I kind-of hate running.  Also, I forget things like I'm a highly paid executive at Forget Me, Inc.  I've been sleeping poorly and making bad choices, like this shirt set that I recently purchased for myself (yes, with real, U.S. dollars).

Hot pink lace bandeau with strappy, gauzy, grape colored tank.

The day after ordering the shirt set online, I remembered that I'm 38-nearly 40!, laughed aloud, and decided that I would be sending it back.  7 FULL DAYS LATER I remembered that I'm only 35, but that doesn't justify my owning anything in these colors, made of these fabrics, or cut in these styles, and still planned to send the items back.  Today, the items were delivered.  Tomorrow, they will be returned, with my apologies.

I do have a reason, or at least a theory, to explain all this nonsense.  Drugs.  Specifically, Topamax, the prophylactic medication prescribed by my new neurologist, Dr. T, early last month to reduce the number of headaches and migraines I get from somewhere in between godawful and shocking to a more normal number.  Both Dr. T and my good pharmacist friend, Dr. B, informed me that, much like with any medication, this one comes with some potential side effects.  (Dr. T actually said that the main side effect would be that all my fingernails would be painted the same color, but that's because I visited him on the 3rd of July after painting some of my nails red, some blue, and leaving one unpainted for the Independence Day festivities to come.  I think it bothered him a whole awful lot.  Funny thing is, I don't think I had painted my nails at all for about 6 years prior to that day.)  Tingling in the hands, feet, and maybe around the mouth, is a common one.  Also, feeling a mental fogginess or spacing out.  "You may have trouble saying the words you want to say; feel a sense of disconnection."  The 10-page paper that came with the prescription also mentioned depression, suicidal thoughts ("call your healthcare provider right away, but do not stop taking this medication suddenly, as that can cause an increase in suicidal tendencies"), and the usual "rare but serious..."

After almost a week on the medication, I started feeling tingling in my hands and feet.  No big deal.  Dr. T had said the tingling would go away after the medicine built up in my body and I got used to it, which was one of the reasons he gave me a titration schedule (yeah, I know words like that 'cause I have a pharmacist for a friend) to let it build up slowly.  About two weeks after, I noticed the tingling all the time, especially while exercising, and my running started to suffer.  My pace kept climbing, which really isn't that big of a deal during these hot, humid Florida summers, but I started describing every run with words like "blah" or "blech" or "barf."  And really meaning it, because I was really dreading every one of them, even though they were marathon training runs and I had an incentive set up for myself for finishing a month's worth of them.

Greek food.  I love it desperately.  Charming hates it almost as much.  What could make for a better personal treat for a month of marathon training?

After just over 4 weeks on the medication, I had my first experience with the word loss side effect.  I expected it to feel like the word was on the tip of my tongue.  No.  I lost the word 'lowered.'  When I say I lost it, I mean it was as if it had never before existed in my life.  Drs. T & B both mentioned a disconnection, and I'm sure that's because other people on this medication have experienced exactly what I felt.  It was as if one small part of my brain was whispering "lowered" and the rest of my brain and body were just laughing and taunting, like, "Ha!  You think that's a word?  No.  Don't use that.  Nope.  Won't work.  Can't do it.  Don't even try.  Not a word.  Never heard it.  You're thinking of ______." And then I think I actually saw a big sad face in my head, because I couldn't think of a word.  Eventually, within what felt like 20 minutes but was probably 20 seconds, I came up with the word 'lowered' and it was the right word, but it was as if my brain had been disconnected from the rest of me.  I couldn't make myself use the word 'lowered.'  Later that same day, I said to still-football-obsessed Rip Claw, "Did you know the Giants and Bulls are playing the Pro Bowl game this week?"  I knew I meant the Bills, not the Bulls, and I knew I meant the Hall of Fame game, not the Pro Bowl, but I couldn't say the right words.

A few days later, I started putting together all the pieces.  It's hard, when your brain doesn't work, to figure things out, but eventually, I did it.  Unfinished blog posts.  Hating running.  Hating Facebook more than ever.  Un-returned phone calls.  Looking forward to sitting on the couch.  Throwing the iPod in a bowl of rice for a week rather than figuring it out that I accidentally set it on repeat.  Letting Rip Claw watch Spongebob for a sickening amount of time.  Letting Cupcake memorize the "Go Potty Go" DVD from the library, yet letting her Never Potty Never.  Realizing that many of my text message responses are "I don't care" or "whatever."  Not studying any fantasy football or doing any mock drafts even though the real drafts are coming up in just a couple of weeks. 

I knew my college degree in Psychology would come in handy someday.  I've got the anhedonia!  Okay, so that's not usually a term used with an exclamation point.  It means I've lost interest in things that I used to care about.  It's another side effect.  Now, listen.  Before you start to worry, I'll have you know, I was screened by a nurse just the other day.  I was told to answer, over the past 2 weeks, how many days I had felt a bunch of things like hopeless, failure, fatigue, etc., 0, 3, 5, 7, or 14.  I kept wanting to answer 1 or 4 or 8 or 6 or 57.  Is that weird?  But, she wasn't worried.  I'm not clinically depressed.  And strange nurses don't want to confirm whether or not you're just anhedonic, or if that's actually a word.  I have had ZERO-as in NOT ONE suicidal thought.  I've lost my words.  Literally, that one time, when lowered was gone, and for the past month, when I couldn't make them come out and make sense on the ol' blog.

Now, you may be wondering why running, having been an almost constant source of joy, drenching my brain with powerful endorphins, is not helping me through this tough mental battle.  Well, it seems like I'm just in a perfect storm of awful, lately.  All my runs in July and August, except for half of two, were solo.  Sickeningly hot.  Maddeningly slow.  That's not fun, but it's still running.  However, I managed to do something to some part of my body somewhere along the way, and now I have plenty of time to reminisce and appreciate all of those terrible runs while I sit on the couch in excruciating pain.

X-rays were negative, there's nothing wrong with my joints.  Doppler ultrasound showed nothing wrong with my circulation and no clots (I wore good underpants again, don't worry) in this leg, blood work showed no sign of infection or rheumatism or whatever else they were checking for.  The therapeutic masseuse concentrated her efforts on the Obturateur externe, Adductor and Quad muscles (Did you know there were four of them?  I responded like she said everyone does to that information "Oh, duh.").  She also worked on evening out my noticeably uneven hips.  Result seems to be that now I'm limping straighter than before.

Time for the good news!  I haven't had a headache in over a week!  I'm still taking the Topamax for that reason, and because I don't think it's the fault of the medicine that I can't move my leg.  Pretty soon, I'll know if it can prevent my hormone-triggered, debilitating migraines.  I would gladly lose many more words to be rid of those for good.

I feel like I should leave you with a helpful piece of unsolicited advice, since that's kinda why I'm here.  So, I'll recommend that you do side planks instead of forward planks.  If you're like me, you hate them with a vehemence because they're really hard to do.  That's because those muscles are weak.  You know what?You'll never regret getting stronger.


Please share a bit of good news!

Greek food- love it or hate it?

Just The Tips

I like giving advice.  I especially like giving advice when I don't have to see anyone rolling their eyes, doing the exact opposite of what I've suggested, or worse, ignoring me.  You've probably noticed, though, that my blog posts tend to be heavier on the fluff and lighter on the advice.  That is, until this one!  Here we go with all advice, no fluff.  Okay, so it'll probably be, like 90/10 advice to fluff.  Maybe 80/20.  Just pay attention!

• ADD CRUNCH to your ice cream.  Cold, sweet, creamy treats are better with a bit of a bite.  Honey roasted peanuts are a favorite on almost every flavor other than mint, but you will also enjoy crushed graham crackers, cookies, chocolate-covered pretzels, M & M's (Or, as Cupcake calls them, "LMNs." She's been singing a lot of alphabet song, lately.), plain pretzels, dry roasted peanuts, and any kind of sweet baking morsel. 
• BE KIND always.  Do you seriously think you'll ever regret being kind to someone?  Even if they don't deserve, notice, or appreciate your kindness, you still did the right thing.  If not for your own sake, do it for Helen.  
• BE GRATEFUL and dwell on your gratitude.  I've given myself two Summer Projects to complete.  One is to toilet train Cupcake, the other is to make sure Rip Claw understands how grateful he should be for his blessings.  He gets rewarded with a star for writing at least 5 days a week in his Big Book of Thanks. I realized that in order to feel gratitude for what he does have, he has to be able to see and understand what it means to have not.  I've taken to telling him about something mildly horrible each day in order to drive home the message that he's got it good.  Sunday, I showed him a newspaper picture of a street in Iraq where dozens of men walked with rifles held high, having just volunteered to help stop the rebel terrorists from killing innocent people.  Thursday, I told him about how people used to have to go to stores to shop for things, and if they couldn't find what they wanted, they would have to use a phone book to call another store.  Then, if they ordered something through the mail, it might take a month to arrive.

School has been out for 2 weeks, and already he's writing letters backward and forming sentences like "in do'nt go tso stores" Love it.

• EAT A CALZONE made like I make them.  Recipe available upon request.  I'm not including it because it would bring my fluff percentage up to at least 30.
• READ because reading is awesome.  I recently finished The Invention of Wings by Sue Monk Kidd and loved it.  I'm now in the midst of a library copy of One Summer by Bill Bryson, and I'm seriously considering buying a copy for Charming to read at the same time so that I'll have someone to talk about it to.  I know the author wasn't in America, in 1927, experiencing all that was happening, but the book reads like you're being told a first-hand account of really cool historical events.  If you've read it, please let me know so that I can talk to you about it instead of blurting out things like, "Prohibition was the worst!" and "Wow.  Babe Ruth." at random times.
• THINK OUTSIDE THE RED when it comes to fries.  I feel that I may have failed newcomers here by not posting my fry dipping advice all the time.  
• EXERCISE.  I don't have to tell you that, though, right?  There's really no excuse not to.

I don't know who Bill Phillips is, but he's right.
I also don't know if I could eat a doughnut that large, but if it's blueberry cake, I might like to try.

• GIVE IN to your quirks.  I only recently stopped making excuses for mine, and I must say, it has been quite freeing.  I stack the papers neatly just before I put them in the shredder.  I color coordinate my to-do list based on how much I like or hate the task.  "Make phone calls" is in orange, because making phone calls is the worst, and orange is the worst color post-it I have.  It bothers me when the two sides of the dishwasher racks are unevenly weighted, like the left side is going to tease the right side for having to work harder.  Everybody has their quirks, and the sooner we all admit them, the sooner we can find others with whom to commiserate.
• SMILE at someone.  One thing I love about being a mostly-stay-at-home-mom is the absence of customers and co-workers telling me to smile.  I smile a lot, because I'm a happy person. When I'm not smiling, it's usually because I'm not a complete idiot walking around with a toothy grin spread across my face to hide the absence of intelligent thoughts. When someone tells me to smile, I immediately want to scowl and kick them in the teeth.  However, I'm telling you to do it because when you give someone a friendly smile, it's really hard for them not to smile back.  Here, I'll even give you some help!

So, how do you think I did?  Nowhere close to 90/10, eh?  

Care to share any of your quirks?

Calzones.  Just a friendly reminder that my recipe is available.

Connect The Dots

The dots, in this case, are the random bits of information to follow.  Yes, I could have written several mini posts, but I think you know by now that I will almost always choose long-winded over short.

• For the second year in a row, my team made the playoffs in our Keeper($) Fantasy Football League.  Although my dependence on the Tom Brady/Rob Gronkowski combo seemed like it was going to destroy me earlier in the season (thanks a load for those 9 points in week 7, Touchdown Tommy), they pulled together when the time came and got me the wins I desperately needed.  This team is the one (of three) with which I most concern myself.  I'm doing terribly in the Free Family League, and I need many things to fall into place in order to secure a playoff spot in the winner-take-all League of Mostly Couples.  Unfortunately, my brother-in-law needs to beat his brother this week to push me ahead in the standings in that league, and, well, that might take a Thanksgiving miracle.

BIL's appropriate team pic

• Cupcake (formerly known as Baby) is thoroughly obsessed with The Fox song.  She prefers the live on Jimmy Fallon's show version to the original, because she likes pointing at the horse with the Ylvis guys.  She asks to watch it multiple times each hour day, sings along ("pa pa pow"), and dances.  It's pretty stinkin' cute.
• Rip Claw (formerly known as 6 y.o.) earned his Bobcat rank in Cub Scouts.  I got to paint his cute little face during the presentation ceremony at the pack meeting.  Charming (formerly known as Husband, because he's like my Prince and my Jax Teller all in one charming package) and I are pretty new to the whole scouting deal, and still a little hesitant.  We like the values they teach, and Rip Claw enjoys the activities a lot.  We're not entirely sure, though, that we're getting our money's worth.  It seems like a lot of expense, time, and effort are going in to securing tangible recognition that he's learned things we have taught him since he was born.  The leaders talk a lot about scouting being a family oriented program, but it is really difficult for us to participate in many of the events as a family, and I feel like we're ostracized if we complete assignments or activities just as a family, without the den.  Oh, and then there's the lightly blanketed racism that seems to pervade everything scouting-related...but that's a subject for a different post.  And they also seem prejudiced against those of us who don't sew or iron.

First time in uniform a couple months ago.

• I'm running again!  I've been slowly building my weekly mileage up, and including lots of walking each time I hit the road.  I also was treated to a therapeutic massage recently, which helped with the lingering soft tissue pain around my healed stress fracture.  I already shared some of the lessons I learned from my injury, but I feel like I'm also applying even more intelligence and thought to my running regimen than ever before.  I'm keeping track of how much water I drink, and meeting my goal of at least 100 oz/day.  I'm strength training, with concentration on my core, hips, and quads.  I've been practicing yoga.  Perhaps my favorite change, though, has been the addition of these dynamic stretching workouts after running.  

Miranda Esmonde-White doesn't know it, but I love her.  She makes me want to hug my television.

• I tweet!  Follow me, if you please.  I am @Rhi_Tweeter.
• My Alma Mater has an Ah-Mah-Zing football team this year.  U! C! F!  Whooooo!
• Nightmares have been going around at our house.  A couple of nights ago, Rip Claw slept  in our bed after a bad dream, which has never happened before.  Last night, I had a terrifying dream about the Governor from The Walking Dead wherein he was tearing the heads off of people (not zombies) with a hook, and hunting down me and the other members of my group.

• I'm currently reading 3 books.  1 for regular book club:

Turns out, rock star stereotypes are sometimes quite accurate.

         1 for mini book club:

Page 1, I decided to hike the Appalachian Trail.  Then, changed my mind somewhere around page 1 1/2.

         1 to satisfy my inner sci-fi geek:

Better than the first (so far) and the "There Goes The Galaxy" was pretty grand.

• Let's see...is there anything else important that I should share?  Hmm.  Oh!  Yeah.  I registered for my second first marathon.  Did anyone else just stop breathing for a second?  No?  Just me, then.  If two marathons could be complete opposites, my first first and my second first are such.  This one is in its inaugural year, local, without rock bands (although I think it would be great if they hired some local bands to provide music along the lovely course) and without several thousand of the participants that ran in Savannah.  It's going to be great.  It's going to be great.  It's going to be great.  

It's going to be great.

       Perhaps my chant should instead be: "I will not get injured.  I will not get injured.  I will not get injured."

I know I haven't offered much advice in this post, but please feel free to comment with any questions you have about my areas of expertise, like barely making fantasy football playoffs, running hesitantly, sleeping on the couch or not at all after scary dreams, and... um... reading!  Oh, and if you need to know every single lyric of The Fox song, I can help.

The Intelligence "Quonundrum"

EXASPERATED SIGH

No, I take that back.  It isn't fair to you.  My exasperation has nothing to do with you.  It's just, I've been writing a post about 6 y.o. for weeks, and I can't seem to say what I want to say.  I've written lots of words, of course, but I can't seem to get my point across.  So, let me try again, this time using the K.I.S.S.(keep it simple, stupid) method that so many of my college professors were fond of pretending they invented.

Be still, my heart <3

A recent letter, conference with the principal, classroom change, conference with the new teacher, and lots of research have combined to bring up a lot of questions in my mind about intelligence, achievement, being gifted, and parenting.

Pride = Prejudice? I worry that showing too much pride in my children will lead to prejudice from their peers and teachers.  If I tell anyone who will listen about all the words Baby can say or about all the ways 6 y.o. impresses me with his knowledge, do those listening immediately feel defensive?  Like most parents I actually know (not those tv parents), I don't compare my kids to others.  However, I always think that they think I'm bragging, like, "Lookit what my kid does!  Does yours do that?  No?  HA!  I win!"  If that were the attitude behind my words, I think some prejudice would be justified.  It was this fear, of eye-rolling behind our backs and alienation of our son, that kept Husband and me quiet(ish) last year, when he was in Kindergarten.  I think we both felt that it was more important to go with the flow, to let the teacher lead, than to make a fuss about how bored he was, and how little he seemed to be learning in school.

Gifted?  I'm growing increasingly annoyed by the label 'gifted.'  Everyone is gifted.  Some are emotionally gifted, some are athletically gifted, some are artistically gifted, some are gifted at making friends, some are gastronomically gifted, and can eat anything.  The belief, which can be confirmed with an IQ test, that 6 y.o. has greater intelligence than some, does not change who he is, how he has been raised, or what he can eventually achieve.  We've taught our son that name-calling is wrong and can be hurtful.  Similarly, I feel that labels, even those intended to be positive, can be harmful in the long term.

Red oval marks the spot of my educated guess of his IQ.

When a new teacher meets him, I don't want them thinking, "Oh, here's the gifted 6 y.o."  I want them to think, "Here's a unique 6 y.o."  Is it so much to wish for his teachers to get to know him and to recognize and adapt their teaching to the ways he is "gifted?"  His current school doesn't have a gifted program.  Testing is done after 1st grade, so if he qualifies and we decide to enroll him in the gifted program next year, he would have to leave his friends and all that is familiar to go to a new school.  Is that fair?  Conversely, is it fair to make him sit in a classroom where he is repeatedly "taught" things that he already knows, just because he's sitting with people he knows?

Parenting 101: Husband and I both love reading.  We read to both of our kids, and have since before they were even born.  We talk to them.  We answer even the really hard questions that 6 y.o. poses to us.  They're smart kids, and we have always parented under the assumption that smart was a good thing.  We bought puzzles instead of video games (until quite recently), we play games instead of watching television (at least some times!).  When our son started preschool at age 3, we were thrilled that he already knew his colors and letters and how to count, which were the requirements for the end of the year.  Each year since, we've been less and less thrilled with what our child knows in relation to the standard expectations and in relation to his peers.  I feel ridiculous, even admitting that.  We should only be proud!  He knows the things he has been taught, so why do we now feel even the slightest twinge of regret at having taught him?  It's because we don't want him to be an outcast.  We don't want him to hide his intelligence in favor of seeming "normal."

Butterfly on his knee, on release to the wild day.  Oh, and those are Clone Wars Captain's bars (homemade, of course) on his shoulders.

I've started to worry that preparing Baby for school, teaching her colors and letters and numbers, is not as good a technique as is keeping her on the same level as other kids her age.  Should she have been watching inane television shows a long time ago?  Which is more important, early in life?  A sense of belonging, or academic achievement?  6 y.o. isn't lacking friends, and I do think he feels like he fits in with his peers.  But how long can that last, I wonder.  How long before he withdraws into his own head because his thoughts are more interesting than the chatter of the kids around him?

My fears ---> his fears? When I was in 8th grade, our class had a spelling bee.  I lost on purpose.  My teacher knew I had thrown the game, and made me compete against the rest of the school.  I won.  I went on to a larger competition (districts, maybe?) and came in 2nd, meaning I was one of 2 people who moved on.  The next step was a regional bee, wherein I came in 8th place.  I went out on the word 'tirade,' by the bye.  I refused to study the list of words I was given to prepare for the district and regional competitions.  I didn't want to win.  The point of that story is this: will my fear of achievement transfer to my children?  Would all of these academic worries and talk of gifted-ness be irrelevant if not for my own concerns about feeling braggy and making sure my kids are comfortable with who they are?

The truth of the matter is that Husband and I think we have the best son on the planet.  He's brave.  He's funny.  He's adventurous and oh-so-handsome.  He's smart.  He has traits that make me think he's going to out-think me by the time he has out-grown me.  His memory is remarkable, his problem solving skills are very advanced, he's artistic and thoughtful, introspective and curious.  He loves being challenged, and he loves puzzles.  He reads, and comprehends, as if he's been doing it for years (plural) rather than year (singular).  He's also short-tempered, complains of a headache when the coffee table is turned backward, and would rather not participate than not be first.  The truth is that YOU also have the best kid on the planet.  The best one for you and the best one for us are different, but by design, I believe.

Does any parent know the best way to parent?  No.  We need to teach when we can, take what comes, solve the problems we are able to, and make sure our kids know that they are the best on the planet.

Have you ever thrown a game in favor of your opponents?

What I'm Reading IV

Wow.  It has been a while since I've shared my current reading list.  How much were you missing it?  Be honest.  Probably, you haven't been able to read a single book, not knowing what that one random blogger/runner gal was reading.  Please accept my apologies.  Since my last entry of mid-way through the book reports, I've read a few books, but not nearly as many as I would have liked.  One significant (to me, only, I'm sure) milestone was when I did not finish the chosen one for book club.  I was the only remaining member of our

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group who had completed every selected book for every meeting for nearly 3 years!  This one was interesting, but not in the way that it made me want to get to the end.  I found the topic compelling, and the anecdotes disturbing, but after not very many pages, I got it.  Food giants + Government = Yeah, let's get ourselves some land and grow all our own food.

I'm not technically reading the next book club selection, yet, but I did submit my reservation for a copy from my library.

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I think it's going to be good.  I just found out that the author wrote "High Fidelity" which I didn't even know was a book, I just thought it was a John Cusack film.  I found it when I was at the library, trying my best to be a good book clubber, and instead checking out 3 books that were not chosen for club discussion.  "High Fidelity" was one, but I haven't technically started reading it yet, either.  Nor have I begun The Fire Witness by Lars Kepler.  You may have done this before, too:  I walked up and down the New Releases section in the library, simply looking for something to strike my fancy.  Judging all the books by their covers, basically.  I recognized the author's name (Names?-Lars Kepler is a pseudonym adopted by a married couple, so I never know whether to refer to the author in the singular or plural, masculine or feminine.  Annoying.), and realized that I had read "The Hypnotist" a year or so ago.  I almost remembered what I needed to remember before checking out, but the thought was still just a quiet little buzz.  Finally, after a while, the buzzing grew louder.  "The Hypnotist" had been suspenseful, but really awful, plotwise.  There were like, hundreds of pages about a point which, in the end, didn't matter a single bit.  So, I probably won't be reading "The Fire Witness."  I can't put myself through the worry about whether or not the Pokemon characters are relevant.  (Seriously.  There were Pokemon.)

Um.  So, now, after all that about the books I'm not reading, which could be considered a Lars Kepler-ish way to annoy blog readers...

I love this series of culinary mystery novels.

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Love, love, love.  That might be one too many 'love's, considering all the murders poor Goldy the Caterer has to deal with, and how the timing of the events in each story is way, way, way off.  However, the latest book in this series has been fun, so far, and I don't yet have figured out whodunit.  The best part of these Culinary Mysteries is that the author includes recipes for all the dishes the caterer prepares.  You can bet I'll be baking Crunch Time Cookies soon- they have toasted pecans and toffee chips!

Just tonight, I finished reading:

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Long ago, in my Freshman year of college, I was required to read this book for my World Religions class.  I wish I could remember what 17-years-ago me thought of the story, and compare it to what I think now.  I was surprised (again, I think) at how quick of a read this deep, meaningful, filled-with-ancient-African-names-I-couldn't-pronounce book is.  I definitely recommend it.  If nobody actually requires you to read, these days, consider my recommendation a forceful one.  You know what else?  Take notes, while you read, and afterward.  You'll want to remember the story and how you felt about it.  Psst!  That was the advice for this post.  Don't look for it at the end.

There's something very special, almost sacred, about classic novels.  After a page or two of my eyes glazing over from trying to figure out the unfamiliar words and spellings, I get swept up and start enjoying myself.

Pretty sure "Public Domain" means they're not going to need me to add a link, here.

I don't care for Fanny, the "heroine" of this novel.  She's a whiny, prissy, crybaby, sissypants.  I also don't much care for Edmund, her love interest/cousin.  He's too smart and proper for his own good, and he's one of those who can't see his nose past the end of his face (Confession-I'm not entirely sure I know what that saying means, or that I used it in the right context.)  Despite my annoyance at Fanny's actions and Edmund's silliness, I am enjoying this book.  I'm 3/4 through it, and every time I start reading again, it's like I'm transported to another time and a whole other world.  Plus, the characters frequently use one of my favorite phrases: by the by.  Only, they spell the second 'by' with an 'e', so now I will, too.  I'm proper, like that.


Classic or modern?

Read anything good, lately?

Do You Need a Time-Out?

If you're my dear, sweet, beautiful 16-month-old Baby, then your answer will be an emphatic, "YES!"  Her new form of entertainment goes a little something like this:

Slap Mommy

Slap Bun-Bun (her favorite stuffed friend)

"Hey!  Hitting hurts.  No, Ma'am!"

Spit

"We do not spit."

Scream

Slap whatever surface is closest 

"Do you need a time-out?"

Nodding so vehemently that it looks like whiplash is next on the menu, "Yeh"

Now, her punishment is not going to sit in her time-out chair.  I've tried 4 different spots (3 chairs and a step), and as soon as she sits down she starts to grin, then giggle.  She absolutely loves it.  She has also figured out at what point I'm about to "let" her get up, and will scream, slap, or spit again in order to keep being "punished."  The threat minus the follow through has been working pretty well for a little while.  We usually only go through the routine once a day, and then she moves on to headstands or unnecessarily violent bun-bun kisses. "Mmmah!  Mmmah!  Mmmah!"

I brought 6 y.o. to Sea World last week to (finally-it has been open all of 2 1/2 months!) see the new Expedition Antarctica ride and penguin exhibit.  The ride was kinda boring, but I did enjoy the 2 extra staging areas that made it seem like the line was moving quickly.  And then, we exited the wild car on our right, and there was snow and ice and cold winds and workers wearing parkas and PENGUINS!  

Not a google image.  My own picture!

I haven't done any research, but I would still venture to say that this penguin enclosure is one of the first of its kind.  The barrier between us and them was only waist high, to me, and that was only closing in the giant aquarium.  I'm no zoologist (or ornithologist, or even psychologist, despite all my years in college) but it seemed like the penguins were pretty comfortable in their new home.  In fact, some birds hopped the fence to welcome us...or something.

4 times in the 5 minutes we were there, a penguin waddled into the crowd.

When the employee picked up this guy, we got a very close look at how penguins defecate.  In fact, the front pocket of 6 y.o.'s shorts betrayed the evidence of his closeness to the penguin's poopy protest of being picked up and put in time-out!  

Don't you just want to smooch his cute face?

6 y.o. was sent to his room a few times today, mere hours after the adorable photo above was taken.  Summer is wearing on him, I think, as is constant contact with Baby and me.  He claims he is feeling "only excited" about starting first grade next week.  Husband and I, however, would be okay with having him home for some more months, despite his backtalk and whiny, whiny, whiny whines.  

I have also taken a time-out this week, but not because I deserved it.  At least, I don't think I did.  I haven't been out for a run since Saturday.  That last run, brought to you by the number 7 (for different shades of pink I was wearing), the color pink, and the letter P (for pain in the knee), was my longest training run to date.  I had been experiencing some usually-bearable calf pain for several weeks, and had been disappointed by my performance in some of my recent runs.  

Pictured here: only 6 shades of pink, unless you count my sweaty face.  My sister borrowed my pink watch.
Also pictured here: evidence of my half-bag-o'-chips-per-night habit.  

So, like any dumdum runner, I ran 12 miles in a pretty hilly neighborhood.  I was quite pleased with my pace and with how I felt during and after the run, but I did feel a twinge in my left knee around mile 9.  I've now been limping around for 3 whole days, except for a 4 a.m. jog up and down the hallway to figure out whether or not I should join the running group for a 5 a.m. run.  Not sure if this is good or bad, but the pain is significantly different from the IT band pain I experienced a few months ago.  I'm still doing the IT band stretches that helped before, though.  Each time during this week that I think I'm successfully ignoring the pain because it isn't so bad, someone comments on my limp.  Therefore, I'll rest another day or so, I guess, and try to enjoy my time-out.

My advice for you, totally not given because misery loves company, is to take a time-out.  Whether you just want to sit in a big girl chair and will spit, slap, and scream your way there, or whether you want to greet the strange beings staring at you while you swim, sleep, and poop, giving yourself a little break will be helpful.  Don't believe me?  Fine.  But I think I saw you limping. ;-)

I changed the settings so you don't have to prove you're not a robot in order to leave a comment now.  So, go on.  Leave a comment.  

You too, robot.

Dear Science,

I don't pretend to understand you.  I mean, we're acquainted, but not the best of friends.  You might not realize this, but I've been enamored with you since 2nd grade when we planted beans and made rock candy.  We grew apart for a while, and then my love for you was rekindled when I was 13 and stayed true until, well, you got kinda math-y on me.  If only I could  have discovered all your hidden beauty and mystery without such bothers as "accurate measurement" and "statistical significance" and "physics."  Sigh.

Sweet!

I know that our relationship was not exclusive, and you probably didn't even notice when I abandoned you after college.  I had been distancing myself from you ever since that Biology 101 class during my Freshman year, when we weren't allowed to dissect anything, grow anything, or DO anything except take the end-of-chapter quizzes and watch movies (stupid, lazy, no-lesson-plans professor, tore us apart!).  Bo-ring.

My son learned more while feeding the ducks and turtles at the pond than I learned that entire semester.

The thing is, Science, I've still got a thing for you.  I know, I know.  I've been away too long, it will never work, we're too different now.  I don't expect us to pick up where we left off all those years ago.  We've both moved on.  What I really need now is for you to be more open and communicative with those who love you and who have been so dedicated to you.  I'm sure you've heard this before; folks come crawling back to you when they're looking for answers and realize that you're the key to solving their troubles.  Maybe I am being selfish.  But won't you please at least consider my requests?  Remember, we don't have to get back together for me to be happy.  I don't want to make you feel awkward, trying to get me caught up on all I've missed, and we both know that we'd have to waste lots of time reviewing things you had already shown me back when I was young and smart and had no children of my own to replace my deep, introspective contemplation of important, relevant things with thoughts of chicken nuggets, goldfish crackers, and Dora's explorations vs. Blue's clues.

Request #1- A cure for migraine headaches.  I realize there are awful, deadly diseases, afflictions more painful, and physical problems which are much, much harder to deal with than migraines.  Remember how I mentioned being selfish a minute ago?  Yes, this is a selfish request.  Let me modify it, slightly.  If I could just understand the migraines- the causes, symptoms, effective treatments, how long I can be suffering from one before everyone calls me a sissybaby behind my back, whether there is any real prevention method- that would be fantastic.  To make it easier on you, Science, I will gladly volunteer to have your Ists to study my brain, ask me questions, be fascinated by the auras that show up like clockwork before the pain sets in, and give me experimental drugs.

These poor, sweet children have to whisper when their Mom has a migraine, as their normal speaking voices bring tears of pain to her eyes.

Request #2- A cure for food allergies.  Not Lactaid.  That stuff tastes like drywall painted with toothpaste and doesn't even help relieve pain.  Not an epi-pen to save the life of the kid who accidentally ingested a peanut.  Not slightly-less-disgusting-than-they-used-to-be gluten-free products.  Food allergies are so unfair, and we need a cure.

Oreo cookie dunked in cold, creamy milk?  No.  Ice cream cone?  Nope.  Cranberry chutney stuffed brie cheese with fruit and crackers?  Negative.  Alfredo sauce?  Not unless it's made from cauliflower and soy milk.  Grilled cheese sandwich?  Mac-n-cheese?  Mashed potatoes?  Brown butter tortellini?  Pizza????  Sorry, Baby.  You can't have any of those things.  

Come on, Science.  We all know that you hold the key to unlocking all the mysteries of digestion, indigestion, and allergic reactions in the palm of your mysterious hand.  Won't you please show it to us?

Request #3- A self-cleaning floor.  Yeah, so I'm back to making selfish requests.  But before you shrug me off, think about this:  EVERYONE (and I don't think that's an exaggeration!) would like a floor that cleaned itself.  I'm not talking about a Roomba or whatever that creepy thing is that runs into walls all on its own.  I'm talking Jetsons-style.  Okay, so I think Rosie actually cleaned their floors, but I just mean their style.  I want to press a button on the wall or speak a few words aloud and have my floor obey immediately.  You know how there are little gutter bumpers that come up in the lane when it's a kid's turn to bowl?  I imagine that those kind of things would pop up from under the floor to barricade the area that was being cleaned.  The vacuum suction would come from underneath, as would the water and soap for the mopping.  Finally, the floor would be dried quickly so that it could be walked on almost without interruption.  (I think you've already let us figure out the dryers, actually.  Those automatic hand dryers in park bathrooms are pretty stinkin' powerful.  That had to be your doing, Sci [Can I call you Sci?  No?  You're afraid of being mistaken for a much-too-well-known, can't-believe-anyone-listens to this, so-called rapper?  Gotcha.].  Thanks!)  The best part?  Even if the floor had just been cleaned when someone spilled their soy milk or tracked mud in or dropped cooked couscous, with the simple press of a button and zero complaining, it could be clean again within minutes!

It's true that wethey've discovered a lot about you already, Science, and don't think me ungrateful.  Louis CK says in that viral video that I can't seem to find, "Everything's amazing and nobody's happy."  Everything is amazing, but I am happy, even though you and I have lost touch.  It's just...I think it's about time for a new Science Revolution (wait a sec- a "new revolution"- that's poorly worded, eh?  Oh, well.  Probably nobody will care, unless you let your sister-in-law, English, read this letter).

(Oops.  I think it's against the rules to end a paragraph with a set of parentheses, too?  Please don't show this letter to English!  Or to Grammar, for that matter!)

Sincerely,

Friendly in Florida

p.s.
Here's a bit of advice that I need to remember more than you do, Science:  Be smart.  Think.  Create.  Experiment.  Your ideas might just bring fame and fortune to yourself and some Ists!

p.p.s. (tee hee!  p p!)
Yes, I know how to spell 'scientists'.  I realize there's a 't' before the 'ists'.  Lemme alone, I can call 'em 'ists' if I want to!

What I'm Reading III

Alternate post title: Thank God for Libraries Full o' Free Books
Second alternate post title:  Unfinished Book Reviews (Again)

The list of books I want to read is growing so long, it actually hurts my head a little to think of it.  I'm not complaining, mind you.  I love reading, and the fact that there are so many delicious books that I have yet to dive in to makes me feel exhilarated.  Often, I find myself inwardly whining about not having enough time to read, but recently, I came to a realization that changed things for me.

Me: Ugghhh!  Another book to read?  

Less Annoying Me: Ugghhh!  More whining?

Me: But I don't have any tiiiiime!  Grr!

Less Annoying Me: Shut up.  You're a stay-at-home-mom, and half the time you don't even do laundry or dishes.  Not many grown-ups have more time than you.

Me:  So, what you're saying is...?

Less Annoying Me:  Maybe try a new plan.  Step 1- stop complaining about not having any time when you're wasting it on facebook and Subway Surfing on the Kindle Fire.  Step 2- read more books, simultaneously.  There's no way this "one at a time" nonsense is going to work.  Duh.

See, the last reading plan of mine has not been quite as effective since Baby has been sleeping through the night.  Hence, the Great Threebook Experiment.

Book #1- 

This is one that my dad and my oldest nephew have been insisting that I read for years now.  If I had taken their advice and read it a long time ago, I probably could have borrowed it from the library.  Now, there's even a wait for the audio version on CD, because, as my dad mentioned in the frantic text message he sent to me last week, the movie comes out in November and even the trailer is full of spoilers.  Lucky for me, the Kindle version was less than $5, and now I'm 72% done.  Let me say this carefully, so as not to be like the spoiler-filled movie trailer:  the beginning made me feel sad-almost unbearably so-because I'm the mom of a 6 year-old.  The middle made me angry, and during the last 15% or so, I've started to get "The Gotta" (Stephen King's term from Misery, meaning exactly what you'd think.  If you've ever read a good book, you know about The Gotta.).  So far, I've also managed to avoid seeing any ads for the movie (thank you, DVR!), and I'm confident that I can finish the book without having the ending spoiled for me.

Book #2-

At least 255 days of each year, Husband starts his morning watching Mike & Mike on ESPN 2.  They've been hosting a morning sports radio talk show for many more years than I've known about them, and at some point they started showing the radio broadcast on TV.  I enjoy talk radio, and I enjoy sports, and I enjoy my husband being happy, so I've gotten into it, too.  There are occasions that I turn it on before Husband wakes up, or keep it on after he has left for work.  Both Mikes are the kind of guys that you expect to be friends with as soon as you meet.  Also, they disagree about things sometimes, but not in the put-on, super annoying way that a lot of other sportscasters disagree.  Plus, they almost always have great things to say about my team's QB, even though my team is not usually the greatest.  I probably didn't need to ramble on and on about all of that, just to let you know that I feel like I know the Mike who wrote this, his first novel.

Back to the book!  Husband picked it up for me from the library the other day (prompting the whiny conversation in my head that I relayed up there) and I've just started Part 2, about 1/3 of the way through.  I'm really, really enjoying it so far.  I do sort-of "hear" Greenberg's voice, especially in the humorous parts, and my suspicion that most radio personalities have potty mouths when off air has been bolstered by the language in the book.  (I don't mind when book-people curse, as long as the words fit with their persona.)  I keep looking for evidence of inexperience or poor writing skills, but I've been pleasantly surprised to instead find myself engaged by and relating to the characters.  The only problem for me is that I read the summary of the story a couple of months ago when the book had just been released.  I was hoping all through Part 1 that I was remembering the summary of a different book, and that what I suspected was going to happen wasn't really going to happen to these women whom I already am attached to.  Alas, my memory served, and the first sentences of Part 2 confirmed my sad suspicions.  Without having finished it, I feel like it's kind-of cheating to recommend it.  Howzabout I'll let you know if I change my mind at the end, and want to take back my recommendation?  For now, go ahead and grab it.  I can vouch for Part 1, at least.

Book #3-

Because, well, I said I would.  Plus, my parents gifted me with it.  I'll admit, the multiple before-chapter-1 chapters annoyed me.  A LOT.  I figured there must have been some sort of dare, like, "Betcha can't use every sort of introduction in one book" so the authors were like, "Oh, yeah?  Watch this!"  Author's note.  Foreword.  Preface.  Introduction.  Chapter A.  A note to the reader. That's when I stopped reading, for a while, but I've picked it back up because, well, I said I would.  Like when reading a textbook or the Bible, I've even been prompted to highlight passages.  It's written pretty well, once the actual chapters start, and seems to be well-researched, too.  Probably you didn't know it, but I have a relative (NOT the sister I always mention) who is an addict, and that's one of the kinder words I use to describe her, lately.  If you're of a mind to do so, please pray for our family.  Even while reading the helpful words of those who have lived through the horror of a loved one's addiction, I'm finding it hard to be encouraged.

In other news, I found another great deal today!

Quick!  Get your bottled water before the sale ends and it goes back to the regular price!  Oh, and make sure you use your extra special card for the purchase.

Read more, whine less, and don't pay too much for bottled water.

What are YOU reading?

Snagged any great deals lately?

If Ever I Wished For Eye Bleach...

And now, a rare treat for your reading pleasure(?).  I hereby introduce my very own I Hate Popular Culture rant.  Enjoy(?)!

Let me start by admitting my own guilt, so that I can hate on everyone else without feeling too bad.  Our television is on for hours each day.  Most of the time, it's either tuned to a kiddie show for 6 y.o., or ESPN for Husband.  After the kids go to bed, Husband and I watch our shows, and they are, with a few exceptions, strictly for entertainment.  We don't watch many documentaries, or a lot of news shows, but we don't watch many reality shows, either.  We do tend to stick to shows that are, at the very least, thought and discussion provoking, rather than those that only leave us asking ourselves if so-and-so should have been voted off.  Many years ago, I did cast votes for the winner of Dancing With the Stars.

It was like his dancing shoes were filled with magical rainbows and shooting stars.  

Though I haven't kept up with watching every season of the show, it has been a guilty pleasure of mine for long enough to be able to tell a Tango from an Argentine Tango, and to notice when someone is too flat-footed in their Jive.  I've also watched many seasons of Top Chef, and, many episodes of Cupcake Wars, Chopped, and Iron Chef America.  I've watched many an annoying couple choose a house (that invariably has an open floor plan, finished basement, updated kitchen, plenty of room for their 2 yappy dogs to run around, hardwood floors, and is a little bit out of their price range), and I've watched even more annoying couples choose a house to fix up and then complain their way through the renovations, until ultimately bursting into tears when, surprise!, the professional contractor does a good job on the remodel and their house looks great.  I've watched small children's talented performances being picked apart by Howie, Howard, and Sharon.  It has been many, many years, but I must also admit that I did, at one (low) point, watch America's Next Top Model and The Bad Girls Club.  I can't even explain the appeal of those shows after having watched them.  They're just simply awful.  I cannot apologize for watching Hoarders, though, because I really, really like that show.  It makes me feel so healthy and normal!

I have never seen a Real Housewives episode- not even one.  I've never watched a single episode of Jersey Shore, Dance Moms, Toddlers and Tiaras, or anything with Redneck, Keeping Up With, or Honey Boo-Boo in the title.  I do have the gist of the horror of all of those shows, though, from watching Joel McHale poke fun at them on The Soup.

It was during an episode we watched last night that I, once again, found myself thoroughly disgusted by people as a group, and American television watchers specifically.  I will not share a video clip or link or picture here, because, as I found out the hard way, google doesn't understand that you might be searching for something just to make fun of it.  I really don't want to start seeing ads for any of the shows about the family whose last name starts with 'K' and rhymes with 'sickeninglystupidlargebottomednarcissisticthoroughlydisgustingandnotevengoodlookingshian'.  The video clip was from the actual show that follows these idiots, which actually aired on television, which people actually watched, and during which a lot of money was made.  Two of the Kbarfian sisters were talking about the smell of their respective private parts, and they then made a bet as to whose smelled better.  In order to settle the bet, they each wiped their lady part on a linen napkin and then had their third sister smell both napkins and vote for which one smelled the best.  As disgusting as the conversation, bet, and settlement of the matter were, I am not really upset about the occurrence of these events.  I am upset that the Kmorallybankruptian family makes approximately $65 million a year, and this is their job.  I am upset that 4 million Americans, on average, tune in to watch as they whine, shop, eat, drink, fight, yell, wipe and smell their way through life.

I'll let you decide whether I googled "K.K.'s vagina" or "disgusting skin diseases" to find this image.

During the hour their show is broadcast, there are approximately 4 gun deaths in the United States.  While millions watch the Kputridshians wipe and smell the private parts of their siblings, over 1,000 people in the world die of starvation.  30 children die of AIDS during that hour.  According to statistics, 1 person from the U.S. Military would have committed suicide while the wipe/smell/share thing was happening.  I know, I know.  It isn't the fault of the Ktrashians that so many people around the world are dying.  It isn't their fault that Haitian children have no shoes.  It isn't their fault that there are millions of homeless, jobless, ill and destitute people in this country.  If television executives are going to offer them gobs of money to be followed around by cameras and to say and do certain things, can we blame them for taking the money?  I guess not.  I mean, if someone wanted to pay me a 7-figure salary to say gross things and sit around on my generous behind all day, I can't say that I would turn it down.  And, according to the omniscient goog, they give a lot of money to charity each year.  So, much as it pains me to say so, my problem is not exactly with the Kspoiledbratshians.  My problem is with us.  We complain endlessly about the quality of the shows on television.  We know that the Kblahshian family should not be role models, and should not be admired, as they do not contribute anything of value to our culture.  We shake our heads and all agree that influential celebrities should have earned their voice, not by having a sex video on the internet, but by saying and doing things that are worthwhile.  All of that is true, yet I can't go a single day without seeing the K#@$%^&ian name in headlines.

Let's stop this.  Let's agree to make our ignorance purposeful, and ignore the people and things we all know we should hate, while paying attention to things that are important.  Child poverty, gun violence, mental illness, suicide, AIDS, world hunger--but it isn't just terrible, tragic things that need our attention.  Our kids need to be played with.  Sunshine needs to warm our skin.  Backyards need exploring.  Friends need a phone call, a laugh, to know they're being thought of.  Cookies need to be baked.  Running shoes need to hit the pavement.  Old ladies need doors held open for them.  Smiles need to be shared with strangers.  Closets need to be cleaned out.  Books need to be read.  Gardens need to be planted.  Spouses need a good, long kiss on the lips.  Letters need to be written.  Local government officials need to hear ideas and opinions from community members.  Volunteers are needed.  Laundry needs to be folded.  Floors need to be vacuumed.  Okay, now I'm just sharing my to-do list, but you get the idea, right?  If we all stop watching the garbage that's on television, they'll have to stop showing it.  For real!  It's going to take all of us, though.  Eventually, maybe the maid who had to launder the smelly linen napkins for the entitled, shallow, selfish individuals for whom she works will have to be fired because they can't afford to pay her anymore.  Maybe they'll have to drive themselves around and downsize to a closet that is the size of a bedroom instead of a whole house.  Wouldn't it be nice if we lived in a country whose people admired accomplishment and intellect over shocking scandal and manufactured beauty?  Can you imagine if the faces on the tabloids and magazines were actual heroes and villains of our time?  What if our teenagers knew world history instead of the dating history of models and sports stars?  My goodness, my heart is pounding as I think about all the possibilities!  I'm going to do it.  I'm going to set my mind on things that matter, and set my DVR to record shows that are not going to turn my brain to mush.  You should, too.

Have you ever seen anything worse on television than what I described?

Are you with me in my purposeful ignorance scheme?