Roots

I am often accused of being an elitist. I get it from all sides: my family sometimes (justifiably)questions my burning desire to abandon all the trappings of my childhood. My friends from my bartending years question my desire for a big house and a cushy car and 2 kids and a dog and a homemade pie in the oven. My husband questions my need for drama and pain and poetry and manic scribbling in leather journals I'll never show anyone. In short, I'm constantly seeking something.

I've touched on this before, when I wrote about my friend Vicki telling me I live in the superlative.

I digress.

I have never truly wanted to be away or different from any of the things I've listed above. I have always merely wanted to engage in the world and bring new facets of what I see around me into me. It's like trying to experience everything at one time...and because I so desire new experiences, I appear to always be leaving someone or something behind.

And that's okay. I am a collector of memories. On my deathbed, hopefully many many years from now, I hope to have a rich cache of memories that will distract me from my demise. I sometimes have panic attacks centered around the fact that I love my life so much, I want hundreds of years more to keep living it. I have been so blessed - due in large part to the folks who raised me.

There has always been a burning need inside me to get away from Dwight Mission Road in Sallisaw, Oklahoma. To get the hell out of the place where red clay punctuates farmland and streams are called "branches" and cows and chickens were my playmates. A place where we ground our own corn to make meal - shelled beans on the front porch - watched sunsets, chopped wood, didn't mind the silence. A place where my great grandmother slept with a pistol in her headboard to shoot men or coyotes that threatened her herd. It was a weird, and...I discover, a wonderful life. I miss it.

I NEVER thought I would.

But the stuff I'm made of, the stuff of gardens and prayers and independence and naiveté. The stuff of hell fire and brimstone. The stuff of skinned knees and endless fields of hay. The stuff of women. And babies. And muscadine grapes that I would hide under the vine and eat until my fingers were stained and my belly ached. That's the stuff I miss. And now, the older I get...it's the stuff I so desperately want to show my children.

The crux of the problem is this: the life my husband and I have carved out for ourselves is a life of theater and concrete and museums and art. It's such an amazing life. I cannot figure out how to return to what I was without abandoning what I have become. Because I couldn't have made it here without them, those naive, kind, simple, wonderful people...but I would never want to return for good. Call it elitist if you want, but I will continue collecting my memories.

Why Darwinism Makes Sense

It is likely not a surprise for you to hear that I grew up in an unorthodox way. One of the most grating things about growing up on The Farm was the indoctrination of the people I love. The members of my childhood memories accepted what their pastor and their favorite Right-Wing Fundy politician and their local wise-man said about just about anything. Feeling tired? Try chelation! Don't like paying taxes? No one should have to! Evolution? Blasphemous!

Now, I believe that everyone has a right to his/her own beliefs and that it's important to seek out people who feel and think differently than you do so that your opinions are always well informed and well rounded. In point of fact, I have tons of right wing friends, I listen to Rush Radio, and I spend a good amount of time listening to Fox news...just to make sure that I'm not up to my eyeballs in propaganda and missing the other side of the things I believe in. It's important to be educated.

I told you that to tell you this: Contrary to my upbringing, I have discovered: Evolution is irrefutable (EVOLUTION). And it is ABSOLUTELY NOT IN ANY WAY TIED INTO THEOLOGY. Period. You CAN believe in God and evolution at the same time.

Evolution is defined as the process by which genes in our genome change over time, and is typically applied to entire populations, not individuals. Some of those changes give rise to characteristics that make us better able to survive. When we live longer, we have more kids that have our genes and THEY are better able to survive. Common sense, right?

Here's the problem. We don't live according to Darwin's (Charles Darwin) rules any more. We live in an over-medicated society. Follow me:

Mom A was born with diabetes, slight mental retardation, and a cleft palate.
Dad A was born normal and healthy, but acquired a wicked methamphetamines habit in his late teens.

Mom A stays fat and happy due to our exceptional health care system. She and Dad A meet, have 4 kids who are overweight, constantly exposed to carcinogens, and have sub-standard IQs. They go on to have more kids with other kids who are disadvantaged both socioeconomically and genetically.

Two hundred years ago, hell, a hundred years ago, this wouldn't have happened because Mom A would have 1. died early due to diabetes or 2. been institutionalized for the retardation and prevented from ever meeting Dad A and the 20 some children who are disadvantaged would never have been born.

Now, I'm not advocating genetic cleansing. What I'm trying to point out is that our society isn't giving people the right tools to prevent this sort of thing. Why are we not telling people on state assistance that we will give them help in caring for themselves, but not children and HERE'S SOME FREE BIRTH CONTROL AND A VOUCHER FOR STERILIZATION IF YOU CHOOSE. If they'd like to adopt one of the million children in social services right now, they can do that for free, given that they prove they are fit. It's a two birds with one stone sort of thing. Now, there are problems with this scenario, but they could be worked out.

When I see people with obvious genetic defects, the basest and most clinical side of me PRAYS they'll never procreate. It's just so irresponsible! I know how much people want children. How joyful it is to see your eyes in another...but we have got to start helping people make better choices and meting out consequences for those who don't or our gene pool will continue getting more and more shallow.

Fever

One of my very favorite lessons to teach is the one about general immunology and my favorite rules for keeping you and your family healthy.

It goes like this: When we're born, we have a big juicy set of organs that are full of cells that are REALLY special. These cells are designed to remember all the bad things they encounter. Which brings me to my first set of rules.

1. Let your children get dirty. Not to the point DHS is going to come a'knocking...but grubby. All the memory you're going to make happens in roughly the first ten or so years of life. Hence all those pesky injections. Which brings me to:
2. Jenny McCarthy is a MOTHERFUCKING IDIOT. She makes me twitch. Autism is not caused by vaccines. Period. And if you'd like to see the impact this silicone enhanced twit has incurred click HERE. And if you'd like to watch a slightly less biased video - click HERE.
3. Get your flu shots. They can't hurt, you know? Unless you have an egg allergy, and especially if you're around little ones, get it done.

Now, we all know that memory immunity is all well and good and that pertussis is nasty and we should remember that immunizations only work if greater than 80% of the population get them. What you may not realize is that your immune system wages war in your body every day. Every swollen lymph node is a soldier who has quarantined rogue cells in your body and is seeking out the good cells (the white blood cells) that are perfectly equipped to destroy them. Along that line, your body is also probably releasing some very potent chemicals that cause you to drop an atomic bomb on these bugs that have infiltrated you. That bomb is FEVER.

4. Fever is not the enemy. Microbes grow at the temperature of your body. Elevating that temperature even slightly is tantamount to napalming the germs that are making you sick. If you dose your kid every time he gets a fever with naproxen or acetominophen, you're crippling his body. A good rule of thumb is this: Keep it below 103. Tylenol lowers a temperature by approximately 2-3 degrees. If the fever is at 100 or 101, leave it alone. Push fluids and rest. If it goes above that, dose him/her. If it won't respond to meds, call the doc (a real one, not me, I'm a science type).
5. Keep your ass out of the Emergency Room. That place is full of sick people. Eeep. If your kid or you are having trouble breathing, moving, speaking, or keeping down fluids for more than a day, by all means, go... but fever, as scary as it can be, is not a reason to go to the ER.

That's all for today. I plan on doing more of these. If you like them, let me know. And by the way: I know that I've got some readers who are anti-vaccines. I respect your decision to do with your own body what you will...but I want you to watch the Vaccine War video posted above and look at the baby with pertussis. That child was too young to get vaccinated and contracted the illness from someone who didn't immunize. Is THAT your choice? Really? Just think about it.

You've gotta admire the dedication...

of my friend Lindsey. She's far more organized than I about blogging, and generally has a sunnier disposition. You should follow her: here

Stop by and let her put you in a good mood. I guarantee you'll be a better person for putting her into your life.

Dr. S

Dear North Carolina -

So, every now and again, I think it's healthy to take a step back and evaluate what life has given you and decide whether you need to congratulate yourself for rising to the occasion or try and figure out what to do better next time.

It's been 1 year and 1 week since we moved to Cary, NC. So much has happened in our time here. North Carolina has been tough on us: in fact, I might go so far as to say NC is like the abusive poet ex-boyfriend I've got in my closet. He's all sweetness and light on the surface, full of promise and pretty words, but when pushed, he packs one hell of a wollop.

To recount, month by month, our time here so far includes: recovery from a birth, poverty, amazing friends, astonishing charity, hard work, death, loss, more hard work, violence, joy, pain, sickness, growth, and remarkable love. Enjoy the ride.

June 2009 - we arrive. We spend 24 hours making a trip that is supposed to take 16. I am 1 month post-partum and have a prolapsed bladder and a raging case of panic at the prospect of what we are about to take on. I'm eager to get started in my new lab and hopeful that the people there won't hate me. Andy is nervous, eager to get to NC and find a job so we can re-group. We figure it willl only take a month or two for him to find something. Aidan is three. He's just had his very.first.haircut.ever - a mohawk. We flew J out to help us move and my baby sister, Ariel came, too. We'd spent the days before the move drinking and eating pizza with friends, packing, cleaning the house, sleeping on the floor, saying our goodbyes. It's hot. It's beautiful. Thinking of our old house makes me want to cry, now. I LOVED that neighborhood. It was ramshackle, but it had the tallest trees and the greenest grass and the reddest brick houses you ever saw. That month was the last time I'd feel comfortable for a very long time.

Ariel on the way across the country.

The old house.

Our last night in Arkansas.

July 2009 - We unpack and try to settle in. Andy still can't find a job. We get into what would become a ridiculously difficult pattern of me working while he stays home with the kids. I love my new lab...the people in it are wonderful. Ariel leaves. Archer is growing. FAST. Aidan cries almost every night. We struggle to find the $$ for groceries. Coupon clipping and credit card maxing becomes a favorite hobby. We run out of money. We spend lots of time at the park and museum. It storms every day.

The view from our new apartment, which is beautiful. But no yard.

The boys in July.

August 2009 - Andy gets sick. With mono. He won't be able to get out of bed until September. Work starts coming hard and heavy. Archer is sitting up and I find I cannot get enough milk out of me under such stressful conditions. We begin supplementing breastfeeding with the bottle. I feel guilty for being gone so much. Andy still can't find a job. We are now living with an extra $4 after paying bills each paycheck. So we quit paying on our credit cards in an effort to have enough money for ramen noodles and sphagetti. It is UNBEARABLY hot. We go to the cabin.

From the lookout before Andy's Father's cabin...where we go to escape the NC summer.

September 2009 - I fly home and defend my dissertation. I get my PhD. Andy gets worse then better. J and Vicki and Robin and Diana, (who have turned out to be the most amazing people you'll ever meet)steal our children and give us FIVE WHOLE HOURS OF NOTHING TO DO. I was about to crack. It is amazing. Andy has STILL not been able to find a job. We are getting scared and have programmed "MONEYWANTERS" into our phones for all the creditor calls we don't want to answer. Mine has 46 numbers under that name. North Carolina is hotter than any place I've ever been. EVER. My Rachie visits.
I did it!

October 2009 - We begin feeling a little better, in direct proportion to the falling temperatures. Aidan is Thomas for Halloween. The J/V/R/D take Aidan trick-or-treating and we go to a party. We are home by 9 p.m. Andy still cannot find a job.
Thomas (AKA Aidan)

November 2009 - I begin to realize that I hate what I'm doing in the lab. HATE IT. But I cannot figure out what else I might do. At family dinner each Sunday, J and I try and figure out how to save the world. Andy applies for a job that seems promising at Florida Tile. The Manager says he would hire him on the spot if not for HR. Andy says we can wait. Oh, we'll wait, all right. Archer is crawling. Aidan is almost 4. Still cries when he talks about our old house. The creditor phone calls are coming hard and heavy - but we're paying the essentials. We have insurance. We've mastered advanced couponing and are frequently getting 150 dollars worth of weird-ass grocery combinations for 20 or 30 dollars...so we're eating. I'm considering getting onto WIC because we are still trying to feed Archer and I'm afraid the weird food is bad for the kids. We go to the beach with the friendlies to celebrate my 28th birthday. Andy's Grandmother (who I adore) dies. We grieve.
Last photo of Archer and Aidan with GG Ruth.

Aidan on the beach at Anna Maria Island.

December 2009 - Christmas comes. Makes us sad. We miss our family. We save and scrimp and buy/make presents and cards. We enjoy ourselves. I get some extra work with a patent analysis company. Andy is still waiting for word from Florida Tile. Andy's Mom and brother come to visit. It is wonderful. I get TOTALLY blindsided by homesickness and Andy surprises me with creative accounting that allows us to make a bottom basement budget trip home to Arkansas.
Andy and I on Christmas night.

At Apex, for the Christmas tree lighting.

Aidan and Grandma Sherry reading.

Me back with the Murphy girls - who make everything feel better...often with booze.
January 2010 - Aidan's fourth birthday, which I feel guilty about only doing some little things for. I am now working with a virologist upstairs. I have applied at a little nursing school for a third job. ECPI. I get the job. With the financial stress taken away a little bit, we start to relax. But then we realize that we still can't afford for the kids to go into any daycare we think is acceptable. Life continues being difficult. We are eating. We can eat out again. We are surviving. Andy gets a call that he should take the online assessment for Florida Tile. We are confused.
Aidan's birthday breakfast of forbidden donuts.

February 2010 - Andy gets word he's going to be hired! We make cards for Valentine's day. I begin a marathon of days (that is still ongoing) working at both State and ECPI. Tissue culture is a beast of science and requires I work every day. EVERY DAY. ECPI requires I teach for 13 hours a day twice per week. Our marriage begins to get a little strained. I am never home. I miss the kids and Andy. Florida Tile still hasn't called.
Science never lets up.

March 2010 - Andy is 27 - I cannot get him anything fabulous. I miss Arkansas. Creditors are still calling. We are still behind and cannot seem to dig out. We pay off a few small things. Andy gets a call - he's going to start work in April!!! Things are looking up! I get more Neopatents work. We go on dates. The kids seem to sense the end of DaddyDays are coming to a close. Archer is cruising and eating solids. Aidan has discovered insolence is his FAVORITE>THING>EVER. I find out I’m pregnant.
Sunset over Jordan Lake.

The Easter Egg hunt. The day before we found out I was pregnant.

April 2010 - I have a miscarriage. It is ugly. With some creative accounting, we get the kids into an AMAZING daycare. It costs 2000 dollars a month. TWO THOUSAND. Jeez. Andy will be evaluated for a raise in July. He's being groomed for Assistant Store Manager. The company seems AMAZING. He's talking to grownups again. He's laughing again. We're having FUN again. We're still TOTALLY broke. We begin thinking about a plan for paying back all the massive piles of debt we've amassed. We decide we aren't sorry.
The boys playing at the sand park in the beautiful Spring weather.

May 2010 - We go to Target on Memorial Day and are privy to a teller getting shot. We bolt. We are safe. I don't FEEL safe. Hypervigilance won't go away. Andy and I are jumpy in public places. Aidan decides he will leave the gun he built out of Legos (we don't allow guns in the house, toy or otherwise) on his toybox in case a bad man shows up. My heart is permanently lodged in my throat. Archer is almost walking. Andy still loves work. We've paid off two credit cards.
Aidan and Andy - handsome!

My legs post-Target shooter.

The boys on Mother's Day.

June 2010 - We are making it. We are surviving. Digging out from under a two story tower of debt is no fun, but we've done it before. We made bad choices in Arkansas, probably, not saving more money. But we did, as everyone does, our best. Andy's mother, my Gran, J, Vicki, Robin and D, Gary and Teresa, our amazing babysitter Tria, my lovely co-workers, and now Andy's: You've gotten us through this. It's been so difficult. So trying for us. But even now, even still, even after all the pain and fear and doubt - our marriage and our family (both born and chosen) are such a blessing.
The boys this month - June - we made it through the first year!

In all, we've made some mistakes. But we've snuggled in closer to one another...and I consider that a victory.

Here's hoping 2010/2011 brings the yin to 2009/2010s yang.

Living in the Superlative

I spend a lot of time lately trying to figure out how my life might have been different if I hadn't been raised by wolves as my friend Vicki likes to say. She was also brought up a different sort of way than most kids and so she and I have some similarities in our world views. She is also what I could call a wise person. A sage where all things psychological and sociological are concerned. She and her partner, my best friend, J, told me recently that I live in the superlative.
su·per·la·tive (s-pûrl-tv)
adj.
1. Of the highest order, quality, or degree; surpassing or superior to all others.
2. Excessive or exaggerated.
3. Grammar Of, relating to, or being the extreme degree of comparison of an adjective or adverb, as in best or brightest.
n.
1. Something of the highest possible excellence.
2. The highest degree; the acme.
3. Grammar
a. The superlative degree.
b. An adjective or adverb expressing the superlative degree, as in brightest, the superlative of the adjective bright, or most brightly, the superlative of the adverb brightly.
[Middle English superlatif, from Old French, from Late Latin superltvus, from Latin superltus, past participle of superferre, to carry over a person or thing, exaggerate : super-, super- + ltus, past participle of ferre, to carry; see tel- in Indo-European roots.]
su·perla·tive·ly adv.
The American Heritage® Dictionary of the English Language, Fourth Edition copyright ©2000 by Houghton Mifflin Company. Updated in 2009. Published by Houghton Mifflin Company. All rights reserved.
Let's take these one by one, shall we?
1. Of the highest order, quality, or degree; surpassing or superior to all others.
Well, thank you! I have spent my life trying to achieve some sort of intangible level of perfection or achievement that will mean I've done "it". Whatever "it" is. Growing up, I was raised around a few cousins...really quality folks. Matt, Brad, Casey, and Jodi. We played together at family dinner every Sunday, climbed trees, jumped on the trampoline, whatever. Every Sunday, my family would come for dinner out to my Great-Grandmother's house where I lived too. She and I would get up early in the day and cook for hours and hours. Then, we'd eat. I sat in the same seat for years and years, at the periphery. At the end of the table. Everyone else would talk and laugh and I would sit, eating, wondering why it was that I didn't feel a part of this. I was family, after all. If I had people in the world, it was them. So why was I so nervous? So...isolated? In my mind, those relatives, coming in from town were so cosmopolitan. Even the ones who lived right next door. They had a big television, a wall of movies. They went to the local town of 30,000 people 20 minutes away to see movies. They had new clothes, new cars, friends, soda. I had a doll. Dirt. Chicken eggs. I had books and my imagination and the grass outside the back porch. Looking back, I was so lucky to have someone who loved me as much as my great grandmother - but what does a 60 year old woman know of the desires of a 7 year old girl? I tell you all that to say that I was formed, in those years, into a girl, a woman, who is constantly in need of proof. From the world and to the world. I want proof from the world that it is what I think it is and I will give the world proof, over and over again, that I mean something. That I'm worth something. And so that drives me toward #2:
2. Excessive or exaggerated.
I suspect that THIS is what J and Vicki are talking about when they say "superlative". And it's true, I speak, live, think, exist in the superlative. Nothing is every just okay, it's always HORRIFIC or FANTASTIC!!! Nothing is every red, it's CRIMSON WITH FUCHSIA! I am big, obtrusive, loud, obnoxious. It's a flaw. I don't know when I got this way. I haven't always been so loud...so...extreme. In point of fact, I once stuttered and cringed into corners. I think at some point in my life, somewhere about the time I was taking left hooks from a particularly nasty boyfriend, I decided that I wasn't going to do that shrinking violet thing any more. I was going to make my opinions known. I was going to change the world. I was going to do WHATEVER I WANTED TO DO. Period. And I have, for years now. But as I get older, I keep realizing that I'm much more satisfied at the end of the day if I listen more than I talk...and so #3:
3. Grammar Of, relating to, or being the extreme degree of comparison of an adjective or adverb, as in best or brightest.
My biggest and most pronounced fear is leaving behind my children and husband and friends and family and not having changed someone's life. Not having made the world a better place. I want to be the best and brightest. It has become a pathological need at this point. I want my children to know that I did EVERY SINGLE THING I could do to make their lives worthwhile and joyful. I want my husband to know that I did EVERY SINGLE THING I could do to make his life wonderful. To cook him meals and kiss him and talk with him about our future and past. I want the world to know that every day I burned and buzzed with the desire to help people feel better. To explain WHY some people get sick and some people don't. That I burned to help other people understand and love this world as much as I do.

Vicki would say that I should just try and make each day as good as it can be and quit striving for the superlative. But it's too late for me. I AM superlative. I'm trying to get better at being the quieter ones. We'll see.

My husband...master of my world.

Andy and I are celebrating our 3rd anniversary tonight...because I worked on the 19th, which is the actual anniversary. I work too much. It's a problem. I digress.

My gift, one of them any way, from him this year was a status. A single status every day for a year telling me one of the reasons he loves me. Now, this might sound like something small...and for some people it would be. But for me, queen of self-involvement, with my broken self-esteem and my lack of a role model for marriage? For me, it's the best and most amazing gift. Ever. You see, his recounting the reasons he loves me tells me what I should keep doing. Tells me how to be a good wife to him. I am the luckiest woman on this PLANET. To have found someone who works? Who knows me and loves me ANYWAY?!? Have we met? This is not an easy feat. I am so blessed and so undeserving of a man of such high quality. And so, because he's singing my praises...I thought I'd sing his too. The top twenty reasons Andrew Smith is the most amazing husband. Ever.

20. He is the only person in the whole world who can stop one of my panic attacks in its tracks.
19. He can make a bottle and does. Frequently.
18. He vowed to love our kids no matter what. Successful and rich, poor and artsy, gay, strait, whatever. In fact, when pressed about how he'd react if Aidan turned out gay, he said to me "Well, he'd still be my son...so...I don't understand the question."
17. He laughs with me.
16. He never laughs at me.
15. He answers questions honestly, even when the honest part is hard.
14. He's protective of all my siblings.
13. He has never, not once complained that I'm only friends with gay/trans/some other letter people. I don't have many straight friends. It's a character flaw, maybe. He just goes with it.
12. He puts his hand on the small of my back when we enter rooms.
11. He pulls me to him on the couch just to snuggle and make out...even when the kids are awake.
10. He's the kind of man I want my sons to grow up and be.
9. He frequently makes me dinner, complete with plating and a glass of wine.
8. He seldom complains that my dreams run our life.
7. He's always willing to listen, to discuss, to explore.
6. He thinks I'm beautiful and tells me. Often.
5. He is smart...but he doesn't flaunt it. He's got this quiet grace that blindsides you sometimes.
4. He LOVES inspirational sports movies. LOVES THEM. I mean..I've seen "Remember the Titans" a BUNCH...and I love them too. And I love watching HIM love them.
3. He puts his socks in the laundry basket most of the time.
2. He washes my hair and takes a shower with me just to talk.
1. He wants to grow old with me. He knew when we got married that I didn't want a wedding. I wanted a life partner. Someone to DO life with. Someone with whom I could explore the world. Feel at home with no matter where we are. And he's doing it. He's my home. He's all I could ever need.

So, I'm the luckiest woman alive. And all my bad days, all my complaints...they don't mean anything when I get home and get into his arms.