My mom went to the hospital and all I got were these stupid genes

My father used to lament my feet. He lamented them because they were his feet.

He would apologize profusely every time he saw them, as not only are they highly unattractive on a female, he was forever plagued by ingrown toenails, calcium deposits and muscle pain.

He dreaded knowing what I was in for.

Moving up from there, I suppose things get slightly better. I have my mother’s legs and a combination of my father's and mother’s varicose veins. Joy. I have my grandfather’s eyes and my mother’s skin; my dad’s hips and the flat stomach of the women in his family; and my mother’s enormous, gummy smile.

Tracing my past outlines a fairly unattractive future. My grandmother had dementia before she died in her early 90s. Her husband--my grandfather-- died in his 70s of cardio myopathy; in a cruel twist of fate, my father passed at an even younger age of the exact same issue. My mother’s family is laced on both sides with osteoporosis, macular degeneration, varicose veins and arthritis. There are thyroid issues and kidney issues; gallbladder problems and breast cancer. Oh, and my maternal grandmother’s got an enlarged heart.

You know. So as I grow old I look forward to road map legs; blindness; stroke; a weak-heart muscle with either high- or low- blood pressure; craziness; and a hump on my back. I’ve got thyroid issues and the looming threat of breast cancer to entertain me, and the possibility of arthritis and palsy. But hey, on the bright side, longevity ran in my family too. Again.. Joy.

As a parent I recognize certain features in my kids and my currently healthy heart swells appropriately with pride. I see my sons’ have my eyes. All three of my kids inherited the gummy smile. Poor saps.

But along with the features I happily recognize, I sit watching and waiting with my son in a darkened room in urgent care. As I type this, he lays on the doctor’s table, eyes closed, head throbbing, searching for a way around the pain.

It appears that he has inherited the family migraines.

This is odd to me, for so far as I ever knew, it was only the women in the family that ended up with those horrendous, utterly debilitating headaches. As far as I look back in the line—my greatgrandmother, my grandmother and my second cousins, my aunt, me, my niece—all of us women, all of us starting around puberty. I always thought it was a “chick” thing, and always thought the guys in the family avoided yet another female curse.

But there he lays, having already described to me the horror and awkwardness of sudden, partial blindness; of the dull throb that quickly engulfs the head and is all-too-quickly followed by blinding pain; and the need for someone to help his blind-self to a dark, cool area to wait out (and hopefully sleep off) the pain. So far, no nausea; so at least he’s got that going for him.

It’s here in the dark of the doctor’s office that my father’s words come ringing back to me, his all-too-familiar refrain:

Why do we pass along the worst traits to our children?

If only I could reach over and take away the pain… would I? Having suffered through them for 15 years, the unpredictable, untouchable pain that no medication was ever able to quell, the great unknown if a ruined day would follow what at first seemed like benign sunspots? The nausea, the misery, the blinding pain… would I take them back, so he would never have to experience them?

Yes. In a heartbeat.

Instead, I sit here cursing my genes and hoping better medicine awaits this 15-year old, than did my 15-year old self.

I try to look on the upside. If my father was here, he would have a different focus. Forget the migraine. Dad would be lamenting my son’s feet.

Kids maek me smurt

I sat there, slack jawed and drooly, staring at my computer screen yet seeing nothing. I had just opened a program and suddenly could not—for the life of me—remember why.

Later I walked out of my office to tell a colleague a very important piece of information. Wait. Which colleague? Who was I about to talk to? I pause outside my office door. And about what, again?

How was I reduced to this? How have I allowed myself to become this heaping mess of forgetfulness and stupidity?

The answer comes roaring into my brain: CHILDREN. I have so many kids, clearly the responsibility has eked away my brain cells.

But, like most things in life, if I actually thought that, I would be wrong.

According to Katherine Ellison, in her book The Mommy Brain: How Motherhood Makes us Smarter, “study after study shows that having babies contributes to increased brain cells, and along with these little darlings (the new brain cells as well as the babies) come increased skills of all kinds.

“At the center of this good news is that now-familiar phenomenon, neurogenesis: the brain’s process of growing and changing through the development of new neurons. This amazing brain plasticity is encouraged by repeated new actions, especially of the “positive, emotionally charged, and challenging” variety, referred to by scientists as “enrichment.” As it turns out, the process of child rearing, beginning even in pregnancy, is enrichment’s mother lode.”

Think it’s fleeting? Not so. “In fact, indications are that the positive changes brought about in the brain by pregnancy hormones, and subsequent stimulation from our babies and children, last for the rest of our lives—long past the time our grandchildren are born.”

Read on, mammas. Apparently there’s hope for me yet!

Suzie Orman: Wow.

It's not often I am at a loss for words. In fact, I could go on for the next two hours about how I could go on for the next two hours. But yesterday, after I had my introduction to Suzie Orman, all I could say was...

Wow.

And still… wow.

Yesterday I was fortunate enough to attend the Central California Women’s Conference. It was the first time I’d ever been to this event, despite my strong desire to attend in the past.

The event was amazing—I’m always in favor of hanging out with thousands of strong, vibrant women who believe in the power of strong vibrant women. I also am a big fan of freebies, and this event offered plenty.

But the best thing I got out of this event, besides the pens, the reusable canvas grocery totes, the candle, the lip gloss, the mail openers, the candy, the notebook, the bracelets, the watch and of course, the AWESOME CentralValleyMoms.com refrigerator magnet, was the advice. The sound, awesome financial advice I got from Suzie “Crazy and self adoring but you can’t help but like her” Orman.

As my grandmother would say, she’s a real pistol.

From the moment she entered the room to rousing cheers and an amazing, somewhat self-worshipful bio, wherein she was hailed as the single most important female of the modern age (I’m paraphrasing); to her final moments (which were10 minutes past the end of her allotted speech time), wherein she bade farewell to even rousing-er cheers, all I could think was, “wow.”

Suzie Orman. Wow.

The bits that stuck out:

• Pay attention to your finances. Do you know what you have in the bank? Do you know how much interest you’re paying on your credit cards? Stop being afraid of the information. In order to gain control, you have to understand your situation.
  
  
• Don’t be stupid with your money. When you finally get ahead, stay true to your own financial goals. Which means, don’t lend it out to save someone else from their own financial crisis.
  
  
• Get a Living Revocable Trust. If you die, it’ll save your family untold heartache and tremendous amounts of money trying to keep property out of probate.
  
  
• Get a will.
  
  
• Your FICA score is vital; take care of it. That means don’t max out your credit cards, and don’t cancel your credit cards after you pay them off. Either one affects your credit score adversely. Maxing out your cards lowers your score. A lower score means credit institutions can raise your card’s interest rate. Increased interest rates mean a longer time paying them off, and more struggle, which leads to a longer period of time with a low score, which leads to credit companies reducing your available credit, which then hurts your credit score. Seeing the pattern?
  
  
• Finally, get a Roth IRA. She said a good deal on this point, but let me boil it down to this: If you have money in a 401K (a pre-tax fund), and your company offers matching funds, take them via contributing to your company’s 401K plan. Anything beyond what the company will match, however, should be placed in a Roth IRA. Suzie’s reasoning: On top of already massive national debt, the government has just bailed out Fannie Mae and Freddie Mac. To fund the bailout, taxes will need to be raised. Who pays taxes? We do. Worse, taxes always increase over time. With a 401K account, your money goes in pre-tax. Unfortunately, you get hit with the taxes when you withdraw from the account. So if taxes rise over time, it would be more economically advantageous to pay the upfront, when they are smaller, as opposed to on the tail end, when you’re a retiree on a fixed income and can’t speculate what they will be.

It was a really fascinating speech. I came away feeling less fearful of my financial future, as I had some good advice to stand on.

For more information—and perhaps a better explanation, check out www.suzieorman.com.

Sydney would go nuts for this

Spongebob close up
Originally uploaded by sandrascakes

Are you ready for some FOOTBAAAAAALLLL? ... meh.

So I showed up to the fantasy football draft expecting hubris.

…I showed up expecting beer.

… I showed up with my little printout of the top 30 draft picks my fantasy football fanatic friend (FFFF) gave me, glomming onto the little bits of knowledge he passed my way. I earnestly felt I had the inside scoop. I was holding two entire pages of picks, all stack-ranked for my selecting ease. My dear FFFF explained the key to the fantasy draft—the HOW of picking what positions, the when to do it, they why you did it that way. I felt I was armed with delicious, insider information. Information that, potentially, would completely devastate the competition.

I arrive, the first of the crew, and a little nervous. I have no idea who I’m looking for, as the only guy I know isn’t there yet. The first few stragglers wander in and we make chit chat. “Are you a big football fan?” is my brilliant conversation starter.

“Not really,” is the response. Out of conversation, I stare down at my shoes. *crickets*

(Okay, substitute crickets with an explosive Bertie Higgins song via Karaoke. I know. Eew.)

I order a beer. I gulp. At leisure I notice I am the only female in our crowd of 12. (Please be grateful that I did not offer you a simile for that factoid.) Oz shows up, passes out our draft lists, and we get started…

.. Fast forward an hour and a half into the draft. My 22oz beer nearly gone, I have 3 picks that were on my list—none that were at the top. The rest have long since been gobbled up by the table full of mostly football-lovin’ men (and one "meh" on football man). Men who KNOW football (except that one guy).

And when I say know, I mean intimately.

And when I say intimately, I mean [simile removed]. They know all there is to know about the players, right down to childhood immunization records, next door neighbors, and who owns car dealerships.

“Should I pick this guy?” I ask Oz for the umpteenth time, tentatively poking the ESPN draft doc in front of me. Peals of laughter follow from the opposite end of the table, while one guy encourages me wholeheartedly.

Oz is patient. “Well, he’s suspended.” Apparently something about a dog fight.

“This one?” I try.

“Injured. Out the first few weeks of the season.”

Suddenly I’m groggy and overwhelmed. Eye wide, I stab at the next two name down. “Him, or… him?”

Suddenly the table is abuzz.

“Oh yeah, his QB is great this year—“

“—Yeah excellent offensive line.”

“I’d go with him before that guy, his team is—“

And so I am sold. THIS was the draft. Twelve people, SIXTEEN rounds of names, careful attention to crossing off players. Everybody knows the players, everybody knows the players offensive lines. Everybody but me. (And that one guy.)

I knew squat. THIS was my hubris-purging night.

Thank you OZ, for seeing me through. Your patience and guidance were much appreciated.

And so moms, stay posted to hear about StarRainbowUnicorns. Root us on. Follow the season.

Now let us bow our heads...

"Almighty and ever-living moms,
let it be known that I suffered for you,
so that you may bask in the glory that is Fantasy Football.

Go forth now in peace and love,
to serve the ‘Corns.*

Whoa-Men."



This Week's StarRainbowUnicorns Line-up:

QB: Drew Brees

RB: Steve Jackson

RB: Reggie Bush

WR: Reggie Wayne

WR: Roy Williams

RB: Greg Jennings

TE: Heath Miller

Kicker: Phil Dawson

Defensive line: Vikings



________

*That would be their nickname. At least until something better comes along.

I don't care. SUBTEXT: NEITHER SHOULD YOU.

Dear Gossip Mongers:

I am an unabashed liberal. A proud liberal. I believe in states rights, civil rights, families’ rights, government assistance when you truly need it, a woman’s right to a safe abortion, equal pay for equal work and volunteerism. I believe in the separation of church and state and with that, every person’s right to practice—or not to practice—their spirituality, and not have other’s religious views foisted upon them.

I believe that two consenting adults should be allowed to marry each other, regardless of race, gender, or sexual orientation.

I believe that two consenting adults should be allowed to live together in love and harmony and raise a family and not be forced to marry.

I respect that others disagree with my beliefs. I hope that they can treat me with respect, knowing that I respect their divergent beliefs as well.

On the list of things I don’t care about:

• Various politicos trying drugs in their youth. That Bill Clinton smoked pot in college, whether he inhaled or not, I absolutely, unequivocally do not care.
• Various politicos having made bad choices in their pasts. George W. Bush’s drug and alcohol problems as a young man are his alone, and his to own. Good for him for getting past it. Not an issue now. I don’t care about it.
• Whether or not someone served in Vietnam. Don’t care. A lot of people got deferments. A lot of people served elsewhere and elsewise. My point: It was 40 years ago. Let’s all move past the choices of their youths, and of their parents to help the children they loved to avoid being forced to serve in what was the Iraq of their generation (meaning: A big, highly-unfavorable, terrible war).
• The reported extramarital affairs of the various politicos, including but not limited to: Speaker Newt Gingrich, Gov. Eliot Spitzer, Sen. Gary Hart, Gov. James McGreevey, Bill Clinton, JFK, FDR, Thomas Jefferson, Grover Cleveland, Woodrow Wilson, Dwight Eisenhower, etc. Their lives. Their bedrooms. Their karma. DON’T CARE.

As such, I want to be clear:

I do not care and do not want to hear about Sarah Palin’s daughter. She is 17. She made a choice and is dealing with it. Had she chosen abortion, I would feel the same. HER LIFE. HER CHOICES. NOT MY BUSINESS. We owe this girl nothing less than privacy and respect.

I do not care about some 20+ year-old incident on Palin’s husband’s driving record. LET IT GO!

Leave her family alone, media. While you’re at it, leave Joe Biden’s family be, leave Obama’s family alone, leave McCain’s family alone. All of them. I DON’T CARE.

Let me say this again: I am a proud LIBERAL. Liberal is a good word, and there are many, many of us with these beliefs who are good, caring, intelligent, patriotic people. And there are many of us who are idiots (Hello, Mike Malloy). Just as there are many, many ridiculous and idiotic conservatives (I’m talking to you, Anne Coulter), and many good, kind, intelligent, patriotic conservatives, including some of my very own family members.

THAT SAID:

I DO care when people try to associate such muckraking with one side of the political arena or the other.

It’s ignorant.

Yes, there is a liberal media (Hello, ABC). Yes, there is a conservative media (Hello, FOX).

Yes, both sides try to capture viewers/readers and be opinion leaders. They make MONEY. Most times, raking muck is how they do it.

But media, there was no part of me that was ever going to vote for the McCain ticket. And seeing how Palin’s daughter ISN’T ON the ticket, nor Palin’s husband—leave them out of it. Talk about Palin's track record. Talk about Palin's ability to govern.

Some choice that was made or something that happened 20 years ago to a member of someone's family? I DON’T CARE.

I freely admit that I acted like an asshat 20 years ago.

I presume that WE ALL ACTED LIKE ASSHATS at various points in our lives.

Thank gawd I have changed.

Thank gawd you have too.

So let’s also presume that politicians have changed over the course of the last decades, just as we have, and get back to actual, important, valid, kind and respectful political DISCOURSE.

Thanks.