Running Away
It was a flowered suitcase. More of a valise, actually. The elasticized sections on the zippered top measured into thirds and partially hidden inside the silky fabric, starting from the left, were three pairs of panties; rolled, a light blue flannel nightgown handed down from my sister: well worn around the seams, and my faded Mr. Bubble T-shirt which I owned because of meticulous cutting and saving labels and box tops for what seemed like eons but what in fact was probably more like an entire month the previous year.
The large area of the case, normally reserved for clothing for the savvy traveler who appreciates a fresh change of clothes while abroad, in this situation was full of notebooks and drawing pads, pens and pencils, reading books such as Grimm’s Fairy Tales and the H, B and I encyclopedias. H for the Human Form with clear plastic pages that with every turn inevitably created the back part of a man or woman, complete with bones, muscles, veins, organs and a flaccid penis or halved uterus, respectively. B and I for the wonderful illustrations of butterflies and insects. The final items rounding out the contents were a Holly Hobbie doll, practically new, and a pair of plastic pants to go over my panties, sewn by my own mother in my own size in an attempt to cut down on not only the laundry but the smell. Sadly, I don’t think it would have saved me from the humiliation of wearing them in front of friends. They crinkled.
The year was 1977. I was six and incredibly upset. As I lugged the suitcase up from the basement, the injustice of the situation did not escape me. Not only did I have to run away, I had to also carry my own luggage. And all of this because my mom did not think I was old enough to sleep over.
I was a bed wetter. Oh, the humiliation. With each bump-step, bump-step, I became increasing sure that I was in the right and that my mother was in the wrong. Should I be locked in a cage simply because I could not hold my urine? bump-step Should I be forced to stay home when every other girl in my class would be spending glorious evenings together playing Barbies and Smurf Family all over town? bump-step Was it fair to ask me to be the only girl that hadn’t played Light as a Feather, Stiff as a Board late at night while giggling and secretly being completely freaked out? The mystique surrounding that game was luscious, sparkly and completely opaque to my eyes. I would never find out if the ghosts were real if my mom would not let me sleep over using my plastic pants.
bump-step.
And now on the landing, I looked for my olive green, corduroy jacket with the ripped right pocket from the time I tried to jam both gloves in at the same time. Those small, darling topstitched pockets were more ‘Pockets’ than pockets and unfortunately, were not made for a glove set. There was really only room for my chapstick and one tiny vial of perfume no bigger than a pen lid, scent: green apple, my favorite, which now resided only on the left, near my heart.
There was one dollar and sixty-three cents from my bank in my back pocket. Along with over ten dollars I had stolen from my sister’s room. This being an emergency, and since she would never see me again, I suspected it would be fine.
I gave the entry hall one last look, a tear rolling down my cheek as the seriousness of what I was about to do settled in my heart. Oh, my dear, dear parents. They would miss me, yes. And they would understand that they had wronged me. There I would be, living in a hovel, a gutter, dirt smeared on my face. The tears began falling in earnest now, my suitcase heavy in my hands. I would eat leaves and scraps from trashcans. The neighbors would refer to me as that sad, dirty girl that had no parents that loved her.
With a heavy sigh, I opened the front door and plunged into the early evening air. Tears on my face, snot dripping, but oh, so brave! I marched down the sidewalk just as my mom drove home from her errands. Well, fine! Good! I was glad she would see me. She’d soon be sorry for treating me like such a baby.
From the corner of my eye, I saw her form get out of the car, open the hatch and remove a brown bag of groceries just as I reached the street. The neighbor, also exiting his vehicle, asked me, ‘Where ya off to, now? With your bag? And it’s about to rain?’ which, apparently, was more questions than I knew what to do with. I stopped in my tracks, teetering on the edge of our property between Home and Out There. I looked at the neighbor. I looked back at my mom. She yelled, ‘Leah! Get the bag with the Rice Crispies cereal in it!’
My decision was swift and based mostly on hunger. I grabbed the cereal bag and dropped my suitcase at the door. But I kept my sister’s ten dollars.
Two Things
1. Joe Schmidt is holding a charity blogathon for the Osteogenesis Imperfecta Foundation on September 30th. Osteogenesis Imperfecta, more commonly known as OI, is a genetic disorder which affects approximately 20,000-50,000 Americans. OI is a disease that instructs the body to either make little collagen or poor quality collagen resulting in brittle bones. I love it when people actually do something to try and help make the world a better place. Good luck, Joe.
2. A quote from Marianne Williamson that can apparently make me weep for hours:
Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate.
Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure.
It is our light, not our darkness, that most frightens us.
We ask ourselves, who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, and fabulous?
Actually, who are you not to be?
You are a child of God.
Your playing small doesn’t serve the world.
There’s nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won’t feel insecure around you.
We are all meant to shine, as children do.
We are born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us.
It’s not just in some of us, it’s in everyone.
And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same.
As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others.
An Untitled Post. (Yet, That is a Title)
Football has started. The third game was on Saturday. They lost the first game, due mostly to confusion as the league fired their defensive coach the previous night, not leaving time for a replacement, and angering the head coach who happens to be my ex-husband.
By the second game, they had a new strategy and a replacement defensive coach. They won by just over a 100% lead. The third game, last Saturday, they won by a 300% lead. The boys had a slight swagger after the game and straighter, although exhausted, shoulders. (I have no photos to show you since my camera broke again. But, there are other things of a sadder nature that have taken center stage and although I do miss having a camera, the energy I have is going towards those other things at the moment.) We were all quite pleased. I was satisfied as well that the opposing team did get their one touchdown. We are not at a college or national level and I hate for any of the kids to go home feeling like failures. I sometimes even cheer when the opposing team does something really great. Don’t tell.
Tyler is running for student body president at his middle school. His slogan, ‘Stay Fly, Vote Ty!’ is catchy. We spent the better part of Sunday attaching small ribbons of paper to Smarties and Dum Dum lollipops with which to ply his fellow students into voting him into office. Actually, I did the cutting and Tony helped Ty do most of the attaching. I didn’t even ask them to work it out. I didn’t even ask Tony to help his brother. I just sat back and basked in the wonderfulness that is your children cooperating completely undirected.
Devon made a paper airplane. It flew quite nicely off the top balcony. So nice, in fact, that he did it quite a few times. I was wishing for my marshmallow gun to give it a few pops on the way down. Just for fun. Dev is learning about responsibility. It’s a hard and very long lesson. I wonder when I’ll get to the end of it so I can let him know how it turns out? But, between now and that place, his dad and I are both encouraging him to stop working so hard and to possibly be more social. Go to a dance. Date someone. For him, work IS fun and even more important than school since he will use his computer and entrepreneurial skills for the rest of his life and history will last only till the end of the semester. So it makes no sense to him yet. And I can see why.
I’m thinking of taking a dance class with him. I told him so and after he stared at me in uncomfortable silence, he asked if we could possibly take ceramics instead. I suspect it is the lesser amount of time holding hands and waists with your mother that makes that more attractive. If the point was to satisfy my craving for dance lessons, I could press it. But since it’s not, ceramics class it is.
Tony has started a new painting. He did a large yellow moon with a slice of dark around the right side. Then he made some drips, which he rather likes and does not want to cover up, and wonders how he can get the background on without doing just that. He appears stuck but I have faith that he is merely paused. He is smart. He may even decide it is finished as is.
Tony never quite gets enough of me. Not Quite Enough. He frequently asks to take things back to his dad’s with him. Reminders of me. And sometimes of Joe. I always oblige him, not even caring what the thing is he’s asking for. I hope he sees the tokens at his other home and is a little less confused by his life. And I wished I enjoyed playing fighting video games with him more, since that is always what he asks to do first. Perhaps there is a class for that.
Alex turns 16 in mere minutes. A tiny breath away. She saves her money and does much thinking before spending it. A $70 homecoming dress? Possibly. She buys it and brings it home. But, no. It goes back because not only is it too frivolous but also the boy she liked when she bought it has since gone the way of the wind and it would only serve as a reminder. A 90$ hair extravaganza? With long layers and long bangs and multi colors of blond throughout, so many blond facets that it positively sparkles in the sunlight? Yes. That is absolutely necessary every once in a while. And right now is that while. I tell her she looks lovely. Joe tells her she looks lovely. The boys say something along the lines of, ‘Oh. Cool.’ I hope that is satisfactory for the moment until she goes to school and gets the oohs and aaahs of her friends to seal the deal.
My kid’s dad has the idea that an old Volkswagen will last a lifetime. As each child comes of age, he purchases them a diamond in the rough, to love and care for. To get to know at a deep level so they can bond with it and know every cable. Every wire. Every switch as they lovingly bring it to prime health. This, to him, is meaningful and right. To the children, it is horror at the beginning. Pure horror. The car does not run right. It stalls. It’s not what I had in mind. My friends all have cars that just go, you know, mom? You know what I mean? I don’t want to freak out every time I have to drive that car. Can you just ask dad to get me something else? This is the story I’ve heard twice and know I will hear once more. Not twice more, because Tyler alone will love it just the way his dad will hand it over. Tyler will agree that it is meaningful and right. And it will be.
Alex’s car is the yellow convertible Volkswagen Bug. It has a modified transmission and although it is not completely manual, it is not automatic. In my opinion, it has muddied the waters and makes it harder to drive. I prefer the purer breeds.
I’ve driven cars with non-working clutches where we had to pop it into gear by pushing it down the hill. I’ve also driven cars which are automatics and they, you know, just drive. I would be lying if I said I preferred the first since it’s the latter I have vowed to own the remainder of my life. But, since I don’t have spare thousands of dollars around which I could use to replace the car for her, I feel the need to be supportive, if not overly cheerful, in helping her learn to drive the yellow car that scares her. Devon is now a pro at his Thing. She is as capable as he. She can be fierce and fearless. With time, I’m sure she can learn to win it over, but in the meantime I’ll have to be strong to bite my lip and only say nice things about the convertible beast with the darling flowers on the steering wheel cover and the shiny silver running boards along each side. And pray that she does not ever drive it on a road with an incline until she learns to use the parking break like a third foot pedal and with as much ease as she answers her cell phone without looking at it. It’s instinct. After all, once she conquers this, learns to change the oil and the tire, I won’t worry so much when she’s out driving and 15 minutes late.
Joe has started his new job. He likes it. It’s closer to home by half. He can make it home in a hurry if need be, and I have needed him be once already and possibly once more this week, but it is a luxury I am trying not to overuse since the occasions we have had to use it for are, so far, not fun. It would be different if he was playing hooky and we went to the pier and fed the seagulls. That might be a good use of this new treasure.
Good Hotel/Spa Rate?
My daughter’s birthday is coming up in October and I’d like to take her and her friends to a nearby hotel with spa. Does anyone know where to find good rates?
Update: Everything new.
Warning: Graphic
Two Things
1. Tom Coates at Plasticbag.org highlighted the new Flickr cards from MOO.com. I ordered the free set of 10 which you can get if you are Flickr Pro. I can’t wait to see the quality and $20 for a set of 100 doesn’t seem unreasonable if the quality is good. I think they are fun. The discussion here in the comments is funny to me since no one said the cards were meant to exude professionalism. They are fun and the application makes it easy to crop and zoom to get the look you want.
2. I use Rock, Paper, Scissors all the time with the kids to decide important matters such as who sits shotgun, what tv program we watch and even who gets the last bit of ice cream. Nice to know I’m in good company. Via Kottke
Update: Nothing new.
I feel like my life has become very, very small. I am only doing one thing. ONE THING. And there is a 50/50 chance I will fail at it.
And Still, I Gestate
Joe and I went to the baby’s first ultrasound yesterday. Because I’ve been on bed rest (and going insane) the bleeding had subsided by Wednesday evening, which meant we could have the ultrasound on Thursday afternoon.
Everyone was very nice. I tend to read too much into things so I think they were treating me with the uber-nice set of bedside manner skills. And I jump from there to the conclusion that they think I’m going to lose this baby so they treat me with more smiles, arm squeezes and shoulder pats. Either that, or I really am just so incredibly charming and don’t know it.
Here is Exhibit A:
Here are the two scenarios they gave me.
1) My uterus is reabsorbing the fetus. I will continue to bleed until I manifest a full miscarriage in the next two weeks. No amount of bed rest, Wikka, prayer or hocus-pocus will do anything to stop it from happening.
or
2) I really DID have the flu for 3 weeks, took the first home pregnancy test the very same day that the egg implanted and by some stroke of luck my hCG was high enough to show positive along with the next five tests. This would put me at only 5 weeks pregnant, which could account for not being able to see anything in the gestational sack. Which, as you can see by the blue arrow in the above illustration of my uterus, is mostly empty save for a few ribbons of something near the bottom. Which would be wrong for 8 weeks.
So, either we lose the baby over the next 2 weeks or we go back for an ultrasound in 3 to see if anything has changed in there. You can guess which one we are hoping for.
Thank you so much for all your comments, emails, letters and packages of encouragement. Your support means so much to us. If I don’t answer you, it’s just because I don’t know what to say right at the moment. My mental health seems to be a bit teetering on the edge and I’m really concentrating on keeping it together. Thanks for understanding.
Much love,
lpc
Gloria Steinem & Greenstone Media
I was lucky enough to speak with Gloria Steinem about Greenstone Media the other day. She and Jane Fonda, among other great women, have created a national radio network owned by women and featuring women. You can read what I took away from the call over at Huffington Post.
Also on the call were these classy ladies:
Que Sera Sera
Mommy Needs Coffee
Motherhood Uncensored
Her Bad Mother
Three New York Women
Brazen Careerist
Mom 101
Almost Literary
Pamela Slim
Bed Restlessness
Because I have been stuck in bed for the past few days, I have been absorbing way more than any person should know about Goldie (actually very smart!) and Kate (as sweet as she appears!), J-Lo (actually has a legitimate music career!), Cameron Diaz (i would like my ass to look like hers in roos!), the right way to fold a t-shirt courtesy of Martha Stewart (i don’t care! i roll mine!), who incidentally, licked jam off of David Letterman’s finger last night (it looked like blood!), watching Kelly Ripa pick a splinter out of Regis’s foot, (I AM NOT A FOOT PERSON!!) and watching episodes of Project Runway that I’ve seen probably five times but still enjoy way too much (yay! vincent is finally out!).
A very thoughtful person sent me a box of books, music and even a game to help my mind not turn into a bowl of oatmeal. Thank you, Amy. And, my husband thanks you since it keeps me from being quite as crabby.
I'm Growing a Human
So, funny story.
Joe and I quit trying to have a baby sometime during last year since it didn’t seem to be working out too well. Add to that the fact that my PCOS seems to not really ever give me a clear picture of when I’m going to have my period or when my period is actually happening, since it can start and stop over the course of a few weeks, just in time to start again, and you can see why we are sort of, no, really surprised to find that we’re expecting a human in about 7 months.
Are you ready for the cliché moment?
I thought I had some kind of bug that was going around.
But one night, after being sick on and off for about two weeks, we went out with a friend and my glass of wine tasted weird. And then the next morning, when my stomach wasn’t really upset and I should have been able to eat breakfast fine, the coffee made me want to hurl. And then I was suspicious. Because, dude. I like wine and coffee.
I took a home pregnancy test. And then I did 5 more, different brands, because I kept not believing it and thought that somehow, I was getting all the broken ones and the next one, the REAL one, would tell me I wasn’t. But it didn’t happen.
Last week, I was spotting and having lower backaches, which historically for me has been a sign of impending miscarriage. But by Thursday, that was all gone and in it’s place is this completely irrational emotional behavior, which I guess was rearing it’s ugly head as early as last weekend when I freaked out over the BBQ. It went something like this:
Me: Devon, we need eggs! Go get some eggs!
The world as we know it will end if I don’t have eggs to make potato salad!
Joe: Dev says he has to finish putting together the BBQ so he doesn’t want to go.
Why are my wife’s eyes so wide open? Is that foam on the side of her mouth?
Me: But I need eggs!
Why aren’t you offering to go get the eggs? Don’t you love me??
Joe: Well, what do you need the eggs for?
uuuuuuhhhhh?
Me: What do mean? I want to make potato salad!
How dare you ask me what I need eggs for?? I NEED EGGS!!!
Joe: *sigh* I guess I could go.
*SIIIIIIIGHHHHHHHH*
Me: You know what? Forget it! I don’t need eggs. I just won’t make potato salad.
OH REALLY???? Oh, no you won’t. Not with that attitude, mister!
Joe: Seriously, I’ll go get some eggs.
Dude.
Me: NO! I don’t want eggs! It doesn’t matter!
Why are you trying to force me make potato salad?? Why do you hate me and treat me like a slave?
Joe: Leah. I have no idea what I’m supposed to do here. Do you want me to go buy the eggs or not?
Who is this woman?
Me: I can’t believe you are asking me that! I can’t BELIEVE you don’t know what I want you to do!!!
He will never understand me! Our marriage is over!
Joe: Um…..I’m going to go upstairs for a minute.
I need space away from this demon woman.
Me: Oh, fine! Ok, kids. I guess we have to have our BBQ without Joe!
He hates me!
Even as the hyper-ridiculous verbiage was spewing out of my mouth, I knew it was dumb and making no sense! But my mouth – she just kept going. Joe came back downstairs in 3 minutes and helped the kids who were cowering in the corner to escape the room unnoticed where they all asked him what had happened to their mother. Yes, that day was super cool.
I can’t eat enough watermelon and the smell of chives makes me want to hurl. And if the store doesn’t have my favorite kind of shampoo, I will cry. I’ll also cry when my favorite pair of jeans is in the washer and I can’t wear them. And when the cell phone commercial comes on because that is just so sweet. And if there is any program on any station on the television that includes anything remotely connected to babies.
But not when I allow the sandwich bread to become soggy. No, in that case, I’ll just laugh and laugh and laugh. Until you wish I would cry and knock it off.
I suppose we could still lose this baby. Neither of us would be surprised because it has happened twice in the past few years. But we’re trying to project Positivity.
It Was the Best of Times
ACT I
The day started out late.
I was impatiently waiting for what seemed like hours, but what was in fact, hours, for the kids to come home. They had been scheduled to arrive the previous night but the call of a sleepover was stronger than fresh sheets on their own beds. And me.
My consolation prize of at least getting to fix them a breakfast feast was quickly dashed when they did not show up early as promised. The oldest one called and re-promised their arrival very, very soon.
Three hours later, when all the afternoon plans I had made were no longer viable due to travel times, ending times and general time constraints, they rolled in, all smiles and happy to see me. All was forgiven.
ACT II
We watched movies for a bit and packed a picnic lunch of hoagie sandwiches, veggies and chips. Departing at 4:30 wasn’t the original plan, or even the third plan, but it worked. We got in the car and drove to Little Tokyo. First stop, Kinokuniya book store, where they carry things like little erasers that smell like peaches and the tiniest colored pencil set you’ve ever seen. Oh, yes, and lots of Manga.
Our last stop was the Hollywood Forever Cemetery where we were going to sit in the graveyard on blankets, watch an old movie and eat our delightful picnic.
When we drove to the gated entrance, I got out to ask the nice man if we were at the wrong gate since there didn’t seem to be any other cars lined up to go in. The very nice man told me in a very nice way that we had the wrong night and everyone else had come yesterday.
ACT III
We decided to not waste our evening. We’d go to Griffith Park and eat our picnic there. I mean, at least we still had our dinner. It wasn’t the end of the world by any means. Yes, my daughter was upset that she had worn her way-too-short jean skirt and leggings for nothing and my son kept asking if we could hurry up, turn around and head back for a movie at the Cineplex and another son was very upset not to sit on top of dead people for a few hours, but I knew all of them were team players and were actually going to have a lot of fun. Ahem.
We found the park fine and unloaded the picnic to the nearest table, which was in the shade and close to the bathrooms. Score! We set out the food and I passed everyone a sandwich.
So, here is a little tip from me to you. When you pack the sandwiches in the cooler and then add ice, the ice will melt. And if you haven’t made sure that the sandwiches are in a watertight environment, the sandwich bread is going to get soaked. Like, totally soaked. And then? No one wants to eat their sandwich. Including me.
One child, after lovingly sharing his feelings about the soggy bread, created a healthy, low-carb version of the sandwich by wrapping the lunchmeat in lettuce. We foster an innovative and creative environment wherever we go.
Most of us ate cucumber slices and carrots.
I don’t like BBQ flavored potato chips.
I laughed quite a bit throughout the picnic. It wasn’t all sane sounding.
All in all, the picnic was a success since we all hate bread, anyway. Not really. I love bread more than chocolate.
ACT IV
Day two. Let’s go, people! We only have one day left of this weekend! Let’s have some fun! NOW!
What? My yelling and freaking-out overall demeanor is not really helping to cultivate fun?
What? You’re scared of me? Why are you cowering in the corner?
Let’s get the BBQ started!
After Joe, Dev and Ty got the BBQ put together, (and here is a bonus tip: $17 BBQs might not be the best purchase. I’m just sayin’.) I was excited to cook up the hamburgers. Yes, excited. Suddenly, I wanted grilled hamburger more than anything else in the entire world. RRRrrrrorr! Meat!
But first, we had to light the briquettes without lighter fluid, since I forgot to buy some.
Unfortunately, no one knew how to do that. We tried many ways including rolled up corrugated cardboard, a saturation of Jack Daniels and when I wasn’t looking – gasoline courtesy of an impatient son who is now lucky to only be missing his arm hair. Who also happens to be in big trouble. (Those two things are not exclusive.)
After dousing the five-foot wall of flaming briquettes and then cleaning out the BBQ as much as we could, we tried again. This time, with store bought lighter fluid. Amazing difference.
Did you know that you are supposed to wait for about 45 minutes after the briquettes finish burning before they are hot enough to cook with? I vaguely remembered something about that. But in my carnivorous state, craving cow flesh as I was, my brain was not what it could have been, and I put the meat on immediately. Where is continued to be raw for 15 minutes. And then we took them inside and fried them on the stove in a pan in the kitchen. In the meantime, two of the kids had left to other commitments and missed out on the burgers. They missed out on the FUN! of being with ME!
I know, right?
EPILOGUE
I wish I had some really awesome finish to this story, but I don’t. We watched The Abyss and White Men Can’t Jump. I freaked out a few more times over completely dumb things. They all continue to forgive and love me.
I am the luckiest person in the whole world.
Dissociative Disorders
In rewriting parts of my book, I had the chance to get a little deeper into the frustration of how dissociative disorders are classed and diagnosed. Here is an excerpt:
During my stay at a mental hospital in 1999, not only did a doctor diagnose me accurately with DDNOS, but I didn’t make myself forget the diagnosis, which had happened a few years previous. This is after being misdiagnosed any number of times with any number of ailments, some of which were correct for specific personalities but never the entire picture. Diagnosing someone with DID or DDNOS can be particularly difficult if the therapist only sees one or two of the personalities during their visits together. I was lucky to meet some very competent doctors during that first mental hospital stay.
The full definition of DDNOS can be found in the dictionary:
DDNOS is a diagnostic category ascribed to patients with dissociative symptoms that do not meet the full criteria for a specific dissociative disorder.Because there are only a handful of specified dissociative disorders, there are any number of people falling through the cracks without a diagnosis. Add to that the fact that many states and doctors don’t acknowledge DID as a ‘real’ illness, and you can see why there are so many people not getting the help they need. After all, if your doctor doesn’t believe in the illness you have, how can they help you heal?
This is a serious problem and needs to change. We need better words and clearer diagnosis. It was nice to see that I’m not the only one frustrated with this current diagnosing system and the words that are used. This letter to the editor from Kenneth A. Nakdimen, MD says pretty much the same thing.
If you read my book and would feel comfortable giving me specific feedback, please let me know. I’m getting plenty of feedback from editors about what they think should be ‘streamlined’ but I’d like to know how those of you that have read it feel.
