Aaaaand, More Photos
More photos, this time – My Favorites.
Mystery Sock
There are many things I don’t understand. There are secrets to the Universe that I’m pretty sure I’ll never know. And that’s ok. But sometimes, I just can’t figure something out and it drives me crazy. Case in point – dryer socks. Because I have four kids, three of whom are boys who wear their socks outside in the grass or through a puddle of mud, we go through a fair number of socks. I’ve done laundry at the laundry mat before and I’ve discovered that it doesn’t really matter where you laundry – home or away – sometimes socks disappear. There is nothing you can do about it. *Poof* they are gone and the less time you look for the lost sock the better, because wherever they went, you will never find them. Go pour yourself a martini and let it go.
I frequently wear mismatched socks. In fact, you can buy them that way now. I’m positive this doesn’t just happen to me. But that is not the answer I’m looking for. I’m puzzled by the reverse.
Yesterday we did load upon load of clothes. Positively mountains of dirty clothes at my house. We did this laundry in the washer and dryer at our home. The same washer and dryer we’ve owned for the entire two years we’ve lived in this home. We’ve had no small children visit or stay the night in this home. Ever. Not that they weren’t invited, but they just haven’t seen fit to guilt their parents into coming over and spending enough nights to warrant doing that in-between-load-of-laundry before you head home. The Hump Day Load, if you will.
So, please tell me where this sock came from, Universe?
Where? My daughter had a sock that size approximately 14+ years ago. In a different house. In a different country. With a different washer and dryer. And I’m oh-so-positive that none of my boys ever wore pink socks.
*Tap *tap *tap
Hello? Blogger friends that live in the greater Los Angeles area?
Come to a blogger party next Tuesday, March 6th from 7-9pm.
Requirements: you must be a blogger.
More info here.
Pretty easy, yes?
Good. See you there.
Up Dating
Joe‘s been helping me get my site updated. (He says it validates!) I’m back on the work-path. I’ve got more energy and feeling pretty good. Today I even cleaned the bathroom. And vacuumed. And I liked it.
Tonight we worked on the published photos page. What do you think? Like it?
So if you were hoping to hire me for shooting photos (I swear I won’t lose your disk – I figured out an alternate plan so that will never, ever happen again pinky swear) or to write and/or edit, please look also at my writing credits.
Whaa?
Here is the ad I took out in the newspaper in my dream last night:
Small.
Furry.
Bat-sized with zipper in the front.
Must be clean and not smell of mothballs.
Because, I was a bat looking for a new outfit. Really.
Make Your Own Dress Pattern
You don’t have to be a sewing genius to make your own dress pattern. If you can trace, do a little math and have basic to medium understanding of how to sew, you can totally make your own pattern and pocket that $20 or save it to splurge on a little fringe or ribbon.
Why I'm Crying (updated)
I shot a wedding a few weeks back.
My computer only holds so many photos before going tits up.
I routinely load the photos by the 100 to disks and then erase them from my computer. (can you see where this is going?)
I went to Kinkos to make a banner for the bride and groom of the moment right after ‘I Do!’
The disk I used? I lost there.
I left it. Or they didn’t give it back. Or they gave me the wrong one. Or something.
I called and they have never heard of the word disk.
The 100 photos from the walk down the isle to the I Do moment? Gone.
What is the word I am looking for?
I don’t even know the word to say how I feel.
Loser is so inadequate.
UPDATE: Thanks Daily Piglet and Michelle. I tried both and neither one could find the images. I am afraid I have used the flash card way too many times since the wedding. I take a lot of photos. But I do appreciate the help. If there is some heavy-duty application that works on a pc hard drive after a defrag, that might work but I can’t find one.
My Ineptitude Is Astounding
Not once, not twice or three times, but four times in the past year, my friends, I have deleted the folder with all my daily read links in it. I love Firefox and would preach it if they asked me, but COME ON it would be nice to have a question box that asks ‘Are you really sure, YOU IDIOT, that you want to delete this entire folder you have been working on for months?’
So. Sigh. I am not going to remake the folder. Instead I’m going to do what I said I would never do because it seemed so dang hard. I made a link page on my blog. And since the links are there, there is no reason to have them on the side bar.
Because I am a delete-happy idiot, I’ve lost a good third of the sites I read. If you know that I read your site, please comment in this post so I can add your link to my page.
Brought To You By
On the left there you’ll see an ad from Alltel. I sure appreciate their support this week so I wanted to put it in a post where my thanks will be more permanent even when the ad finishes its run.
Alltel phones are not something I’m familiar with but if you do have one, the Celltop application looks pretty sweet. Click the ad on the left to visit their site.
Current Smarts: Global Warming (and the imminent demise of the human race)
Global warming discussions are everywhere. There are those that believe it doesn’t exist. There are those that believe it exists but that it isn’t due to humans. There are those that believe if we change our output of dangerous gases, we can alter the atmosphere to such a degree that we can reverse the damage. There are those who believe that probably, there is nothing we can do.
Is it wrong for me to think that it might be a tad on the egotistical side to think that us humans 1.) are the major cause and 2.) can stop or reverse it? It reminds me of when people say there must not be life in outer space because we haven’t seen it, as if we, the humans on earth, are the most important and smartest beings in the universe.
Maybe the earth is just going through the cycle it’s supposed to go through. Maybe humans are meant to be here for a finite amount of time. Maybe we as a people are careless and hurt Mother Earth and use our resources too quickly but maybe it won’t make a difference if we don’t. I don’t think the dinosaurs were concerned with what crop they would be eating in 10 years. They woke up, lived their day and did the things that were natural for them to do which included eating what they found and living where it made sense to live. And maybe that’s us: we wake up, improve our lives, explore science and new technology and output whatever that entails and keep living our lives the way that makes sense. When you put us all together, we are a living, breathing organism on the face of the earth, causing whatever damage we cause in an effort to sustain life. And when earth no longer affords life, we won’t live.
Nihilistic? Not really. I do believe we have value and contribute to whatever the greater good is. And I definitely think there are ways to slow the impact of what is happening to our earth by shopping and eating locally, reusing and recycling and the like. I definitely think we should all be living conscientiously and trying our best to be good stewards over what we have been given. But I must admit that I have little to no faith that any changes will occur to the degree and with the timing that would be necessary to stop global warming and the greenhouse effect. There was nothing we could do to hurry our turn to live here and I don’t think there is much we can do to prolong our stay.
Stop It
Apparently, the early presidents of the United States want me to buy cars, furniture and clothing. Lots of it. And all on Monday. Why are they hounding me? Why are they so materialistic? And here I thought it was all about life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness.
Ask Leahpeah
Question from the comments:
Hi Leah,
This isn’t about knitting, actually. My name is Caitlin and I’ve been reading your site for the past few months. Sorry for lurking, I just never know how to say hi. Hi! Probably just like that. I have not experienced multiple personalities but I have experienced a lot of what you describe in your archives, which I hope you don’t mind that I read. It helps so much to know that there are people out there with lives that are just fine who suffer in some of the same ways I do. I have always been fascinated by your blog tagline: “Flawed but authentic.” One of the things I find most beautiful in your writing is that you do try do embrace flaws as human. And you certainly seem to be striving each day towards an authentic life. Here’s my question: How do you do that???
I suffer from depression and anxiety disorders and am learning that there may be a large part of my childhood that I have blocked from memory. My biggest struggle is trying to be authentic. With mental illness, how can you even find you self in there to be authentic to? If you have the time, any advice would mean the world to me.
Thank you for you writing, compassion, and beauty.
Hey Caitlin,
The archives are there for the reading. Please feel free to help yourself. I don’t think I feel comfortable answering your question as an authority of authentic-ness since I’m just barely getting by these days. Seriously, I just keep getting up every day and trying my best. I do, however, have some really awesome readers that are super authentic despite depression, illness and sometimes mental disorders. I’m hoping some of them won’t mind chiming in with any tips.
Take good care of yourself.
xo
Magical Disappearing Cervix
Everything tastes off. My sore throat went from being vaguely hurty the past few months to being an actual genuine owie.
You’ll be happy to hear that my pap smear is over for another year. I hear your cheering. I won’t mention that my cervix was hard to find. I have a magic disappearing cervix that pops in and out of sight. Hello! I’m your cervix and now I’m over here! I can’t remember this ever being a problem before. I also won’t mention that she had to take out, insert and crrrrrank open the speculum FOUR times to find it. I mean, why mention that? It might make you uncomfortable.
Beyond the pap, my physical included a tippytap on the cleavage side of each breasts not lasting longer the .4 seconds, a visual peering moment at my neck and the question ‘Are you regular?’ I asked her ‘Do you mean pooping?’ No reflexes. No breathing deep. No looking for swelling around my ankles. No groping to find lumps in my breasts. Not even a tickle. No looking in my throat or actually, you know, touching it. Or in my ears. No asking how I feel. Because she knows. She read my lab results so she already knows that I’m fine. Even if I’m not, she knows I am. I’ve decided she must have super powers. She can see inside my body with her ultrasonic vision and hear my heart with her supersonic hearing. When I asked ‘So, that’s it? That’s the physical?’ She laughed and did a soft-shoe out the exam room door. Ya-cha-cha-cha-cha.
From her complete and thorough looking at my neck, she decided I no longer needed an ultrasound on my thyroid. I mean, she totally looked at it for like 2 seconds. With her eyes because you look with your eyes, stupid, not your hands. I asked her if I could get one anyway, since I actually used my fingers to touch my neck and it has been sore for so long and she said, ‘No. You don’t need one. Last week’s blood tests showed you are back within range. You’re good.’
Well, thanks! Awesome! I’m .2 within the top part of the range and so I’m good. I then told her I’d like a referral to an endocrinologist to which she frowned and looked doubtful. I did my best, listing off all my siblings and my extended family history in an effort to help her understand that I REALLY WANT TO GO TO SOMEONE ELSE. She nodded, pretended to listen, jotted down ‘family history thyroid’ on my chart, um-hummed a few times, checked her watch and said, ‘I’ll request it and see if you qualify for one. Don’t get your hopes up.’
She’s my favorite. With or without her referral, I’m going to someone else. It’s just that ‘with’ we still get to eat food. Not being able to afford food – not so fun.
Screw republican, democrat, independent, black, white, female, male or vegetable. I’m voting for the person with the strongest medical reform in their platform.
Oral Compulsion
I think I figured out why crocheting for hours while in the car, watching TV or hanging out with friends works so well for me. It’s smoking. My hands are busy, I’m laughing and talking and drinking and my hands are doing something. I’m just not actually inhaling dark death into my lungs. Everybody wins. It’s the same reason I eat sunflower seeds at every game we go watch the kids play.
And here I thought I had quit.
Anyone want to buy a hat?
Two Things*
Since I’m spending a whole lot of unsupervised time feeling like the identical twin of a large lumpy splat of mashed potatoes, I’m sending you to two other sites that talk about doctors and body image.
1. Jen linked to Meg Fowler yesterday. The post is long but oh, so worth it.
2. Did you say crappy doctor? Yes, Mimi did.
*Bonus: here is a phrase my son said last night. I’m going to keep it totally out of context because it’s much better that way. “You know, Mom, I’m just not comfortable yelling vagina the same way I do penis.”
ABCs
Oh, I’m learning so much. For one thing, when you go in to get your blood drawn, make sure that the person that is about to remove 5 vials is an expert blood retriever and not someone new. I am not a good practice person with lots of available blood just teeming to the surface. I am a person with very hidden veins that are deep and roll within my arms. This rolling and deepness is something I’ve known for years. I tell people this on the onset and warn them that I’ve broken perfect stick records before and so don’t feel bad if you don’t get it right the first time. I think the record number of sticks is 8 before switching arms. Yes, that was a beautiful bruise. What I didn’t know, was that if someone says to a fellow lab tech, ‘Hey – you should do this one.’ that they are really speaking in code for ‘This lady has really deep and rolling veins. You should use her arm for a practice dart board.’ I assumed, and that was my problem, that they were getting someone MORE experienced than them to save me pain and green bruising. Sadly, no.
I have an ultrasound next week to check my neck for nodules attached to and near my thyroid. Super fun. My throat has been sore for so long I can’t even remember when it started. And it’s larger than it should be. And bonus, I get a pap smear on Tuesday. You can’t have more fun than that. That appointment is with the nice lady. You know, the one that yelled at me? Looking forward to it. But, I am going to take all y’alls advice and write a list before I go in along with an excel sheet I started that has my blood results from a year ago and little boxes to write the new ones and the next ones and the next ones. I love shit like that. It makes me feel organized. And if she is mean again? I’m going to find a new doctor. But I’m probably getting referred to an endocrinologist anyway, so I don’t know if I’ll need to.
Finding people that have walked this walk is kind of a quest right now. In every situation I go into, the more information I can find out about it before hand, the better. It’s how I find safety and peace. One of my best friends from childhood had cancer in her thyroid and had it removed two years ago. I called her and it was fun catching up, but it was really great to hear how she manages her care. She’s the head coach for a Colorado college girl’s basketball team, so she’s got to keep her energy up. Knowing she’s made it work gives me hope.
I also called all my siblings and my parents. All 9 of them. And jotted down everyone’s medical history as it pertains to me. It was pretty enlightening to find out that all 4 of my sisters have thyroid issues but only one is on medication because her levels were the only ones that finally went out of the ‘normal’ range. The one sister that does take meds takes Armour instead of the synthetic one because osteoporosis runs in my family and the synthetic hormone is supposed to increase your bone loss quite a bit.* My sister that is 44 has the bone density of an 80 year old women, if that gives you an idea. My mom was at one point diagnosed with Grave’s disease, but she rejected it because she thought she could get well by eating right. And one brother has Chronic Fatigue, which in my opinion is really just a thyroid issue. So, there you go.
On the net, I’ve really enjoyed reading both Queen of Spain and Radioactive Girl. Also, Jonniker has been quite enlightening. And all of you that have taken time to comment or email me support, THANK YOU so much. I’ve slept a lot and cried a lot but I do feel your support and it’s made it a bit easier. I’m really struck by how much the physical has effected the mental in my body. It’s something I’m slowly getting to understand and I think I might have some research and a book in me about it.
I’ve read a few books over the past few days and would recommend What Your Doctor May Not Tell You About Hypothyroidism by Ken Blanchard. The forward is by Mary Shomon whose book Living Well with Hypothyroidism is also great.
*Those for synthetics and those for natural are quite vehement. I don’t think I’ve quite figured out the truth yet. And the truth might just be that some do better on one thing and some do better on something else.
New Huffington Post Column
I talked to Melissa Summers from SuburbanBliss about her Today Show experience for my latest column, Melissa Summers: Not (So) Afraid Anymore and a Whole Lot Wiser.
My Heart
I think about him every once in awhile. Like picking a scab, tearing off the top layer just to make sure it’s still there and it still bleeds. It doesn’t hurt anymore. Not really. But seeing the red blood reminds me of when it did.
We drank beers together for three weeks. My punk, unkempt hair pushed out of my face with my right hand and my left hand’s fingers curled around a clove cigarette. Or a menthol, depending on who had what. Sitting at the table outside near the heater, his long, dirty blonde and wavy hair and intense blue eyes but mostly his Italian accent floating through the air, I thought I must be in heaven. That finally, I was safe. ‘Darling,’ he said ‘you are lovely.’ and I knew that soon I would tell him the secret in my heart wrapped under soft layers of rose-colored ribbons.
The next night when I showed up a few minutes late, my nose anticipating the musky scent of sweat, mud and grass on his shirt that I loved, I searched for his soccer socks, fresh from practice. I ordered a beer, sat outside and smoked alone while staring at the wrought iron fence. My chest turned slowly darker with every inhale and my tears dried on the exhale. The soft cushion surrounding my heart hardened into a brittle shell and then broke into a thousand pieces.
I look at the bleeding exposed spot of what was a few years ago, but feels like a hundred, and then my husband walks in, sits down next to me and holds my hand. His scent of aftershave and coconut shampoo combine in the air next to me and it makes me laugh. It’s the most delicious scent I’ve ever smelled. The feeling I thought was intense love for the foreign man was barely more than nothing. It was the shadow of nothing. And even though it felt like a skyscraper, it was a mud hut, but it took time to find that out.
My husband leans his arm into mine while we sit side by side on the couch. I’ve been crying, crying for no reason that anyone knows of, and he hands me the handkerchief he keeps in his pocket for just such an occasion. He turns and looks at me, in me. ‘You are lovely.‘ he says straight to my soul. And I know that right where I am is heaven. I know I’m safe and it doesn’t matter if I’m sick or not. If I’m rich or not. He loves me. It’s not a secret that I love him and daily he unwraps the ribbons laced softly around my heart.
