STARBUCKS COFFEE ANYONE?

When I was pining away for my divorce, I would do those stupid decision trees contemplating the pros and cons of not supporting my x husband anymore.  Looking back, it really doesn’t seem that complicated.  No more than ordering coffee at Starbucks at 6 a.m.  One factor I did not consider in my forest of decision trees, were M O R N I N G S.  Better yet, how much I hate M O R N I N G S.

 

For me, an ideal morning is some man getting out of bed without disturbing me, who prepares fresh ground coffee, turns the heat on, gets my thyroid meds and brings them to me with a fresh hot piping cup of coffee.  If he can set out my clothes, press them, prepare breakfast, my son’s lunch and start the shower for me to run into like a track star completing a 30-yard dash  - he's my dream guy.  I get an orgasm at the thought of it.

 

But noooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo did I think of this as a part of my balanced picture of the risks and rewards associated with my possible course of action? Hell no.  My x husband was the great conductor of our mornings.  Basically, all I had to do was shower and blow-dry my hair.  He even got Brian ready.  I just had to drive Brian to day-care on my way to work. 

 

KB remembers one of the times I brought Brian into the office first thing in the morning.  My x placed Brian in the car seat.  I took off for work, rocking out to some 80's throwback band on the radio.  When I arrive at work I jump out of the car and hear this odd little sound say,  “Mommy’s work!”  I thought it was a ghost until I realize I forgot to take Brian to day-care.  There he was in the back, all-cute and smiles, thrilled to be at mommy’s office.  Since I was at work, and the trip back to day-care would make me late, I took him inside to ‘see mommy’s work’.  I then proceed to explain to my co-workers that I actually forgot I had a child.  I am a natural mother aren’t I?

 

So mornings aren’t exactly my thing.  If I were to equate me in the morning to something, then I am like those Harley Davidsons we see parked on the side of the road.  You know, that Harley some guy is desperately trying to kick-start.  We’ve all seen these guys in leather (yum), red-faced jumping up and down on the pedal trying to turn the bike on.  That's me trying to start my body along with my cobweb-infested brain.

 

Luckily, the force of needing to get Brian up and going makes me deal with life before 9 a.m.  I have a ritual.  It’s the mathematical Catherine way to get out of bed in the morning.  I keep my thyroid meds next to the bed.  When my nasty-someone-buy- me-a-gun-to shoot-it alarm goes off for the first time at 5:30am I manage to roll over, pull out two pills, place them under my tongue, hit snooze and roll over to go back to sleep as my meds begin to work their way into my bloodstream.  Off in a distant kitchen, the coffee makes itself.  I am madly in love with the Engineer who put an alarm system on a coffee maker.  He’s my hero. 

 

Then after a restful 25-minute nap, Boonie is my 6:00 a.m. second snooze button.  She comes and pulls on my blankets and growls until I get up and let her outside.  I love her, but at this point in the morning I hate her.  Who invented dogs that get up before 9:00? 

 

Luckily it is still dark, or I’d be forced to put sunglasses on, as I grab my cup of coffee and stumble out the back looking like Phyllis Diller on a binge.  Boonie is happy.  Who is happy at 6:00 in the morning?  She runs around, does her thing as I shut the gate and race her, coffee in hand back to my warm bed.  6:15 a.m. the snooze alarm goes off again and it is time to do subtraction. “If I don’t wash my hair … I can sleep15 minutes more…” If I eat breakfast at the office…. oh wait …there’s Brian…will he eat bagels…. 10 more minutes”.

 

This morning, after a significant amount of mathematical morning equations I realize I am not smelling my usual morning coffee aroma.  I arise to find my coffee machine is not working.  Someone get out the Prozac drip now.  I cannot start my day without that luscious first cup of hot adrenalin that tastes like coffee.  As I recover from my panic attack I realize there is a drive-through Starbucks coffee just up the street.  I nudge Brian awake to tell him I am going to Starbucks.  He moans, "Bring me some hot cocoa please", and he rolls away from me.  He really isn't a morning person either.

 

I race out the door faster than the speed of light with a mission.  Unfortunately, the drive-through line at Starbucks backs all the way to South America, so I am forced to go inside.  UGH...I have to talk before coffee.  I wait in a small line, and when I get to the counter, the young man taking my order can't seem to get a simple cup of coffee straight.  By his third mistake I muse. "Maybe you need another shot of Starbucks coffee".  To which he replies:

 

"Oh God I hate Starbucks coffee.  I don't drink it!"

 

[Sumitted for your review... there is a 5th dimension....beyond that which is known to man. It is a dimension as vast as space and as timeless as infinity. It is the middle ground between cafeinated and decafeinated, between coffee and murder, and it lies between the pit of man's cash register and the summit of a redhead's need for caffeine. This is the dimension of impatience. It is an area which we call the Starbuck's Twilight Zone....

 

You are looking at Mr. Early Morning Starbuck's Cashier, who carries on his shoulder a chip the size of the national debt. This is a sour man. A friendless man. A lonely man. A grasping, compulsive, nervous man. This is a man who lived twenty undistinguished, coffeeless, meaningless, pointless, failure-laden years. And who, at this moment, looks for an escape, any escape, any way, anything, anybody to blame about his coffeeless rut.]

 

I stare at him with one of those "I am a nut redhead, and if I don't get my coffee and son's hot cocoa in the next 5 seconds, my head will explode like Krakatoa, East of Java!"  Luckily, two other workers ignore him as one prepares my coffee and the other prepares Brian's hot cocoa and passes them to me while our misguided cashier is still figuring out if he really works at Starbuck's or not.  Luckily for me, this Starbucks Twilight Zone is brief.

 

I am wondering if Starbucks enjoys paying employees who say they hate Starbucks coffee, and who is the real idiot here?   Maybe when he applied at Starucks he was hoping it would turn into a beer pub by the time he showed up.  I don't care... I have my coffee and I am happy.  But I am thinking this would all be easier if I allow some man to do the morning wake-up drill for me.  It isn't going to be Brian.  He is so bad at mornings that I am prepared to see him drink coffee by 7th grade.  Hmmmmmm .... maybe he will make it for me then...

 

I should have thought about this in my divorce contingency plan.  Maybe .... instead of worrying about custody of Brian, I should have negotiated that my x show up every morning, start the coffee and get Brian off to school while I sleep....

 

Naw, ICK.... having to see my x early in the morning would make me dry heave last night's dinner.  I guess I have to buy another orgasmic, alarm-coffee maker and continue doing my math... blow dry, minus ironing, plus breakfast, equals...

 

Until next time-

 

C

 

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STOP...GO... HIDE

Stop signs, green light go, caution flags and speed bumps help us navigate the streets.  What about life?  The proverbial sign I keep looking for is as elusive as ever... or is it that I am just not seeing what is right under my nose? 

A small group of people on Yahoo groups (a thyroid group) helped advise me on how to take my Armour to optimize its effects. Their stories help me understand much of what happened to me over the past four years. 

I did a complete round of Yoga tonight, walked Boonie twice, rode my bike and helped Brian begin a project.  I have energy left.  It feels strange, like one of those speed bumps that comes up on us unexpectedly, causing our butts come off the seat.  Brian is doing well in school, and is unusually content.  Alex has moved, and although sad about it, he has discovered a ton of boys at the condo complex up the street.

I don't think I can feed all of them though...

I am wondering how much he may have been worrying about me.  I thought I did a great job at covering how I was feeling, and tried to stall my crashes for when he is with his dad.  But the past few days he keeps commenting that I look good, so either he is noticing something different...or he wants something expensive. 

Seriously, he is very relaxed and happy.  He is breezing through his homework.  I hate to think  he was suffering along with me, especially when I fought so hard to hide my illness from him.  Oh the tangled web we weave,,,when we practise to deceive...

I did manage to burn our steak tonight.  You know, that chard-black-chunks-fall-off-outer-casing-to-the-meat kind of burned.  Doesn't it drive us nuts when we get home from work, start dinner, run around and someone wants to come over for a chat?  Does anyone not respect someone's evening?  Who visits at 6pm?

I still served the better parts of the steak to Brian, who I caught a glimpse feeding Boonie.  She proceeded to drink all her water after just one bite.  I ate my salad only.  One might say dinner was a bust.  Brian told me my scrambled eggs are better...so he got to load the dishwasher thank you very much.

Was the burned steak my sign? :-)

Brian has a project due this week.  I think if I start drinking martinis now I should be mentally prepared for his last minute pull it together.  Oh crap... I don't drink them.  Maybe I can talk his dad into taking him the night before.  I can feign some important meeting I forgot.  Brian has to make some sort of shadow box.  Lord just shoot me now.

Where was the stop sign when the teacher decided this would be a good learning experience for a boy...?...

Unless we put dead bugs in it...

,,,and pieces of the burned steak...

Until next time-

C

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Tags: Perez Hilton, www.aweekinthelifeofaredhead, Fire alarms, hypothyroidism

DO YA THINK

President Bill Clinton is a redhead? ;-)

Go get um Bill.

C

http://journals.aol.com/rapieress/Aweekinthelife/

GONE WITH THE WIND...

In our world there are many types of wind, which come in many forms.  There are global winds, such as the wind belts that exist between the atmospheric circulation cells. There are upper-level winds, such as the jet streams. There are synoptic-scale winds that result from pressure differences in surface air masses in the middle latitudes, and there are winds that come about because of geographic features such as the sea breeze.

 

There are the winds that blow out the old and sweep in the new.  They come like a mesoscale - such as gust fronts.  They are essentially unpredictable, like dust devils and microbursts.  Suddenly, there are fewer leaves on the trees and our world begins to appear like fall.

 

Prevailing winds would have us believe that things will always remain the same.  We take them for granted, and assume life will always be as it is.  Then, circumstances shift and the winds change.  Unexpectedly we turn to witness an old part of our life blowing gently away.  Something we fear we will never overcome is ushered out in a puff.  Like the fall trees, we are lighter and poised for a new spring.

 

This week our Indian summer brought the Santa Ana winds. The name is derived from Santana Winds, traced to Spanish California when the winds were called "Devil Winds" due to their heat.  The winds become so warm; they set the dry California grasses ablaze, burning out the old thick underbrush.

 

Are the "Devil winds" my sign?

 

I awoke at 5 am to the sound of the Santa Ana winds roaring outside my bedroom window.  I walk out my back gate, out to the lawn under the large redwood trees.  They bend and bow to the winds - howling back in protest.  I stand transfixed as thousands of leaves blow by me down the darkened street.

 

Fall is rushing in, pushing summer out.  Change is in the air.  I am feeling better - better than I have in years.  There is something to this drug called Armour.  My mind is clear.  I feel myself coming back.  The warm wind hits my face like tepid feathers, lifting my hair away from my shoulders. I smile, happy to greet the new day.

 

Dinner with my mother and Aunt further confirm the change.  “Your eyes, Cath, its your eyes - the sparkle is back” notes my mother.  My Aunt grins, “Yes, they look mischievous again.  Now, no trouble in Fallon Nevada next year for your birthday!”  

 

As it turns out, everyone had such fun in Olympia Washington July 4th 2005 (do you remember that hilarious vacation with my mom??) the family decided to have a reunion in Fallon, Nevada July 4th 2007.  The last time I was in Fallon, my cousin Ron and I went out dancing until sunrise.  We caught all kinds of hell for worrying the Aunts.  The funny part is they went out in the middle of the night in their PJ’s to the police station to report us missing.  My mother had her night cap on … OIY! The policeman was concerned until he got to our ages.  One of the Aunts told him we were 39 and 38.  The cop looked up, shook his head and said, “This is Nevada – no one sleeps here!  THEY ARE GROWN UPS!  Go back home and go to bed.  I am sure they will surface in the morning.”

 

The humorous part is Ron and me both had our cell phones, and no one ever bothered to call.  The story still makes us laugh.  I have never danced so much in my life.  Ron is a fabulous dancer – and a kick in the butt.  I think his wife hates me ever since.

 

Friday, Stephanie comes by to go for lunch and a walk.  She tilts her head to one side, “Something is different with you – what is it? Spill”.  “I feel better”, I respond.  “No kidding”, she grins.  While walking I stop to chat with a couple of guys.  She elbows me “Yeah – you are different.  You actually notice there are other men left in this town”.  “Yeah but they are probably gay”, I laugh back.  We talk of taking a road trip to Los Gatos for the holidays.  I haven’t thought of my favorite town in ages.  Suddenly I miss my dream city.  Suddenly I want to go out dancing.  There is a new wind.

 

I am once again chatting with an old friend online.  He reminds me I am not far off from where I was - before everything happened and my life turned on its ear.  New friends suddenly appear in size 14 shoes.  The newly moved recur they may be gone, but are not to be forgotten.

 

Today, KB comes over the hill for a trip to the park.  It is good to see her.  She comments, “Your eyes are clear – I see you have more energy.”   Hell yeah ... I even played with her precious 3 year old.

 

It is said the turbulence following the passage of the Santa Ana winds produces convective events such as grass fires and an occasional earthquake.

 

The turbulence following the passage of my old life could produce convective events such as small area earthquakes and broken bed frames…

 

Ya think?

 

Until next time-

 

C

 

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IF...

Today ... what do I say to this man, this man who is as much a part of me as my freckles.  I am afraid that I say:

We'll do it all
Everything
On our own

We don't need
Anything
Or anyone

If I lay here
If I just lay here
Would you lie with me and just forget the world?

I don't quite know
How to say
How I feel

Those three words
Are said too much
They're not enough

If I lay here
If I just lay here
Would you lie with me and just forget the world?

Forget what we're told
Before we get too old
Show me a garden that's bursting into life

Let's waste time
Chasing cars
Around our heads

I need your grace
To remind me
To find my own

If I lay here
If I just lay here
Would you lie with me and just forget the world?

Forget what we're told
Before we get too old
Show me a garden that's bursting into life

All that I am
All that I ever was
Is here in your perfect eyes, they're all I can see

I don't know where
Confused about how as well
Just know that these things will never change for us at all

If I lay here
If I just lay here
Would you lie with me and just forget the world?

And I am like a moth to flame...

C

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ONCE UPON A TIME...

How often do we look up at the sky and talk to some theoretical being (be it God, an Angel, the wind etc.) on a given day?  No matter how many times my girlfriends have begged me not to, I often look to the heavens and ask for "a sign".

In the past, this has conjured up elephants on the side of a Detroit freeway; KB's ability to get on an airplane with no more than a library card and prescription for identification; a bill from the IRS; corporate jet flights with strange passengers; getting lost in Denver for three hours and a whole long list of odd events too many to post here.  This question I ask the universe always brings some phenomenon no one has the capacity to help me understand. Nor, do they want to.

Just this morning I asked this abundant universe for guidance.  I want the sign to be one I can understand (simple English please), because I  am rather clueless at deciphering all the other "so-called" signs.  I can hear KB and Stephanie moaning "Oh no here we go".

Hey - it's a simple request from the universe I think. 

I am glad for those who have a "direction", a "plan" and are on their path toward whatever.  But some of us out here get so far off our original path we need some friggin direction tattooed on our forehead.  We prefer a "sign" of some kind.  Just don't make it elephants marching down a freeway...because I still don't understand that one.

Today, in the middle of my day, someone I was once crazy about instant messages me.  If this is THE SIGN ... if this is what the universe is bringing ...  I am as lost as ever.  I think I understand the elephants on the freeway better.

I used to believe this man was the most perfect man.  Not in the sense he was perfection, but in the perfect way someone understands us better than we understand ourselves.  The person who sees all our flaws, but still finds us fascinating anyways.  The person we can tell everything and feel safe.  We know they will  never mention our darkest secrets unless we bring them up.  There is no judgment, just someone who enjoys us as we are.

Unconditional love is understood by so few.  It is a rare thing when we receive it from outside our own family.  It is hard to let go of when it is time to move on.  What if no one else ever comes along again who can read the map of us exactly as it should be read?  Sometimes I think we set aside a part of our heart for these rare people, and it is never filled by anyone else again.  In fairy tales and Hollywood, they would have us believe that we always get the one we want.  In truth, many times the opportunity is missed or spoiled and we are never given a second chance.  

Cinderella says, "A dream is a wish your heart makes when you're fast asleep. In dreams you will lose your heartaches. Whatever you wish for, you keep. Have faith in your dreams, and someday, your rainbow will come smiling through. No matter how your heart is grieving, if you keep on believing, the dreams that you wish will come true..."

Was she drinking a lot of red wine when she thought this?

In reality the prince marries other people and moves far away to distant places. The hope we had to keep them in the hidden pocket of our dream world won't work, and like the butterfly they fly away.  

We all know how I suck at goodbyes...

One day, the butterfly lands again, near enough for us to notice.  Part of us tells ourselves not to look, but the part of us that remembers the connection, is drawn back in for a closer inspection. He is still as charming, as kind, as funny, as brilliant as he ever was.  We click as if I had just been with him this morning.  His words come like fresh air, soft and relieving.

But I don't understand this sign.  No amount of wishing is going to change the things that keep us apart.  I can't ask a Fairy Godmother to waive her wand and take me to the time I can be the first Cinderella to his ball.  That position was filled by someone else.  There is no hidden slipper to fit me into his world. But, I am always glad to hear from him.  He makes me think of the words to this song every time -

"I just wanted you to comfort me, when I called you late last night you see. I was falling into love, yes I was crashing into love
Of all the words you said to me, about "Life," "The Truth" and "BeingFree" - Yeah you sang to me, oh how you sang to me 

I live for how you make me feel, so I question all this being real
'Cause I'm not afraid to love, for the first time I'm not afraid to love. This time seems made for you and me, and you showed me what life needs to be - Yeah you sang to me, oh you sang to me"

Etc etc etc...

Then this same damn song comes on my radio on the ride home. 

So if this is my sign... I don't get it.  Someone please send in the elephants.

Until next time-

C

http://journals.aol.com/rapieress/Aweekinthelife/

ALL HAIL EMAIL

Another email sent to me reveals what this disease does when treatment is not correct, then what happens when the right treatment is applied...

She writes:

Wow, I was depressed enough for YEARS to have been on anti-depressants. But I never wanted to take them, being pretty against drugs so I never complained to the doctor ... and in fact wouldn't have been able to say exactly what was wrong. I had no reason really to be depressed.

Here is what I felt like when I was still sick with hypothyroidism: I didn't care to do things with my kids..or my husband. I didn't care whether or not the house got cleaned, unless company came. I felt like I would rather die than live for probably 15 years at least. It got worse and worse and the brain fog was so bad that I felt like I had gone into my own little cave of fog where nobody could get in there with me. I would have loved to live away from people all the time and never see anyone. There were so many days where all I could do was to lay on the couch and that was depressing.

One time we had planned a trip to the Bahamas with our business for a rewards trip. Our whole family was going. I backed out the very last minute because I just could not get it together to find clothes that fit my overweight body, was too tired to shop for more and was so darned depressed that I felt completely worthless. My family went without me and I still shed tears over missing that trip.

That was a deep dark endless depression. Just a couple of weeks before I was finally diagnosed, I remember sitting by the side of the pool in the backyard and looking at the cement, thinking If I never feel better than this, I would just rather die, Lord. Please take me to heaven if this is as good as it gets, because I can't take feeling like this anymore. I had no idea there was anything truly wrong and I had always somehow felt that if I were to work harder at it, I would snap out of it. Of course that never happened until Armour.

But I am free of that now almost completely. I am taking 4.25 grains of Armour. I took HC for 7 months, getting as high as 25 mg for 3 months before I had total relief of that afternoon depression and brainfog. I began to wean offthe HC when my Armour was optimal, and I felt well again. I am now down to 5 mg HC, 2 months later and doing amazingly well. The depression is GONE. Colors are brighter, I can enjoy life again. And I look forward to continued improvements with Armour.

Sincerely, M_______

Gee girlfriends ... who does this sound like?  I bet a few of the guys I dated (during my worst days of this disease) see me in the words of this email.  Yes, some still come here to read my madness. (They come for the punishment ;-)).

I am in shock as to how well Armour is doing with me...

Story after story, and we have yet to get on Oprah.  I often wonder if her weight issues are hormone related.  Until national awareness, we continue the fight...

Until next time-

C

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BROWN PAPER TUNNELS

I never thought I would feel confused about how my body is feeling.  Have I gone so long with the aches and pains of a low functioning thyroid that I can't get used to feeling nothing (meaning well)?  All day today I find myself lost in the thoughts of checking in with my body.  There isn't any stiffness, any aches, or any overwhelming feelings of exhaustion.

Part of me is in shock.

We take so much for granted until we are robbed of it.  I forgot what it feels like to sail through days with ease and energy to spare.  I have been forcing myself through each day, one day at a time, for so long now I am as lost as a kitten in a brown paper bag.

Gone are the feelings of sadness and confusion.  I am afraid.  I am afraid that I will wake up one day and not feel like this.  What will my life feel like if I don't ever "crash" again?  I can imagine the things I can accomplish if my body is back in the game with me.  Already I am noticing I am having clear thoughts about my future.  Just two weeks ago, these same thoughts seemed overwhemling and depressed me .

Doctors should be shot, I swear (this is a frustration comment - not a command).  I remember how my own father suffered through all the experimental cancer treatments in the 70's.  To this day, I don't know how he did it.  God, they would make him so sick.  He would get up every day at 4:30am, throw up and go out the door, into his truck and work a 12 hour day.  I remember thinking as a child, "Why are the doctors doing this to him?"  But he would have done anything to stay just one day longer with us.  It was heartbreaking.  If a man's soul is judged by how he dies, then my father is a saint.

The same thing happened with my step-father when he had his aorta replaced in Houston Texas.  The doctors then told him he would die soon without the surgery.  After the surgery, he was in a coma for 6 weeks.  My mother had to fight to get him on an air ambulance home.  We were going to remove the life support, because he had made it clear to us that he did not want to be kept alive by machines.  When he was transferred to the hospital here, he awoke, thinking I was my mother.

He was never the same.  I spent months going to rehab to check on him every day.  Gosh, Brian was a small baby at this time.  How did I ever do it?  But the doctors continued to anger me with their treatment of my step-father.  He was never again the man who got on that fateful flight to Houston Texas. 

Once, I found his left arm folded up around his back and by his right ear.  I didn't want to panic, so I calmly said, "Papa Dick, let me adjust your pillow" and I gently, slowly moved his arm to his side.  While in the hospitals care, he had another stroke was paralized on the left side.  Some orderly had left him that way.  Once I got him comfortable, I calmly told him I was going to the bathroom.  I proceeded to walk out to the nurses station, scream for the doctor and then cuss him out asking him if he went to the Wringling Bros school of medicine.  He was eating and chatting with the nurses.  You should have seen their faces.  My step-father could be seen from their station.  I told them they should be ashamed.  How many times that day had they walked by him and not noticed that his left hand was behind his right ear??  I don't think they will ever forget me...

We watched Papa Dick slowly die of heart disease anyways, stroke followed by stroke.  My mother cared for him until I thought it was going to kill her.  Brian was just three the night he turned to me and said, "Grandpa is going to heaven tonight".  I still don't know how Brian knew... they were so close.

Can you tell I have never been fond of doctors?  I don't like being treated like a human guinea pig.  It seems like what you tell them goes in one ear and out the other, as they have already decided your case.  It's as if they treat you like you're Cinderella.  They waive a magic wand and everything seems different - seems ok, until midnight, when all the symptoms return or you become more ill.  Then if you go back to them they tell you it's your fault cause ya' lost the magic glass shoe.  Oh, and by the way ... it will be $1,300.00 for the wand treatment ... $50.00 for this after ball consultation ... and $250.00 cause you lost the shoe.

I did love the doctor my mother worked for while growing up. He treated me like a daughter.  He was from Russia.  He was a man far before his time.  He felt knowing about someone's lifestyle was part of the diagnostic process.  He could be so dead-on right about illnesses.

I wish he was here to help me with my thyroid...

I gotta go.  I'll keep you updated on my progress.  I hope I inspire the rest of you to fight for your right to a healthy life.  One you are able to live and enjoy!

Until next time-

C

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THYROID TIME

Carl Sanburg said, "Time is the coin of your life. It is the only coin you have, and only you can determine how it will be spent. Be careful lest you let other people spend it for you."

I began taking Armour Thyroid this past week, and today I feel different.  It has taken a week, but something is distinctively different.  If this is working like it feels it is working, then I am going to have to fight the anger that will surface over the wasted years of trying (I should say fighting) to be well. 

First, I notice I don't crave carbohydrates.  I also don't crave wine to relax me for sleep.  (I guess this means I won't need it for sex either...)  My mental fog seems better.  My body doesn't ache, including my back.  But oddly the most distinguishable change is I am having REM sleep.  I am dreaming, and dreaming a lot.  Somewhere in all these years of dealing with this disease I stopped dreaming. Last night I had six different dreams.  I woke up laughing this morning at the thought that if dreams are where our "teachers or spirit guides" try and communicate with us, then I must be pissing them off.    Now that I am having REM sleep I guess they feel the need to catch up with a monsoon of dreams.  If you knew how bizarre, you'd probably run now...

Many of you know that if you don't have REM sleep, you don't wake up feeling rested.  Today I feel rested.  I feel normal (as normal as a redhead can be, which is one step up from abnormal).  It is strange to attempt to make people understand what thyroid sufferers feel like every day.  Personally, I think we deserve some badge of honor.  Make mine pink please - wait breast cancer has that - then make mine cinnamon.  We thyroid sufferers could use some spice.

Thanks to Donna, a reader who sent me a link to others like me on Yahoo.  I was directed to the following site:

http://www.stopthethyroidmadness.com/my-story/ (<---CLICK HERE)

where Janie, the owner of the site shares her story.  I froze as I read her words. She is my twin.  I have felt exactly the same way.  Others can read her story and begin to see what we go through with this disease.  This disease seems to go after people who have a vibrant lust for life.  The one way we tell we are still suffering is in our lack of interest in our own lives.  A non-vibrant or non-vibrating redhead is a sad, sad thing indeed...  

I used to believe that we have complete control over our thoughts and our lives.  If you believe all the "new-age" declamations, then one might conclude that we control our thoughts which create our lives.  Now, I am not so sure.  If a change in chemicals (hormones) changes the way one feels and thinks, and by feeling bad, our lives begin to crumble - who is responsible?  No amount of positive thinking is going to make my thyroid function well enough to give my body what it needs.  Something in a failing thyroid, which drops hormone levels, affects our thoughts.  Is it the chicken or the egg...?  

Stress overwhelms us and causes our mind and bodies to shut down. My mind would often race with thoughts of depression because I was too exhausted to crawl into the bathroom to brush my teeth.  I have laid on my floor to perform countless functions before the doctors prescribed T3.  No, it wasn't sex.  Yet, change my meds to mimic natural thyroid function and my thoughts and body change with it.  Do we really have as much control as we think?  Can certain thoughts we are having indicate underneath it all we are becoming ill?   

If I become my old self through taking Armour, the heavens help me for how angry I will be at the doctors who have contributed to the loss of so much of my life.  Not to mention robbing Brian of a mother who fights to be a 100 percent in his world.  This has been going on for four years now.  But how many years prior to 2002 was it slowly happening before the symptoms knocked me to the floor?  It is time I can't get back.  During which time I probably bought a European vacation for a doctor or two...

I suppose it should motivate me to LIVE LIVE LIVE (or slap a doctor)

if Armour is the answer to my prayers.

Until next time-

C

http://journals.aol.com/rapieress/Aweekinthelife/

LITTLE MOVES

Another week gone, Brian returns to his father's house.  Our place becomes quiet as remnants of Brian's world lay cast about the rooms.  A dirty sock by the back door, another next to the dog dish, lego pieces on the bookcase and fireplace mantle, star wars miniatures on the bar of soap in the bathroom, his calculator on my bed.  Each item tells a story of the events of the week.  I miss him already.

Brian's best friend Alex is moving this weekend.  I haven't written about it, because there has just been so much other crap.  The whole Alex-is-moving saga is beyond what I want to focus on.  Now it is here - up in my face as Alex comes by to give me a hug this evening.  Alex has been a part of our family for two years.  I love him enough to adopt him if needed.  Brian and I have made sure he was fed, clothes were clean and he was able to relax at being a boy in our home.  [SIGH]

McYummy says, "Catherine, my dear, you completely suck at goodbyes."

Oh hell yeah.

It's why it is hard for me to get close to people or let someone back that I have written off.  The process is like cutting off a part of myself and sending it to worlds far away.  There are those I miss to this day.  There is my dad, of course, and Elisabeth; there's Steve and Gary.  There is Ezra and Jordan, boys who could drive me nuts while wanting to spoil them rotten.  There is Uncle Bud and Grandma Whin.  There is Mark and there is Joy.  Some... are better to miss than to enjoy...

I am tired of it though.  Tired of saying goodbye to people I love, as they go off into the world.  Although ... there are some people (like my x husband) I think will never go away. And... a couple of people who read this blog.  There's always hope...?

Maybe if I just wish everyone would go away, then no one would?  Ahhh... but this is not how life works is it?

It is more difficult to watch our children go through it though.  Yesterday I was trying to convince Brian that he would still see Alex quite a bit.  My best friend in high school lived 40 minutes away.  She practically lived in our house.  My dad called her "daughter number two".  She was with me through my father's death, sharing the pain.  I think it changed her as much as it changed me.  She married my best friend Joe and is still a part of my life today.  We have even shared several goodbyes - when she moved to be with her family in Portland Oregon.  Eventually. she moved back.

For me, I think the hardest part of seeing Brian's friends move away is the fact that I  wanted three kids, two cars, a dog, a cat and a good husband in our big house in the country.  It just didn't work out that way.  So, I sort of adopt these boys Brian brings around.  It gives me the illusion of a house full of children.

I just went through another 'down period' with my thyroid and am finally feeling better today.  Stress just kicks my ass.  I am taking enough multi vitamins to choke a horse - trying to keep myself from crashing.  Maybe it was meant to be that I don't have a bunch of other people to take care of, since I struggle with caring for myself.

Speaking of which - it's bedtime.

Until next time-

C 

http://journals.aol.com/rapieress/Aweekinthelife/

I REMEMBER

"When good men die their goodness does not perish,

But lives though they are gone.

As for the bad,

All that was theirs dies and is buried with them." 

--  Euripides

 

C

 

(Thanks to Helen, a felow thyroid sufferer, she sent me a link to her son's photographs of the memorial: http://www.rhythmicart.com/911/  His name is  Richie Thomassen.  Thank you! The photos sure take us there.  It feels like I am standing there taking the photos ... )

http://www.aweekinthelifeofaredhead.com

Tags: September 11, www.aweekinthelifeofaredhead.com

FRESH LEMONS ANYONE?

 

 

SACRAMENTO

Schools may get break from bad teachers 'Dance of the Lemons' from one campus to another would be curtailed under bill

 

http://sfgate.com/cgi-bin/article.cgi?f=/c/a/2006/09/10/BAG0CL2UJ01.DTL (<---Click on)

 

It is funny when you start fighting something “signs" appear wherever you turn.  Today in the San Francisco Chronicle there is a story about what happens with bad teachers. Click on the link above to read the article…

Brian's incredible teacher from last year is not working.  Something happened in this new shift of teachers that came to his school and the teachers with the lowest seniority were bumped out.  I shake my head to think that the bitch that is Brian's current teacher took a spot that eliminated a truly great teacher.  After reading the article I now understand exactly how this happens.  Brian's great teacher from last year does not have tenure.

I am happy to see that steps are being taken to address the problem.  I am still shocked at how little principals and teachers alike know about learning disabilities.  Here, they have classrooms filled with children where probably 10% are struggling with something and the system doesn’t bother to train teachers to teach all types of students.  The school relies on parents, like me, to educate them on what is going on.  How scaryis that?

Ironically, rather than train the teacher, they want all struggling kids to be on Ritalin.  This is no joke and the number of kids on drugs in school is shocking.  The “ADD please-save-me-so-the-kids-sit-still” focus is frightening.  Two years ago the school wanted me to put Brian on ADD drugs and he doesn’t have ADD.  By the time my x and I put Brian through all the tests, the doctors found his auditory processing problem and agreed Brian did not have ADD.  I wanted to park my car with a sign “Dr Ross is an idiot” in front of the psychiatrist’s office.  She tried to put Brian on the drugs without comprehensive testing.  I refused, and got up in the middle of her ‘overview’ and walked out of her office.  I then refused to pay her final bill. I have since found out that every kid she sees ends up on drugs.  She is a malpractice lawsuit waiting to happen.

I wish I could say that what I have experienced with Brian and the school system is abnormal, but it isn’t.  I talk to parent after parent after parent struggling with many of the same issues I have dealt with.  Many put up with it, thinking there is nothing they can do.  It breaks my heart.  Many of the mothers are afraid of looking like a crazy mom.  WHO CARES?  Like I am ever going to see these teachers ever again?  Once Brian leaves school they are gone forever.  I hope they think I am nuts, because I don’t care.  I care that Brian gets an education.

Artists and writers learn at an early age not to care what people think.  For every 1000 people that like your work, a 1000 don’t.  You do what you are called to do, and forget the critics.  The same is true for Brian.  Some teachers may hate me, but the parents I talk to are relieved to hear someone fighting this issue.  In the end the judging will be in how Brian performs as an adult.  Whenever I watch award shows of all types, winners are always thanking their parents (especially their moms) – rarely it is a teacher.

Now don’t get me wrong, there are great, wonderful teachers out there.  I had so many growing up.  There was Mrs. Otani, Mrs. Strom, Mrs. Eubanks, Mrs. Perry, Mr. Brower, Mr. Stucky, Mr. Day, Mr. Wright, Mr. Owen, Mr. Dole, Mr. Hanson, Mr. Gulbranson, Mr. Schmidt, Mr. Pedgrift and Mrs. Sartori.  These were just the teachers K-12.  My college teachers were all wonderful.  I was also lucky enough to have many male teachers… great male teachers.  I often wonder if Brian will be able to say the same thing about his years k-12.

So, my battle continues on…

Until next time-

C

http://journals.aol.com/rapieress/Aweekinthelife/

A LITTLE SUNSHINE

Ahhh ... some good rest and Brian's return brings me back to center.  We went to the movies today - our date thing.  We saw "Little Miss Sunshine".  I laughed so hard I thought I was going to pee my pants.  It is one of the best movies I have seen in a long time.  Very funny stuff.

Olive, the little girl is exactly what I am talking about with kids. It was the perfect movie for where my head is with regards to Brian.  Friday morning I wrote an email to the school superintendent and tried to show as much restraint as possible for a redhead.  She emailed back the forms to pull Brian from his current 6th grade class and have him placed in another one.

My x husband is funny.  He was calm Thursday night, but when he awoke on Friday he himself was pissed and went to see the principal on his own.  He set a meeting for Thursday at 2:30 to discuss Brian.

After school on Friday Brian came to the office to help get out the monthly newsletter.  While sitting and folding I began to ask him about his class this year.  He went on to say how great the part-time teacher is and how much he likes a new friend in class.  I remind him the part-time teacher is leaving in January and he would have Ms (the teacher I have issues with) ______ full-time.  He looks up at me and makes a face.  I prod, "What's wrong with her?  It's ok, you know I always want to hear what you are thinking...”   "She's not very nice and makes me feel dumb", Brian responds.  You should have seen how quickly my x husband rises from his desk.

"You are the smartest kid I know" he yells as he comes out of his office.  "I know" Brian grins.  I tell Brian we can take him out of her class, but it is up to him.  I advise he shouldn't stay for the friend.  He needs to be where he is comfortable enough to learn.  "I don't want to be in her class," he says.  "Then your dad and I will take care of it" I respond.  My x puts his hands on Brian's head, "We love you".  Yes, that is my x, and he does love his son in his own way.

So now I will be filling out forms to pull Brian this weekend.  Many parents are afraid to do this.  I am never afraid to be the first to do anything.  Nothing ever changes unless you take a stand.  I want to send a clear message to this teacher that we see who she really is.   The district may never do anything about her, but they will know what she is all about.

Now it is the weekend and sounds of boys running in and out the front door occupy my evening.  The screen door regularly bangs shut like the beat of a kettle drum.  They are eating me out of house and home.  Occasionally they stop long enough to show me their latest cuts and bruises.  How could someone  not love teaching boys?  The way they squirm, twist, and push their chins up like they are tough before they run into another room while creating some odd sound.  I think I am in heaven.

In the words of Dwayne (Little Miss Sunshine): "You know what? Fuc* beauty contests. Life is one fuc*ing beauty contest after another. School, then college, then work... Fuc* that. And fuc* the Air Force Academy. If I want to fly, I'll find a way to fly. You do what you love, and fuc* the rest".

Amen.

Until Next time-

C 

http://journals.aol.com/rapieress/Aweekinthelife/

http://www.aweekinthelifeofaredhead.com

Tags: Little Miss Sunshine, www.aweekinthelifeofaredhead.com

SINGIN THE BACK TO SCHOOL BLUES

I am afraid I share my son's lack of enthusiasm for the return of the dreaded school year.  As the leaves turn the colors of Mars and the wind begins to blow from the cold north I realize that fall is upon us.

I am convinced the goal of a great many teachers in the public school system is to completely destroy a boy's love of learning.  And I am going to shoot you here sistas... I think we have waaaaaay to many female teachers who suck at understanding boys. Ok, I said it - now shoot me.

Yes, tonight it was back to school night for us parents.  Can ya tell?

Once a year we are forced to go sit in chairs 12 inches from the floor.  We then listen to some girl young enough to be my grand daughter tell all of us parents how we suck at parenting and it is television and video games fault that our children may struggle in school.  Oh yes, and how great her dad was at raising her and forbidding her from watching much TV.  Little lady, Brian had to EARN TV and just got one on his 9th birthday.  It was the same for video games, which I am all for.  As a computer geek I can appreciate the value video games have to offer.  Too bad public schools can't teach boys like it's one big video game.  We'd have to beg them to come home from school.

Just as I don't like mortgage loan underwriters who lack any life experience judging borrower's personal financials, I take great insult in teachers not much older than my son, married with one small baby telling others about raising kids.  Honey, have two more kids (one with a learning disability), get divorced, stay at school working until 6:00pm, then run to two different places to pick up your kids because your x won't help and try and stretch your food dollar like its rubber - do this for 5 years and I might give you credit for knowing something.  Otherwise DON'T TELL US PARENTS HOW TO PARENT.

Now, you can all laugh here because my x husband, the salesman dances around Brian's latest teacher like he is the grandest of all involved fathers.  Let us not talk about the fact that the last time he openeda book to read to Brian he was probably 4.  I know my friends are reading this and falling off their chairs with laughter... I am on a rant roll here.  Brace yourselves.

Little does Brian's new 6th grade teacher realize any contact she has had with my x husband is because I have had some sort of hissy fit forcing him to get involved.  This is usually because I am so exhausted I think life in prison after shooting him would at least allow me some rest.  He can sense I am done, and pulls the "I am such a responsible dad" thing.  I don't care, just as long as he handles it.

Ok...can I say it?

I don't like Brian's teacher.  I like the part -time teacher that helps.  She is a doll, but this new one has no idea what she has met in me.  (Girlfriends?)  The teacher and I started getting into it immediately when I asked about purchasing a 2nd set of books for Brian.  Brian's Title 1 team has already established this as part of Brian's Title 1 and he is allowed it under the law.  (I always donate them back to the school).  She told me she is saving the extra books for any new kids she might get and Brian was just going to have to remember his books.  Yeah cause I am sure with her attitude a flood of kids are rushing to get into her class...  The tone that she took with me as she began her excuses made the hair on the back of my neck stand up.  I thought of the poor innocent child who feels powerless on the receiving end of her condenseding attitude.  I was instantly furious.  Is anyone shouting CATHERINE BREATHE?

I sucked in wind looked her straight in the eye and answered through tight lips and glaring eyes,"I'll take it up with Susan then" (Susan the superintendent and I are on first name basis).  She began to back pedal a bit (still treating me like I am some idiot clueless parent) but I was already pissed (yes folks she does know Brian is in title one).  Brian's books often end up at some home of my x's current girlfriend - or someplace my x can't remember.  I guess she thinks Brian should be responsible for his dad's actions too.

I stared at her for the rest of the night and knew I was going to take this woman on.  I am often shocked that we still allow teachers into the school system who can be abusive.  I will see to it that she never forgets meeeting me.  If her parents were lacking in teaching her manners and consideration then I am just the redheaded mom to teach her.  Hopefully that poor shy boy that she wants to tear apart for forgetting his homework will get a reprieve as she sees my face as she is about to make him feel small.

She went on and on lecturing us on how we should "just let our kids fall" this year to prepare them for Junior High.  Yes, I suppose we should if we want them smoking pot and having sex at 13.  I think I will stay involved thank you very much.  Funny, in life we only get ahead with the HELP and ASSISTANCE of others, but we should just let our kids suffer - lost in their homework.  Brian is brilliant at Math.  He tells me to leave him alone when he is working on it.  He loves Math.  When the homework turns to reading and writing he asks to me to help him through it.  I will not "just let him fall" until he tells me to leave him alone just like he does in math. 

My x has never helped Brian with a single project, worked patiently through three hours of homework or assisted Brian in completing his first novel.  All of the schooling falls on my shoulders.  The 75% of the time Brian is with me is spent doing homework and then catching up on all the homework that doesn't get completed at his dad's.  Now, this isn't for Brian not wanting to do it - it is his dad dragging him to girlfriend's homes, or out to dinner or to a movie or even a sports event.  Everything my x needs or wants to do takes priority over Brian's studies.

Yet, when we get in front of the teachers he nods and smiles and acts like the perfect dad whereas I am the Tasmanian devil.  I now thinking I want this new teacher to divorce her husband, marry my x and THEN maybe we could come to some agreement. 

Brian still talks about his two kitties he loved, who lived with him and his dad.  The girlfriend over near Napa had them put to sleep because of whatever came down between her and my x husband when they broke up.  Brian was in second grade.  That whole nightmare STILL effects our lives to this day.  I was the one who found out what she had done.  I was the one that told Brian the kitties ran away - to watch his face twist in shock and then his begging to go look for them.  I was not about to tell him they were dead.  That night I went to bed and buried my head in my pillows and cried so hard I thought my soul was going to die.  Don't you dare tell me how to parent Brian.  My little brave "oobello man" and I have been to war and back and have the battle scars to prove it. 

There was always KB and my mom seeing us through it.

I know in my soul that Brian will be a great man. But God save him from some of these teachers.  I am so close to putting him in private school or charter school.  I am joining in on the fight in Congress to allow the $10,000 we spend on kids to go with the kids and not the school.  Then parents can put their kids in private school when they become as frustrated as I am.

Oh, and tonight I signed up to be on the school board...

KB is passing out now.

Well someone has to fight for all the boys stuck learning in this new environment.  I do wish teaching paid better soit would attract more men.  We saw a lot of male teachers during the Viet Nam war because if you studied teaching in college and became a teacher - you could avoid the draft.  Brian's teacher last year was the best.  She was female, but had boys of her own who struggled in school.  She really understood boys.  Brian adored her.  She also came from the corporate training enviornment before becoming a grade school teacher.  She came with real life experience - the best kind of teacher.

So here we go ... another year in the life of Brian.  Another year with his redhead mom fighting away for him.  He makes me laugh.  He's become such a little comedian.  He comes back tomorrow night. 

On a more humorous side note... Brian has decided to sell gift wrap this year.  It seems there is an XBox360 you can win. He has never wanted to sell anything before - except an occasional toy to his friends.  He is on page three of orders and approaching 750 dollars.  It is suddenly dawning on me that he can be quite the little sales man.

AGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH.

Please God no - not THAT...not ANOTHER salesman in the family.

I think I should rest this rant on THAT note... and leave you to your emails and comments.

Until next time-

C

PS.  It has been brought to my attention that a different x girlfriend of my x husband (I know - who keeps up?) is reading my blog.  Why I have no idea, since she swore she hated him when they broke up.  So why would you want to come read my blog?

Girlfreinds ... I just can't make this shit up.

C

http://journals.aol.com/rapieress/Aweekinthelife/

CROCK ON

Kids, like my son, will sure miss you.

If only teachers taught children about all subjects with the same passion, fearlessness and commitment.

But if there are crocodiles in heaven ... please get them in a zoo before I get there.

C