Dammit, Chick-Fil-A!

Two posts in two days - be still thy heart, right?

So...I need to research this further, but it looks like Chick-Fil-A may harbor some deep-running discriminatory policies against gay couples. What's frustrating about this to me is, to start with, that I gave up fast food years ago, so my new personal boycott against the restaurant chain will go completely unnoticed.

But that's not entirely why I'm writing today...it's because, in the name of discrimination against the LGBT (Lesbian Gay Bisexual Transgendered) community, I've heard it argued one time too many that people are entitled to their own beliefs, and since so many religions are against homosexuality in any form, clearly it must be ok for people to turn up their noses at gay people.

Because people in the LGBT community had a choice in being what they are, right? I've heard that logic as well. And since they have a choice in who they love or marry, then clearly it's ok to disagree with, and discriminate against, them.

Right.

I am here to say that that logic is bullshit, and I don't use that term lightly.

Here's the thing. If you want to tell me that being gay is a choice, then I will argue you until the cows come home. Because it's not a choice. Some people are born gay or transgendered in the exact same way that I was born a blonde-haired, blue-eyed Jewish girl. I had no say in that. And so discriminating against that community is the same as telling Black people to sit in the back of the bus. (Thanks, Charles - I stole that from you.)

Want to know why I believe that with every cell in my being? Good, because I'm going to tell you.

I have known lots of gay people in my life, but only a small handful of transgendered. That said, one transgendered person is someone with whom I have been extremely close for my entire life, and I always will be.

That person (let's call him Fred, to protect anonymity) started out life as a little girl, just like me. We played together a lot growing up, and Fred was always just...a little different. When the other little girls (myself included) played My Little Ponies, developing complex, soap-opera-like scenarios in which the ponies starred, Fred (back then Sarah) built them houses out of sticks and leaves, uninterested in our version of the game. When the rest of the girls giggled and gossiped about boys in the sunshine by the pool, Fred read Isaac Asimov in the shade.

I don't know that Fred cared at that young age about not really fitting in with the girls, but as she got older, more complex decisions started to come into play, and the world started to react a little more strongly to her differences.

When Fred started cutting her hair short and dressing like a boy, people stared, and some got mean. Once when sitting in a diner in rural Pennsylvania, a waitress was so ridiculously rude that we should have gotten up and walked out. Instead, we sat quietly, ate our breakfasts, and allowed her to ruin a meal. Then, when Fred realized exactly what she was (transgendered), she had a doctor tell her that if she was going to live life as a man, she would have to give up all those people she had ever loved, because there was no way they were ever going to fully accept her for what she would become. How could you tell someone that? Cut everyone else out in order to be what you need to be?

Luckily, she didn't listen, and got a second opinion.

Then, the transformation itself was incredibly difficult. There was a surgery, lots of hormone therapy that wreaks a bit of havoc on a body, and just so many changes, I'm sure it was near impossible to fathom. It took a long time for Fred to finally be Fred, and while it was always the right decision for him, it was not the easy one.

I'm saying all this in order to point you to my conclusion, which is that I really don't think people choose to be LGB or T. I think the only choice they have is whether to suppress who they really are and live a lie, or live as their hearts tell them to, in a world that is often filled with bullying, vitriol, and worse, and in a country that doesn't always support them.

Look, the repeal of Don't Ask, Don't Tell this year was a big step. Huge, even, and I'm glad it was taken. But when a major fast food company blatantly admits to discriminatory processes, and no one seems enraged, then I know there's still far for this country to go.

Because really, people...would you ever excuse someone for discriminating against someone based on the color of their skin because that person may have a different set of beliefs?

No. I didn't think so. And guess what? You shouldn't.

Running out of words

Here's some self-analysis for a Saturday night.

(Speaking of analysis, have you ever seen Fame? I can't think of any sort of therapy/analysis without picturing Montgomery MacNeil talking about his analyst...I love him, and wish he was my friend. Ralph Garci? Not so much...but I digress...)

Anyway...as a mom who works (almost) full time (i.e. 32 official hours per week), I have come to realize that I talk a lot. A LOT. I mean it. Even though my job involves a lot of sitting at my desk, quietly testing software, I still go to meetings and have co-workers with whom I enjoy chatting. Plus I have a very verbal, precocious (everyone thinks their kid is precocious and very verbal, right?) two-year-old who thinks that if she is conscious, she should be talking. And she requires responses. All the time.

I also have a husband with whom I really like talking, parents, dogs, cats...the list could go on. It sometimes feels like I never really stop talking. Ever.

And I think of myself as a fairly quiet person, so that's been a bit of an adjustment for me.

Typically, by Thursday afternoon, I feel like I'm running out of words. Conversation starts to feel more forced, I start to be more irritated by just about anything said to me, and I begin to run out of the clever responses that tend to make people smile. But then usually, I have Friday off, and even if I keep my chatty Kathy child home with me, there's a whole naptime worth of quiet-time for me to regroup a little.

What a luxury! Sometimes upwards of two hours in which I DON'T HAVE TO TALK! I never knew how beautiful silence could be.

It's funny, because I know Charles must run into this as well. He is, after all, an officially full time working dad. But he's maybe a bit smarter about things than I am, and he grabs his quiet time in dribs and drabs throughout the week. An hour downstairs before Zoe or I get up each morning; lost in a book while we girls play a game outside. He's got the hang of it.

Anyway, when I start to run out of words, I simultaneously start to notice all the other things in my life which feel stressful. My dog whines a little more forcefully; my cat throws up a little more loudly. And the laundry feels more pressing, as do the fuzzies covering my carpet.

In other words, I get pretty grumpy, when I start to lose those words.

This week, I ran out of them sooner than usual. It was a busy week, and I was sick, and every night we went somewhere after work (to Charles's mom's, to a friend's shower, down to the farm where my parents keep their horses - all fun, but all SOMETHING). I was running out of words by Wednesday morning.

Then I worked Friday, and had a birthday party for one of Zoe's classmates this morning, where I had to make friendly small-talk with people I don't know very well (NOT a skill-set of mine). Zoe wore herself out, and was therefore completely needy/weepy for the rest of the day, even after a nap.

"Mommy, I NEEEEEEEED you."

I am so completely out of words, even carrying on small-talk with Charles now seems like an insurmountable task. I couldn't even summon the energy to ask what he was watching on the computer a few minutes ago (it sounded interesting...honey, what was it??), and I can barely grunt in response to any questions.

The good news is I am planning on running in the morning. Five miles, so about 50 minutes, alone with my iPod? Heaven! It should be just enough so that I can find my ability to converse on at least a basic level again.

Wish me luck!

Random thoughts Tuesday

Whew - my brain is kind of all over the place. I'm sick (sinus infection - ugh), and work's been CRAZY busy (see what I meant about the end of a release cycle?), so I'm just exhausted.

But it's been a few days since I last wrote, so I thought I'd just provide some updates on life. I'm stealing Marissa's idea of Random Thought nights, so here goes.

• Book update: I think the last time I wrote about my book, I was maybe halfway through writing the first draft. I had no title, little confidence that I could ever finish, and I thought I was running out of ideas. But have no fear! I finished my rough draft before Christmas and have been hard at work editing ever since. I found a title, a voice for my narrator, and I've been able to sort through a lot of the garbage to pick out some good stuff. I'm super-excited about it, and hope to hand it off to some close friends/family for an initial read by early next month.
• Zoe update: She's finally healthy(ish)! Yay! She still has a cough but she's lost that walking zombie look that she had for over a week, and I swear....now that she's better, she's been EXTRA cute!! Today she borrowed another doll from her Nana, and promptly named it "Blue's Clues." Yeah - it's a girl doll, and her outfit is pink. But whatever. It's cute, dammit!
• Me update: I decided it was high time (in fact, it's long overdue) for me to go visit my brother, Daniel, and his husband, Zeke, in London, where they've been living for over two years. Since tickets are extremely pricey, I am going All By Myself next month, for Presidents' Day weekend. Holy cow, I'm so excited and so terrified that any time I think about it, I kind of, sort of want to throw up!! Holy cow! Five days without Charles and Zoe? Will I survive? I'll have to do some on-the-road blogging when I'm there.
• Politics update: I really, really, really want to stay awake tonight for the State of the Union Address. I am SO hoping President Obama knocks it out of the park!!! I also hope people are just nice to each other. So we'll see how that goes.

OK, I think that's enough for now. Hopefully I'll get some antibiotics when I go to the doctor tomorrow and then I'll be able to get my head together to write something more meaningful later in the week. In the meantime, I hope you're having a happy day. xoxoxoxo

The curious existence of Bobby Booby...

A few months ago, Zoe borrowed a doll from her Nana (Charles's mother). On the ride home that day, I asked her, "What's his name?"

Her answer? "Bobby."

Um...ok. She knows no one named Robert, Bob or Bobby. She's never seen an episode of The Brady Bunch. Where'd she come up with that name? I wondered...

A week or two later, we bought her a new baby of her very own. On the way home, I asked her, "What's the new baby's name?"

Her answer? "She doesn't have a name."

Oh. "Zoe, when will you give her a name?"

"When October comes."

It was November 2nd. October was a long way away.

Zoe has stuck to her guns regarding the names of both baby dolls, and still asks about Bobby, who has long since gone back to Nana's house. The new baby still doesn't have a name.

Also, we've been watching Annie a lot over the past few days - it's her new favorite show. She gets very concerned when a bearded man throws a bomb into Mr. Warbucks' house, and wants to know who that man is. In the movie, they call him The Bolshevik. Zoe spent a bit of time yesterday trying to say this new word..."Vol-vick? Bod-a-nick? Vold-e-nuke?" She never quite got it, but she says a different word each time, giggling at herself and her own creativity.

So I'd say life with a very articulate toddler is entertaining, to say the least. Zoe has her own way of looking at the world, and her own way of talking about it, and it changes, daily.

I see this most when Zoe gets to playing her new favorite game, which she created herself. The name of this game? Well, it changes, of course. Some days, it's "Bobby Booby." Others, it's "Blobby Blooby." Where does this come from? I have no idea...but it's her favorite.

"Mommy," she says, typically while I'm making dinner or folding laundry. "Will you come play Bobby Booby with me?"

"Sure, I'll come play Bobby Booby."

"No, Mommy. It's Blobby Blooby."

"Oh."

To play this game, we sometimes dance, holding hands. We sometimes chase each other around. There are always rules, they always change, and I never seem to follow them.

"No, Mommy, you have to lean this way!" or "No, Mommy, you're not listening! Go to timeout!"

I can't tell you the number of times I've been sent to timeout for breaking the B(l)obby B(l)ooby rules...

One day, while Zoe was sick last week, she was sitting on the ground, exhausted and run-down. "Mommy, can we play Blobby Blooby sitting down?"

This time, the rules involved wiggling on one's booty while holding hands and making weird faces...

So, the name changes, the rules change, and I am frequently in trouble. Sort of sounds like a two-year-old's perception of the world, huh? Hmm...I'll have to ponder that possible conclusion...

What a difference a year makes...but not really...

It's 2011. Holy cow, it just took me three tries to actually type the correct year. I am amazed by the fact that, when I went to go renew my passport this week, I realized twelve years had passed since I first got it! I looked like such a BABY in that picture!

So, eleven years ago I was still in college in New Jersey. Now I'm married to my Southern boy and I have a kid. CRAZY.

That said, even just a year ago, life was SO different. Or was it? Just for kicks, I thought I'd compare year-to-year, 2010 to 2011.

2010, MLK week...oh, this was SUCH a bad week. Zoe was a little older than 18 months old, and not really talking much (her best words were "Beep boop beep boop" as a response to the question, "What does R2D2 say?"). We'd recently become completely disenchanted with her day care and had decided to switch her to her current school, the Cadillac of pre-schools in Charleston. This was the week the switch happened.

So, a little background, too. Charles and I work for a software company that releases our products cyclically. When we release, there is always drama with loooooooong hours, and one or the other of us typically has to work late a few times a week. The week of the school switch, this week last year, was a release week. Charles had just become a manager, and he had to work late almost every night.

And to top things off, I had the worst case of bronchitis I've ever had. I. Felt. Like. Garbage. It was awful. I could barely stand up, but I was forcing myself to go to work, to take care of Zoe, do do all the things I typically do. It did not go well.

So we had a sick Mom, a busy Dad, and a new school for Zoe, and that transition was NOT easy. At all. She cried for hours each day in her new class and didn't nap much. When I picked her up each day, she was exhausted and miserable, sort of like I was feeling. And I was on my own.

I made my mom come over a couple days that week, and thank goodness she did - she basically rescued Zoe and me from certain doom. (OK, that is a little dramatic...)

It was awful.

So now, 2011, MLK week. This year, it's Zoe who has bronchitis...again. Yes, I think it's a relapse of the same bout she had two weeks ago, and it's pretty awful. I've never heard her cough like this. But today we got some new antibiotics, and even though she's coughing as I type, she's already at least a little better. On the mend, I hope. Zoe and I will be staying home again tomorrow, on our own, and I'm looking forward to a day on the couch, under blankets, and with the TV on, so she can hopefully sleep it off.

It's a release week at work. Again. Charles will be working long hours, and again, I probably can't due to the work/life balance...which is fine with me. I like my job, but I love my family. And that said, I will probably call my mom tomorrow to see if she wants to come hang out after work until Charles gets home...frequently, an extra mom is a great thing.

And finally, we found out last week that even though we followed the rules for re-enrollment at the Cadillac of pre-schools, we didn't follow them well enough, and her enrollment is now in question for the next academic year. Apparently, a lot of the half-day three-year upped their enrollment from half-day to full-day, and since we waited till the last minute to turn in our paperwork, we wound up on the wait-list.

Um...WHAT??? Are you kidding me?

I'm optimistic enough to think that it'll all work out and we won't have to find a new school for Zoe (ohmigod, I don't want to leave this school!!!), but still. It's a stress I don't need this week.

So there you have it...one year later, and we have another case of bronchitis, perhaps my mom to the rescue, and another software release week. Oh, and enrollment issues for Zoe.

Weird...times change, but not really sometimes.

All that said, Zoe herself is WAY different this year. Some recent cuteness...

1. Her favorite song is "Hey Jude" and she sings it. All the time. I love it. In fact, today she sang it for the P.A. at the doctor's office. SO sweet.

2. Sometimes, at the end of her bath, she sits on a little toy boat and refuses to get out, even though all the water has been drained. Why, you might wonder? Because she's "stuck in traffic," as she will tell me over and over. She'll only get out if Charles comes upstairs to see her.

3. When we're talking about things to do, she'll suggest something, and then look at me and say, "Is that a great idea?" or "Is that a option?" Super-sweet.

4. She can look at a book and tell you all the letters (provided they are CAPITAL), and then say, "Mommy, what did I spell?"

What a difference a year makes...but not really...

It's 2011. Holy cow, it just took me three tries to actually type the correct year. I am amazed by the fact that, when I went to go renew my passport this week, I realized twelve years had passed since I first got it! I looked like such a BABY in that picture!

So, eleven years ago I was still in college in New Jersey. Now I'm married to my Southern boy and I have a kid. CRAZY.

That said, even just a year ago, life was SO different. Or was it? Just for kicks, I thought I'd compare year-to-year, 2010 to 2011.

2010, MLK week...oh, this was SUCH a bad week. Zoe was a little older than 18 months old, and not really talking much (her best words were "Beep boop beep boop" as a response to the question, "What does R2D2 say?"). We'd recently become completely disenchanted with her day care and had decided to switch her to her current school, the Cadillac of pre-schools in Charleston. This was the week the switch happened.

So, a little background, too. Charles and I work for a software company that releases our products cyclically. When we release, there is always drama with loooooooong hours, and one or the other of us typically has to work late a few times a week. The week of the school switch, this week last year, was a release week. Charles had just become a manager, and he had to work late almost every night.

And to top things off, I had the worst case of bronchitis I've ever had. I. Felt. Like. Garbage. It was awful. I could barely stand up, but I was forcing myself to go to work, to take care of Zoe, do do all the things I typically do. It did not go well.

So we had a sick Mom, a busy Dad, and a new school for Zoe, and that transition was NOT easy. At all. She cried for hours each day in her new class and didn't nap much. When I picked her up each day, she was exhausted and miserable, sort of like I was feeling. And I was on my own.

I made my mom come over a couple days that week, and thank goodness she did - she basically rescued Zoe and me from certain doom. (OK, that is a little dramatic...)

It was awful.

So now, 2011, MLK week. This year, it's Zoe who has bronchitis...again. Yes, I think it's a relapse of the same bout she had two weeks ago, and it's pretty awful. I've never heard her cough like this. But today we got some new antibiotics, and even though she's coughing as I type, she's already at least a little better. On the mend, I hope. Zoe and I will be staying home again tomorrow, on our own, and I'm looking forward to a day on the couch, under blankets, and with the TV on, so she can hopefully sleep it off.

It's a release week at work. Again. Charles will be working long hours, and again, I probably can't due to the work/life balance...which is fine with me. I like my job, but I love my family. And that said, I will probably call my mom tomorrow to see if she wants to come hang out after work until Charles gets home...frequently, an extra mom is a great thing.

And finally, we found out last week that even though we followed the rules for re-enrollment at the Cadillac of pre-schools, we didn't follow them well enough, and her enrollment is now in question for the next academic year. Apparently, a lot of the half-day three-year upped their enrollment from half-day to full-day, and since we waited till the last minute to turn in our paperwork, we wound up on the wait-list.

Um...WHAT??? Are you kidding me?

I'm optimistic enough to think that it'll all work out and we won't have to find a new school for Zoe (ohmigod, I don't want to leave this school!!!), but still. It's a stress I don't need this week.

So there you have it...one year later, and we have another case of bronchitis, perhaps my mom to the rescue, and another software release week. Oh, and enrollment issues for Zoe.

Weird...times change, but not really sometimes.

All that said, Zoe herself is WAY different this year. Some recent cuteness...

1. Her favorite song is "Hey Jude" and she sings it. All the time. I love it. In fact, today she sang it for the P.A. at the doctor's office. SO sweet.

2. Sometimes, at the end of her bath, she sits on a little toy boat and refuses to get out, even though all the water has been drained. Why, you might wonder? Because she's "stuck in traffic," as she will tell me over and over. She'll only get out if Charles comes upstairs to see her.

3. When we're talking about things to do, she'll suggest something, and then look at me and say, "Is that a great idea?" or "Is that a option?" Super-sweet.

4. She can look at a book and tell you all the letters (provided they are CAPITAL), and then say, "Mommy, what did I spell?"

Bunnies and shit

I'm sorry, I cannot write what I want to write because I just can't spit it out! But I want to write something. Because I need to write something.

And no matter how hard I try, I cannot make sense of the world right now. Politics is vicious, right? The left hates the right; the right hates the left; and no matter what is said nor how it's said, the left will pick apart the right and the right will claim persecution.

Ridiculous.

So I am going to write about bunnies or something else fun.

Bunnies are cute, right?

You know what's not cute? Blood libel - that's a pretty crappy term for a national figure to use, right? Especially in the guise of calling for a toned-down discourse, after using some very great words spoken by a very great President (Ronald Reagan - I may be blue, but he was my first known President, so I will always love him...and Bonzo). If you don't know what blood libel means, read this. It's pretty heinous, right? Let me be the first to promise that I've never used the blood of any of my Christian friends to make matzoh...possibly because I hate that chalky stuff...but more likely because it's a vicious myth.

So to invoke it, whether knowingly or ignorantly, is pretty much the exact opposite of toning down the rhetoric, in my humble opinion.

But wait...that was not about bunnies. That was content. Oh well.

Bunnies are cute, right?

Shit.

I'll end with this (more content coming: beware!!). I thought President Obama's remarks at the Tuscon memorial tonight were incredible, and if you find fault with them, I challenge you to take a deep breath and follow his wishes. Let's honor those who have fallen by just...being nicer to each other, ok? Let's be nice. Because being nicer is...nice.

Bunnies. I love 'em.

Good night.

Strange days indeed

OK, you have to admit it's been a really weird few days, right?

In the first place, I'm absolutely still reeling from Saturday morning's events in Arizona. Gabrielle Giffords, the other victims and their families have been in my thoughts almost constantly. I've been trying to wrap my head around the random act of insane violence so that I could write something even remotely coherent, but I've been unsuccessful. I just...don't...get it. I don't think I ever will.

So instead of trying to write about it, I'll just point you to three amazing pieces I've read:

A story about the intern who saved the Congresswoman's life

An opinion piece about the political rhetoric that possibly added to this tragedy

And David Brooks' call for reason and rationality

Please don't expect me to talk about the little girl killed that day. I just can't do it.

Anyway, in the midst of all this craziness and sadness, we had an anomaly down here in the South. An "ice storm" (translation: patchy, icy roads, and icicles hanging from Zoe's play set in our yard) closed district schools, and Zoe's daycare, today, and Charles and I took the day off. I don't trust the combination of southern drivers and ice, so I literally did not leave the house today, which is totally out of my norm. Typically, a day like today would drive me stir-crazy.

Instead, today was...fun. We had a great time together, all three of us. There was a movie, popcorn, lentil stew (YUMMY!), and a lot of dancing. It was such a treat, this surprise, lovely, snug day in our house, that I didn't even mind the horrifically gross weather outside.

So there you have it. My brain is muddled, I'm still (possibly irrationally) sad about the shootings in Arizona, but we had a lovely day. It's odd, sometimes...being me. Don't you think?

This is how my mind works

By now everyone has heard about the mysterious dead birds dropping from the sky all over the world. There were dead birds in Arkansas, Kentucky, Sweden and Italy, and then there were the dead fish too. Thousands of them turning belly-up in rivers not far from the dead birds.

At first I thought the dead birds were a little creepy, but I was sure there had to be some logical reason for their deaths and knew that by the end of the week some scientist would come on TV and explain the whole thing.

But then I heard about a second crop of dead birds, and then a third, and no one was explaining it. Where were the scientists to tell me this was nothing to worry about?

I tried to push all the crazy thoughts from my mind. Were there invisible UFO's hovering over us? Was there a terrible virus that would turn against humans? Was the government testing something and the dead birds were a side effect? Was it the end of the world?

I tried all week not to think about the dead birds. Every time a thought entered my mind, I would push it away. I was successful in my avoidance of the issue until I checked Facebook this morning. A friend of mine spent last night posting theories about the dead bird phenomenon.

I wanted to read her theories but knew I shouldn't. My mind was too ready to runaway with a conspiracy theory or world-ending prophecy. I tried to look away, I did. I told myself not to read the theories of a non-scientist as they would only create more hype and the last thing I needed was to worry about invisible UFO's. But my eyes locked in on the words "end of the world", "pack my bags and prepare", "Nostradamus 2011", "massive earthquakes." The more I read, the more my heart rate elevated.

I turned my fear into anger. Why would she post all this stuff? This was not for the weak. I seriously considered defriending her right then and there.

How could the world be coming to an end? There was so much I want to do, to see, to experience. The very thought that Max wouldn't have a future might send me into a panic. What if I never saw my family and friends again? Would I ever be able to sit on the beach and soak up the sun again? Was it really all coming to an end? If so, I'm going to be really pissed I didn't eat that piece of chocolate cake I wanted last night.

Luckily, I met Leah for lunch and told her about my newfound fear of the dead birds. When I arrived home this afternoon, I had this nice little link from Leah waiting for me. FACT CHECK: Mass bird, fish deaths occur regularly

Phew, thank goodness. I'll sleep sound tonight.

What I really think about Andrew Wakefield...

I spent a summer during college working as an aide in a summer school program for developmentally delayed pre-schoolers. Their issues ranged from Austism spectrum disorders (from PDD to much more severe variants) to Downs Syndrome to other unspecified delays.

This was simultaneously the hardest and most rewarding summer of my early working life. I spent most of my time working one-on-one with a cherubic little boy with white-blonde hair and bright blue eyes. Chronologically, he was three, but his delays set him back at least two years, and I found myself changing diapers, holding his hands while he learned to walk, and helping him learn to feed himself small bites of food with his fingers. I loved our time together, and was extraordinarily proud when he was walking unassisted around the classroom by summer's end.

The challenge came in seeing the obstacles faced by all the children in the room, particularly those with spectrum disorders. They struggled so much just to communicate - one little girl couldn't even look a person in the eye, an essential communication tool that is frequently lost on those children. For many of them, their frustration-induced tantrums were epic, and frequently frightening. Several wore helmets to protect their small, developing skulls from the hard tile floor when they threw themselves violently backwards during a freak-out. It was so hard to witness, and to stand helpelssly by while these children turned themselves upside down and inside out due to their anger.

That summer taught me a lot, but it also made me nervous. Would I be strong enough if I were to ever have a child with one of these disorders?

Perhaps I was doing myself a disservice. Now that I have Zoe, I know that I could and would love her and care for her through anything.

But still, I was afraid. When I first became pregnant in 2008, it was at the height of the autism/vaccine link discussion, and I considered not vaccinating my baby, at least until her little body was big enough to process all the potential toxins hiding in the vaccines. I considered possibly allowing her to be exposed to other life-threatening illnesses (measles, rubella, hepatitis), all in the name of increasing her odds against autism.

So imagine my dismay, my outright fury, when I read today that Andrew Wakefield's original study linking the two was a deliberate, elaborate hoax. It was frustrating enough when the study was debunked last year, but I accepted that mistakes are made. Now I read it was deliberately false? Are you kidding me?

I am furious! To think that I considered putting my child in harm's way, just because this "doctor" claimed that the vaccines themselves were inherently dangerous?

How can parents make informed, education decisions for their children when major studies can so easily be a hoax? People have based decisions on this man's claims, and perhaps their children have gotten sick because of it.

Now, I don't doubt that there are many other arguments to be made both for and against vaccinating children, but this exact study was the basis for my own confusion and questioning. So I am angry.

And I am also very grateful to Zoe's pediatrician who, when I quoted stats from that very study to him one day while questioning the need for vaccination, pointed out very gently and firmly (though he had surely been faced with the same question hundreds, if not thousands, of times already) that it was only one study, that the ingredient that could have *possibly* been at issue was removed from all vaccines, and that other studies proved no such link. I proceeded with Zoe's vaccinations, and I'm so glad I did. Because if I'd decided not to, based on the fear-mongering of Andrew Wakefield, it's a decision I would now be deeply regretting.

Having said all of that, if you are interested in the learning more about kids with spectrum(ish) diagnoses, I encourage you to check out these two blogs that I love. I admire these women, love hearing about their children, and hope that, if the shoe were on my foot, I would be as great a mom as they both are.

Amalah

stark.raving.mad.mommy

Someone has a lot less to worry about today

Two people will split $335 million this week in one of the largest lottery payouts. Of course this prompted me to think about what I would do if I won $167.5 million. Although I have to admit this is not the first time I've played out this daydream. Often during long roadtrips, my hubby and I will play the what-would-we do-if-we-won-the-lottery-game and it usually ends with one of us getting frustrated that we haven't yet won the lottery because we would make GREAT lottery winners.

It's not the money that is so appealing to me, it's the freedom that might come with it. If we had no financial worries, which is typically the one thing that holds us down, what would we do?

The first thing I would do is the obvious, payoff our debt. Then I would payoff the debt of my family members and close friends. I would buy a bigger house, but not a huge house, just a nice house with a big yard for Max to run around in. I might buy a new car and maybe a small recreational boat (we do live on the coast.) I would update my wardrobe, buy a Kindle and fill it with all the books I want to read, go on a fabulous shopping spree to decorate our new house, and buy my husband a Playstation, just because he wants one.

I would set aside enough for Max and his future siblings to live comfortably off of for the rest of their lives. I would put away some for us to live off of. Then I would give the rest away. $167.5 million is too much for me to ever spend and I don't want the kind of lifestyle that requires that much to support.

And since I wouldn't have to worry about going back to work to make money, I would write till my little heart's content.

What would you do with $167.5 million?

New Year's Eve, Toddler Style

I wrote earlier this week that Zoe's been sick for a while. Sleep has been very hard to come by for all of us due to her amazingly persistent cough, and we've spent much more time in the house in the past week than we've done since the first month of her life.

All that is fine, and it happens sometimes, and this bout just happened to happen during the lead-up to New Year's Eve.

I can remember, back in the day, how important it was to me to be at the right place at the right time with the right boy to kiss on New Year's Eve. In high school, I mostly tagged along with my brother Daniel, although there was one time I was out with my friends, and Daniel and I wound up at the same party anyway. Then in college, there were always parties to attend - I will (proudly? shamefully?) admit that on New Year's Day, 2000, I awoke laying next to a girlfriend of mine on a floor, covered in glitter and champagne. These things happen, too.

Yet still, I love New Year's Eve, and while I now prefer waking up hangover-free the following morning, I still love being up to watch the ball drop in Times Square, drinking some wine and hanging out with Charles.

This year, though, sleep was virtually non-existent on the night of the 30th, I was done by about 8:00 on the 31st. I went up to bed, leaving Charles dozing on the couch while he watched some football. As I drifted off to sleep around 9, I hoped against hope that Zoe's cough would leave us alone for the night.

It was not meant to be. She started coughing for the first time around 10, waking me up with that surge of adrenaline that only comes when you are worried about your child. She was fine in a few minutes, but of course that adrenaline takes a while to wear off, so I was up for a good bit.

She had another coughing fit around 11, and again, it ended quickly, and I dozed in bed, waiting for the next one.

It came at midnight, on the nose. By then, Charles was up in bed, too, so we both sat up sleepily and listened for a minute.

This one was bad. Zoe coughed and gasped in a way familiar to any asthmatic, and I went in to try to soothe her. She was flushed and sweaty but still, somehow, sleeping, simultaneously disturbed and incredibly peaceful. My first kiss of 2011 was the damp forehead of this tiny little girl who wanted only to get some rest.

She stopped for a moment, and since it was midnight and I was wide awake, I headed down to try to catch the tail end of the New York festivities on TV. I managed to catch a glimpse of Dick Clark before Zoe started coughing again.

And again it was bad, so this time, even though I knew she wanted to sleep, I woke her up and carried her down for a breathing treatment, and for once, she didn't fight me. I turned off Dick Clark and turned on Special Agent Oso and got the treatment ready.

Within a few minutes, she was settled on my lap on the couch with her mask on, watching her favorite show, and Charles sat beside me, keeping us company.

We rang in the new year as a family after all.