I hope Jenny Sanford divorces her husband

I hope Jenny Sanford divorces her husband. I really do. No, it's not right of me to judge someone else's marriage. I know all too well how complex being married and parenting children is. And I couldn't imagine raising my boys without their father. But, if I could vote on what Jenny Sanford does, I hope she kicks him to the curb, for good.

It's about time a political wife set a different precedent than standing by their cheating man. There's just too many stories like this (John Edwards, Bill Clinton, Eliot Spitzer, Larry Craig just to name a few) where the man steps outside the marriage, the wife is publicly humiliated, yet stays for reasons beyond my comprehension. What kind of message does that send to the young women and men in this country? Wives can be taken for granted. And they'll stand by you no matter what. Hasn't feminism gotten us anywhere?

For Jenny Sanford's part, she is by no means a victim. And is someone one who could change history. When she found out about the affair, she asked him to leave. And he did, presumably as a step toward working things out. But when the missing Governor confesses that he used that time to see his mistress in Buenos Aires, Jenny is noticeably absent from the press conference. Good for her. As she told the Washington Post, "His career is not a concern of mine. ... He's going to have to worry about that. I'm worried about my family and the character of my children."

One of the most touching words I've read on parenting were these from her statement last week. "I personally believe that the greatest legacy I will leave behind in this world is not the job I held on Wall Street, or the campaigns I managed for Mark, or the work I have done as First Lady or even the philanthropic activities in which I have been routinely engaged. Instead, the greatest legacy I will leave in this world is the character of the children I, or we, leave behind. It is for that reason that I deeply regret the recent actions of my husband Mark, and their potential damage to our children."

There's not more I can add to that, except to say how the Govornor could cheat--and risk losing--this amazing woman is beyond me. And while I really hope she follows through with the path she's started going down and gets him out of her life, I will still respect her if she does not because of what a great example she's been already. As a strong women. As a mother. As a political wife.

Michael Jackson Tribute Goes "Bad"

Michael Jackson Tribute Goes "Bad"
Originally uploaded by Big Sky

We were trying to get a good video of JB and Ry dancing to "Beat It" last night, but it was all fun and games until...someone gets knocked over.

RIP Michael. Thanks for the music, the moonwalk, and the 80s memories.

Happy Father's Day: Membership has it's benefits

Happy Fathers day to my dear husband. It's been nearly four years since we joined this elusive club called parenthood. Had we known what it all entailed I'm not sure we would have signed up so fast. It's one wild ride, but I can't imagine being on it without you. Here's just a quick look (and by no means an all encompassing view) of what membership has gotten you.

Here's you with Ry. The day you became a father. Memorable in so many ways. You look so proud.




Here's you and JB. A very different experience than Ry's birth, but we'll never forget. You look more relieved than anything else.




Now skip ahead to this spring. Look at how these boys are mini Ds.

Here's Ry being thoughtful. His empathy and his sense of humor are a big reflection of you.





And here's JB doing his charming look. I think this was the kind of look you gave me that made me say yes nearly six years ago.





Here's Ry doing his victory pose. Your competitive spirit runs deep, no matter the contest--from playing hockey to driving to the grocery store.





Here's JB the devil. Okay, so maybe he gets this from me, but you've had your devilish moments. Usually when you lose.




A friend of mine called these two "mancubs" on my Facebook page the other day. And that's exactly what they are. Your mancubs through and through. I guess membership has it's benefits, don't you think?

Love you,

-k


The professional photographs above were taken by Alex Johnson.

Are status updates another way to keep up with the Joneses??

A couple days ago, a friend posted this article to his Facebook page: There's an art to writing on Facebook or Twitter -- really. Naturally, I followed the link. I mean, who doesn't want to master the art of status updating, right?

Well after mulling it over for a couple days, it turns out...I dunno know....

The author, Maria Puente, at one point states "Interestingness must be in short supply." As if to say, most of us are just plain lame. So unless I'm juggling fireballs in Tahiti, while getting my belly button pierced with a photo to prove it and a link on DIY fire juggling, I just shouldn't bother.

One of her sources predicts: "The trend for 2010 is that everyone is going to cut back, filter, decide whether we really need to follow 1,000 people if they're not interesting. Next year, only the best tweeters survive."There's even a sidebar article with dos and dont's. How to be clever, informative, or appropriately mysterious.

Okay....but...I just picked my son up from his last day of preschool and I'm a stew of emotions. I don’t want a Pulitzer Prize, (or to attract a bunch of weirdo followers I don’t know on Twitter). I just want to know if any else has been there.

Thankfully, Puente quotes Hal Niedzviecki: "Maybe it's just elitism to expect soaring poetry in a status update, when most ordinary people are just looking for a connection they can relate to."

Ahhhh thanks Hal.

I try to be interesting. I really do. And you can be the judge on if I am or not. But I know a good portion of the time, I am not. Sometimes I just want to connect with a friend. And thanks to Facebook it’s easier to find that person out there who can relate to what you’re going through at this very minute.

For example, if I talk about my Potterybarn fetish with my husband one more time, I think he’ll spontaneously combust. But thanks to Facebook, I can post about it, and if you are interested what desk I’m currently salivating over you can engage me or not.

I don’t really care if my friends have “great” status updates. In fact it’s kind of comforting sometimes that they’re just TGIF and not doing something so amazing that I’m insanely jealous. I especially like boring ones from ex-boyfriends so I know their lives are not THAT incredible without me. Gosh...I must be shallow.

And I love the ones from the small-town I grew up in. Even if it’s just: “Anyone going to Boise today? I need some tires picked up.” Or “Mowed the lawn and did some weed-eating.” Why? Because I picture these people I’ve known since childhood in their homes, going about town, where I made so many memories. And it’s comforting to have a connection with that life that without Facebook I wouldn’t have. Okay, so maybe I’m not so shallow.

Of course I enjoy my friends with the sassy, smart, or world-traveling update. But I also just like to know where my nephew is this weekend, even if he's just quoting song lyrics. So, I kind of agree with Hal’s notion of "status update elitism." And, I’m left wondering if the status update is becoming one more way of keeping up with the Joneses. I for one, am having a hard time just keeping up with my kids. I'm not sure I need another area of my life where I have to "perform."

Beer Run

I lured my nephew into re-arranging furniture with beer and D's fine cooking.

But...alas, we had no beer.

So I sent Ry off to the neighborhood liquor store.

That's him doing his signature Kyle Busch gloat.

He wishes Fisher Price made the #18 Power Wheels.

My nephew thinks it needs a trunk for the beer.

I'm wondering why I'm posting proof of my white trashiness.

Beautiful Prison

A childhood friend (well, really my kindergarten crush, but that's another post), took our family photos a few weeks back. They turned out pretty damn good, if I do say so myself, thanks to Alex's enthusiasm, patience, artistry, and quick trigger finger.

Everyone on Facebook has been raving about them and saying things like "what a beautiful family," and "you look so good." And the compliments are nice; especially from the people back home I haven't seen since stuffing pant legs into puffy socks was cool. Or was that just Idaho?

But then I wonder about the Facebook culture. People only see what you put out there: good photos, interesting updates. Like that dumb Brad Paisley country song, "I'm so cooler online." Whatever your impression of me is via Facebook or blogging, I’ll clear it up right now: the current reality isn't as pretty as the photos here.

For the past few weeks, I've been haunted by the words of one of my best friends after her first child was born: "It's like a beautiful prison.” I've had a hard time seeing the beauty lately, but I've certainly been feeling trapped. I mean I’ve always felt my wings clipped to a certain degree since Ry-Ry was born, but with D starting a new job (amen to that), and working a lot and often late, it’s like I’ve been caged.

Then, two weeks ago, my dad had emergency surgery and some serious complications. I spent two days trying to figure out how to fly to Boise and what to do with the kids, until finally, I just ended up staying home and wishing I was there. He is much better now, thankfully, but I’m still reeling from the reality that I can’t drop everything and just go in those kind of situations.

Last week, Ry-Ry got sick and stayed home from preschool all week. By mid-week JB had it. Nasty, nasty virus. Fever for seven days kind of virus. Coughing up a lung virus. It turned into a sinus infection for Ry and an ear infection for JB. The doctor didn't test them for Swine Flu, but I get the feeling some of those cases have been mild compared to this.

So, I guess neither D nor I should have been surprised that the past two weeks would culminate with one of my meltdowns. Sometimes we blame these moments (when I grab the keys and announce that I'm REALLY flying the coop THIS TIME) on Lyme Disease, changes with hormones, medications or herbs, or my complex childhood. But really, who wouldn't be a little bit crazy functioning on little sleep, being trapped in this house with snotty, whiny kids for days on end?

But this morning I went to the gym--by myself--for a swim and a steam and came back with a new perspective. Not sure if it was just the alone time, or the cheesy country station I was listening to, but this Trace Adkins song came on, and I teared up:

There's a plumber workin' on the water heater
Dog's barkin', phone's ringin'
One kid's cryin', one kid's screamin'
She keeps apologizin'
He says they don't bother me.
I've got 2 babies of my own.
One's 36, one's 23.
Huh, it's hard to believe, but ...

You're gonna miss this
You're gonna want this back
You're gonna wish these days hadn't gone by so fast
These are some good times
So take a good look around
You may not know it now
But you're gonna miss this

People tell you these things all the time, like “Enjoy them when they’re young,” or “these days go by so fast.” And in the daily grind, that can be hard to do. But when I look at these beautiful photos, of JB taking his first steps, or Ry-Ry doing his #1 sign, I realize I will miss this--my beautiful prison.

10 steps to turn your garage into a spa

D looked at me like I had grown horns a few months back when I announced that I wanted to buy a far infrared sauna and put it in the garage. I think he said something to the effect of, "it'll be like walking through Compton to go to the spa" (admittedly, that is a somewhat accurate reflection of the state of our garage).

He had just started warming up (heh, heh) to the idea of buying a sauna ("doctor's orders" pretty much did the trick), but the garage didn't fit in with his vision of a sauna being part of a new master bathroom or killer backyard. Which...will happen WHEN? I needed a sauna NOW, not two, three, or five years from now and I had a vision.

So here's how to turn your garage into a spa:

1. Research the hell out of far infrared saunas, until you're utterly confused, and then just buy the one you've been using for the last two years, used, because it turned out to be the exact one you wanted anyway. And the owners probably sold it to you just so you'd quit asking questions.
2. Clean a bunch of crap out of the garage.
3. Organize some other crap a bit better.
4. Order snap-together wood decking from Costco.com.
5. Get a cable system from PB teen to hang your privacy drapes from the rafters (but it's really so you don't see the garage crap).
6. Buy drapes. I got the cheapest ones I could find at Bed Bath and Beyond, in a tolerable color.
7. Add some pages from an old Asian art calendar, that you got second-hand.
8. And, a blue towel tub just because you like the color and it reminds you of the beach.
9. Hope your sister isn't too jealous and beg her to make you a spa scented soap to use in the shower post sweat. It might be nice to stack some in the "waiting room," too, to counteract the garage smells.
10. Be super-grateful for your husband who pretty much watched the boys all weekend so you could make this happen.

NASCAR?

Just now getting around to posting some photos from the NASCAR race last weekend in Phoenix. I never fashioned myself a NASCAR fan, but that's what I get for having boys, I guess.

Do I look smart and productive?

Kim Brainstorming a Great Idea
Originally uploaded by ZURBinc

When I heard that one of my former consulting clients, ZURB was going to do another ZURBwired--this time for Pie Ranch, a local non-profit that educates youth about sustainable farming, but more importantly MAKES PIE, I decided I would take advantage of the husband being in between jobs and see what it would be like to switch roles for a day. So last Thursday, I left the house at 7:45 am and spent the next 13 hours brainstorming, conceptualizing, writing, and task mastering, while D stayed home in the land of chaos outnumbered two to one.

Can I just tell you how exhilarating it is to be back in a high paced environment with young, hip, smart people, who think you have good ideas (or pretend you do since it's part of the ZURB brainstorming rules). At home, I rarely have good ideas, unless they involve playing NASCAR 2009 or eating ice cream. "Wash your hands." "Eat your dinner." "Clean up your room." NOT GOOD IDEAS. But put me in the land of ZURB and suddenly I'm trying to figure out how make folders out of pie boxes or illustrate sustainable farming methods on a bumper sticker.

I've been on such a high the last couple days from using my brain, that I've been contemplating the whole work thing...AGAIN. It's a subject most mothers I know hash out constantly. I've had more than one friend tell me that they're surprised that I opted to stay home. And a few others keep asking me when I'm going to get back in the game.

Admittedly, it's so much more glamorous to think about changing the world from the standpoint of creating a healthier food system than from daily nose wiping, poop changing, and melt-down mitigating required of staying home. But when I stop and think about it, I do think I have just as much opportunity to change the world with my daily interaction with my kids and who I hope they become. But that's about as much as you'll hear from me on the "I'm soooooooooooo glad to be a stay-at-home-mom" topic.

On that note, I really appreciate Jeremy at ZURB for getting me out of the house for a day. It's invirogating to be a part of teamwork like this, espeically when it's with people like Jered Lawson of Pie Ranch and volunteers Jonathan Hung, Patrick Briggs of Zazzle, foodblogger Pim Techamuanvivit, and designer Alena Senderzon, just to name a few.

BTW, for a fun family event, check out Pie Ranch's work day and barn dance every third Saturday of the month.

Happy Birthday JB!

Cure Unknown, Inside the Lyme Epidemic: Required reading for EVERYONE

This review originally appeared on my new Lyme blog, SpiroChicks. I've decided to cross-post it here because I'm super grateful for this book!

I just finished Pamela Weintraub’s Cure Unknown, required reading for anyone with Lyme disease. But really, EVERYONE should read this. To protect yourself, your family, and your friends, not just from this rising epidemic, but also from our broken medical system where misdiagnosis of Lyme is the norm—not the exception—and the powers that be seem to have their own interests at heart.

Weintraub, as a science journalist, herself and her family afflicted with Lyme, opens your eyes to the limitations of mainstream doctors and uncovers disturbing efforts by the CDC and IDSA to under-treat and even deny the existence of a debilitating disease affecting millions.

Referring to the authors of the IDSA guidelines on the treatment of Lyme, Weintraub writes: “They consulted for big pharma and owned Lyme related patents; they received fees as expert witnesses in medical malpractice, civil, and criminal cases related to Lyme disease; and they were paid by insurance companies to field—and help reject—Lyme related claims. Of the fourteen authors, nine received money from vaccine manufacturers and four were funded to create test kits, products that would be more likely to reap profit if the definition of Lyme disease remained essentially unchanged.”

The stories in this book will make you angry—babies, children, teenagers, moms, dads, doctors themselves—suffering from chronic, debilitating Lyme, being told that it’s all in their head, or to be misdiagnosed with developmental disabilities, chronic fatigue, fibromyalgia, multiple sclerosis, arthritis, bipolar disorder, Parkinson’s or even ALS.

Sadly, I concur with someone who said to me, “this book is more disturbing than hopeful.” But, information is power. And now I know what I’m reckoning with. Not just these persistent spirochetes or range of co-infections, but also the misguided mainstream doctors and the powerful IDSA. Thanks to Pamela Weintraub and her generosity of spirit and her courageous book, I have the information I need to reject the status quo, find the right treatment, and work towards getting better.

Peter Pan?

Peter Pan?
Originally uploaded by Big Sky

JB found this straw on the floor and started "whistling" at random last week. He's also showing off his mad butt-scootin skills, his preferred mode of transportation.

Family Photo(s)

So you know how it's impossible to get everyone looking at the camera at the same time smiling nicely? Well I just decided to post a good one of each of us. That master's in dispute resolution is good for something, huh?

Peek a Boo!

Peek a Boo!
Originally uploaded by Big Sky

Not sure which is cuter, the spiked hair, the butt scoot, or the invisible sit and spin.

Thank you, thank you for this film: a review of Under Our Skin

Watched Under Our Skin last night. It made me angry. It made me cry. While I cannot make sense of our incompetent and what appears to be politically and financially motivated medical community, I did, thanks to this film, start to make sense of what I've been feeling, physically and emotionally.

More than one person they interviewed said they'd consider killing themselves if they didn't have family obligations--the pain, neurological dysfunction, emotions, lack of support (medically and otherwise) is so intense. And, frankly, going through this myself, I can see how one could feel so hopeless. So, GO SEE THIS FILM, if not to support your Lyme suffering friends (i.e. me), but to protect yourself and your family from this spreading, debilitating, constantly misdiagnosed disease. It's easily curable if caught early and treated appropriately, but people like me, who make it to "stage 3" might not ever get well.

Jordan Fisher Smith, the Sierra Nevada park ranger interviewed in the film gave me hope, when he said that after years of antibiotics and seeking out the top Lyme doctors in the country he was "finally getting his life back." Sadly, I read today that since the filming, he's now divorced. The toll of Lyme on families is that great. Mandy's story too was inspiring as--thanks to her antibiotic regiment--she goes from nearly being crippled, to swimming laps by the film's end.

I'm so grateful for Andy Abrahams Wilson at Open Eye Pictures for taking on this topic and raising the awareness of tick-borne disease. I hope this film is wildly successful and opens the eyes of doctors, insurance companies, government officials, and the friends and families of Lyme patients. I'm also feeling so grateful to have found a Lyme-treating doctor and living in state where he can practice freely, because as you'll see in this film, that is not the case for many.

Thanks for the memories

Not sure if it's motherhood or the Lyme disease, but my memory isn't what it used to be. Which is why I'm treasuring the rest of these Facebook "Memories" so much. Peoples names have been removed to protect their identity:)

Wow, hard to pick just one....
I remember you had the absolute cutest pair of shoes EVER when I first met you. Little pumps of some kind and you would wear them with this light blue suit (gotta love the 90's) and it was a very fetching combo. Watching you eat tuna from the can at [the university we worked at], like you were a little cat....refusing to meet with you if it was close to lunch time but you hadn't eaten yet because you were a different person until you had your tuna. Your gorgeous wedding in Montana, complete with a pause as the train went by...and watching you get that giant henna tat on your tummy when Ryan was inside it! : ) --dear friend and former co-worker

Driving the Mitsi upriver with the Beach Boys blaring...then floating down the river in a giant tractor tire/cooler contraption wearing our bikinis and 0 SPF tanning oil. Would that do it? --childhood best friend

Oh, there are many, but let's see... Chunky shoes, indulging my quiero/viajero fetish, laughing ourselves silly after my unintentionally but absolutely inappropriate comment to a certain administrator. Laughing even more at her unbelievably inappropriate response. Writing together. Knowing that you were the only one who could tame the big boss. Roasting, but loving, our perpetual semi-retiree, and TRYING EIGHT SPOONFULS! There are many, many more . . . --former co-worker

you always had a lunch date. encouraged me to get my masters. sharing smiles and laughs a lot. you hung out with/worked with the photographer. probably just on the clock. you referred me to what's her name down in the country mart to get my hair done. it cost somewhat of a fortune, but hell she did Mel Gibson's hair. --former co-worker

I talked mom into having another baby you know. Anyway when you came you were the sweetest thing I ever saw. I adored you until you went off to kindergarten. Not to worry my kids did the same thing when they gained the independece of kindergarten. You were pretty sweet and cute. --my sister

Line dancing. Hair modeling. The downstairs neighbor stopping you from driving angry. The beautiful bridal shower you threw for me - every detail so thoughtful. You behind the camera at my wedding. The fun red buses. The florist bringing you *yellow* roses! The train mentioned above. Lots and lots and lots of phone calls!!! --best friend from college

You confessing to me that way back when, when Ry Ry was tiny, you walked into the nursery and could not see him in his crib- he was swaddled and tucked against the side- and had a moment of sheer panic where you were sure I was one of those baby-nappers who pose as kid loving nannies. --our first sitter

Topanga. Things are different in Topanga. One of my favorite memories of you is riding through Topanga Canyon on a cool night in the RX-7, both of us smoking Marlboros, and both of us pretty sure it was your car. --guy friend from college

Schmutz Wednesday

I couldn't resist the "Memories" note circulating on Facebook, so I tagged some friends and asked them for their favorite memories of me. Here's one that's particularly timely--not to mention embarrassing--from my friend Jennifer (who at the time, was my intern):

"You telling Doug Kmiec he had 'schmutz' on his forehead on Ash Wednesday. That STILL makes me laugh."

Sanitary Cycle

Today marks the first day JB has not thrown up since Monday, knock on wood. We endured six days of baby puke, among other gastroenteritis related body functions, if you get my drift. And it probably goes without saying to any other mother out there, that the bug proceeded to rip through the household, leaving multiple, multiple, multiple, loads of laundry in it's wake.

In times like these, in the midst of my nauseated, body achy, brain fog, one of the few things I can honestly muster up gratefulness for is my Whirlpool Duet with the sanitary cycle.

I couldn't imagine living through this with our previous dinosaur that drained into the sink and flooded the floor weekly. It had this lint catcher on the end of the drain hose, about which my mother-in-law once said, "Uh, it looks like your washer barfed."

Now that I'm looking at these before and after pictures, I'm reminded how grateful I am for our remodel. For having the funds to do it, for having the foresight of doing it before we had our second kid, and for a good contractor. Our daily lives are much improved as a result of it.

And, no, the laundry room is currently not this clean.

Wordless Wednesday: Big Fan

Fry Guy

If someone had told me three years ago that they gave their baby french fries, I would have opinions about that. High-minded opinions. In fact, I think I did have a friend whose baby (or might have been a toddler at the time) ate fries upon occasion and I remember thinking that it was kind of incongruent for her. Like people who have a no-battery operated toy policy should be feeding their babies steamed organic broccoli from the local farmer’s market, not french fries.

But enter JB, my second child. Who refused solid foods for three months. Really. I tried rice cereal, bananas, applesauce, pureed veggies, and pretty much every time, we'd both end up in tears. At his 9-month check up, our pediatrician referred me to an occupational therapist. Think about how that might affect your self-esteem when it comes to mothering. You mean, I need someone to teach me to feed my kid? But just a few days later, we made a McDonald’s stop on the way home from preschool, per Ry-Ry’s request. JB started gunning for Ry's fries. Literally kicking, squirming, reaching, grunting. I figured, what’s the harm in that? He won’t eat it anyway. Wrong. He ate it. Then he ate another. And another, and another.

So that was it. JB wanted real food, none of this baby stuff. He was soon exhibiting his carnivore side gobbling bits of chicken, pot roast, pork ribs, and turkey. And, french fries remain a staple; I’m a little embarrassed to say. At least we’ve graduated to Veggie Straws (not as high on the chokability factor) and he eats them three times a day. No joke. It’s the only way I can spoon the fruit, veggies, and grains in—in between him gumming his straws down.

So, yeah for french fries because they got JB on food and saved us a trip to the feeding therapist. And yeah for JB for keeping me humble.

Wordless Wednesday: Baby Modeling

Diagnosis du jour: Lyme Disease

If you've been reading this blog for any length of time, I often subject you to the state of my health. Today is no exception. And before I get to the diagnosis du jour, a recap the last nine months:

Let's start with an emergency c-section in April. It took a month to get off the Vicocin. In May, I got so sick, in hindsight I believe it was Salmonella poisoning (remember the whole tomato scare)? In June I had mastitis. In July I had strep throat. In August, my dentist took a crown off an old root canal, cleaned the decay and put a new crown on. In the same week, I had the Mirena IUD put in. Three days later I had the OBGYN take it out. I couldn't breathe. I couldn't think. I felt weak and confused. Meanwhile I broke out in a rash on my shins. My primary care physician thought it was an allergic reaction to the Mirena.

Two months later, I still had the rash. And I kept getting pink eye (or so I thought). I go to the dermatologist, he says the rash is psoriasis. He tells me not to go crazy reading about it on the Internet (yeah right). So, I end up on the National Psoriasis Foundation site and stumbled upon Psoriatic Arthritis, which explains my eye inflammation and the random nerve/muscle/joint pain I'd been having. In October, a rheumatologist and an MRI confirm PsA. And so the struggle began to get JB off the boob and onto a bottle (a whole diatribe in itself), so that I could go on iummosuppressants.

I started to have breathing problems and chest pains, which landed me in the ER, and a subsequent VQ scan (I literally had to breathe radioactive gas), a chest CT, and a pulmonary function test. Until I could wean JB, they started me on a course of prednisone, which calmed my breathing down, but made my psoriasis crazy--it spread and soon I was covered from head to toe in red scales. Remember the story of Job? That was me, except I still had my family and friends, thankfully.

The day before I was supposed to learn how to inject myself with Humira (which, BTW, without insurance is $1700 a month), the new doctor I'd been chasing, returned my call. I'll spare you the series of synchronistic events that lead me to him, but seriously, a Godsend. Believing, like me, that this whole thing is infectious related (I mean, look how many bacterial infections I've had), he started me on antibiotics in November and told me to have my tooth pulled, which I did the week before Thanksgiving. The oral surgeon likened the roots to dry rot. He is one of the few mainstream doctors I've talked to that considered a connection between an on-going infection--perhaps the tooth--and my arthritis. He, ironically, at the time mentioned Lyme Arthritis to me. Ding, ding, ding. Six weeks later, the labs and new doc (a three-hour car drive away), confirm Lyme.

So here I am. It’s been two weeks or so that I’ve lived with the Lyme diagnosis. Which doesn't mean I don't necessarily have PsA, along with Ankylosing Spondylitis, but it does mean that Lyme could be the trigger for for these autoimmune conditions. And the theory is that if you can get rid of the bacteria in your system, then perhaps you can stop the autoimmune attack. And that to me sounds more encouraging than the path I was going down of steroids, NSAIDs, and DMARDs, (disease modifying anti rheumatologic drugs) indefinitely. I read a statistic that it can take 22 months and seven doctors to be diagnosed with Lyme. I feel fortunate it didn't take me that long.

I don't know a lot about Lyme yet, but I'm starting to shift my perspective from preventing disease progression to hoping for a cure. I'm so grateful for everyone who has and continues to come along side me to listen, lament, and love. Especially, my dear husband. And even Ry-Ry said to me the other day, "you fragile, mommy?" And to that, I'm reminded of a Phillips Brooks quote, “I do not pray for a lighter load, but for a stronger back.” Because with with a 3.5 year old, a 9 month-old, and a high maintenance cat, my load isn't getting lighter anytime soon.

If anyone out there reading this has PsA, AS, or Lyme, please let me know via email or commenting on this post. I'd love to hear how you're managing and maybe compare notes.

Hope in the Future

I was filled with so much hope and pride today, and thanks to Facebook and CNN, I know that I share that sentiment with a majority of Americans. What amazes me the most about Barack Obama is the humility with which he caries the hopes and dreams of so many people. And how he encourages us all to be better.

"What is required of us now is a new era of responsibility -- a recognition, on the part of every American, that we have duties to ourselves, our nation and the world; duties that we do not grudgingly accept but rather seize gladly, firm in the knowledge that there is nothing so satisfying to the spirit, so defining of our character, than giving our all to a difficult task."

That is such a great stanza. I know that I can be greener, more financially responsible, give to the community more, teach values to my kids, etc. In fact, I'm wondering if the administration would issue some kind of "to do" list for every American? So we can continue to feel like we're a part of this. How cool would that be?

What was also touching for me today, was watching Ry-Ry's perspective of all this and thinking about how he's growing up in a country where anything is possible for anybody. Every time Obama came on the TV, he'd say, "there's Baraack Obama!" And tonight at dinner, he said he wanted a tuxedo just like Obama's. And a bath time, he talked about how the President is going to live in the White House. Funny things were said too, like when D told him they were playing "Hail to the Chief," Ry says, "Fire Chief?" And...when we talked about former President Bush, Ry's NASCAR obsessed brain spits out, "Kyle Busch's brother? --drives Miller Lite?" He was also very much interested in Bush's departure, not so much because he was vacating office, but because there was a helicopter involved.

And not to be overly sappy, I'm reminded of these words from my wedding vows,"Loving what I know of you and trusting what I don't know..." So there you go, Barack Obama. We're happy so far and are trusting that good change is going to happen. Thanks for inspiring me and so many, Mr. President.

BTW, get your own Obamicon at Paste Magazine.

You have throat in your mouth?

It's a good thing we have Ry-Ry around to lighten things up a bit: "You sick?" "You have a cough?" "You have throat in your mouth?" I don't know about everyone else, but I'm definitely suffering from a bad case of throat in the mouth.

And one of the funniest things he's said of all time was tonight when he saw the scar from my c-section and asked what my "stripe" was for. I told him that's where they cut mommy to get JB out. "JB in your tummy?" Eyes, widen. "YOU EAT JB?" You know I really hadn't thought of that angle before. Gotta hand it to him, the kid is thinking.

If I felt as good as I look...

Due to strictly adhering to my hypoallergenic, anti-inflammatory, anti-yeast diet, I've lost weight, a good amount of weight. And thanks to the narrow band light therapy for my psoriasis, I'm tan, too. Being skinny and tan at age 35, post two babies, is kind of weird. Your husband chasing you around the house weird. Guys checking you out in Whole Foods weird (the fact that I lost my wedding ring probably doesn't help with that).

People say to me, "how are you feeling? You look good," in one breath. As if looking good equals feeling good. Truth is I don't feel good. I'm in pain every day, it's just a matter of how much. And I'd trade white and doughy any day over having a debilitating disease. Not that I'm complaining about being a Tan Size Four (a new nickname from a dear friend), it's just that it's bittersweet, you know?

The lesson learned here is that you never really know what goes on in other people's lives. I'm guilty of being judgmental of other women who seem to have it all--the perfect figure, car, kid, husband, house, job, etc. etc. But the truth is, I don't know what it's like to be them. So just as I don't want people to make assumptions about me because I fit into my high school jeans and look like I just got back from Maui, I'll try not to make assumptions next time I see a chick with a boob job. For all I know, she could be a breast cancer survivor.

We don't know the struggles people go through. And my guess is, more people are struggling than not. And in general, it seems we could all do better with a little more compassion. So...if I felt as good as looked...without having gone through all this, than I wouldn't have this perspective. Funny how that works, huh?

BTW, photo courtesy of the aforementioned husband.

2008

This image sums up the past year for me: joy and exasperation. (Doesn’t that just really define motherhood?) There’s things that were really hard this year, but there were big blessings, too. I’ve been planning a long, thoughtful post about everything that I’m grateful for this year to break my blogging slump, but I realized that if I waited for that, I’ll never get back into the swing of things. So instead let me just share a few lines from a book a thoughtful friend sent:

It’s not that I don’t want a lot,
Or hope for more or dream of more.
But giving thanks for what I’ve got
Makes me so much happier than keeping score.

So on that note, while I hope and dream for a healthy, prosperous, happy 2009, I’m also grateful for many things 2008 brought. And while I can't say I'm grateful for the painful or hard things, I can say that I appreciate the changes in me because of them.

Healing Space

It’s been two years now since I started gratitude365. The inspiration, which I never really wrote about until now, was a Joan Borysenko workshop I attended, where Joan encouraged us to start a gratefulness journal for our health and overall well-being. As you all know, I’ve struggled not only to keep my “journal” current, but also to keep it grateful, finding that often my foibles are more entertaining than spiritual quests. So I’ve been thinking that I really need to get back on the gratitude path, not just in spite of my health struggles, but because of them.

So on that front...I’ve been to the rheumatologist. I’ve been to my internist. I’ve been to the acupuncturist. I’ve been to the chiropractor. I’ve been to the dentist. I’ve been to the endodontist. I’ve been to the oral surgeon. I’ve had a Bio-Energetic Assessment done. I’ve talked to an “intuitive consultant.” I joined a psoriatic arthritis support group. And then I un-joined. I’ve driven three hours to see an MD with alternative treatments.

And you know what? It turns out EVERYBODY has an opinion. The people on the alternative front warn of immediate and long-term dangers of immunosuppressants like Humira and methotrexate. The traditional western doctors warn of the scary long-term affects of NOT taking them. The people in the PsA support group share their sad stories. The chiropractor tells me I just need to exercise. The intuitive consultant tells me to visualize a healthy, active future with my family. Oh, and take some cinnamon, too. The dentist refers me to pain management clinic. My well-meaning family asks me if I’m right with God. And to that point, while I believe health and spirituality are linked, I don’t believe in a God that inflicts disease on his/her people.

So while I’m trying to figure out whose opinion, or which opinions ring true for me, I pray. I light candles. I rub Buddha’s belly and my Carnelian stones (thanks Jo!). I listen to inspirational music (thanks mom!). I do healing mediations. I visualize my healing space (which often manifests itself as the photo above). I take baths in dead sea salts and dream of going there someday. I’m trying to laugh more. I sing a little more often and louder than others in my household would like. I’m trying to enjoy my kids and my husband more. And, I’m cherishing my folks and my siblings differently than I have in the past.

But most of all, I’m GRATEFUL that I have these myriad of resources for healing. And for dear family and friends that have come along side to support me. Thank you.

Chicks and ducks and geese better scurry

Tuesday I taught Ry how to use my camera. For the sole purpose of photographing my derriere in size 8 jeans. Who knows how many counseling sessions he'll need later in life for that, but nevertheless, he did a pretty good job.

Still reeling from my visit with the rheumatologist on Monday, I was trying to focus on the good news, which was that I've lost nearly 25 lbs since I last saw him in June 2006. But it was a huge bummer to be told that my rash of two months and reoccurring conjunctivitis was more than mere psoriasis and coincidental pink eye, it's actually psoriatic arthritis. He also x-rayed my SI joint and based on that, ordered an MRI, a slew of labs, and asked me to start thinking about ceasing breastfeeding in order to go on methotrexate. Just look at the wikipedia link or google it: scary, toxic, drug. In fact do much reading about autoimmune arthritis and it's pretty depressing.

So determined not to let the stiffness and pain--or the idea of stiffness and pain--get me down (I read somewhere that it's not what happens to you that depresses you so much, but it's really what you think about what happens to you that depresses you), I walked instead of driving Ry to soccer this morning. And on the way back, as I was pushing JB in the stroller and begging Ry to quit crashing his skuut into power poles, the lady-with-the-surrey-with-the-fringe-on-top overtook us. (This is a elderly woman driving one of those mobility scooters with a yellow sun shade and white fringe--she really gets around the neighborhood on that thing). Anyway, she passes us honking her horn and making a wise crack. I stop dead in my tracks. I'm afraid I'm looking at myself in the not so distant future. And, that's really depressing. Especially, if we can't figure out a way to keep my body from attacking my SI joint.

So, in the meantime, how about those skinny jeans? I'll flaunt it while I have it. Chicks and ducks and geese better scurry...

Friday Night Lights

D and I just watched the season premiere of Friday Night Lights (gotta love TIVO). It's possible the last time we actually sat down and watched TV together was last season's finale--that's how crazy it's been with two kiddos. Despite D's opinions, I'm still hooked. Will Tyra get into college or shack up with some Dillon looser? Will Smash ever play football again? Will Saracen get benched? And what is going on with Lyla? Is she loosing her religion just one season after gaining it? And, BTW...Tim Riggins is still hot.

When you think about it, it's really the perfect show for us, or most hetersexual couples for that matter. D (the man) is entertained by the football and I (the female) am into the small-town soap. It reminds me of my years at Salmon River High--home of the Savages--in, ironically, the town of Riggins. In Riggins, they play 8-man football. And the last couple years they've been pretty good at it. State Champion good. So it was so fun to catch my nephew's game when we were in Idaho a couple of weeks ago.

It's very Dillon-like, but on a smaller scale. (And just to let you know how serious it is, my sister dropped by my mom's before the game to leave us several choices in Savage wear.) The whole town shows up at the game. After being gone for 16 years now, I still knew about a third of the people there. And the people I didn't know, I recognized as the waitress who took my order at the cafe or the checker from the grocery store.

After living in a big city for many years now, it's comforting in a way to go home and be somewhere where everyone knows your name. Growing up I hated it, but I can appreciate it now. I think that's one of the reasons I like this show so much. It brings back rose-colored memories of growing up in a small town.

My nephew, Cody with the ball.

They ended the game and put them out of their misery in the 3rd quarter.

Ry-Ry with his cousins.

Hot Date on The Rooftop

Tonight, D and I had our first "date night" since JB was born. After trying the new local Greek restaurant, I suggested we swing by my friend Sheila's launch party. So without really knowing the details we showed up at The 88 downtown and found ourselves on the "sky terrace" of the 21st floor with a band, appetizers, and cocktails. The view of San Jose was pretty different from up there. And for a few moments, my life. Strange things can happen when you leave the house without kids. People wear nice clothes and tour luxury condos. They drink wine and converse with big words. So thanks Sheila for the invite and congrats to you and the other Lookiloos.