Taking Care of the Jewels in Your Life

When I was pregnant with my son, I ate VERY carefully, being sure to eat 100 grams of protein, 1 quart of milk and 2 eggs daily, along with prenatal vitamins, and a balanced diet. I never drank alcohol or did ANYTHING to risk his health while he was in utero. The worst thing I ever did was insist on having him vaginally. It was a terrible risk, but neither the doctor nor myself thought he would weigh 12 lb. 1 oz., and I damned near killed my baby trying to take better care of his sisters.  They were teenagers needing their mother just as my baby did.

 

As my mother used to say, “Mothers Are A Sorry Lot”. She also lived to see Jody and Lucy to adulthood, and would often tell me I must have done something right, and I reckon I did somewhere. What, I cannot say.

 

I had two older children who were still in high school, and I knew I had to take care of them, as well. It nearly cost Jamie his life, and we were very, very blest that he only had bruising on his head for a month and a broken arm. Both conditions were gone in a month, and he grew up amazingly well. Jody and Lucy, I hope you read this, so you know I always tried to think of you both, as well.  Jody and Lucy, I hope you read this, so you know I always tried to think of you both as well, even though you don’t believe it.

 

He never developed food allergies, and was basically healthy throughout childhood, except for two broken arms and Epstein-Barr virus, that I caught from one of my piano students, that landed him in the hospital in third grade. One of his aunts had a friend call DHS over that, because she was sure that we had neglected our son. She couldn’t believe that he could have hepatitis from Epstein-Barr virus. One in three people who contract this virus has to be hospitalized. I was horribly sick with it, his 3rd grade teacher was horribly ill with it, and Jamie horribly sick with it and ended up in Vanderbilt pediatric hospital. Did you know that hepatitis just means an inflamed liver? It does. Various things cause it, but hepatitis is to the liver as appendicitis is to the appendix, and we never neglected our son at any time in his life, whether or not his aunt believes it.

 

On the other hand, Jamie broke one arm on his very first Boy Scout function and broke the other on his very last Boy Scout function.  Believe it or not.  I personally have trouble believing it, now and at the time.  Both times playing football on either pavement (not a good idea) or in a gymnasium (also not a good idea). The first time I don’t know what the adults present were thinking.  The last time he did it as an adult, so I’m not concerned about the adults present, because he was one and should have known better.

 

We left the inner city and moved to the country so that he would not be raised in a dangerous area. We lived without running water or electricity for two years, and did without a lot so that he could be safe. During this time we read to him daily and lived simply. I think nowadays this is considered child neglect. It’s not, folks.

 

These were actually some of the happiest days of my life. I was 20 years younger, too. I couldn’t do this again. I’m too sick. Between Alpha I Anti-trypsin Deficiency #3 and diabetes my goose will soon be cooked. But then? It was great! Hot in the summer and cool in the winter, yes, but we timed laundry trips to watch our favorite tv show (JAG) and generally just spent quality time as a family every evening and every weekend.  I had milk goats for fresh milk every day and chickens for eggs. I bartered half a hog for freezer space at a feed store.

 

It was a simple and peaceful life, and I wish I had appreciated it more.  It was hard to do, though, when everyone thought we were neglectful parents.  Our child was clean, well-fed, in school, attended church (and it was Roman Catholic, not some weird cult) and generally healthy. It’s really hard to prove neglect like when those conditions are apparent.  Oh, and my son watched about two hours of tv per week.  How many people can say that about their child?
He was raised with regular chores. He was never allowed to roam malls or otherwise to cause problems to other people. He was raised in church his entire life and became an Eagle Scout. Even though there were times I wanted to kick my husband out, we stayed together and raised that child, because a boy needs a man in his life, and a girl needs a woman in hers. He knows how to load a dishwasher and run a clothes washer and dryer. It amazes me kids can grow up, go to college and not know how to wash clothes.

 

Now if I could just get him to go to church again, but I didn’t go to church much when I was 24, and I did turn out to be Christian, if a poor one, so maybe he will, too.
Although he was an indifferent student, he was a gifted one, and we sacrificed everything we had to give him a good basic education, from getting him declared “gifted” which did nothing in our school district to sending him to private school for 4 years, to finally driving 200 miles a day to keep him in the most appropriate school in our school district.

 

I nearly lost my mind doing all of this–I’ve had chronic depression for over 30 years and it wasn’t until a year after my son went to college that I was able to really concentrate on myself that I was able to truly control my medication. Having me for a mother was crappy at best and unbelievably awful at worst, so I can’t hold it against any of them. All that driving nearly made me insane. It also drove us into bankruptcy twice due to the price of gasoline and me losing my job and being unable to go back to work or draw disability.

 

He took the ACT three times, finally scoring a perfect score in reading with an overall score of 33, and went to a neat small university in Northfield, Vermont, called Norwich, which had recruited him since freshman year in high school. He got $32,000 in scholarships (basically free tuition) and only had to buy his room, board, and books. He did that for four years, working as a Resident Adviser the last two years, and graduated cum laude with a degree in Mechanical Engineering.  By the way, everybody should consider Norwich.  It’s a fantastic place for young people to go college.

 

Now he has a job with an international corporation, his own apartment and is paying back his college loans. On the other hand, I haven’t seen him in two years, and hadn’t seen him for two years before that. It breaks my heart, but he’s doing all the things he didn’t do when he was younger. Hopefully I’ll live to a ripe old age and he’ll come to visit his parents again. Sigh.
Never in his life while growing up did he EVER get into an argument with an adult, other than his parents and his sister, Lucy. He knew better. Granted, he is white, but there was a black family we knew at both of his private schools that was doing THE EXACT SAME THING, and guess what? That boy never got in trouble either. His parents did without just like us to keep him a safe, encouraging atmosphere. THEIR son didn’t argue with adults either. And he didn’t get in trouble, either.  How did we know they were doing the same exact thing?  You could tell by our cars.  We were the only ones at those private schools driving 20-year-old cars.

 

I never gave anyone permission to paddle him.  I never trusted any educator with that responsibility.  That would be similar to letting a Facebook friend paddle my child.  I just didn’t know them that well yet. I would do it differently now, because I’ve known them for the last 18 or so years. However, he was always told if he got into trouble at school he would live to really, really, really regret it when he got home, and he believed us.  He would’ve, too.  So, in 13 years of school and 4 years of college the only time he truly screwed up was being caught drinking under age his freshman year in college.  He only did that once.  Norwich just as strict with him as his parents were. We knew about it because his college wrote us a letter. He knew that he would be expelled

 

Maybe, just maybe, we were more careful with our son than some families. We certainly didn’t let him have a lot of leeway until his senior year in high school. He didn’t do things perfectly. His grades certainly have never set the world on fire. He was also the last one in his class to get a cell phone, a television, an Xbox, a laptop, and internet, although he eventually had all of the above. He didn’t get his driver’s license until just before his 18th birthday. He was never given a car. Note: He also has a car now, but didn’t get one until he graduated from college. His car will be paid off in October, 2018 and he’s counting the days.

 

We gave everything, and I mean, everything we could to raise our son to be a cautious, careful adult, while encouraging him to dream and fly high when he took off out of the nest. If I had it to do all over again, I would.

 

Oh, and the reason for his college major. He wants to build things.  He said he was about the only person in his major who actually wanted to build things.  Everyone else was going to get an engineering degree as a place to start

 

My point is, from the moment of conception until he flew the nest we were careful and cautious with our child. MANY OTHER FAMILIES DO THE SAME, REGARDLESS OF RACE!!! We didn’t do things perfectly; far from it! He played violent video games and his temper is legendary. His language is atrocious because he is still young enough to want to shock.  I don’t have the holes in the drywall repaired from where he put his fist through it!

 

He had to borrow money to go to college. He completed his degree because he had good family support. Not just us, but his aunts, uncle, and sister. He’s paying back about $80,000, a figure that takes my breath away. I’ve never been in debt that much in my life. It worries me, and if we ever win the lottery he gets his money first, before anything else, even our mortgage.

 

The thing is, your children are the jewels of your life. They are your treasures, and nothing has more value. Keeping them safe is your number one priority. Instead of harping on race and prejudice or limiting our Constitutional liberties maybe parents need to look at how they are raising their children. Perhaps fewer material things and more discipline and emphasis on spiritual development should be our priorities, and making sure they are the jewels of our lives.

Should the Age to Lower Firearms be Lowered

To all the young people protesting for change in gun control laws: I hear you.  I really hear you.  You shouldn’t have to worry about being shot at school. So let’s have the age to own a gun raised to 21.
Let’s raise the age for military service as well. I’m all for that, along with raising the age of driving to 21 and keep the 21 year old age to drink alcohol. If you’re not old enough to own a gun or drink alcohol or drive a vehicle, then you’re not old enough to die for your country.

 

Let’s raise the voting age back up to 21 while we’re at it. Let’s make 18 the age of adulthood no more, along with raising the age of marriage up to 21 as well. Think about all things that are controlled by age. I am for raising every rite of adulthood up to 21 years of age.

 

If teenagers don’t have vehicles then perhaps the teenage pregnancy rate will drop. Perhaps if people told teenagers you’re dumb to get knocked up that might help as well. If voting is raise back to 21 perhaps having to wait for the privilege to vote will help young people to actually go vote.

 

Drinking at 21 was lowered back in the 70s, but promptly raised by up again when it was discovered that 18 year olds were not responsible enough to buy liquor at 18. Voting was lowered to 18 most places (and maybe all states–haven’t looked.) The rational then was if you were old enough to die in the military you were old enough to vote. I was one of the few 18 year olds that did vote, although I missed my very first presidential election from being in the hospital at the time.

 

Like I said I’m perfectly fine with raising the age to 21 to buy any gun. Might be a good idea to raise it to 21 to buy a knife, a bat, and a tire iron. All of those are just as deadly as a gun in the wrong hands.  Murder is murder is murder, however, and guns do make killing people very, very easy.  That’s why armies use them, after all.

 

My point is, that while we probably need to raise the age to purchase a weapon of any sort, it’s impossible to stop all murder.  It would behoove us to find out why the HELL young white men are shooting their classmates, because I do not recall one case where the shooter was a young black man or or a woman of any color shot up a school.   There may have been incidents I don’t recall.  I’m old, and my mind does not retain all the information it once recalled.

 

So do raise the age to purchase a weapon.  Make sure there is a substantial risk if parents don’t keep their weapons out of underage hands so idiots don’t give their mentally unstable offspring back their weapons, as happened earlier this year.  But make DAMNED SURE that you find out what the problem is with is with YOUNG, WHITE MALES that makes them commit suicide so often and makes them shoot their classmates.  It’s something mentally off in the brain.  I have to take antidepressants every day to keep myself sane.  I have zero tolerance for anyone who won’t do what they need to do to control themselves.  Because of my illness I have to forgo enjoying alcohol except for one every two months or so, and I count my blessings because I just have chronic depression.  I don’t something really horrid like schizophrenia.

 

The world is your oyster.  Make part of your legacy to do what is necessary to stop school shootings AND find out what the mental problem is that makes young white men go absolutely crazy.

I’m still mad at the world……

I wrote this memo to my husband’s boss last week. He’ll probably get mad at Steve. Sigh.

May 7, 2015

To Whom It May Concern:

This really was the wrong damn week to criticize my poor husband about his lack of sick time. I would remind you of the Family Medical Leave Act papers (which were an enormous hassle to obtain) that we turned in before? Good grief! Since you don’t seem to recall that, I will refresh your memory, in detail.

I have the following medical conditions. These are permanent conditions, and cannot be corrected by surgery or medications. They can only be managed on a day-to-day basis, and are a significant reason we went into and are still in bankruptcy. They can only be controlled as best as I possibly can:

Diabetes Mellitus (Type II Diabetes, and I have had it long enough that I am a “brittle” diabetic.)

Medication(s):

Bydureon:  2 MG, injected once weekly. The magic “Lizard Spit”, which has helped me to lose over 70 lbs. in the last two years. It’s really made from the spit of the Gila Monster. Honest.

Insulin Humilin 500 (which is five times stronger than most diabetics take) used on a sliding scale depending upon my blood sugar levels during the day and evening.

Metformin (Oral medication to control diabetes) 1000 mg twice daily.

Additional expense: Glucose meter strips (I test at least once per day, but with the prednisone troubles I’ve been testing six to eight times per day.)

Neuropathy (Side effect of diabetes) I have lost most of the feeling in my right foot along with some in my left foot, which is why I NO LONGER DRIVE, since I don’t want to be the little old lady that runs into the grocery store…..with her car.

Medication(s):

Gabapentin: 600 MG three times daily

I have also been diagnosed with Fibromyalgia, but with everything else, treatment for it has gone by the wayside.  Besides, I can’t afford pain therapy anyway

Alpha 1 Anti-trypsin Deficiency #3 This is the big “mamba-jamma”, if you will. I have a genetic condition that may eventually cause the linings of my lungs to collapse into emphysema, or cause liver problems. Right now it has caused one of the biggest episodes of ill health in my life, and I am fighting tooth and toe nail to get better. I am allergic to the world—cats, dogs, pollen, dust, mold—but most especially tree pollen. The hard winter and long cold spring has made the tree blooming season extended. I am taking prednisone, which has helped my allergies tremendously and made my blood sugars go on a roller coaster ride every blessed day.

For example:  Today I started with a reading of 238 mg/dl, which is way, way, way too high for a morning reading. I took 10 units of Humilin 500, which is 10 units more than I ever take in the morning, and went about my business. At 1:16 p.m. my blood sugar crashed to 60 mg/dl. I applied sugar, then fixed myself fried okra and a blueberry flavored funnel cake. By 2:24 p.m. my sugars had risen back to 161 mg/dl., well within the safe range. Tonight at bedtime, they were back down to 95, slightly below what is recommended. Morning readings should be interesting.

Medication(s):

Advair 250 – 50:  1 puff two times daily

Budesonide (generic Rhinocort) 1 spray daily

Montelukast (generic Singulair) 10 mg. daily

Diphenhydramine (generic Benadryl) HCI 100 mg. daily

Loratadine (generic Claritin) 10 mg. daily

Pseudoephedrine HCI (generic Sudafed) 60 mg daily

Currently also taking Prednisone 20 MG, two tablets daily until Saturday, then it drops to one tablet daily until it’s gone. This has been a curse and a blessing. My breathing has improved, the sinus and ear infections I had are gone without antibiotics, and my joint pain feels ever so much better at least half the day. You already know about the blood sugar fun. Still, I’m going to ask if I can safely have it four times a year. The relief is unbelievable and the blood sugars controllable.

Hypertension (high blood pressure) Very well controlled, if I may brag.

Medication(s):

Lisinopril-HCTZ 20-25: 1 tablet daily

Hypothyroid disease (My thyroid is practically non-existent, which may make me go bald. Joy, joy.)

Medication(s):

Levothyroxine 150 MCG daily

High Cholesterol

Medication(s):  Simvastatin 20 MG daily

Arthritis (I have it all over everywhere, but especially in my hands, back and knees)

Medication(s):

Cyclobenzaprine (generic Flexeril) 5 mg two times daily

Diclofenac Sod EC 75 mg (generic NSAID, popular at Meharry) two times daily (Note: this varies at any given time of the year—I rotate between Ibuprofen, Naprosyn and Diclofenac.

Depression:  Another joy to live with. Still, I count my blessings. I only have chronic depression, instead of something really joyous, like being bi-polar, etc.  I’ve had it for 28 years this year, which means I’ve had it longer than I’ve known Steve. It has cost me my career at Metro PD, my relationship with my daughters (having a mother with depression is no fun, especially if she’s just trying to learn to manage it), many of my friends, the respect of my mother and tons of money. I have been counselled within an inch of my life. One of my psychiatrists, Dr. Richard Shelton, head of Vanderbilt psychiatric at one time, called it diabetes of the brain.

The medications I take for depression masked my diabetic symptoms, which is why it went undiagnosed until it caused the nerve damage in my feet. Of everything I have, this is the disease that has caused the most grief. Everything else is simply annoying. This one is dangerous, miserable, and unbelievably destructive. If your family has not been touched by this monster, consider yourself exceedingly well blessed. It comes from my father’s side of the family, where alcoholism runs rampant. My father was an alcoholic. I thought I had done well, since I’ve never abused drugs or alcoholic, and if I have an addiction it’s to food, which I’m managing, thank you. Unfortunately for me, that wasn’t nearly enough. I have to balance the serotonin levels in my brain, without any kind meter to do so. My diabetes is managed by a glucose meter. My depression does not have such a device, which makes it very difficult, to say the least.

Medication(s):

Venlafaxine HCL (generic Effexor) 37.5 mg, amount varies to the time of year and the amount of sunlight available.

Bupropion HCL XL (generic Wellbutrin) 150 mg, amount varies to the time of year and the amount of sunlight available.

Clonazepam 1 mg (generic Klonopin) One tablet at bed time. My biggest pain in the arse to obtain. This is a controlled substance, which has become more and more and more regulated. Without it, I stay awake for days and days and days. My personal record is about six days on about eight hours of rest. That might not seem like days and days to you, but it sure was to me, and my agony always becomes Steve’s agony.

And finally:

Acidic stomach (Probably from all the crap I take along with worry about everything else.)

Medication(s):

Pantoprazole Sod Dr 40 mg. tablet one time per day.

In case you haven’t figured it out, our medical costs are $200-$300 per month, each and every month.  I try to keep it as cheap as I can, but some things are just not available in generic, such as Advair. To do without most of it causes not only pain and agony, but damage that cannot be reversed. Believe me, I’ve tried to do without prescriptions a few days.  The results are always horrendous, painful and contribute to make misery throughout the world of Steve and Cindy.

For the record, I am not lazy. Neither is Steve. I am not an addict. I am not an alcoholic. I am not a thief, nor do I engage in any other criminal activities. Never have! I am intelligent, articulate, and when appropriately medicated a fairly decent person. I am the mother of two certified gifted children, one who is a registered nurse in Denver, CO and one who is just finishing his junior year in college as a mechanical engineer major. He has made the Dean’s List the last two semesters and we’re hoping for a three-peat, while working as a Resident Assistant.  My middle daughter, Lucy, is gorgeous woman and a housewife in North Carolina. She also has Alpha 1 and it’s causing her plenty of trouble, which she copes with extraordinary grace and aplomb.

And for the record, I don’t give up. If I did, I would have committed suicide long ago. I can climb over a hog panel with the best of them, tote a 50 lb. bag of feed uphill, fence in a rogue hog, break up a sow fight with two bucket lids, milk a reluctant goat and castrate my own hogs. I can raise a fine garden, sew a quilt, crochet, embroider, write a cookbook, cook like the dickens and be a faithful wife. I’m the kind of mother that will drive 200 miles a day for years to keep her gifted kid in the best high school because the county wouldn‘t let him ride the bus that ran in front of the house.  I am a born-again, Spirit baptized Roman Catholic, and I’m one of a kind!

I am married to a man who is an absolute saint. He has done everything from get me dressed to go to work when I was improperly medicated to spend his last dime to get me an ice cream cone, if I was dying for one. Every night when I was pregnant with Jamie Steve fixed me an eggnog shake of a quart of milk and two eggs to make sure we had a healthy baby. I won’t tell you about having a 12 lb. 1 oz. baby, but when the birth was over the obstetrician asked Steve if he was a Viet Nam vet, because he was so cool under pressure. When the doctor said that the baby was stuck and he didn’t know what to do he didn’t panic. Obviously it all turned out well in the end.

In my book, Steven John Durham is bona fide American hero. He’s a lifelong Boy Scout and a devout Catholic, who makes me go to church whether I want to or not. He’s not appreciated by anybody except me most days, which is really sad, but that’s life. It’s the loss of every person who doesn’t know the good man that they work with.

I’m sure this is more information than you ever wanted, but I want you to have a good idea of what Steve goes through at home, and why his sick time and vacation time are non-existent.  We go to Meharry Medical, which is free, and that always takes the better part of if not the whole day, and leaves me absolutely exhausted.  He’d like to have ten days on the books, but he had to have a medical procedure of his own last October, and I’ve been sick a lot this winter, I think, so building sick days has been extremely problematic. I had to have three trips to Meharry, as well as endless phone calls the past two weeks to finally get my system back on track.

The farm animals are not only daily exercise and company for me, but eventually will become part of our retirement income. After giving our all to raise the children as best we could it’s finally time to take care of ourselves. They served their purpose well this past winter, as even through the extreme cold I was able to make myself get up out of bed and outside to deal with the world. That in and of itself was a tremendous win, as the past two winters before that I barely got out of bed at all. When I look back on the winter, it seems like a frozen blur of struggle to keep everything fed and alive, and stay warm and fed, ourselves.  I thought Spring would never, ever get here.

It took me a year to get over all that driving and Jamie leaving home. I can’t work again—when I lost my job as a legal assistant through no fault of my own (the Great Recession, you know) it nearly killed me mentally. I went to work one Wednesday morning, and was told I was laid off effective the Friday before. That sent me horrendous tailspin that I barely climbed out of.

Oh, and by the way, if you don’t work for ten years while you’re raising a child you lose your ability to draw a disability pension. I can’t draw from Social Security until I’m 62. Same with my Metro pension. I am just screwed in that department. Of course, I didn’t think for a long time I’d live that long, but since going to Meharry I’m much healthier. I might get some of that money after all. I’m fully vested both places, for all the good it does me right now.

There you have it. Oh, one other thing. The reason we’re so broke is because we had over a thousand dollars go out the door during March and April. We had to buy a vehicle ($600), college deposits and end of the year expenses ($250 plus $88), and nearly three times the usual utility bills ($550 instead of $200) all hit at once. Thank God our church gave us food, and Steve took home those MREs that were being thrown out, because that’s mostly what we’ve been eating.

So that is why Steve seems to be a perpetual problem. It’s my fault that this extraordinary man is held down by life, but we truly love each other, and that is worth a great deal. We just do our best, and some days our best is pretty lousy.

I have instructed the doctors at Meharry to give you complete access to my medical records. Steve has the signed permission slip in his wallet. If what I have done doesn’t satisfy HIPPA regulations, I’ll make it so it does. There is no shame in anything that’s the matter with me. I live a clean, sober life, and have done so all my days. I hope you will take this information and look at the world around you differently. And I really have to go. Lavender, my hopefully pregnant sow, is at the front door demanding dinner. Have a great day!

Beating a Woman

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6ag9d7kegwk&feature=youtu.be The Islamic Cleric in this video believes that husbands should beat their wives. Let me just say that I disagree with this man’s viewpoint.

Let me further say that I believe that said Islamic Cleric should have his buttocks shot full of rock salt and buck shot. It might cure him of beating women, especially if he thought every time he beat a woman he would get his arse shot full again.

It sure cured my father of stealing watermelons when HIS arse was shot full of rock salt and buck shot. I have heard that it has had the same effect on various thieves here and there, although it is not employed as judiciously as it should be these days.

If I sound too blood-thirsty or violent let me explain that rock salt and buck shot properly loaded into a shotgun shell does not maim or crippled. It just hurts like hell and serves as a strong reminded for some time that the behavior that caused the injury to one’s arse might be a good idea to NEVER, EVER commit again.

At least, that’s how it used to work. When my father and a buddy thought it was neat idea to steal watermelons from a local farmer they got away with it once. The next time they thought it was a neat idea to go watermelon thieving the farmer was waiting in the bushes for them. He told them to leave or he’d shoot. My father, being a stupid young punk, shouted, “Go ahead and shoot, you old S.O.B.” The farmer did and my father ceased his career as a juvenile delinquent and really did walk the straight and narrow from that time onward. The time frame for all of this? Early 1930s. Not that long ago, really.

What does this have to do with my original subject of beating women? Only that I believe that anytime a smaller, helpless human is being pounded upon by a larger, bullying human then the larger human should be disciplined. Severely. It might change some attitudes about wife beating as a sociably acceptable idea. I also would like point out how different these attitudes are from the Western World. I don’t want to live among these people. I don’t wish to visit their countries. And I don’t think they have any business in the United States of America. They will be locked up, for one thing, hopefully before they maim or kill someone. And I don’t want to have to pay for their upkeep and special diets. We’re paying for enough lawbreakers as it is.

Some thoughts on child raising….

Some thoughts on raising a child:

When I was pregnant with my son, I ate VERY carefully, being sure to eat 100 grams of protein, 1 quart of milk and 2 eggs daily, along with prenatal vitamins, and a balanced diet. I never drank alcohol or did ANYTHING to risk his health.

He never developed food allergies, and was basically healthy throughout childhood, except for two broken arms and Epstein-Barr virus, that I caught from one of my piano students, that landed him in the hospital in third grade.

We left the inner city and moved to the country so that he would not be raised in a dangerous area. We lived without running water or electricity for two years, and did without a lot so that he could be safe. During this time we read to him daily and lived simply. These were actually some of the happiest days of my life.

He was raised with regular chores. He was never allowed to roam malls or otherwise to cause problems to other people. He was active in our church and Boy Scouts. He was raised in church his entire life, and became an Eagle Scout. Even though there were times I wanted to kick my husband out, we stayed together and raised that child, because a boy needs a man in his life, and a girl needs a woman in hers.

Although he was an indifferent student, he was a gifted one, and we sacrificed everything we had to give him a good basic education, from getting him declared “gifted” which did nothing in our school district to sending him to private school for 4 years, to finally driving 200 miles a day to keep him in the most appropriate school in our school district. I nearly lost my mind doing all of this, and it drove us into bankruptcy twice due to the price of gasoline and me losing my job, and being unable to go back to work or draw disability.

He took the ACT three times, finally scoring a perfect score in reading with an overall score of 33, and went to a neat small university in Vermont, called Norwich, which had recruited him since freshman year in high school. He got $32,000 in aid (basically free tuition) and only had to buy his room, board, and books.

Never in his life while growing up did he EVER get into an argument with an adult. He knew better. Granted, he is white, but there was a black family we knew at one of his private schools that was doing THE EXACT SAME THING, and guess what? That boy never got in trouble either. His parents did without just like us to keep him a safe, encouraging atmosphere.

Maybe, just maybe, we were more careful with our son than other families. We certainly didn’t let him have a lot of leeway until his senior year in high school. He didn’t do things perfectly. His grades certainly have never set the world on fire. He was also the last one in his class to get a cell phone, a television, an Xbox, a laptop, and internet, although he eventually had all of the above. He didn’t get his driver’s license until just before his 18th birthday. He was never given a car, and still doesn’t own one.

We gave everything, and I mean, everything we could to raise our son to be a cautious, careful adult, while encouraging him to dream and fly high when he took off. If I had it to do all over again, I would.

My point is, from the moment of conception until he flew the nest we were careful and cautious with our child. Many other families do the same, regardless of race.
Your children are the jewels of your life. Keeping them safe is your number one priority. Instead of harping on race and prejudice, or limiting our Constitutional liberties maybe parents need to look at how they are raising their children. Perhaps fewer material things and more discipline and emphasis on spiritual development should be our priorities.

Delayed gratification is often a good thing.

Ice cream

For the Fourth of July celebration at my sister-in-law’s mother’s hay barn we purchased an ice cream freezer. After using it twice we have come to the conclusion that we are very guilty of child neglect and need to apologize to our children.

Jamie, Jody, Lucy, we’re sorry. We deprived you greatly during your childhood by not having an ice cream freezer. We are sincerely sorrowful at our conduct and will try to make it up to you in the future.

My poor son has never had the delight of licking an ice cream paddle. He has never experience the fresh-churned delight of strawberry ice cream. He’s never had the wonder of homemade goodness after it has ripened in the freezer. None of my children have, to my knowledge. In my defense, I had forgotten just how good real homemade ice cream could be.

We’re hoping to take some time off just before he goes back to college and take him on a tiny vacation. You can be sure that we will pack some freshly made ice cream mix so that he can share in our new-found delight. We may have to buy one for each of his sisters. It’s the least we can do,

Depression Sucks, Especially in the Summer

So I posted a few articles about living with depression, thinking I would be back up on my feet, and keep on writing. It was not to be. This is how depression, complicated by diabetes, screws with my life.

I got a bladder infection.    Put me in bed for two weeks, miserable as only a bladder infection can make one. During that time, not one dish got washed in my house unless I crawled to the kitchen to do it. (My husband is a saint, but washing dishes is not something he will do. He won’t even load a dishwasher.) This, coming after weeks of me cleaning and scrubbing on my house, put me back to square one on the dish front. 

So, between the summer solstice and today, I’ve slowly descended into the black pit of depression. Today,  I hit the bottom. I didn’t even get dressed. 

So after I realized just how low I am, which took most of the day, I’ve begun my crawl back up out of the hole. Hopefully, I’ll let you know how it goes.

 

How to use a hillbilly washing machine, or doggone it! I wish I could buy a washer!

In a previous post, I covered the Hillbilly Washing Machine, which is a nifty little clothes washing/exercise device. http://refashionista.wordpress.com/2012/05/21/diy-hillbilly-washing-machine/?blogsub=confirming#blog_subscription-3 Here is the link to how to make one.

I have a blast, here in the mid-South, doing my clothes washing, although washing king-size sheets in this manner gets old quickly. However, here are some hints:

Be careful not to put too many clothes in the bucket at one time. They won’t get clean if you do.

Instead of moving the plunger up and down in the middle, try doing it along the side of the bucket. I find the clothes churn better this way.

Shift your body in the chair to give you a better work out and increase your flexibility. I put the plunger aside and use my hands, thrusting all the way to the bottom of the bucket, for further stretching.

Allowing your clothes to pre-soak before washing helps. Prepare your bucket and let it set awhile or overnight.

I am amazed at the amount of dirt I get out of the clothes with my little Hillbilly Washer!

I’m in a different world…….

I live in a different world, where things don’t work as they do for most of you. For example, right now the power is gone. I’m going to give it 30 minutes and call the electric company back to see what happened and when it will be on. I think I was the first one to call.

I know something pretty drastic has happened, because we don’t lose power often.  This happened during a rain storm, so lightning could have hit a transformer somewhere, or somebody could have knocked down some lines or we could have had a tornado or straight line winds take them out. That’s what happened the last time power went out this long. A tornado went through 5 miles south and 5 miles east of us. There are benefits to living in the lee of a large hill, and tornadoes tend to take the least path of resistance in my experience.  Where I live they sometimes hop from hilltop to hilltop.  It wasn’t very close, or I would have heard it. The dogs howl when the sirens get close, and they haven’t, so that’s another clue.

So, no internet for who knows how long (thank you HP for my wonderful battery) and I keep my cell phone battery charged, so I’m ok there.  I’m back to where we were when we came here. From September 1998 to September 2000 we lived without electricity or running water. “Gasp”, you say. “How in the world did you manage?” Uh, ok. It wasn’t great, and I couldn’t wait to get electricity again, but I could do it again.

This summer we’re managing without a/c. So far it hasn’t gotten much past 90 degrees, but I have fans, running water and ice to cope with the heat, to say nothing of apple cider vinegar and don’t have to take care of a 4 to 6 year old, so I’ve rather got it made in the shade. I hope to get my Great Pyrenees shaved soon, though.  He can’t take off his fur coat. L

If the power doesn’t come back on before dark we’ll eat cold food for dinner and go to bed.  Steve uses his cell phone as an alarm clock, so that’s not a worry. Tomorrow I’ll be suffering from extreme internet withdrawal, so maybe I’ll get more done. J

My question is, how well could YOU manage without electricity? If you were living on the edges of a natural disaster like in Oklahoma, your house is undamaged and you won’t get power for a few weeks and it’s 90 degrees outside? Here’s some ideas to manage. You won’t stay cool, but you should survive.

Drink 1 tsp. of apple cider vinegar in 8 oz. of water twice a day, or more if your stomach can tolerate it.  Add a good squeeze of honey it you can, sugar if you can’t.  I don’t know why, but apple cider vinegar helps. This little routine also helps arthritis and to keep critters from biting you. I don’t know if it’s the acidity, the chemicals in the vinegar (yes, Virginia, there are chemicals in vinegar; it’s just the apple tree and God made them, not man) or what, but it’s been used for hundreds of years and it works.

Keep wet. Keep your hair wet, especially. Keep your clothes wet. Keep your kids and pets as wet as you can.

Keep ice in a cooler and wear it if you are out working in the sun. Wrap the cubes in a small towel or washcloth and put them under your hat. This is an especially good idea for bald men.

Get a battery-powered fan. Coleman makes one, I think. Go to a library that has power and look one up if you can’t find them at Wal-mart.  That’s where I got mine.

Stay out of air conditioning as much as you can. My husband, who rides around in an air conditioned truck at work all day is suffering much more than I am.  It’s the gigantic temperature changes that make it so hard to live without A/C. Well, that and a breeze.

Drink cold liquids constantly. Keep something at hand. DO NOT let yourself or your kids or your pets get dehydrated. It can have very serious consequences. Besides overheating and spending the rest of the day miserable the combination can kill.

Finally, have faith. Life will get back to normal. As I have been writing this the electricity has come back on.  I’ve called the power company and thanked them. They didn’t take my name then, so they just called me back. I do live in the country, thank God, to say nothing of living in Tennessee, for which I am also doubly thankful. I can still hear rumbles of thunder, and I caught the weather on the five o’clock news. I had been under a severe thunderstorm warning and didn’t even know it! Have to get that weather radio!

Talk to y’all later!

 

 

Life

Friday was glorious. My mood was terrific, and I just KNEW we were going to get tons done on Saturday. We had a wonderful meal and came home to a peaceful night.

Saturday dawned and I was sick as a dog. Since I am only 100 pounds overweight and morbidly (isn’t that a lovely word?) obese I take a diabetes drug called Bydureon. Bydureon is like Antabuse for alcoholics, except it’s for over-eaters. Believe me, I will NEVER eat that much again. Really. As long as I take this drug it’s not happening. And I’ve lost 8 pounds in the last two months, so that’s a good thing.

So nothing got done Saturday. Nothing got done Sunday, except we took flowers to Steve’s father’s grave. And went to church, of course.

Not much was accomplished yesterday, either. Life is just starting to get back to normal after being sick for two weeks. The dishes and laundry are piled to the ceiling and I have seeds BEGGING to be planted. 

Sigh.

There’s always tomorrow.