Today is Rich’s birthday, the 17th one I’ve celebrated with him. And it’s a biggie: his 40th. While I think I said everything there was to say last year, I still want to wish him all the happiness in the world and that all his birthday wishes come true. He’s my best friend, a fantastic father to Coraline, and the best husband I could ask for. Here’s to many more happy birthdays to you, my love.
Category Archives: personal
Processing Addiction
Song Lyric of the Day:
But I never asked for it / But I never did / It’s all a part of his plan / It’s all in his hands / In the basement
I had planned to come out of my long winter’s blog hibernation with a post I’ve had an idea for for some time now, the gist of which is materialism. Nothing serious. Nothing heavy. But then yesterday the actor Philip Seymour Hoffman died.
I grew up with an alcoholic father. I’ve alluded to that a tiny bit here and there over the years, and even though my dad has been sober 21 1/2 years now, it’s still not exactly an easy (or pleasant) topic for me to discuss or revisit. But with Hoffman’s untimely passing at the young age of 46, I am once again questioning what I believe about addiction.
I admit: When my dad was at his worst, if a doctor had said he needed a liver transplant, I would’ve been the first in line to say he didn’t deserve a new liver. Because he would have done that to himself with his drinking, right? His choice to drink. And drink. And drink. Why would he deserve that kind of help when he drank himself to that point? I certainly can’t speak for everyone who grew up with (or is still dealing with) an alcoholic parent, but that was how I felt and my reasoning for it. Obviously, now that he’s been sober for as long as he has, I’m grateful things never got to that point. God, am I grateful. But for a long time, it certainly seemed like that was the road he was heading down — and taking our family with him. Luckily he took to heart what he heard and discussed in Alcoholics Anonymous.
That’s it. That’s the extent of my personal, direct experience with addiction. I grew up firmly believing — knowing — that an addict chose to be one. They drank that first drink. They snorted that first line. They took that first pill. I do believe, however, that some people are predispositioned to become addicts. Not everyone who takes that drink becomes an alcoholic. Not everyone who tries that pill becomes hooked. But others, like my dad and Mr. Hoffman, they become addicts.
Everyone has pain. How we choose to deal with it is up to us. Some of us turn to therapy (raising my hand here), some confide in friends, some channel it into a creative or personal endeavor, still others find something — anything — to help them deal. But we all have to deal with it somehow. And as I’ve gotten older (can’t say wiser), I’ve come to see that for some people, whatever pain it is that they’re dealing with is just too great for them to handle. So they turn to some of the most destructive things out there.
No one deserves to become addicted to drugs or alcohol. No one sets out to become an addict. It happens. Whether through self-destructive methods, the wiring in their brain, a genetic predisposition, it happens. I grew up in fear of becoming an alcoholic like my dad. As a kid, I did a research project for school on alcoholism and learned that I was at least four times more likely to become an addict myself. So I decided very early on that I wouldn’t end up like him. I was 25 years old before I tried socially drinking. As of today, I’ve imbibed maybe three drinks in the last six months. Do I think I’m still at risk of becoming an alcoholic? No. But I choose not to drink that often because (A) I’d rather find other, more constructive ways of dealing with life when I feel overwhelmed and (B) I just really don’t like drinking alcohol all that much. Rich likes to joke that my vice is not having a vice. And also, I have a child of my own now, one who is (I imagine) enjoying having a sober, present mom.
Hoffman’s death is a tragedy: He was a father of three young children. He was a talented actor. He was still so young. We can only speculate as to why, after 23 years of sobriety, he fell off the wagon again, culminating in his passing yesterday. Me, personally, I can only thank God I have never felt so lost, so hopeless, been in such psychic pain, that I turned to drugs or alcohol to help me deal with life. There for but the grace of God go I …
Everyone has pain. How you choose to deal with it is up to you.
Filed under personal
Photoblogging: Coraline’s 1st Letter to Santa
Filed under Christmas, coraline, personal, photoblogging, photography
The Girl With the Curl
Song Lyric of the Day:
Curly, curly hair / How I love my hair / How I simply want to brush my hair / I simply love my curly hair / I want to wash my curly hair
Hawkeye and Hoe / “Curli Hair“
I have a daughter with curly hair, the kind of curly hair with Shirley Temple-like spirals, that garners her lots of attention. It’s almost become the stuff of legend at this point. I exaggerate, of course, but not by much. Because outside of visits with family and friends, I have yet to take Coraline anywhere and not have people comment on her hair. People either comment directly to us or we hear whispers along the likes of “Look at that little girl’s curly hair!” as we pass by. If we got a dollar every time someone comments on her hair, we would already have a year’s worth of college tuition. At least.
When Coraline was born, she had straight jet-black hair, very strongly resembling my Mexican maternal grandfather. Once her hair thinned out (don’t you just hate how babies’ hair does that?) it grew back in lighter. I remember the exact day it started to curl: It was the day of her cousin Stephen’s second birthday party. Coraline was about 6 1/2 months old. At first Rich and I thought Coraline’s hair had just curled/kinked up due to the humidity; Stephen’s party was an outdoor one on an unusually warm April day. But then her hair never uncurled.
We have yet to take her for a haircut. Not because we’re afraid she’d lose the curl — so many people say that happens with the first haircut — because her curl is genetic. She gets it from Rich, her grandfather, her aunt, other distant relatives. Her curl isn’t going anywhere. We’ve held off on the first haircut because we wanted to see how her hair grew. And now we know: It curls so much that when we wash it, Cora’s hair reaches almost to her waist. But the curl is so strong it immediately begins curling up again once water passes through it, same as when I comb it out.
My hair is naturally wavy, but nowhere near curly like my daughter’s. A good friend recommended a book, Curly Girl: The Handbook by Lorraine Massey, so I could learn how to manage Coraline’s hair. Because if there’s one thing I want for my little Curly Sue regarding her hair, it’s that she loves and embraces it — and knows how to manage it. The book defines different types of curls; I think Coraline’s hair type leans toward Corkicelli curls. It reminds you that curly hair is not supposed to be washed daily (we wash Cora’s twice a week, more during sweaty summers). It also tells about the best kind of hair-care products for curly hair (botanical based and sulfate free), which led me to the California Baby brand. We use their Shampoo & Bodywash, Calendula Hair Conditioner, and Calming Hair Detangler. Bonus: Since it’s formulated for babies/kids, it’s tear-free. Not that that matters to Coraline. When it comes to having her hair washed, she only very recently stopped screaming like she was being waterboarded.
One of my favorite things about Cora’s hair is how it holds its shape. And how it gets Gene Wilder crazy at the end of the day. She and I have a thing we do at bedtime: I take out her hair ties and barrettes and say, “Shake it out!” She shakes her head, knowing and enjoying how fluffy her hair gets. And while I’m not perfect when it comes to managing her hair, I try really, really hard to make sure she likes her hair, because I know so many women who don’t like their curly hair. A few have told me it goes back to their moms not knowing how to manage their hair. I’m trying hard not to be that mom, doing what I can to help Coraline and telling her all the time how beautiful her hair is (which, duh, it is). She’s really confident about her hair, and loves saying, “She has curly hair like me!” whenever we come across a girl or woman with similar hair. So, so far what I’m doing seems to be working. Fingers crossed that it continues to work.
Now, when it comes to hairstyles that work with Coraline’s hair, well, that’s a work in progress. Another time, another post. Maybe.
Filed under coraline, personal, photography
Around Knoxville: Three Rivers Rambler
Song Lyric of the Day:
Come on, ride the train, it’s the Choo Choo train
Quad City DJ’s / “C’mon N’ Ride It (The Train)“
Knoxville has a short-line passenger train. Did you know this? Because I only discovered this recently. I’ve heard rumors the last couple of years, and then a few weeks ago my friend Meghan and her husband took their babies on the train, the Three Rivers Rambler. Meghan told me about the trip, which I then told Rich about, and we agreed that it would be fun to take Coraline on a train ride.
Coraline has wanted to ride a real train forever. It’s basically one of her lifelong dreams. (Did you know toddlers could have lifelong dreams? They can.) Thanks to my parents, Coraline’s ridden the little train at our local mall enough times to qualify as a part owner, so when we told her about REAL trains, her mind was blown.
Last Sunday, agendaless and looking to enjoy some quality family time, we told Coraline that we were going to take her on a REAL train ride. In typical fashion, she jumped up and down yelling “Yay!” which she manages to draw out like you would not believe. We packed her little backpack with snacks, Rich and I grabbed our cameras, and we headed down to Volunteer Landing to board the train.
We quickly found seats facing each other, so we had a cozy seating arrangement. The seats also allowed me to keep my gimpy foot elevated during the 2-hour ride. (The website and conductor say 90 minutes, but ours took two hours including a couple of short stops.)
The atmosphere on the train was very friendly, festive thanks to some holiday decorations, and very family friendly — there were tons of families riding with us that day. Coraline loved everything about it, especially the fact that we could walk out onto the following open-air car while the train was moving (it goes really slow).
I of course took tons of pictures, with Rich handling Coraline-escorting duties; my foot was still pretty tender so hobbling around a(n albeit slowly) moving train with an excited 3-year-old was not on my slate for the day.
I did manage to hobble outside with Rich and Coraline a few times, with the beautiful views totally worth the effort. Not to mention Coraline’s sheer delight at BEING ON A REAL TRAIN. Sorry for the caps, but toddler enthusiasm is contagious. And awesome.
We heard rumblings throughout the ride that a certain magical jolly fellow was going to be making an appearance. Just when Rich and I had given up hope that the big man would show, there he was. Coraline was giddy waiting for him to make his way back to us (we were in the next-to-last row on the last car). And even though she met Santa outside of the mall, she still told Rich that we needed to go see Santa again at the mall so she could tell him what she wants for Christmas. She is a true believer, after all.
Filed under around knoxville, coraline, family, family time, knoxville, personal
A Long-Awaited Date With Santa
Song Lyric of the Day:
He’s making a list / And checking it twice / He’s gonna find out / Who’s naughty and nice / Santa Claus is coming to town
Fred Astaire / “Santa Claus Is Comin’ to Town“
Yesterday we took Coraline to visit Santa Claus at the mall. She’s been asking since January to see Santa again as he made quite the impression last December, so it’s been a long year of:
“Is Santa at the mall? Is he there yet?”
“When will Santa be back?”
“I don’t want to see the Easter Bunny! I don’t like the Easter Bunny! The Easter Bunny is friends with Santa?!?”
“When will Santa come back to the mall?”
“Is Santa at the mall again?”
“Mommy, I saw Santa at the mall! He waved at me!”
“I’m going to be brave and talk to Santa.”
“I get to go see Santa after Thanksgiving.”
“YAY! SANTA!!!”
Since Cora’s been talking about Santa all year long, Rich and I figured she’d either go through with a solo visit like she’s been saying (“I’m going to be brave!”) or she’d end up choking at the last minute. She did us proud, though. She waved and yelled hi when Santa entered the courtyard and took his seat. Then when it was her turn, she held my hand on the way to Santa’s chair, happily swinging her free arm the whole way. Once in front of him, she smiled and said, “Hi, Santa.” I asked her if she was ready to sit down with him and if she was going to do it by herself. She said yes, I placed her on Santa’s lap, and my brave girl came through.
I stayed close by since Rich and I are trying to get gift ideas out of her. Whenever we’ve asked what she was going to ask Santa for, she’d answer, “Christmas presents!” What kind of presents? “Toys!” So she hasn’t been terribly helpful there. Today, though, the first thing she asked for was books — she is her parents’ daughter, after all. When Santa asked which ones, I gently reminded her about the Ladybug Girl series and how she mentioned wanting Dora books. She also asked for princess dolls (there’s a big set at Target she’s got her eye on). The last thing she asked Santa for was “Blocks.” Then a few seconds later: “Legos!” Since Santa realized he wasn’t going to get too many specific requests out of her, he asked if she’d like surprise presents. You can imagine how excited she got at that prospect.
I think she would’ve hung out with Santa all day if it had been possible. She wished him a merry Christmas and we went on our way. Once we were a little ways away from the courtyard, she hollered, “I. SAW. SAN. TA!”
I predict it’ll be maybe three days after Christmas before she asks, “When can I see Santa again?”
Thanksgiving 2013
This year I’m incredibly grateful for where I am in my life. I have a wonderful family and friends, my and my family’s health, and the means to help keep a roof over our heads and food on our table. Growing up I often took what I had for granted, so it’s important to me to be thankful for what I do have, something I hope to instill in Coraline, too. I hope you take a moment today to say a quick thanks for your lot in life, too.
Happy Thanksgiving!
Filed under personal
Crutching
Song Lyric of the Day:
Don’t fail me, feets don’t fail me now
http://www.hulu.com/watch/12752
Not a pretty sight, is it? Me using crutches is about on par with that. You know who else is happy to see me not use crutches? Caleb, the fearless wonder dog. He’d see me coming down the hall and haul ass as far away from me as possible. Poor guy wouldn’t even let me pet him if the crutches were so much as in reach. I didn’t know dogs could give the stink eye to inanimate objects until the last few days.
This morning I’m going to my most-anticipated follow-up appointment since my post-C-section one, and I hope my foot doc at least takes the bandages off. You wouldn’t think you’d need 75 or so layers of gauze for a toe surgery, but it turns out you do; all those layers make it harder to hobble since my foot is on a slant in my boot. I also hope to be cleared to drive again; poor Rich has been my on-call chauffeur since my surgery. Mostly, though, I want her to say my toe is healing perfectly since I’ve been an angel about following my post-op instructions: keeping it elevated as much as possible, sleeping with my boot on (so fun), keeping my foot elevated in bed while I sleep (so fun when I need to sleep on my side), and garbage-bagging my foot to keep the bandages and boot completely dry while I shower. Our old-man shower with the seat has earned its place in my heart these last couple of weeks. But this will all be worth it when I can effortlessly slip into and wear any of my pairs of shoes in a few months.
And This Little Piggy Went “Bitch, That Hurt!”
Song Lyric of the Day:
My tired feet / Oh my tired feet / My tired feet brought me to that red boat / So still and foreign waters
About two years ago I broke my right pinky toe. I’m naturally (frighteningly) clumsy, and that day I was looking over my shoulder talking to Rich as he changed Coraline’s diaper. So instead of simply walking through the door from Coraline’s room into the hallway, my right pinky toe took the full brunt of the wall by the door. Rich helped tape my pinky toe to the one next to it in the hopes it would heal OK. Turns out it did not, so I finally went to a podiatrist last year because my toe hurt in most of my shoes — flats, heels, whatever. Simply wearing shoes had started to hurt, and I couldn’t even get my right foot into certain shoes anymore, even with my toes taped.
My foot doc said I created a hammertoe when I broke it (STOP! Hammertoe time!), and suggested a tenotomy. Basically, she’d slice the tendon underneath my toe to cause it to flatten out. Flatter toe equals an easier time fitting into and wearing shoes, right? In my case, wrong. My foot doc had made things clear up front so that I knew going into that procedure in December 2012 that there was a chance the tenotomy wouldn’t work. By late summer 2013, though, I was still having trouble fitting into some of my shoes, and I was pretty sure that my recovery time had long since passed. I scheduled another visit to my doc, and she confirmed that the tenotomy had not worked for me. In fact, I think it actually made the problem worse in that my toe would rub raw in some shoes. She explained my two options: Learn to live with it, or get a PIP reduction, where the bone gets shaved down a bit and reset and then a pin is put in place. All of that leaves you with a toe just the eensiest bit shorter than before.
So two days ago I had a PIP reduction. My pinky toe now has a white plastic tip sticking out of it — which I’ve christened the Eiffel Toe-wer — protecting the pin that needs to stay in for the next four weeks. As if I didn’t know to be careful, my doctor reiterated, “Bend the pin, bend the toe.” So I’m being extra careful because I want and need for my toe to heal WELL. I’ve been sitting around for two days straight now just keeping my foot elevated, which would have me climbing the walls save for the fact that our friends Caren and Evan are in town. Although before they arrived last night I’d been sleeping like a hibernating bear.
I have several more days of keeping my foot elevated and can’t put my full weight on it just yet, only on the heel. I have to say, I really took walking and mobility in general for granted until this surgery. With the tenotomy I was at least able to hobble around on my foot. Now I’m relegated to my husband duct-taping a garbage bag around my foot so I can use our old-man shower with the seat. At least my knowing our dog Caleb sees me as a half-bionic monster thanks to the crutches is amusing.
The moral of this story? Don’t break your damn toe.
P.S.: This post was brought to you by me on legally prescribed drugs.