Hi, My name is Laura, and I am a message board addict..

Or, I hope to say soon, I am a recovering message board addict. Who would have thought, back in 7/2000, when I stumbled across my first message board (Parent soup's Aug98' playgroup) that I would become hooked.



It started easily. I was googling for some information on my then two year old's constipation. The second hit was the Parents Soup message boards. I got an account, logged in, and embarked on 2 year love affair with this group. It was so darned interesting-reading about the trials and tribulations of others...who were raising children exactly my son's age. I admit, I would sometimes get up at 2-3 AM just to "check in" on what the London Moms were talking about. An addiction was born. Only I didn't realize it.

I joined the Expectant mothers group for Oct'01 during my time at Parents Soup. I loved that group. I loved the set up (this was before the crazy odd way they have it going now), fell in love with the leaders, cried over early losses (while secretly running out to get another pregnancy test, just in case). And then, we lost the baby. And I posted about it and read, re read...and then re read again the condolences. And got angry because I felt they didn't really "mean it", I mean, I bet they were gleefully rubbing their bellies, being glad it wasn't them. At least, that's how I felt. So then, I lurked on that board. Yes, I confess, I could not stay away. It was completely the pulling of the scab off to examine the wound, and perhaps pour a little borax in.

and then, joy of joys, I found the TTCPL group (trying to conceive after pregnancy loss) Of course, this was a stupid move, because my husband was already hoping for the vasectomy he was already sure he was going to have. I lost myself in this group. They,alone, knew what I was feeling. They bolstered me, cried with me and ranted about the vasectomy the day that it happened. I made a few very close friends there that I am sorry I didn't keep up with, because now I feel I used them.

Moving on, for we must confess it all to be truly cleansed ( I hope) of the addiction...

Sometime after September 11th, and the fear, anger, disbelief, we all went through, I found a place called DemocraticUnderground. At the time I first found it, they were not accepting new registrants, as the whole blue v. red thing was heating up and there were a lot of trolls around. Finally, in March '03, I gained access to this site. This is when my addiction heated up like the bottom of a coffee pot with no liquid in it. In 4 years I posted 40,000 times. About politics, my family, activism...you name it. I posted it. Even the baby panda from the San Diego zoo got equal time. I moderated, fretted, wrote and rewrote posts, placed people on ignore (only to un-ignore them to see what they were talking about) donated, stayed up way too late etc. I literally spent hours on this site. Until I realized the toll it was taking on my family. Even then, I still logged in three times a day, for an hour, to check up on "friends", post responses, read private messages, and the like. Then, one day, I realized I was no longer there for the reasons I had joined. I had joined for activism, change and politics. I ended up staying for the gossip, intrigue and high school popularity contests.

It has been 3 months since my last post. I only went there twice this week. I have not signed on to another message board...okay, I'm lying there. I'm a member of the Detroit Tigers message board, but I rarely post, and that's sports so it's...er...different.

I can see where message boards are both productive and harmful. I've experienced both. I am happy for the experience, yet relieved I appear to be done. For one, my kitchen is a hell of a lot (okay a little bit) cleaner.

Happy Anniversary Poppy!

It has been almost exactly one year since my father's kidney cancer surgery. I can't believe I just typed that.

My father, who has never been sick, hospitalized, seriously wounded in his entire life was diagnosed with kidney cancer in May of last year. Never will I forget the chill that ran through me when he called from the parking lot of the doctor's office. "Malignant" was the diagnosis from the MRI. A "growth" he had known about for four years but was told not to worry about was indeed something to worry about. He abruptly hung up the phone so I wouldn't have to bear witness to his fear. But I knew anyway. And my heart broke.

My father, our family rock, our clown, my daughter's first babysitter, ...was indeed mortal. And I was scared. My husband has often told me that he fears the day (and I hate to type this, let alone think of it) my father dies. He is that important to our family. In the 37 years of my life he is a constant...has gotten me out of scrapes, listened to me, been a friend. And now, he needed us.

And it was a scary time, from opinions that the whole kidney should go, to chemo to finding a wonderful doctor who said a partial nephrectomy was all that was needed. And that was the route he went. Even during those days, he showed a strength that was amazing. He never complained. He stayed at our house for two weeks afterward. The upshot is that my parents had divorced after 40 (forty...yes that was a 4 and a 0) years of marriage mere weeks before the diagnosis. My father had gone for happiness after years of "staying together for the sake of the children"...children who would have been better off had they divorced in our youth. By his second day home my father was up and walking. By the end of the week, he took the children to the beach...this man with the incision that wrapped halfway around his torso.

Today, I look back (and a little bit forward, because one never knows) and am grateful for my dad.

Two days ago we went to the Tigers game. They lost, but I couldn't help feeling like we, as a family, had won. My dad is still here...he is healthy, and we enjoyed what families have been enjoying for generations. Hot dogs, and sun ( a little bit of sun because it was kind of a crappy day) and all of us together.

Happy Anniversary Poppy... and here is to many more.

Rock a Bye Sweet Baby James

Today, my son has a birthday. I can't believe it. ***I started this two days ago and then all hell broke loose and so, it is now two days later...so pretend it's still Monday, for me***

He is the one who was eagerly awaited for so (almost too) long. He was the one I didn't believe I was ever going to meet. We had, in fact, given up mere weeks before I became aware of his existence. I was battling (plodding through) the depression that had overtaken me and my once sunny (no, seriously) disposition with the successive losses in our attempts to add to our family. When the doctor hugs you, sighs, ticks something off on your chart and gives her nurse a "look"...well that is when you become truly hopeless.

And then he arrived. After months of wavering between disbelief and certainty that this was not going to happen, "don't get your hopes up old gal" feelings. Feelings that were so strong they led me to not even being able to hear him when they placed him on my tummy upon his birth. I was crying the happy, shaking, no one ever really cries when they are happy, delirious type tears that I didn't think were possible. His little bleats were mixed in with the excitement over the moment, my husband's (God I will never forget that look) face, the doctor's extreme enthusiasm and my own crazy thoughts. But there he was.

And he became, very nearly, king of our household. The prince of our entire extended family...and very nearly pope. Thankfully, with time, we've reigned him in.

I can't believe it has been nine years (and two days) since that moment. It sounds stupid but it does really seem like yesterday. And then I think of all the days in between and realize it is more of feeling of not remembering life without him.

He, who pooped out a barcode at 1 month of age leading us to wonder what he would "scan for".

He who had his mama sleeping on the floor of his room for months because she was still afraid she would lose him somehow.

He with the sawdust sprinkled on his head at the local fruit market.

He who would spend hours on his big sister's lap watching while she played computer games...

only to turn into...

He who would (and does) spend hours tormenting the same big sister by getting into her stuff.

He who still will cuddle with mama on the couch and delights in reading books together.

He, who still is the prince of our household, to match the fair princess who resides there.

How grateful we are to be graced with his presence, no matter how surly, on a daily basis.

And that song? Rock a Bye Sweet Baby James? That is his song and it still make me sob those crazy, happy, shaking tears whenever I happen to hear it.

Happy Birthday little man.

Is it Fungi or Fungii?

Yet another boring post about housekeeping. Are we beginning to notice a pattern here?

Today, I am cleaning out the fridge. So far I have pulled out all of the stuff (used to be labeled leftovers until the first week passed by) and put it on the counter. The garbage bag was full and needed to be taken out. It's so ever loving hot out there I figured I could stand to blog a little before doing that.

Back to the fridge. Why is it not as wasteful to throw out moldy, sometimes unidentifiably so, leftovers instead of just chucking them immediately after dinner/lunch/breakfast/midnight snack/extra dinner? I cannot bring myself to throw things away so I seal them up and place them in the fridge. And sometimes, if I'm really lucky, somebody will come along and eat them. Most times, especially in the case of leftover rice/soup/casserole, it just sits. After a period of time ranging anywhere from 1 week until the taxes are due next year, they are thrown out. While I am sad, and a little upset with myself for the waste... and for not being the kind of chef who can whip up an excellent meal from a leftover hamburger, one slice of pizza, half a cantaloupe and the rice... I move on, relatively unscathed. But, watch my daughter attempt to dump an entire, perfectly good, leftover serving of green beans? I will. not. have. it.

If this was January 1, here is where I would be making the resolution to try harder to cook just what we need. Speaking of that, why is it when I cook "just what we need" everyone wants seconds? But when I make two meatloaves I end up with a meat loaf and a quarter? Which, in the end, is really okay because everybody loves leftover meatloaf sandwiches with ketchup. But isn't so very good when the main dish is beef stroganoff.

Also, completely off topic, those of you who responded to my flyboy post, I appreciate your words very much. We sat down and wrote a letter to Joan LeRoy expressing our sadness and also letting her know how much that visit meant to our son.

YAWN

You know how you have one of those nights where it feels like you're sleeping, but maybe you're not? The kind of night where it might be more of a doze, but it just seems like you're aware of your surroundings the whole night through? Last night was one of those nights for me. Plus, I stayed up too late because...well, because that's what I do, I guess. I get up every morning with my husband at 4:30 (not because I love getting up with him but because if I don't get up, he doesn't get up...and if he doesn't get up, nobody's getting paid). I did the same this morning, and really bounced to it, considering. I did all the dishes that I neglected last night for a wild evening of generally doing nothing. I even cleaned the clutter in the living room. Then I just kind of sat there... on the couch...with a book. And honestly, I would still be there if my husband hadn't called and needed me to look up something online.

It is too hot to be really and truly awake anyway.

FlyBoy...Part Two

A few posts ago, I mentioned taking my son to an airshow. At that airshow he met a couple of the stunt pilots: Skip Stewart and Jim LeRoy. We had just finished watching their amazing show "Tinstix of Dynamite". At one point, during the show, a huge explosion went off and quite a few of us thought it was a plane that had crashed. Especially since a freaked out Freddy next to us said, "That had to have been a plane..." I found myself thinking, in that split second before we saw all three planes rise to the sky, "What are we doing here? With our son? Would we really want him to witness a plane crash?" ...and they do happen. A lot. Afterward, there was a meet and greet with those pilots. My husband told them how crazy they were. My son stared at them with the sparkly eyed wonder that only children are capable of achieving...before someone comes along and pulls the rug of imagination out from under them. Jim LeRoy got down on his level, shook his hand, gave him an autograph and told him about flying. Told him how it was no tougher than trying to drive while eating a Big Mac. Told him how happy he was to meet him. To come see him again. He stood, with a smile, and moved on to the next family. And we were impressed. By both him and Skip Stewart...and I felt okay again about airshows.

and then...

Jim LeRoy was killed in a plane crash this last weekend in Dayton, Ohio:

http://news.cincypost.com/apps/pbcs.dll/article?AID=/20070730/NEWS01/707300367

And this is when it sucks to be a parent. Because I cannot wipe away the sadness in my little flyboy's eyes...because I am too sad myself. Because I cannot make it "okay". Because all I can think of is a little 4 year old boy who lost his daddy. Because, on Saturday, that rug under my son got tugged on a little too hard.

Thank you Jim LeRoy, for taking the time for my son. You were a consummate showman.

Confessions of a (somewhat) Distracted Mind

I confess. I am hopelessly addicted to watching "America's Next Top Model". I only just started this addiction, after spending two years laughing, pointing and poking fun of my daughter for watching...and then finding myself a lump on the couch-watching the Saturday (or Friday!) Marathons they run. Ooooh, Nik was totally robbed! ...and I totally have a hard time believing that Amanda was really "that" blind in cycle 3 (please forgive if I am totally wrong and you have since seen her not seeing anything somewhere). I think I need help because the tivo is completely weighed down with scheduled episodes to tape so I can "catch up" for next cycle and my husband is giving me odd looks.


(although I caught him checking it out the other morning at 2 am...he says it's because the girls are "hot" but we then had a lengthy discussion on Anchal's "issues")


Also, what about that show on the BBC... "How Clean is Your House"? My husband and I cannot help ourselves; we tivo and watch it like a train wreck in progress. Are people's homes seriously that disgustingly gross? I confess-three times I have literally gagged and ran for the bathroom. Especially when Aggie (who really appears to get into the scientific tests while Kim is the S&M style give it all you got, whip you into shape you Naughty, naughty dog type) does her "results". Please don't read further if you are easily grossed out, for I fear I shall yak just by typing this but, "fecal matter in the kitchen?" ack! "Dust mite poop being breathed in?? *gurgle* Okay, that's enough... Bleh. Again, no idea. But we are avid tuner inners. And, I always feel infinitely better about my own...er...cleaning skills after a half hour or so of watching. I mean, at least I have no silver fish scuttling through my kitchen, after all, and my oven is clean.

And, I still think Nik was a better high fashion model than Nicole... so there. Maybe I am partial to the name.