Patrick's Photo Shoot

Our friend Patrick is an amazing photographer. Conditions were not ideal, and he still managed to come up with lots of great pictures of us!

Turkey, Wine, and Pie--Oh My!

Happy Thanksgiving everyone. I am grateful for all of you, for my lovely family, for the safety and security we have enjoyed, and for the beauty God has placed around us. I have been making half-jokes about just taking some wine and pie upstairs and consuming them by myself, but I do believe I will make an appearance at the family dinner after all...

Homeward Bound (But Which Home?)

Well, here I am, back in sunny California. And it really is. I love Portland with all of my heart, but this time of year I either want to spend the day in bed alternating between sleeping and reading or I want to release my inner psycho, and shout, argue, and cry. It gets dark so very early up north, and that is on days when the sun rises at all!

Luckily, the holidays (and my birthday) will soon be upon us, so that keeps me cheerful. I adore Christmas decorating, gift-buying, music, and all other things seasonal. (With one exception: those stupid cards that say "Season's Greetings." If people don't celebrate Christmas, then they probably aren't sending cards. Just a pet peeve of mine; sorry. Oh yeah, and I hate that Beatles Christmas song you just can't seem to get away from. But I'm done, I promise.) Really though, this whole Christmas paragraph is just a tangential waste of your time--I'll get back to telling you how I am likely to want to kill you once it becomes fall in Portland.

Anyway, it is nice to be "back home." While Monterey and Salinas no longer feel like my home, they will always be "back home," complete with a few special spots and some of my favorite people. It is always troubling to discover how few of those special spots are still unspoiled, but I won't dwell on that; I can't.

Selah is having a good time, though she is a bit sick, unfortunately. She has also started potty training, so for those of you who won't be grossed out, I have some funny stories to tell. I am a little grossed out by the whole thing, but I have never had a stomach of iron. She loves Gammy and Pa-pa, as she calls them, and loves this giant house full of interesting discoveries and ancient, semi-broken toys. I love all of these things too, and look forward to the rest of the clan with their new semi-broken toys arriving tomorrow: Jack, Garrett, and Dennis; Sarah, Ed, and David; Jeremy and Jerry; Ed's sister, father, brother-in-law, and brother-in-law's mother (?). It will be quite a full house, and the time already feels too short.

Halloween and Hoodlums

While this was neither my first Halloween, nor Selah's, it felt like it was in some ways. Last year she was not mobile, and was content to be stuffed into what was essentially a bag with ears pretending to be a rabbit suit.

This year, she was a beautiful ballerina. With the help of much hairspray, I formed her hair into a cute little bun, tugged two pairs of tights on (for warmth) while she protested, and stuffed her rotund, though certainly swanlike belly into a little pink leotard. She was adorable! I finished the outfit off with a hand-me-down skirt from my neighbor Julia, in pink tulle with rose adornments.

At first Selah was demure, hanging back and coyly accepting candy if the giver pursued her. She said little, and smiled shyly. She hung back while her two companions ran ahead. Okay, okay, she just isn't very fast and they are! She tried shouting, "No! No!" since she couldn't keep up with them. Their enthusiasm was catching, however, and she started racing toward people's doors and pounding with all of her might (which isn't much). 3-year-old Micah was by far the best trick-or-treater of this first group, with 20-month-olds Selah and Carys struggling up and down the stairs, handing candy to people who opened their doors instead of vice versa, and occasionally attempting to storm the houses instead of waiting on the porch. Walking the four blocks or whatever was clearly tiring, and Selah fell and skinned her thumb on the way home.

Later, when Micah and Carys had gone home and the next round of small people had arrived (William, Ethan, Brianna, Sonya, and Willem, ages 1-5), Selah got to go out for her second round of candy-begging. She was already tired, so gradually morphed from the sweet ballerina of several hours earlier into a crazed, yelling one, who tried to stuff still-wrapped candy into her mouth and refused to let anyone help her down stairs. Everyone else, meanwhile, enthusiastically swarmed up and down the porch steps, snatching candy like there was no tomorrow.

We got home to an entirely empty candy bowl--some stupid punk stole all our candy from the porch (sigh--farewell caramels!) but hey, that's halloween in a nutshell:
angry, greedy, wound-up kids circling front doors like wolves while teenage thugs roam the neighborhood.

When Selah had officially stopped being a very good hostess, we
just threw her in the bath and let her unwind a little, then she was
much better! We gave some of her candy away to trick-or-treaters who had the bad luck to show up after the Great Candy Theft of '07.

Fun! I love holidays, even the stupid ones.

Ready or Not, Here He Comes

My friend Rachel is in labor, and once Selah wakes up from her nap, I will be headed over there! I am very excited, and feel like I am the father or something--I can't quite think clearly, and am agitated and happy. Okay, so I probably don't feel as intensely as a real father would, but you get the gist of what I am saying, right?

I feel a little like I didn't get to be present at Selah's birth. I mean sure, I was there, but mentally, I was nowhere. When you are in labor, your body just takes over, and you halfway kind of black out (mercifully, I guess). I was the only person who didn't get to see her crown, to see her come out, etc., and I'm the one who had to do all the work! I know what you are thinking--did you really want to see THAT anyway?

And yes; the answer is yes. Beforehand, I didn't think so, believing I would rather die than have someone videotape my arse. However now I halfway wish I had had a video made, that I would watch one time, all by myself, and then throw away! Because I know it wasn't pretty, but I also don't know what happened.

Don't worry Rachel, I am not bringing my video camera.

Pray for her, for Patrick, and for Baby Wilson!

Shirts for a Cause

A new friend who has recently joined our home community is a cancer survivor (Non-Hodgkins Lymphoma) who designs and sells t-shirts to raise money for his medical costs. Here's a good way to look good and help someone out!

http://shourisha.blogspot.com/2007/01/serious-monkey-business.html

Famous Writer!

I have scored my first paid writing gig--I am a columnist / blogger for EcoMetro, makers of the Chinook Book. If you'd like to visit my other blog, it is: http://www.ecometro.com/portland/categories.aspx?tag=Messays

In honor of this, and because I am currently watching Grey's Anatomy, which I am guilty of being addicted to despite its abhorrent overdramatic nature, I have decided to become a screenwriter as well.

Here's my first project: a Grey's Anatomy episode! Siamese twins will be admitted to the hospital, and all the interns will gather around their bed, while Bailey explains the dilemma. One of the twins, Sheila, has an extremely rare but agressive form of cancer. Though they are attached at the brains, Dr. Shepherd will attempt to separate them to save the healthy one, Jamie. In the middle of the surgery, things go downhill, and unfortunately Sheila dies. Jamie is very sad, feeling guilty because her deceased twin had been in love with Alex, and Jamie was sleeping with him while Sheila was sleeping.

Meanwhile, Christina and Meredith, on vacation in San Francisco, are shopping in Gymboree, the only store that carries clothes small enough for them. Suddenly, an earthquake hits, of an unprecedented 14.0 magnitude! Christina and Meredith are forced to perform open-heart surgery on a fellow shopper using only a hanger, a paper clip, a onesie, and a stick of chewing gum. They manage to save the shopper, much to the relief of her three small children.

It all wraps up with Meredith explaining that sometimes our lives are like an earthquake, ravaging us unexpectedly, and that sometimes we have to be separated from ourselves before we can see ourselves clearly.

So what do you think, those of you who have seen Grey's Anatomy? Pretty good, no?

Torn

I am starting to feel like I am well on my way to becoming an insane person.

How is it that I can love a tiny little warm body so much, and yet wish that she would, well, just go away? Not forever, mind you, just for long enough for me to do all of the many many things that I am trying to do, supposed to do, and maybe even, God forbid, things I WANT to do? Not that I can even really remember if there is anything I want to do. I am so busy being a wife, a mom, an employee, a homeowner and bill-payer, a ministry leader, a friend, and whatever else, that I am starting to really grieve ME. Oh yeah, I remember--I really want to write. I also really want some friggin' time to relax, so that I don't do things like randomly cry when I talk to people, or hysterically overreact when I feel frustrated by Jeremy or Selah.

But how am I supposed to do that when I am so tired, and when I have a toddler who often wails and cries and clings to my leg when I try to leave the room even to go to the bathroom, use the phone or the computer, or go put clothes on? How can I sit down and be creative when I can barely think enough to do my work over the angry whines (she has started to hate my computer)?

Anyway, I am done feeling sorry for myself. However, if you happen to know any babysitters who want to work for free, please let me know! :)

Funny Thing

This morning, I heard Selah playing in her crib (and it was even a fairly reasonable hour by this point). I got her up, and brought her to our bed to wake her daddy up. She jumped all over us for a few minutes, turned on my clock radio, then left, following Emily. We just lay there and listened, and it just made me crack up.

First, as she went after Emily, I listened with trepidation, waiting for Emily's distress cries, but they didn't come. I think she must have been asking Selah to let her out, but Selah just started trying to convince Emily that she should go to bed. Selah takes great joy in putting "babies" (stuffed animals and dollies), as well as ME, to bed, saying, "Ni ni. Ni ni." [For those who are not members of the Garwood family, "Ni ni," pronounced nigh-nigh, means good-night.] So she followed Emily around, who was meowing, saying "Ni ni!" and we listened. Emily did not listen.

Then, Selah discovered Jeremy's cereal and ice cream bowls from last night (yes, on the floor--don't judge us please. We are tired and tend to console ourselves with food at night, and then not clean up, apparently). She tried to bring them into the kitchen to put them on the counter, but, by the sound, didn't quite succeed. So then, she thoroughly rebuked Emily again: "No yum-yum! No! No yum-yum!" I believe this was loosely based on when Jeremy and I won't let Selah have food she wants (either something she has spied on our plates or something she has tried to pull off the counter or out of the pantry). So Emily was not allowed to have any of the imaginary food that was in Selah's bowls. I'm sure Emily was crushed, though she didn't throw a tantrum like the toddler in question tends to do.

Next, after a bit of loud running, Selah started saying, "Bye bye! Bye bye!" I couldn't see her, but would give my left arm if she didn't have her purse on her arm. She enjoys picking it up, slinging it over her shoulder, waving, and saying, "Bye bye!" to show that she is leaving. (Presumably whoever is the recipient of this show is being left with a babysitter; hopefully Selah would not leave us unattended.) Meanwhile, Emily was probably holding her breath, hoping that Selah truly would leave.

I turned to Jeremy and laughed, "It's like a whole little household is going on out there!" The funny thing is that Selah treated Emily as she feels treated: go to bed! No, you can't have any food! Bye! We are leaving you! At least she has an outlet, though--Emily clearly falls lower in the power hierarchy than Selah does.

Friday

I have reached the end of a long week, though a good week. I feel weary, as I always do on Friday, and always have whenever I am working relatively full-time. It probably doesn't help that I biked to and from work today, and on the way back towed what felt like approximately 983 pounds in my bike trailer (Selah, my laptop, a bag full of stuff I probably didn't need from the Goodwill, plus my bike tires are getting flat and it was windy in the wrong direction). I am very happy that it is the weekend! Jeremy has been so sick all week that it feels terrible watching him try to slog off to work each morning, and now we can relax, play, and voluntarily work!

Warning: No matter who you are, you will probably hate the rest of this blog, either because you think I am watering things down, or because you think I'm a judgmental jerk. So maybe you shouldn't read it. :)

Last night I feared I deeply offended someone by talking about my faith. I went to happy hour with two friends who aren't exactly work friends, but are people I know through work and WiPP. (Hey! I just figured out how to insert links in my blog! I know, I know, you are probably thinking that any moron can figure out how to do that. But if you are, shut up.) Anyway, we got to talking, and the topic went to gay marriage, and I expressed that I voted against that proposition that outlawed it back when, which is how we ended up at Imago--it's a long story; if you don't know it, we will tell you. It does involve an amusing dash out the back door of another tiny church and us driving away with tires squealing while nice old ladies looked out the window at us in confusion. One of the women with me expressed that that's why she can stay Catholic--the church she very occasionally attends told them they can believe whatever they want, or something to that effect. So the woman I may have offended (who won't marry her life partner because there are people in this country who can't have that privilege) asked, "So, as someone who doesn't subscribe to any organized religion, do you mind if I ask if your churches are like that, are they really Catholic/christian/what they say they are?"

So I launched into my spiel about theological conservatism with social liberalism, yada yada yada, and I don't think she liked it. At all. And I kind of get that, because there are lots of things in the Bible I struggle with myself. I don't have a hard time believing that people are born gay. I can believe that the Edenic way of life involved a man and a woman, since, well, look at our physiology. Tab A, slot B--if you don't catch my drift, talk to your mom. I also believe this is a fallen world, and people are born all kinds of ways that are hard for them. I am really really lucky, for no particular reason--I am a white, protestant, heterosexual, English-speaking American, raised in a well-off, educated family. All I'd have to be to is male to be sitting pretty on top of a giant glass ceiling. I do know that the Bible just doesn't seem to have a lot of room for being gay. I don't know why. I somehow hope that we are wrong, that we are misinterpreting something. It is easy to find reasonable and educated articles online to this effect.

I do know this, however: whether you consider it A-OK, you are unsure, or you think that a gay lifestyle is a sin, there is no way you can tell me that it somehow disqualifies a person from having a relationship with God and a place in the church. I am definitely a sinner myself. I don't even want to tell you how much. Especially not since I can't quite remember who I have told about this blog. I still get to love God though, to follow Him, and even to hold a respectable place in my church and society. I would rather see someone in a gay, monogamous relationship than out there doing something that clearly injures other people or brings tremendous shame to Christianity--like killing people overseas and pretending God's on our side. This might all be pissing off some of you people out there, but that's okay--I feel pretty firm in my convictions. I am not saying that the Bible says one can do whatever one pleases. It doesn't. I also know, however, that we had better think twice before casting someone out for one kind of behavior we don't agree with, but freely behave however we want, and be silent friends of others who do the same.

Anyway, I hope that my friend understood I wasn't trying to make a judgmental statement of any kind. I also don't want to lie about or alter my convictions. It would be easy to do so, and I didn't grow up in an environment that was particularly supportive of them, but I need to, in my growing as a person, stand up for what I believe, and yet examine myself, and be certain that my beliefs are not contrary to the nature of the very God I know.

Okay, end of rant. I don't know why this issue has been on my heart for a long time, but I honestly feel as though God wants me to be involved in it. I don't know what that means, quite frankly.

Ode to Emily

I got Emily my freshman year of college. I was living in the dorms at the time, so was not looking for a pet to adopt. However, an unkempt youth with a guitar and a box full of kittens got my attention, and the teeny kitties won my heart.

Emily lived in my dorm for a week (much to the delight of everyone on my floor), then stayed with my parents until I lived in an apartment the next year. She learned to be a hardy cat, and would sit in the middle of a living room when a crowd of college students would pour in, bang around and shout, and then would leave. One of my roommates persisted in feeding her bacon even though she wasn't allowed table scraps, and another called her "Killy." (long story.) She drove up and down the state of California with me whenever I went on vacation, riding on the back of the bench seat in my pickup truck. When I got another kitten at the end of college, she took it well.

She came with me to law school, and left with me, moving back into my parents' house. She has seen me through breakups, changing jobs, and nine years. When I got married, she would come and find me whenever the tumultuous life of a newlywed made me sad, hurt, or something else fairly silly, and would snuggle me while I cried.

Emily moved up to Portland with us, and tried to understand why I didn't want to hold her when I was so nauseated from being pregnant. She hasn't left us yet, which I always joke I expect--she tolerated Selah from the beginning, and now will even sometimes rub against her (okay, and sometimes nip at her or scratch).

Emily has cancer; she has a huge tumor in her shoulder's bones. It may be because of a low-cost vaccination clinic we brought her to last year instead of going to the more expensive vet. Apparently leukemia and rabies vaccines have aluminum in them, which may be why they occasionally cause cancer. Reputable vets vaccinate the hind leg, which can be amputated if a tumor grows, and do not give all cats all vaccinations. The clinics at Petco, etc., shoot the animals in the neck skin, which is faster, but a tumor is much more difficult to remove from this area. My vet also said she probably would not have given an older cat a vaccine for leukemia, because they are less likely to get it unless they fight often, and the vaccination carries a higher risk. Do not bring your pets to these clinics.

I am really sad about my kitty. I will know by next week which particular kind of sarcoma she has--caused by the vaccination or not. Either way, the tumor would have to be removed by a fairly major surgery. One producer of the vaccine is fairly helpful as far as helping to treat the animals who develop the cancer; the other is not, The surgery costs thousands of dollars.

A Bad Week for Kitties

First story: Emily, of biting fame, has a huge lump on her shoulder. We just discovered it last week, while my parents were visiting, and really couldn't tell if it has been there for a long time or if it just cropped up. I am taking her to the vet tomorrow, and I want them to tell me that it is both non-life-threatening and cheap to fix! She has been my kitty since freshman year of college, and understands me like no one else does (sorry, Jeremy--you're next).

Next story: This lovely, four-month-old, tabby kitten has been hanging around my work, Ink & Paper Group, for about a week. At first we responded to a lost kitten ad regarding him, but it turns out that he lives nearby, had already been found, but is just allowed to go outside. He is completely goofy, with huge paws, ears, and a long tail, which hint that he means to grow into quite a large kee. Everyone became smitten with him, and we let him wander around the I&P house, sleeping under people's desks, etc.

Monday, Linda was walking me out to my car to help me with Selah, and Purrsley (his name. I know.) darted after us. Perhaps this is totally foreseeable, what is coming, but we obviously didn't foresee it. He darted into the street while I was strapping Selah in, and I heard Linda scream, and saw him doing this horrible, sideways run, and he ran away, leaving his mangled collar in the road. Nobody could find him, and I left work feeling sick to my stomach, frowning through the foreboding clouds, and thinking that life sucks.

Thankfully, Linda came back at 8PM, and found him, injured but alive. She took him to the cat emergency room, and they pronounced that his bones, etc., are all intact. He slept all day yesterday, and today seemed more alert, and hungry--but a bad smell seems to be emanating from his injured mouth, which worries all of us. Linda and I passed out fliers for his owners to find yesterday, but they don't seem overly concerned about him, since they didn't even try her home phone number, listed on the flier, but just left a message at the office.

This kitty needs further care, and I am so afraid he will get infected and die or something. It is bad enough that Linda has had to foot his vet bill this far. Linda's preteen daughter has fallen in love with the kitten, and declares passionately that his family doesn't DESERVE to have him! We all discuss this in a distanced tone, pretending to think she is a poor, sensitive child, who may be hurt by loving this cat, when really we all feel exactly the same . . .

Pray for my kitties. Our little furry friends have always held such a soft place in my heart.

Thank God for Small Blessings

Well, I had pretty much decided to throw in the towel. On what, I am not sure, but on something, because I find myself in one of those spots where just everything sucks. Selah had an ear infection, followed by bouts of teething, and now . . . ? Something involving continuing to wake up in the night crying, crying all day, napping badly, and generally refusing to eat, sleep, or do anything else that might make our live easier. Work is nuts, and one of the partners is planning to leave. I have no idea how we are going to make ends meet on the homefront. You know, just one of those every little thing, when it rains it pours kinds of deals.

Yesterday morning I came upon Selah helping herself to a bottle of children's tylenol. A phone call to the poison control center and fifteen minutes of hysterical shrieking (her--she wanted it back) later, I felt reassured, but tearful and shaken. Things only went uphill from there, such as when I tried to call Jeremy to tell him about it and discovered my cell phone wouldn't work.

As I was about to leave, to bike in to work, I found that my sister had sent me the seventh Harry Potter book. Then, when I got to the office, Jeremy was there to give me a hug and to take Selah away so I could work. These two things really got me through the day, I tell you!

Today I balanced on the cusp of feeling optimistic and on that of feeling down. Selah was happy and so cute here and there, greeing older ladies on the street and being a perfect angel when I took her into a store. It was great when I had babysitting for a morning, and just got to work with no one crying. She did only nap for about forty-five minutes, then cried inconsolably for thirty after that.

When Jeremy got home, we watched The Pursuit of Happyness. Overall, this should have been an uplifting movie. However, the fact that it was about a man, a father, struggling to make ends meet, being abandoned by his wife when financial struggles got too hard, eventually losing his housing, sleeping in a subway station and then a homeless shelter--well, I think it got to Jeremy. The fact that they were rich in the end may not have really made up for the horror of the rest of it. I think it was supposed to be a hard-work-pays-off kind of story; it seemed like a life-sucks-and-nobody-loves-you-but-your-poor-kid-when-you're-down kind of one.

Then I checked my email, and found three emails, all in a row. The first was from a trusted professor, reaffirming her (and thus my) faith in my editing ability. The second was from an author I work with, saying she would love to be a reference, and also would advertise my freelance services in several writers' newsletters she edits. This woman has always raved about how much I helped her and how good I made her look as a writer. The third was from someone whose book I rejected, thanking me for writing the most tactful rejection letter she had ever received.

It is astonishing how much those three unlooked-for affirmations rejuvenated me! I can do it! I don't have to quit everything and move to Hawaii, or make Selah dance for quarters on the sidewalk! I do love my job, and everything will be okay. Even if it's not today. And I guess that's okay.

Gratitude

Today in church, Luke Hendrix spoke. I tend to become highly suspicious when anyone but the lead pastor (in our case, Rick McKinley) speaks, as I become fairly accustomed to the style of sermon that I like to hear.

However, Luke did not let me down. Today's focus was on Imago's annual volunteer day--this year entitled "Love Portland. " (www.loveportland.org. Apparently loveportland.com is something QUITE different.)

When asked which was the most important commandement, Jesus said, "'Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind.'38This is the first and greatest commandment. 39And the second is like it: 'Love your neighbor as yourself.'40All the Law and the Prophets hang on these two commandments."

Interestingly, we are also told, "Seek the welfare of the city where I have sent you into exile, and pray to the LORD on its behalf; for in its welfare you will have welfare," in Jeremiah 29:7.

Anyway, Luke asked us to examine our hearts before volunteering for any of the projects on September 8th. It is true--too many people try to be perfect and serve their way into being so, eventually burning out, hurting people, etc. I somehow took away mostly just gratitude, that God loves us even if we don't understand it. Moreover, what touched me far beyond any of the rest of the sermon was this:

Matthew 11:28-30 says, "Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. 29Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. 30For my yoke is easy and my burden is light." Jesus might ask us to love Him, but it is so much more peaceful than trying to do everything ourselves. Trying to control and constantly damage-control my life always makes me feel stressed and even despairing.

However, when I don't look for "the" solution to everything, marvelous things fall into my hand. Tonight, when we are having trouble finding food for ourselves, we are eating some lovely chard that a man was giving away from his garden right outside of the building. I have a friend who babysits for IOUs, and even has said we could simply babysit for her child-to-be down the road instead of paying her. We have been loaned everything from baby clothes to an excellent crib. All of these gifts came from people who love God, and therefore, for whatever reason, love us. :) We have wonderful families, friends, community, and a good house and jobs. We are healthy and we have each other. What is not to be grateful for? And I feel full, and ready to help others just for the joy of helping.

My Alter Ego

I don't think I have ever been aware of how much I must see Selah as some part of myself as I have begun to be now that she is interacting more with other children, often in less-than-cute ways.

When I was chatting with friends at a gelatto shop and their two-year-old son tried to take Selah's toy, she didn't fuss, say "no," or simply let him have it, as she formerly would have done. Instead she screamed at the top of her lungs as if he had tried to cut her head off, frightening him so much that he ran away and lay down on the ground, terrified. Later in the day when this same child tried to have some of her cheerios, she attacked him with her snack cup, hitting him with it repeatedly, and when I whisked it away, she used her sippy cup to spray him with water. I was horrified.

Our darling baby has turned into a toddler, and I take this personally. She is supposed to be an angel, thereby reflecting both my first-rate genes and my outstanding parenting techniques. Instead, we have become a spectacle, the sort of scene-causers that cause you to avoid our aisle at Safeway: a screaming toddler throwing fits so hard that her lips are turning blue from oxygen deprivation, and a distraught, tussled mother, begging, "Please honey, just put back the M&Ms. Please? Please sweetie? Okay, fine! Eat them! Just be quiet, please!"

Tonight we ate dinner with our neighbors, and Selah spent some time playing with their daughter. The three-year-old girl was actually being quite nice for a three-year-old, but she had her limits; Selah surely should not be allowed to monopolize the toys or press all of the buttons on her small stereo. In response to the girl's attempts at regaining some control over the chaos, Selah shrieked "nonono!" clenching her eyes shut and waving her fists wildly. I'd love to say I was shocked, but this has become an every-five-minutes production. It is tiring to say the least, and generally kind of embarrassing. The real rub, however, is that this wasn't supposed to happen. Selah is so social, so friendly, so downright flirty--so why is she beating up little boys who are sharing her snack? I remember statements like "I'll give you something to cry about," and "DoYouWantMeToPullDownYourPantsAndSpankYouRightHere???" and I suddenly completely understand what drove our poor parents to make such silly and useless threats. And of course I was dumb enough to believe them. What scares me is that I know, just from looking into Selah's scarily shrewd little brown eyes, that she would turn to me in a couple of years and say "Yes," calling me on my bluff. Who, after all, in their right mind, would ACTUALLY pull down their child's pants and spank them in a restaurant? Don't answer that, because I certainly wouldn't, and that's all that matters.

I guess I don't know what else to say, except to apologize in advance if my child happens to advance on you at some point, rebuking you loudly and swinging.

Living in a Celiac World

As many of you know, I am a celiac--or, as some prefer, I have celiac disease. I know this sounds like something fatal, or perhaps like I have some kind of mental illness that might cause me to spontaneously shriek obscenities at you (that's a different problem that I have), but it really is more of a lifestyle issue. When I was first diagnosed, it felt like a huge curse, but now that I have progressed to the acceptance phase, I see it as a way to help educate people and to be an activist--this is a very common problem, with scientists estimating that up to 1 percent of the population being afflicted.

For those who may not know, celiac disease is an auto-immune system problem. When a celiac eats wheat, rye, or barley, my body sees their gluten as being something to attack--and attacks itself in the process. Celiac disease may produce no symptoms at all, but commonly causes various stomach ailments, as well as side-effects such as depression, infertility, fatigue, weight loss (not the good kind), etc. It also produces skin problems in some celiacs, such as hives or eczema. Celiac disease damages one's small intestines, resulting basically in malnutrition (which is why all of those symptoms occur--one's body is not getting the nourishment that it needs). At this point, it can only be "fixed" by one method--diet. I must eat gluten-free, meaning...yes...I cannot eat girl scout cookies.

This brings me to the activist part. I have known for two years that being a celiac is responsible for my feeling cruddy for many years before that. When I was first diagnosed, I experienced a lot of grief, and also had a hard time finding things I could eat. Even in these past two years, I have seen changes--more people I know have heard of this ailment, Safeway has started carrying some gluten-free products, and I have had greater success finding professional chefs and waiters willing to help me eat in their restaurants. I have hope that someday, when I am a grown-up (still waiting), living gluten-free will be merely a slight inconvenience, not a nearly insurmountable obstacle. I have always been IMMENSELY grateful to those of my family and friends who have gone out of their way to make special things for me (I never expect people to learn a new way of cooking just because of my needs), and to waitstaff who accomodate me--on our anniversary, at GarWoods on Tahoe, our waitress brought me a plate of strawberries since I couldn't eat the bread. Only recently, however, I have decided to write disappointed letters to managers and owners of restaurants when their servers give me responses like "We don't really know," when I ask them if there is gluten in an entree. You don't KNOW? What kind of response is that? I can't eat gluten--it is not something that I just don't like to eat very much. If you just don't know, I cannot give you my service. I am okay with "We have done our best to find out, and yet we still feel uncertain," or "I don't know. I will go find someone who does." But simply "Um, probably not?" is unacceptable--but no one will know that if I do not tell them. Jeremy has been an amazing support and advocate as far as that is concerned, and will occasionally say things like "Would you go ask please?" or whatever, which is nice, becauses frankly I don't want to have to spoil my relaxing evenings out being militant. But if a restaurant leaves me no choice, I must have the strength to be an activist, and to assertively pursue my own enjoyment.

Anyway, if you would like to know more about celiac disease, here are a few links for you:
www.celiac.com
www.celiacchicks.com
www.csaceliacs.org

And kudos to those restaurants that either want to serve people or want to capitalize on celiacs' business--frankly, I don't care which it is! Outback Steak House, PF Chang's, Andina, Assiago, Cafe Flora, and The Corbett Fish House are all restaurants with gluten-free menus available on request. Imagine my glee when I don't have to play 20 questions with my server! I have also had amazing help, at least once, at Rockbottom Brewery, Red Robin (go figure), Fife, and GarWoods.

Imperfection at its Finest

I would just like to take this moment to say that I do not plan to edit this blog until it reads like Webster's Dictionary. It's a blog, for crying out loud, so lay off now, Julia, Beth, and anyone else dying to find errors. :) There, that's my disclaimer. I mean, their, thats my disclamer.

Blogging is for exhibitionists

Okay, so hopefully I got your attention with the title. I figure I have to set myself apart somehow; everyone I know seems to have a blog these days. It's true though, I guess. Why else write about myself where other people can see my thoughts?
I thought I would make a blog for lots of reasons. Since you're here, you have to listen to what they are.
First of all, I like reading the blogs of those close to me (or sometimes those of people only medium-close to me). It tells me things they might not tell me themselves.
Second, I need to get back in the habit of writing.
Third, I have become possessed by a fear that I might let my life pass me by without remembering to notice or remember it. My baby girl already isn't a baby anymore. She can say "It's a slide," "It's a ball," and "It's a flower." I do believe that she thinks there is a word pronounced "itsha," which one attaches to the start of each sentence, while pointing wildly at the object of discussion. But I digress.
I think my fourth reason is somewhat related to my title. I am not an exhibitionist; I have, however, always been overwhelmed with a fear that I don't actually exist. While Jeremy would rather key his own car than put a sticker on it, I am tempted to have a "sticker of the day" section, where I express my views and show off tacky, girly art. I talk too much. I write my name on everything. Fearful? Perhaps. Possessive? Certainly. Maniacal? Most certainly.

So anyway, if you want into this maniacal, exhibitionist, possessive, and sometimes boring world of mine, read on and weep.