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Trusted Advisors

January 19, 2006 by Kathryn

Someone recently told me that I’m not as funny via email as I am in my blog. Well, sometimes I’m not as funny in my blog as I am in my blog. So here goes one of “those” posts.

Very Mom’s post yesterday got me thinking about trusted advisors.

A while back we were refinancing our home. A few days before we signed, I had some questions but I couldn’t get ahold of our mortgage guy. The day of the signing I started to freak out. None of the documentation made sense to me. I didn’t have a degree in finances or legalese. What if our mortgage advisor was taking advantage of us and trying to rip us off? He called me back in the nick of time, explained everything to me in a way that made sense and has proven accurate and above board. Then he gave me the “trusted advisor” talk.

It goes something like this:

We can’t go to medical school, law school, accounting school, investment banking school and all the other schools out there. So sometimes we need to research and find a trusted advisor (I’ll add here, pray about who you pick) and then trust them to guide us in making some pretty major decisions. By all means, do your research but in the end if it seems inconclusive, listen to the person you hired to guide you.

I was a bit miffed when he gave me this talk because I didn’t particularly trust him but I’d researched as much as I could, took a leap of faith and followed his guidance. It turned out very well for us financially.

When I was going around and around in circles, reading everything I could find, trying to decide whether or not to immunize my kids, I finally came to my pediatrician whom I love and trust and said, “I’m scared to do this. There are so many books and articles against immunizing. It doesn’t seem necessary and there are so many risks. Is there mercury in these shots? (answer – no) I know the medical community pushes immunizations. What I want to hear from you, is – do you immunize your kids?”

She said she did so I did. I do. I’m not sold either way, but in the end I had to trust someone and so I picked her.

Very Mom’s post was about IUDs and the fact that some people say they are an abortive method of birth control. I had always heard that too.

A week after the birth of my second child, with no history of mental or emotional illness, I had a dramatic and terrifying dive into the world of Post Partum Mood Disorder. I became terrified, unable to sleep, eat, or keep food down. I lost weight rapidly and experienced hot and cold flashes, panic and anxiety attacks. I almost completely lost my breast milk, though I pumped every two hours in hopes of keeping some supply for when I got better.

My days and nights were filled with waking terrors and for several weeks the thought of death seemed like a welcome release. I was almost totally unable to function and needed to be babysat around the clock. Everyone said I was the last person they expected this to happen to and I agreed. I think I scared a lot of people.

It was the closest thing to hell I have ever experienced and I pray to God never to go through something like that again, though we do plan to have more children.

In the end, after a visit to the ER, afraid my body systems were going to completely shut down, I was referred to a well-known post partum specialist who I believe saved my life. You can’t go on for long if you never sleep and throw up everything you put in your mouth.

I have never prayed or devoted myself to God as I did during those weeks. In fact, many of the religious practices I started out of desperation during that time still linger on and have had a positive influence on my family. I was reminded that sometimes God heals people through an instant miracle and sometimes he heals them by inspiring good people to come up with amazing medical treatments.

The specialist put me on medication and within 3 days I felt completely like myself again, not drugged, just like Kathryn. I had always said I would never use “mind altering” drugs. I had always harshly judged people who did.

Dan convinced me by saying, “Your mind has already BEEN altered. What we need to do is alter it back. If you were diabetic, you would take insulin. Your body has a chemical deficiency. Replace what’s missing.

If you had lost a leg, you’d use a prosthetic limb. Sure, it wouldn’t be as good as your own leg, but at least you wouldn’t be hopping around on one foot, saying, ‘I’m too proud to use a crutch.'”

I was humbled, scared, and right before taking the medicine for the first time, I called my doctor’s emergency line, bawling and begging him to call me. “Please tell me about the studies again. Tell me how the medicine won’t affect my baby through the breast milk. Tell me I won’t be on this forever. I’m so, so scared to take it and I’m so so terrified not to.”

My new-found trusted advisor quoted the studies. He told me of his past experiences with women over 20 years, dealing solely with post partum issues. He calmed me and I trusted him.

Then it was time for birth control. I needed to be on the above medication for my family to function. I refused to be on it while pregnant. Also – Magoo, weighing in at 10lbs 8oz, had caused significant damage to my body and I was unable to walk normally or even lay down in any position but flat on my back. I had to use a special lifter to get my legs in and out of bed.

I could not be pregnant. I could not trust the rhythm method, or the fact that I was nursing (yes, my milk came back) to keep me from becoming pregnant. I was told that going on the pill would only worsen my PPMD symptoms and so we explored our options.

An IUD was suggested by my Obstetrician, someone I have trusted with my life and one of my most trusted advisors. He brought up the fact that outdated literature suggests that IUDs cause a woman’s body to abort the fetus and, knowing my religious background, he wanted to address that. I am a firm pro-lifer.

He said that the device has been shown by more updated research to act basically as a spermicide, disabling the sperm so they are unable to fertilize an egg. I haven’t read all the studies. Religious websites say one thing, choosing to believe studies done in the 70s for their information. Planned Parenthood says another. I don’t really trust either.

My doctor is my trusted advisor. He’s read the most recent stuff. He knows my concerns. I feel strongly that he shares my beliefs. I believe him. I don’t have access to all of the studies and if I did, would I understand them?

He is my trusted advisor.

(And don’t think I blindly follow any doctor’s advice. I used a midwife the first time around in another state and loved her. I couldn’t find one that I felt great about here so I went the MD route, which turned out to be a majorly great decision considering Magoo’s size and the complications. I even switched OBs 5 months into the pregnancy when I realized that I didn’t really trust my advisor, no matter how many people had recommended him to me.)

Filed Under: Uncategorized

Pumpkin Face and the Philosopher

January 18, 2006 by Kathryn

jack-oMagoo now has two teeth. The first one sprouted on the bottom and the other is kitty-corner on the top. He has been accused in the past of being a “punkin head” but now I think he looks more like a jack-o-lantern.

Yesterday we were driving along and out of nowhere:

Laylee: My fish named Jack swam out of his spirits and now he’s with Nemo.
Me: Oh, really?
Laylee: And he said, “Hey Nemo! I’m dead!”

fishies

I’ve taught her so well.

Filed Under: Uncategorized

Tip Tuesday – Crayons, HA!

January 17, 2006 by Kathryn

We love the Mexican restaurant in our hood. The food is decent, the service is good and it is ridiculously kid-friendly. (I can’t use the word ridiculous anymore without thinking of my brother who suddenly started saying, “It was so diculous, it was RI-diculous.” Cracks me up in an I-must-have-been-a-14-year-old-boy-in-another-life sort of way)

We often leave our table with a 3-foot blast radius of red rice and pinto beans and they still act like we’re their best friends (and this doesn’t include the mess Dan and I make, although most of mine usually lands on my convenient nursing shelf).

“Niña!” they shout as Laylee walks through the door. Throughout the meal she is repeatedly rubbed on the head, grinned at and called Niña. (That is not her name, but we don’t want to make them feel bad.)

Some restaurants are not so good on the kid-friendliness. I love it when an 11-year-old heavily pierced waitress hands Magoo a box of crayons (for food?) and brings Laylee one of those tiny wooden highchairs. Technically, I’m sure I could squeeze her patoot into the 10 inch opening but then “technically” she would go mental and clear out the joint. So, we graciously decline the offer. She’s a BIGIRL! Do you hear me?

My main tip for maintaining sanity while dining out with kids is – SPOONS.

spoons1 Yes, mi amigos. We ask for a large order of spoons with our drink order. We hand one to Magoo. He sucks on it until he gags himself and then throws it overboard. 2 seconds later, we hand him a clean one. The sucking, the gagging, the tossing. Periodically, he bangs it charmingly on the table. Everyone at the surrounding tables loves that trick. It is a fabulous game that has gotten us through many meals without baby mind-lossage.

spoons2 I’m sure you all have good suggestions, maybe even as good as SPOONS (although I’m skeptical) that will work to occupy a baby during dinner. But how about older kids? What’s your plan? How is it executed? I want to see blueprints.

This Tip Tuesday suggestion is brought to you by Karen.

Filed Under: Uncategorized

Who Cares?

January 16, 2006 by Kathryn

parkingToday I got the sweetest parking spot in the history of ever at the grocery store. (No, I did not park in the handicapped parking. How rude of you to ask! Bad hair is not considered a mobility impairment.)

It was the uber-dy bestest parking spot in all the land and there we were, me, Vinny and the munchkins. I didn’t want to get out of the car. In fact, with a spot like that, I pretty much decided to make the Grocery Mart parking lot my home.

You may be asking yourself, “Why do I care that you got the best ever-living should-be-reserved-for-the-mobility-impaired parking space EVER?”

I’m asking myself the same thing, “Why do these people care about my parking spot? Or how many blankets it takes to suffocate Magoo? My kids’ poop? My post partum drama? What my husband and I talk about when it’s WAY too late at night? How we got the train? My fish?”

Blogs are weird.

Why do I care that Shannon needs to get out more? That Blackbird‘s kid just got his braces off? That Beth has a mom you wish you lived next door to? Or that Mel had the best Christmas Card photo ever?

Is it ridiculous that I really want to know how Angela or Jessica met their husbands? If Regina really looks bad in hats? How old Katy actually is? What kind of scary MacDonald’s Lou attends? (can you say “attends” when you’re talking about a fast food joint?)

And yet, I can’t stop. Heck, they wouldn’t post it if they didn’t want me to read it, right?

Blogging keeps me connected with friends old and friends new. It lets me think I can write, giving me confidence to carry on with other projects. It gives me a void to send my thoughts out into and sometimes I get a response that affirms me or encourages me to do a 360.

It’s a show-and-tell, a therapy, a vice, an art-form, a documentary, a support group and a venting session all rolled into one.

bloggin

Blog on, my friends.

Filed Under: Uncategorized

All of the Whatever

January 15, 2006 by Kathryn

First of all, I have been FORBODDEN by my husband to post a picture of the mullet, which he says is not truly a mullet. He thinks it looks okay, it will grow out, and posting an image that I think is unflattering, to last forever and ever in cyberspace is just a bad idea.

This is sad because I think that picture may have been my last possible chance of upping my ranking in the BOB awards. There are rumors that the voting trends have to do with chest size (I know this is not true because I am only in 5th place right now), self-deprecating post titles (got em), or number of children (We’re just getting started baby. We’ve got nowhere to go but up).

I think if mullet pictures were thrown into the mix, we could really turn this whole competition on its head.

Alas, maybe Dan is right. It’s just not meant to be. I will be doing something to take the “long” out of my “short-long” but I haven’t decided what yet. My friend’s baby showed up at church today with the best hair I have ever seen.

baby b hair

Hmmmm…… How would it look on me?

baby b hair mom1

Van news – Our new license plate just arrived and it says IOU and then a number. If you see me driving around, don’t get your hopes up. I don’t owe you nuthin’!

Laylee news – She wears her Snow White dress at all times, and in all things and in all places. She has informed me that the bar soap in the bathroom is for princesses only. I am welcome to use the clear liquid soap. That is for mommies.

Magoo news – He’s now a crawler, a creeper, a stander, and a cruiser – resulting in MFBHT.

Massive Fat-Boy Head Trauma:
Pull self up to stand.
Laugh so hard that breathing ceases.
Fling head backwards or forwards.
Fall and slam head into hard surface.
Look stunned or cry (if someone makes eye contact with you).
Repeat.

Filed Under: Uncategorized

Sometimes You Feel Like a Mullet

January 14, 2006 by Kathryn

If you wake up on a Saturday morning and your hair has been cut in a mullet, you just know. You don’t have to look in the mirror. You may not even need to run your fingers through your hair. You just feel different.

You may feel the need to play a couple of periods of hockey to get your blood circulating or maybe you just want to consume large amounts of pork rinds before scavenging for spare headlights in your front yard. Either way, you’ll know.

Because of my New Year’s resolution to spice up my hair-do, I excitedly accepted the offer to join Karli’s hosted haircutting hullabaloo with my favorite stylist. Katie periodically comes out to the home of a local mom and cuts/colors everyone’s hair while we watch each other’s kids. She’s awesome and charges a pittance when we get a group together.

My last cut was a damage control chop-job to cut down on the mental anguish caused by seeing large chunks of my hair fall to the shower floor each morning….that I showered.

So this time, I wanted to do something really fun. I decided I wanted my hair highlighted and cut to look something like this. What I really meant was that I wanted a team of stylists to come live at my house and make my hair look like this every morning.

As Katie was cutting away, she said, “I know you’re sort of a low maintenance hair person (understatement of the year) so I’m not cutting your hair exactly like that picture. If I did that, it would end up looking sort of like a mullet. I’ll make the layers a bit longer and give you fewer bangs.”

Ack! Bangs! Were those bangs in that picture? This was all too scary. Although there was no mirror in the kitchen, I closed my eyes for the remainder of the cut.

When she finished blow drying and styling, it actually looked pretty great, despite the fact that I was repeatedly blowing the sexy messy bang chunk out of my eyes, my lower lip extended.

Driving home, I had the thought, “I may never be able to make it look like this again. I should drive to all my friends’ houses to show them that it was a cute cut once.” I resisted the urge and I regret that decision.

As soon as I woke up this morning, scratching my hairy pot gut, I knew it. I now have a highlighted mullet.

I don’t blame the stylist. She tried to warn me and fix my mistake. I know she will see me through this. I think I mainly blame Liz for suggesting that I come up with resolutions this year.

It actually may be a very nice cut. I’m just not good at hair. I’m not good at doing it or having it, really, in anything but the most basic style.

At least the highlights don’t look like zebra stripes. They are my first and I will always be able to look back on them fondly.

DavidBowieThe first time I got layers was not nearly so fortunate. My sister was using me as an experiment to learn how to cut layers and when she finished, I distinctly remember crying and bawling, “I look like David BOWIE… in Labyrinth!”

But that grew out. I suppose this will too. Until then, I’ve got me some monster-truck-rally tickets to buy.

Update: Karli has just promised to instruct me in the feminine art of hair care and styling. We shall see what kind of pupil I make.

Filed Under: Uncategorized

To Save this Message, Press 9

January 13, 2006 by Kathryn

I have an aunt who’s fighting hard to kick Cancer’s butt and send it home crying to its mother. She became my aunt when I married Dan 4 years ago and I instantly loved her. She just felt like my family. She is an encourager, a finder-outer, someone who wants to know everything that’s going on in your life and make you feel special – minus the sugar shock often associated with such people. Her killer sense of humor also helps.

Tonight I checked my cell phone messages while grocery shopping and there was a message from Aunt J, congratulating me on the success of my blog and telling me how proud she is that I am part of the family. She told me how much she loves me and how proud she has always been of me. To have a woman like her leave me that kind of a message brought tears to my eyes, in the grocery store. I guess she’s trying to send me home crying to my mother too.

I will never delete that message.

I have a few messages that have touched me in that way and I have saved them until a move or job-change has forced me to erase my entire inbox.

It got me thinking about all the talking, emailing and instant messaging I do every day. I send letters and thank-you notes by snail-mail as well. Words, words and more words are constantly spewing forth from the DYM.

I want to leave more messages that won’t ever be erased.

Filed Under: Uncategorized

Losing in the Dark is Fun

January 13, 2006 by Kathryn

Correct that to read more fun.

I have some practice under my belt.

Elections for Grade 5 student body president. We write names on pieces of paper. The teacher counts them in her head (Jeff Probst could learn a thing or two about counting from Mrs. Rung) and then lets us know that I lose. So the boys didn’t like the pink frosting on my campaign cupcakes. Big dealy-o! The defeat is quick and nearly painless. Like a lip wax, just rip it off.

Senior Year of College. I’m up for a College of Fine Arts Award. We finalists embarrass ourselves in front of a panel of professors. They talk behind closed doors. A week later I get a runner-up thingy at an awards ceremony and proceed to take my date out for ice cream. We have no second date. I think he ran off with the winner.

Last night JT and his posse of BoB Award death marchers (a moment of silence to weep for their lost sleep and possibly lost minds) put up the official voting system on the site.

“Sweet,” says I. I will vote for my favorite blog.

I proceed to do so.

Up pops a results/body-count vote tally mechanism of death.

The silent scream.

The not-so-silent scream.

I say a quiet prayer that they will close the voting tomorrow. Watching these votes come in will be like watching my own demise…. in slow-motion…. on the internet…. in front of thousands of people.

Now, I’m not asking you to make me the Seabiscuit of the BoBs, but for the love of string cheese, please don’t leave little Katie out on the school ground getting her butt whipped with cupcake frosting smeared all over her hair, while thousands of 5th graders look on.

Basically, what I’m asking is that you don’t leave me hanging with one vote….cast by someone living in the greater Seattle area…..who shall not be named.

As my husband and Mr. Trump repeatedly remind us, “losing” in a contest of this
nature is not a loss, but a tenth-place finish in a large group of amazing contenders.

Yes.

And still I beg for mercy.

Filed Under: Uncategorized

Quick! I Need to Puree this Concrete Block!

January 12, 2006 by Kathryn

No problem, you can borrow my Ultimate Chopper. You may also borrow it to make babyfood, but it just doesn’t have the kahones to do spinach. Sorry.

cheftonyThis offer brought to you by late night feedings with Laylee, hours of infomercials, and a chef, yes, a chef – named Tony.

It was late. There was lactation, yawning, flickering blue light and a chef’s hat. I distinctly remember the chef’s hat. A small person was eating me and Dan sat stoically by my side.

The knives, the glorious knives.

Shining, chopping, slicing tomatoes, meat, steel pipes, sweater-vests, various pieces of metallic currency.

All for the low payment of $3.86 every fortnight for the next 13 years. The amazing deal that would only last for 10 more minutes. 9…..8……

I switched the channel.

Me: Those are lame.
Dan: (staring straight ahead) Yeah.
Me: But they make them look kind of great.
Dan: Yeah.
Me: So manipulative.
Dan: (casually) I have the 800-number memorized.

This started a chain of events, now beyond our control. Chef Tony knives and other kitchen apparati grace the kitchens of several family members and friends.

I can now puree a brick….but again, not so much with the spinach.

Filed Under: Uncategorized

Rumors Confirmed

January 12, 2006 by Kathryn

Congratulations, interrogations, this, this, and now “The Twinge” is back.

But, I like you all. I’m just skeered, and I don’t have much info yet. Peace, yo!

Filed Under: Uncategorized

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