Minding someone else's business

Normally, I'm the "mind your own freaking business and leave me the hell alone too" kinda person about things that are.. well, not my business.

like.. how many children should a person have? Not my business. You want one? none? 75? hey, not my bus.. seriously, not my business. repeat: not. my. business.

HOW-FREAKING-EVER

WTF is up with women who are pounding them out like a spawning flounder? Seriously. I mean, it's still none of my business, but hey.. When you need to buy a SCHOOLBUS to transport your family, doesn't it give you pause? No? Allrighty then....

HOW-FREAKING-EVER

When you go on television, I get to comment. You have officially made it MY BUSINESS. (also, if you're standing in front of a women's clinic with your 12 spawnlings, telling women not to get whatever health care they deem necessary? stfu and gbtw already. You have now made your reproductive issues fair game.)

You know these women.. they have a lot of reasons, some of them a religious imperative to have as many children as possible, because the earth won't be populated enough till every other species is wiped off the face of the planet. Some of them have husbands who insist that they have more children than they can handle. (Rusty Yates, if there's a Hell, you should burn. no, really.) Some of them like the attention they get being pregnant, they like "ze kyeewt wittwe bay-beeee" and dressing said offspring up in little outfits, and showing them off to all and sundry. And then, right around the time the kid is old enough to say "I hate you mommy! you SUCK!" (which, coincidentally, is right around the time when you can start having really interesting conversations with them) these women turn around and spawn a replacement. And the older kid becomes either invisible, a scapegoat, or the responsibility of one of their older siblings.

For some reason, it's the last catagory that I think are truly disturbed, and that I find truly disturbing. The idea that kids are no longer "fun" once they can talk. The idea that being pregnant or carting around an infant not only makes you interesting, desirable, special, but that it's the ONLY thing that does so. The fact that there is no way in hell even two parents can spend any reasonable quantity of quality, one-on-one time with each child when they've got a dozen kids enters into it as well.

It's just creepy, and sad. And when you go on national television? I get to comment. If you're depressed, (and don't have a sadistic bastard for a husband) why are you having another kid? If you can't feed the kids you've got, why are you having another kid? If you are stressed out, why are you having another kid? If you have 11 girls, and you want a boy? get a puppy. Hell, I wanted a daughter in the worst way, but I ended up with three boys that I love intensly, and would give none of them up for a daughter. (a massage, maybe) (no, not really.) So what the hell is up with producing till you get a specific sex? ::remember.. if you keep it off national television, none of my business. This is directed to women who go on talk shows, "nanny" shows, and Discovery network "101 kids, and another in the oven" specials.::

To quote Col. Tigh: "What the HELL?"

Oh my god. Move out to a farm and raise baby goats or something, but please.... If you are looking for someone to love you, why THE HELL are you having another kid? Babies do not love you. Babies do not love. Babies turn milk into poo. And then they scream. And then they sleep. Repeat ad nauseum. If you do your job right, and you don't get a joker in the genetics card game of life, you eventually end up with a person who will love you and respect you, and contribute to whatever society they live in, but when they first pop out? No love. You are their bitch, you serve and protect. When they are two? three? They love you... they also love smearing poo on the walls, smearing food all over their bodies, tossing rice krispies all over the room and singing the same song 1,952 times in a row.. and they love these things in no particular order, so you might find yourself dumped for a box of cheerios. Honestly, if you do your job as a parent, not only will they absolutely HATE you when they're 15, but even when they finally get back around to loving you again, they will HOPEFULLY love someone else more. Because ain't nothing sadder than a man who loves mommy more than the woman he's married to.

Get love, look for love, from adults. From people who didn't live inside you. Look for meaning in your life other than how many people you can add to the census. If you're a teenager, going on Maury is not a good enough reason to deliberately have a baby. And no, that baby won't love you either. That baby will make it difficult to go anywhere and/or finish your education. And having a baby for some guy won't make him love you. It won't give you "a part of him" because honestly... that baby isn't him. That baby isn't you. Children, offspring, are not redemption, they are not replacements, they are their own people who are entirely separate from their parents. Different. People. Who deserve to grow into whoever they will become, without bizzare expectations.

Good. god. And why the heck are you ON TELEVISION anyway? Can't you think of a better way to spend your time? Take your kids to the park already.

But don't take them the day I'm going there, because we want a chance at the swings.

:oP

Home Maintenence

I've made a bunch of really good friends on the net in the past decade. One of them is a woman who's preferred webname is Harvestmoon. Her home is in New Orleans. Of course, that's not where her house is. She grew up in New Orleans. She lived in several places around the country, but her home, her true home, has always been New Orleans. For the past few years, however, her house- where she lived, where she worked- was in New Orleans. She lived in a house that was built before there were power lines, that had a large tree in front, a garden out back, and she cared for a feral cat colony back there.

It's gone. Her home is broken, her heart is broken. Breaks my heart, too. When a place is home, it's not the buildings, it's not the location.. it's the people, it's the history, it's the relationships that thrive there.

Her home... looks like a bombed out city. While our government is busy passing legislation to restrict the Constitution (hey, it's just a piece of paper, right?) they are busy NOT passing legislation to fix up one of the greatest cities in our nation. New Orleans has a history that dates back to well before Jefferson even bought the land from France. I live in Ohio, and it's because of New Orleans that my city, Cleveland, became part of the U.S.

Two years ago, husbandguy and I bought an old house. It takes a lot of cash to maintain it, 'cause it's .. old. Even if we had bought a relatively new house, we would still have to spend the dough to maintain it.

People in New Orelans? don't really have that option. They were doing fine before the disaster hit, but after? Short attention span on the part of the rest of the nation has kicked in. It's been 7 months, and there are people who have STILL not gotten nearly enough cash to try and maintain- read demolish or completely renovate- their homes. Many of them have simply given up hope, left their hearts and homes, started over somewhere else. Harvest.. went back home. She tried TWICE to maintain a home where her heart was. The cats? gone. The garden? gone, of course. all gone. Her family, her history are there, but most people can only live without clean water, electricity, a working sanitation and sewer system and a decent roof over their heads for so long. I don't know why it should shock me that a once thriving part of our nation looks like a war zone. We're really not that special. I just expect better in my own country, I guess.

A friend of mine, who also lives in New Orleans, but had the good fortune to live up on the bluff where the devastation wasn't so horrific, sent me this video link. My Gods. People really don't care anymore. People are bitching about a stupid cowboy movie as if their kids will catch 'teh ghey' by walking past a theater showing it, but they can't give a damn about this. Think about it this way... if a disater struck your city, do you expect to get a return from all the federal dollars you've been sending the governemnt all your working life? Think about that when you do your taxes.. are we really getting our money's worth?

yeah, this post is all over the map.

2 year anniversary.

About 2 years ago, my youngest son had his last chemo treatment. He had his last dose of toxic chemicals sent through the catheter inserted into the largest vein they could find in his chest. He had his last dose of steroids and methotrexate mixed with yogurt. He had his last bone marrow biopsy. He had his last lumbar puncture. He had his last surgery- to remove the port implanted under his skin that they used to give him his chemo. In June we had a party for him, a combination "No More Chemo" and 6th birthday party.



A couple weeks before Christmas, 2000, Husbandguy and I thought our 2 1/2 year old had the flu. A bad case of the flu, but something that he would weather with enough pedialyte and snuggling.

We were wrong.

I went to get him up one thursday morning and my baby was so pale, his lips and tounge were about white. He didn't register me. He didn't cry. We took him to the ER, they inserted a tube down his throat, they drew blood that looked like dirty orange water. They didn't know what was wrong with him, and we took an ambulance ride to the Cleveland Clinic, where they put him in the PICU- pediatric intensive care unit. My toddler was hooked up to machines, with tubes coming out of him, he still didn't respond to anyone, and they didn't know what was wrong with him. It could have been a virus, it could have been diabetes (which his grandfather has) it could have been a lot of things. There were no blasts (cells that indicate cancer) in his bloodwork. The blasts were in his bone marrow. He was diagnosed with Acute Lymphoblastic Leukemia, also known as ALL. As soon as he was stable enough, they inserted a Broviac Catheter in his tiny chest, and started his chemo. He was in the hospital for over a month. Christmas, New Years, both spent at the hospital, in shifts, because while one of us stayed with him, the other parent had to stay with our other boys- midkid, who was almost 5 and the doomed one, who was 12 at the time.

After the first infusion, the cancer was gone... however, with leukemia, chemo treatments must continue for 2 1/2 years for boys. (1 1/2 to 2 years for girls. at least the protocol used at the Clinic prescribed this.) This is because you can't just cut out the cancerous part.. it's in the bone marrow, and they don't know which section of marrow it is starting in. Bone marrow replacement is a last resort. So, when babyguy finally came home, he was still not "all better" and I had to clean his broviac site every day, and give him meds twice a day. We mixed the meds with chocolate syrup and used a syringe to squirt the nasty stuff in his mouth. What we didn't know then, but found out later, was that when the leukemia first started, it weakened the blood vessels in his eyes, so that they leaked blood that formed clots inside his eyes. So not only was he getting chemo through a tube in his chest, and more chemo in nasty meds he had to take, and yet MORE chemo in shots in his thigh muscles, and bone marrow biopsies, and needles stuck in his spine (the last two of which he was under general anesthesia for, thank the Gods) he couldn't see. So after he had 'recovered' from his first infusion/major round of chemo, he had eye surgery, on both eyes.

Right before this, we had initiated potty training and weaning him off his pacifier. For obvious reasons, both these projects were put on hold.

I spent mother's day that year in the hospital with him, removing his hair, which was falling out in clumps.



And yet.. he was still a normal kid, a bald kid, but still a kid. He started talking when he was still too sick to get off the couch, and he kept talking after he got better, a mile a minute. He ran around like a little maniac, and the standing joke at the clinic was "Have you seen a little bald kid running around?" "You'll have to be more specific." The clinic staff became almost a second family. We saw them 3 times a week at first, then once a week, then every couple of weeks. A good period was once a month. On my first visit, a mother asked me about my son, and said "we're here for his annual blood check. My son's been cancer free for 10 years. It gets better, it really does."



For his third birthday, we had a party. He got a hat, which he loved. He was like any other little 3 year old, except for the tube coming out of his chest. The meds? part of regular life. Bi-weekly checkups? part of regular life. Changing the dressing on his broviac? part of regular life. Shampoo sessions? not so much. Eventually, his skin started reacting badly to the tape used on his dressing, and we had to come up with alternate methods to keep his dressing on. For a while, we used mesh bandages to hold it in place. It was during this period, that I went to visit a friend in Wisconsin, and Husbandguy let Babyguy play at washing dishes. He took pictures. We have a picture of a little bald toddler, wearing only a diaper and bandages around his chest, washing dishes. Child Labor? Boo-Yah! Hey, China has NOTHING on us.



Every time he spiked a fever, he had to be hospitalized for a minimum of 3 days. We spent a lot of time in the hospital that first year. At one point, he had to stay three weeks, but he wasn't sick. So we had a lot of cabin fever. There was a huge fish tank at the end of the hall on the pediatric ward.. we spent a lot of time going to see the fishies. There was a tv in the room, and we watched a lot of Batman Beyond andLittle Bear and Ranma 1/2. The fun part about Ranma is that it's Anime. An anime about a boy who turns into a girl when cold water is splashed on him. At which point he (she?) pulls his (her?) shirt apart to stare in disbelief at his (her?)breasts. Or someone else does. Humor. Some of the hospital staff were like "huh? wah?" and others liked it enough that they would stay and watch untill they had to get back to work. I got a lot of questions.. "Why did that guy turn into a piglet?" "Why did that man turn into a panda?" hee. I had a three year old who knew what "Ranma no baka" meant. double hee.



The thing is, all of it was just life. You get into a routine where "oh hey, time to spend a week in the hospital" is no big deal. Taking your preschooler to the surgical unit so he can be put under general anesthesia while they poke needles into his hip bone and spine is no big deal. You know exactly what to pack to eat, you know to wake him up at midnight to feed him some crackers and water because 'nothing by mouth' for at least 8 hours before surgery is the rule, you have a special backpack and lunchbox that is just for clinic days, packed with toys, crayons, paper, and books. You get to know Dora the Explorer, Little Bear and other Nick jr. characters better than you knew your first boyfriend. On days when Babyguy wasn't allowed to eat anything, I never ate anything either and then we would eat together, in the recovery room, a little picnic on the hospital bed with the hospital tv playing Nick jr and the staff coming in and taking blood pressure, temp and whatever. He got to the point where they would come in and say "time for vitals" and he would hold his arm out to put the blood pressure cuff on, then hold his arm up so they could put the thermometer under his arm. Automatically, no fussing, no crying.. this was just a part of regular life.



The summer of 2002, they replaced his broviac with a port imbedded under his skin. this meant no more dressing changes, no more tape that hurt his skin, he could swim, get wet, do anything any other kid his age could do. He could play in the bath. His hair was growing back, he was a regular kid... except for the monthly Clinic visits for his maintenence chemo. And the chemo he still had to take every day. And the steroids he still had to take once a month for a week. And the LP's every three months. The staff at the surgical center knew us by name, he had a chart that was thicker than an unabridged large print dictionary. But the best thing about the port? No more hospital time.

Which brings me to March, 2004. By this time Babyguy had had 2 surgeries to implant broviac tubes, surgery to remove his first broviac, surgery to implant his port, eye surgery and a hernia surgery. Not to mention all the times he was put under for biopsies and lp's. He'd had gallons of blood drawn and received tons of meds. So we went in for the last surgery, to remove the port. The Party came a little later.



We still had to go to the clinic once a month for a year- that didn't change, except that now we put the Emla cream (numbing cream) on his arm instead of over his port. He had blood draws every month for a year. Last year, this switched to every 3 months. This year, every 6 months.. for the first time in 5 years, I couldn't make my next clinic appointment because they didn't schedule that far in advance. This may not mean anything to most people, but it meant a hell of a lot to me. Starting next March, we'll go in once a year. Just a blood draw, nothing major. I still get antsy when he's sick. I still worry that the leukemia will come back. He's been cancer free for 5 years now, but sometimes it comes back when they are teenagers. Everytime, his blood counts are normal. Normal. This is one instance where I love normal.

I want to live in a world where the word "pediatric" is NEVER coupled with the word "oncology."

so, anyway, really long post this time. I just never sat down and wrote about this stuff before. Husbandguy is the writer in our family, not me.

Happy anniversary, Babyguy.

Thank you, Mr. Kucinich

I'm glad I voted for you. MY rep voted AGAINST the "patriot" aka fark-me-up-the-rear act.

too bad I can count on both my senators to be complete assgaskets. They won't even use lube.

Hey there Mr. Orwell, how ya doin???

Two more reasons why the "Patriot Act" is a gargantuan assbasket of pigshit.

Revised Patriot Act targets allergy, cold meds

Warning! Financial responsibility can lead to terrorism


By the time Chimpy Mcwunderboi is out of office, living in this country is going to be the equivalent of working in one of those stripper peepshows. Under surveillance by creepy control freaks who don't need to know about my shit 90% of the time. Who like to make life even more difficult just because they can.

WTF is up with that? OH NOES!!! I'm buying decongestants!!! Seriously, I'm an obvious threat to the Government who needs to register with the local authorities and report my location every 28 days. Because what? I might branch out into analgesics!!!... wait. Too late. I also "abuse" Excedrine migraine for the same reason. Oddly enough, I'm not such a big fan of sinus migraines. I know, weird huh?

"It's not such a big deal, all you have to do is present ID and sign something." That's entirely the point. Presumption of guilt right off the bat. Why do I have to present ID and sign for doing something LEGAL? "But it's to stop those evil meth guys. Don't you want to help with that? Don't you support the war on drugs?" Frankly, no. Not when it erodes even more of our privacy from the freaking government. There are enough hassles in life, without having to stand in line for 15 minutes and haul out ID to purchase a HARMLESS decongestant. The war on drugs is a joke, and last I checked, there is NO REASON to make psuedoephedrine Schedule One. And while we're at it, bring back ephedrine already. that's why an intelligent set of lawmakers created the concept of warning labels. Not only do they warn the dumbasses, but they provide entertaining reading for the rest of us.

Let's talk about fiscal responsibility for a minute. You'd think that those in the governemnt, those who write our laws would think that this is a goo-- shit, I can't even type that with a straight face. Seeing as how our Treasury Secretary is petitioning to raise the $8.2 trillion national debt limit, I guess reducing debt isn't high on their list of "things we give out gold stars for" is it? So getting dinged by the govt for paying off your credit cards should come as no surprise. Am I senile, or wasn't the National Debt nearing about zero under Clinton? Thank YOU, Chimpy Mcwunderboi!!!! Excuse the hell out of us not-rich-enough-to-shit-gold-bricks if we wish to reduce our interest payments to your buddies. BTW, your war? You pay for it. kthanxbye!

gah.

this entry was written while listening to KMFDM's "Ultra" over and over and over...

A Public Service Announcement.

Hazardous Household Waste

A very good site to breeze up on your chemistry. Especially if you are a dumbass (like me) and pour full strength bleach behind your tub to clean back there where you can't reach. (have an antique pedestal tub. right up against the wall. can't reach behind it.)

Where the cat has been, shall we say, "acting out" and refusing to use her litter box.

oy.

For Future Reference, (and in case my hardrive crashes) here are a couple very very good alternatives to that chemical which shall never be bought full strength again:

Toxic and Nontoxic Green Earth Friendly Cleaning Products
Household Cleaners. Poison Control Center

You'd think I'd learn, but noooooooooooooooo.

Well that's just smurfy.

Lately, I've been substituting "smurfy" for "gay" whenever I see the word "gay" used in a derogatory fashion.

It makes for some fun reading.

I guess it's gonna be pretty smurfy in hell.

Window seat, please.

High Student Arrested For Postings On MySpace

~commentary by Kit~


Myspace.com, it is a popular and sometimes dangerous website among teens and now there has been an arrest because of the site.

The reason is the image of a local high school student, holding a gun and allegedly a bag of marijuana. The boy has been charged, but there is much more to this story.

What a freaking dumbass.

“We can not have kids posing with drugs on websites

OH NOES!!!!!! TEH DRUGGS!!!!!!!

While many teenagers who use the myspace website boast about using drugs, one 16-year-old from Bensalem actually showed them.

He posted pictures on the popular website of him posing with a gun, and various drugs, while bragging he made 250,000 dollars a year by selling them.

Again: What a freaking dumbass.

“I do not suggest letting a child have a myspace account, more bad than good can come of it,” said Harran.

Roger that, Chief Wiggum. (eyerollage)

Police said that almost as troubling as the drugs is the lack of knowledge parents have as to what their children are doing on the computer.

I always assumed they were typing. or using the mouse. Just as long as they clean up the mess afterwards....

He added that kids are coming up with new ways to trick their parents.

well this has never been done before. wow. this generation is SOOOOOOOO different from previous ones.

“I think it's a good thing, but can't be a bad thing if people abuse it or use it the wrong way,” said John Cappol.

thank you, Captain Obvious.