Under the Category of "What the F?!"

"Soy is feminizing, and commonly leads to a decrease in the size of the penis, sexual confusion and homosexuality. That's why most of the medical (not socio-spiritual) blame for today's rise in homosexuality must fall upon the rise in soy formula and other soy products."

~Jim Rutz, founder-chairman of Open Church Ministries on WorldNetDaily

I thought it might be from The Onion, but no. He actually believes this. Too bad he didn't include his sources.

Putting Away the Past

Whenever we go to the park, Hannah does the normal kid thing and looks for someone to play with. I, on the other hand, recently noticed that I do the abnormal, helicoptering of an overly anxious parent. What if they don't want to play? What if they don't like her? What if they just leave her standing there alone?

I hadn't realized that I had stored so many of my childhood memories in such brightly colored boxes, strewn about the dark corners of my brain. But now I find myself unpacking and reexamining those boxes. (Why, by the way, do the awful moments have to be the ones I remember best?) Some contain memories of being left out, dropped by friends who wanted to hang out with the cool kids. Some contain remnants of the crushing shyness that made me cringe, shrinking lower in my seat whenever a teacher directed a question in my general direction. Some are filled with the frustration I felt at my inability to just go up to people, strike up a conversation, something. Anything.

It's like an old scar on the back of your knee: you forget about it until you have another reason to look there. And I didn't think to look until I became aware of my anxiety about Hannah and decided to search around for the cause. And strange as it may seem, I'm glad that I looked. I'd much rather know about it now so I have time to stomp it out. Hannah is not me. I cannot live her life for her. I cannot be so anxious about her that I don't let her do anything that could cause her to be hurt. After all, I know first-hand the long-term effect of a mother who won't let you stray too far from her skirts.

So in the spirit of the New Year, I'm going to stop lugging around those shiny little boxes. After 30 odd years, they're getting heavy. And I need the space for all of the good stuff that comes from being Hannah and Charlotte's mother.

Excuses, Excuses

You may have noticed that I've been a bit spotty about posting lately. It's not laziness or a lack of motivation--I'm constantly composing in my head; it just never makes it to the computer. Charlotte is now in physical therapy, speech therapy and occupational therapy--in addition to her regular class. Then there's the holiday shopping, baking and cleaning to do. To top it off, we've all been sick, off and on, since Halloween. So I've been a wee bit busy. All good reasons, but probably the larger reason is that I'm in week five of a new medication, that, in addition to stabilizing my moods, is also supposed to have a really good anti-depressant effect. Tick tock, still waiting.

You would think that after almost 10 years of being on medication I would be able to accept the fact that they don't work overnight. And this one in particular has to start at a really low dose and then creep up over five to six weeks. Why? Because the one worrisome side-effect is a rash that can be severe, even fatal if left untreated. But it's usually on the face (oh, joy), so it's fairly easy to spot and treat early. So while we search for the proper therapeutic dose, I'm still taking two other medications as well as an occasional anti-anxiety (not good to mix with wine, by the way. Take it a few hours before, not just a few minutes). Our medicine cabinet looks like a little pharmacy and I'm feeling a bit tired and lethargic. So that's my excuse. Such as it is.

They May Be Sisters But . . .

At this moment, Hannah is in her room, dancing her own version of ballet to the soundtrack from Les Choristes.

Charlotte is in the living room, dancing to the Red Hot Chili Peppers.

Holiday Photo Outtakes

Hannah hamming it up.















Well I got one of them to look at me!














Hannah wondering why Charlotte gets to ride the horse
(because it was the only way to keep her from running away).

My Sappy Holiday Spirit

I've been sitting here for the past few days listening to Christmas music--the classical Christmas channel on XM radio and one of the local channels in the car. Hannah insisted and I was happy to oblige. After all, one can only listen to Talk of the Nation so many days in a row before one's kids loses it.

Anyway, back to the music. It reminds me both just how much I dreaded the holidays when I was a kid and how much I look forward to them now. I think I've mentioned before that I came without filters installed: I have a difficult time blocking out noise, other people's emotions, the weave of a particular fabric, and so on. I may have also mentioned that I have five brothers, two sisters--all of whom I love dearly--and, shall we say, emotionally distant parents. None of which make for a calm, relaxing holiday season. Every year, without fail, I ended up with a heavy cold over winter break. Coincidence? I think not.

But now. Now I get to experience the season all over through Hannah and Charlotte. We go decorated-house hunting after school. We've hung a wreath on the front door and another over the fireplace. The tree is up and decorated--except for the lower 1/4 which Charlotte keeps stripping--and Hannah has been revising her list for Santa since her birthday in October. I am resisting the urge to dress the house from top to bottom in pine garlands and white lights. But I am baking batches of gingerbread cookies so the house always smells holiday-ish.

But I never know what to say when people ask "What would you like for Christmas?" There's nothing I really need--except the occasional babysitter and a night out--and the things I might want are entirely impractical. Nice clothes? They don't mix well with paint, playdoh and markers. Books? I adore them, but rarely have time to read anymore. Sticktoitiveness? Sure, but does that come in a bottle yet? And the things I really want can't be gifted: I want Charlotte to lose the stiffness in her body and be able to dance the way she so clearly wants to. I want Hannah to keep being the wonderful little person and big sister that she is. I don't want either of them to grow up too fast. And I want them to always know that I love them more than I ever could have imagined.

So whadda you think, Santa Baby? Can you help me out?

Cowboy Wisdom

Courtesy of my friend Jessica:

A Montana cowboy was overseeing his herd in a remote mountainous pasture when suddenly a brand-new BMW advanced out of a dust cloud towards him. The driver, a young man in a Brioni suit, Gucci shoes, Ray Ban sunglasses and YSL tie, leans out the window and asks the cowboy, "If I tell you exactly how many cows and calves you have in your herd, will you give me a calf?"

The cowboy looks at the man, obviously a yuppie, then looks at his peacefully grazing herd and calmly answers,"Sure, Why not?"

The yuppie parks his car, whips out his Dell notebook computer, connects it to his Cingular RAZR V3 cell phone, and surfs to a NASA page on the Internet, where he calls up a GPS satellite navigation system to get an exact fix on his location which he then feeds to another NASA satellite that scans the area in an ultra-high-resolution photo. The young man then opens the digital photo in Adobe Photoshop and exports it to an image processing facility in Hamburg, Germany.

Within seconds, he receives an email on his Palm Pilot that the image has been processed and the data stored. He then accesses a MS-SQL database through an ODBC connected Excel spreadsheet with email on his Blackberry and, after a few minutes, receives a response.

Finally, he prints out a full-color, 150-page report on his hi-tech, miniaturized HP LaserJet printer and finally turns to the cowboy and says, "You have exactly 1,586 cows and calves."

"That's right. Well, I guess you can take one of my calves," says the cowboy.

He watches the young man select one of the animals and looks on amused as the young man stuffs it into the trunk of his car.

Then the cowboy says to the young man, "Hey, if I can tell you exactly what your business is, will you give me back my calf?"

The young man thinks about it for a second and then says, "Okay, why not?"

You're a Congressman for the U. S. Government", says the cowboy.

"Wow! That's correct," says the yuppie, "but how did you guess that?"

"No guessing required." answered the cowboy. "You showed up here even though nobody called you; you want to get paid for an answer I already knew, to a question I never asked. You tried to show me how much smarter than me you are; and you don't know a thing about cows...

This is a herd of sheep.

Now give me back my dog."

A Day Without Sun

Some days the sun just seems inappropriate. Loud. Brash. A trying-to-be-cheerful shout in the room of a migraine sufferer. On most days, I love the sun. I crave it. But today I found myself wincing as I thought of Kati Kim and her daughters and how unwelcome the sun must have been. The body of James Kim, their husband and father, was found yesterday, just one mile from where their car was stranded in the mountains of Oregon during a blizzard.

For six days they huddled in the car--mom, dad and two daughters, one four years old, one just seven months. I don't know if I feel such a connection to this story because of our two daughters, or because there were so many times that I've taken a wrong turn, or simply because, put in the same situation, I would hope that I would be strong enough to do what James and Kati Kim did. And they did everything right: They stayed together, Kati nursing both girls to keep them alive; they stayed with the car, using the heater at night until they ran out of gas. During the day, they started fires with magazines, wet wood, and--finally--the car tires, in an attempt to stay warm and to attract attention.

Rescuers found Kati and the girls two days after James left to find help. Then they followed the markers that he dropped along the way: an extra pair of pants, part of a map, a skirt belonging to his daughter. He even had a note with him describing where his family could be found, asking for help. The Oregon police say that James walked a 10 mile loop through the cold and snow, at one point swimming across a stream.

Four days after he left, two days after his family had been rescued, James Kim's body was found. And still the sun dared to shine.

Better Late Than Never . . .

Ask my mother-in-law and she will tell you how truly bad I am about sending new photos of the girls. I've been meaning to post these for awhile now--since before Halloween, actually. But without further ado . . .

Hannah getting Charlotte dressed; it's actually a grass skirt that Thomas brought back from Hawaii, but Hannah thought it would work better as a boa:


And Charlotte in her Halloween costume:


Unfortunately, Charlotte didn't get to go trick-or-treating. I didn't want the "trick" to be spreading germs and green elevens around the neighborhood.

And Charlotte with her first caramel apple:


And yes, she was immediately tossed into the bath. After she finished, of course :)

Is This Blasphemy?

I didn't want Nancy Pelosi to be Speaker of the House. Yes, yes, first female and all that. Yay. But I'm one of those strange people who think that qualifications and ability should also be considered. Been there a long time? Check. Smart, capable? Done great things for California? Check, check, and I think so. Able to reach across party lines to actually get something done in Congress this time around? Um, not so sure about that one.

After the war in Iraq and the Katrina disaster, one of the most-often heard criticisms of the Bush administration was that cronyism was rampant. That Bush favored loyalty over ability. That the administration was awarding no-bid contracts to companies connected to the Vice President. That there was no accountability or oversight.

This is not the time to prove to cynics everywhere that the Democrats are no better. So why did Nancy Pelosi push for John Murtha to be the new House majority leader? Why is she considering giving the chairmanship of the House Select Intelligence Committee to Alcee Hastings of Florida? Reportedly, she doesn't like Jane Harman, considered by many to be the logical and appropriate choice, and wants to give the chair to someone a bit more left-leaning. Ok, a lot more left-leaning. We have an open-ended "war on terror" going on. Is this really the post we want use to play favorites? (One would, of course, hope that ability would always trump popularity, but one then one might be accused of smoking something.)

C'mon Nancy. Do the right thing: Go with the people who have legitimately earned the chairs. Let's not turn Congress back over to the Republicans in two years.

Hat in Hand

'Tis the season to offer thanks and to get in your last minute donations if you want them to count for 2006! With that in mind, I would like to offer an option to those of you who are still looking for the right program to bless with your donation.

Charlotte attends the Infant Program at C.A.R. (Community Association for Rehabilitation) in Palo Alto. About 2500 people benefit from services that include (but are by no means limited to) physical therapy, speech therapy, occupational therapy, swim therapy, day care, adult day care, job training and placement for the developmentally disabled--not to mention support for their families. The care and attention they lavish on all of their clients--children and adults--is wonderful to see and has already had a big impact on our family.

When Charlotte started at C.A.R. in July of this year, she was not yet walking or talking. She didn't follow directions or make eye contact when we talked to her. As of today, she is walking like a champ--often almost running. She knows and uses the signs for dog, airplane, eat, bath, more, please, friend, and daddy. She also recognizes the signs for mommy, frog, drink, turtle, and--her favorite--cookie. We're pretty sure she can say "Hannah" and "eat." And today at physical therapy, she said "kick" when asked to kick a ball. (This time I know it's not just wishful thinking, because Lora, our PT, heard it too!)

Seventy five percent of C.A.R.'s funding comes from regional centers as well as state and federal grants. That, of course, leaves quite a chunk that they must make up every year to keep up the quality and number of classes and services. It allows them to buy new equipment and to hire staff--Charlotte was on a waiting list for PT for two months and for speech therapy for four months--we start next Wednesday! We're not sure when she'll get into OT. But in July there were 26 kids ahead of her on the speech therapy list, so we are immensely grateful to get in so soon.

So here's my pitch: If you have a few extra dollars that you would like to donate, by sending it to C.A.R., you could make life just a little better for Charlotte and 2,499 other children and adults. You would also have my eternal gratitude (I'm actually crying as I type this), and the thanks of the 2500 families served by the amazing, wonderful, caring staff at C.A.R. As an added bonus, because C.A.R. is a 501 (c) (3) organization, your donation is tax deductible!

If you would like more information, please send me a private email with your address (makriese at gmail dot com--don't forget to put it in the proper form; I'm trying to keep my spam to a minimum!). I'll send you a packet from C.A.R. If you decide to make a donation, you would just send it directly to them.

Wait, wait, there was one more thing: Thank you, thank you, thank you!

Pity Poop

I think I mentioned before--once or 300 times--that we were having the yard transformed from the hard-packed nutrient-free rock-and-weed-studded mess it was when we moved in. After carting in a couple of tons of dirt, leveling the ground, constructing rock walls, planting trees and shrubs and flowers, and installing irrigation, the transformation is complete. Well, the first phase, anyway--we decided to hold back a little of the budget for the occasional trip to In-n-Out.

Late last week, I was finally able to let the girls play out back while I lovingly raked the #$*&ing leaves from the velvety, emerald expanse of new lawn and uprooted the weeds that were already threatening to take over the new beds. They loved it (girls, not weeds), giggling madly as they ran and rolled on the grass, happy not to have anyone telling them not to pick the flowers (I was biting my tongue) or throw the mulch (more tongue biting). Argus was still not allowed out--when he gets excited, he gallops and I wasn't prepared to see divots the size of those I leave on golf courses.

(Right about now, I bet you're wondering when we get to the pity poop.) Because Argus is not allowed in the yard, he's getting at least two, sometimes three walk a day--something he hasn't had since about mid-way through my pregnancy with Charlotte. I know, I know. Poor guy. But now he's so excited about the walks that he won't finish his breakfast or dinner, instead prancing at the door, whimpering to go out. So out we go.

Now, when Argus is sent out to the back yard, he's usually pretty quick about finding a spot and taking care of business. But when we go out, he will walk for miles looking for just the right spot. And of course, there are the trees that must be greeted. Every. Single. One. And since Thomas was away last week, I had to load the girls into the stroller and take them out, too (normally the post-dinner poop is just Argus and either Thomas or me). It was dark, well past their bedtime; Charlotte started sniffling, Hannah started whining. And every time we stopped, I practically begged Argus to get on with it, already.

After a few blocks of this, he stopped, gave me a disgusted look and a heavy sigh, squatted and looked away. And there it was--the tiniest poop a Great Dane every offered up. It was a pity poop, just to get the three complaining women off his back. He looked so disgusted with us that I had to laugh. Which was not appreciated. When we got home, he went straight to his bed and, with what sounded remarkably like a "harrumph," put his nose in the corner and ignored me for the rest of the evening.

Boom Chicka Rock

The mouse stepped out of his little mouse hole
To see what was left in the cereal bowl.
He looked this way and pip-squeaked that
He said, "No sign of Max the cat.

I spy Birthday Cake on the old buffet.
The cat's asleep. It's time to play!
Let's dance and party and Rock-and-Roll.
Bring out the Good China Dishes
and the Big Punch Bowl!

Thus opens the book that Hannah chose for tonight's bedtime story. Actually, since we brought it home from the library, it's the book she's chosen most nights. Written by John Archambault and illustrated by Suzanne Tanner Chitwood, Boom Chicka Rock is definitely one of the most engaging of the children's books we're read over the past four years.

Using rhythm, rhyme and all of the dances you know from your childhood--and your parents'--(with the exception of the much-maligned macarena) Boom Chicka Rock tells the story of 12 little mice who get up to play while the cat is sleeping. Along the way, it teaches numbers, counting and telling time.

We have return it to the library tomorrow; I'm guessing that we'll bring it home again. And again. But to make sure that at least one other kid in Redwood City gets to read it, Santa now knows the first item on Hannah's list!

Smells Like Pie

Thomas hurt his thumb again. I should say "Hurt ONE of his thumbs again." I'm clumsy in a more general way; Thomas is all about messing with the thumbs. I guess I can't complain too much, because one of those injuries kept him from a scheduled trip to New York on September 11, 2001. And I guess I won't complain about this one either, but for a vastly different reason: The medicine he got for it, instead of Icy Hot, is called Tiger Balm*. It has clove oil in it. So instead of just being my own personal Thanksgiving blessing, he smells like the whole damn holiday.

Just my luck, he's in Hawai'i this week. Which may be a good thing after all, since I think he was starting to get a little tired of me following him around the house asking if it was time for pie.

* I tried to include the link (www.tigerbalm.com) but blogger keeps sending it back to this entry.

The Sound of Music

I've had a splitting headache for the past two days. I'm not sure if it's because I've moved into a hypomanic state (in case you couldn't tell by the volume of posts over the past three days) and haven't slept much or because Hannah has decided to take up yodeling. Not instead of, but in addition to the opera. For which, I'm told, she has a lovely, natural voice. You're forgiven for thinking that perhaps an actual voice teacher told me that. But no. It was our little diva herself. But she loves it, so I just make minor suggestions (don't sing--or talk--on the inhale is the big one) and pop a few more Tylenol.

Studio 60 Update

Many thanks to "Abracadab" who posted a link to the update on Studio 60--looks like they might get picked up for a full season after all! The TV Squad story includes this quote from Aaron Sorkin:

"Hopefully soon people will start paying attention to the show instead of who's making it," Sorkin told me today. "I really look at it as just the cost of doing business. I knew the reaction to the show was going to be a little bit noisier than I'd prefer. But hopefully, we're finally settling in and the audience is seeing the amazing cast and acknowledges the great, committed group of people who are behind this show."

But they still need eyeballs, people, so you know what to do!


(Watch it! Tell your friends. This is not something to keep a secret!)

Google Takes Over the World

When Thomas travels, we use Google Earth to show Hannah where he's going to be and where that is in relation to California. So far it has helped her with some basic geography--not only the names of the states, but their general location in the U.S.-- and has also been a great help for what she considers to be the most important part of every trip: "Daddy, did you bring me a snow globe? Um, I mean, how was your trip to XYZ? Did you bring me a snow globe?"

Who knew there could be a downside to such a wonderfully useful tool?

After school one day not long ago, Hannah decided to tell me all about the planets.

"Mommy, the sun is a ball of gases."

I, the ridiculously unimaginative parent who thought it wonderful that she knew where Virginia and Seattle were, gasped in delight "That's right! Where did you learn that?!"

Audible sigh.

"At school, mom. My teacher told me."

"That's great! What else did you learn?"

"About the planets. Saturn is big with rings. And Mars is hot. And the moon, and, um, Pluto, and Venus, and I can't remember what else. Oh, and we live on Google Earth."

So far, no amount of explaining can shake her faith that we live on Google Earth. And as an original Google fan and one-woman, East Coast marketing team, I have to say that she might not be all wrong. A little premature, perhaps. But wrong? Only when she gets old enough to have to answer that question for credit.

Election Day Humor

Kris mentioned this in a comment below, so here 'tis:

Courtesy Daily Kos -- Here's a lesson in how NOT to set up a photo shoot if your name is "Charlie Bass":

A Plea For Studio 60

I don't watch a lot of television. Not network TV, anyway. CSI (the original; David Caruso gives me the willies), The Amazing Race, hockey, and Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip. Why Studio 60? After all, no one is watching it. It's allegedly about to be canceled. But:

Please, please, watch the show before it is. Buy the DVD after it is. Because, sadly, it is a rarity for modern television: smart, funny, well-written, with inspired casting. So if you're getting tired of all the reality shows (really, aren't we sometimes watching to escape reality?) and the run-of-the-mill shows that you can't watch without speaking lines of dialog before you've heard them, please check out Studio 60 before it's too late.

By the way, does TiVo sell the numbers of people who record the shows rather than watching them right away? I'm thinking that, with the advent of digital recorders, the Nielsen ratings might be just a tad passe, no?

Still Holding My Breath

My self-imposed (near) silence on the mid-term elections is almost at an end. I say almost because I am still holding my breath, waiting to see if tomorrow will bring tears of joy or the slightly angrier, 2004 kind. It is rather strange and wonderful to see how many people are actually following this round as the mid-terms don't usually get much notice, much less high voter turnout. I hope it holds and that more people will decide to go to the polls for every election.

There are few things more aggravating than someone complaining about the government and then admitting that they don't vote because, "really, what good does it do? They're all corrupt anyway." Maybe so, but it's your job. If you don't like the way something is going, do something--anything (legal)--to make a difference.

As I write this, washingtonpost.com is giving the Democrats a gain of 20 in the House (15 were needed to take over) and 3 in the Senate (six needed to take over). But as Thomas said, we've heard this story before, so I'm going to hold my breath for a few more hours.