Swim wares

I know I have been terribly remiss in blogging. We are all alive and well. Phil returned from a funfilled Crossfit adventure Training Session in Florida where he also learned to fly the F-22 Raptor. Oh I love long TDY's- he loses 30 pounds and looks so fabulous I can barely keep my eyes (or hands) off of him which is problematic because we have 4 kids and other obligations. Like life. I on the other hand do what I can to maintain my glorious physique- which in and of itself would be a daytime job. But I currently have 1 fulltime day Job(Bella) and 3 partime afternoon jobs followed by my housekeeping service, laundry service, driving service, professional cheerleader and tutor, on call medical consultation and handy person jobs- so there is very little room to work in fitness.  And when I get tired of tending to those responsibilites, I moonlight as a volunteer in no less than 3 arenas and from time to time make appearances on online support groups for various conditions that have become part of our daily lives.

Every time I talk to friends or family- which is a fairly rare occurrence and cherished when possible- I am constantly told that they don't know how I do it. This causes  me to laugh. DO what? Keep my children from becoming cretins- the jury is still out on that. Clean house- not if you've seen it lately. Ask the ants.  Stop by and you will see the baskets of laundry which are my version of practical, functional living room art.  This last TDY I thought I would get to some scrapbooking, or some photo editing- yet the only time I ventured to open the roll top desk where I "play" it was merely to shove more stuff under the lid and slam it closed quick before something slid out.  Every now and then something slithers out and I have to decide if it's worth shoving back in or if it needs to go.  It's funny how clutter accumulates and it can seem overwhelming- yet if a piece slides out from time to time- it's pretty easy to handle. That's life.

I take small steps. I make a point to walk every day. Of course most days it ends up just being from the bedroom to the kitchen to the car to the kitchen, but I try .  I don't stress about the number on the scale. Other than the fact that it's larger than when I was 9 months pregnant with my first child. I live by how I feel and if how much chocolate I consume to numb the pain is any indication of how I am doing- you will have your answer. So today I managed a walk with Bella which was cut short because she managed to fall off the ledge at the golf course into the prickly bushes. Twice. The first time was funny. She laughed, I laughed, we decided to not do that again, yet she did. It was not so funny when a prickly gets dangerously close to areas that don't like to be pricked. SO we pack up and move on back home. I stop by the mailbox and the powers that be mock me with the Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Edition. Oh for the love of all that is good. Wasn't I tortured adequately with Vicky's swimsuit Issue a week ago with suits that are complete knock offs of my teenage years? 

So I sit down an peruse the wares. It is very disheartening. The only girls wearing swimsuits are the amateurs and the athletes. And by athletes I mean women who play athletics who generally get no more mention than a blurb. I wouldn't say the swimsuit models were modeling as much as creatively displaying the product. I still am really unsure as to what the product is. In some cases the product was merely a necklace and a couple of bracelets. Unfortunately my daughter overhears me grumble- that's not a swimsuit, that's 3 shells strategically placed over her hoo hoos.  I can hope that she will gain from the statement an understanding of the word "strategic" but I am pretty sure she will only remember hoo hoos. I thought about being offended, outraged at the nudity. But in all honesty, it's about as real as looking at the Sunday comics. Between the plastic inserts and photoshop- I am positive the finished product is far different from the real thing- and then I find out that there is another swimsuit edition out there, from a less likely source. National Geographic.  Somehow the irony is so thick. The mag that is notorious for printing nudey pictures under the guise of culture is doing a swimwear spread and the mag that is notorious for printing swimwear pictures is doing a nudey spread under the guise of athletics. Outstanding.

I will not blame SI for negatively promoting/destructing female body image. That is up to girls and their parents. We need to take charge of our own perceptions. I don't hide the issue from my kids. I make it clear that I disagree with the lack of taste- not the human form. I also let them know there is a certain amount of movie magic that occurs behind the scenes. The fact is that sex sells and so does shock value. It sells because we buy it. I personally was more disappointed than shocked by the lack of swimwear.  I think the body painting section they started a few years back was a genius circumvention of the porn I mean swimwear norms. I'll admit it, we spent more than a little time trying to spot the inconsistencies, if you will.  That's the fun- the mystery- the what if. That is sexy. Remember the old saying- why buy the cow if you can get the milk for free? Exactly. Milk has been free for quite awhile at SI Swimsuit edition. If SI is now what Playboy was then , I don't even want to know what crazy stuff they are doing over at Penthouse. 

As for my personal body issues- they are mine. I know enough women sporting silicone tatas because their bodies were ravaged by cancer to know that despite that we are more than our breasts- they are part of who we are. I have also run across enough boobs in my day to know that people place far too much value on physical appearance and not enough on the appearance of propriety. As for my daughters- I try not to show them my issues. For all they know I love my body, that doesn't mean I wouldn't change a thing here or there. But I hope to also impress on them that when it is all said and done- your body withers, but your legacy will not. I for one sincerely hope that my legacy in completely unrelated to swimwear.

Communication

I love my husband more than anything. I love that usually we can communicate without words. Getcha head outta the gutter, I mean like when the kids are doing something funny I can nudge him and he knows what I'm thinking. It's not this way with everything. There are many things we have to talk through. Like- hey they are trying to schedule the such and such, what are your druthers? He generally knows my druthers. He knows my druthers better than any other human on the planet. He knows them well enough to know they are completely malleable and prone to change without notice. He knows better than to assume anything about my druthers. Doing so usually ends up in an argument.  That's the nice thing about druthers, they can change when I am looking for one.

Yet there are certain things that my druthers cannot change. Like for instance this exciting yet annoying new career change of events that has occurred. Granted, I do realize that I should not complain- we are very lucky.  I am also feeling a bit of buyer's remorse.  Sure it's a shiny island, climate controlled, yada yada. But he hasn't been on it for the majority of 4 months. You cannot take a major part of a person's happiness away and expect them to be happy. The worst part is that having him home for Christmas only made the missing him worse because it reminded me of how much I do love him. And that's really not the big problem. The big problem is how much I LIKE him. He is the one. We have been friends for nearly 20 years. Friends. I don't laugh as much when he's not around, or smile.  I try, but it's no where near as easy. It wasn't always easy and the communication skills were a lesson learned on both our parts. He learned to tell me more and I learned it was necessary to stop communicating and just listen.

It took many iterations of arguments and miscommunicative steps to get here. We went from him walking away not communicating, to me walking away in frustration, to yelling it out ,to him prefacing an explosive discussion with - hear me out before you get upset, to let me talk before you start. He's learned that he cannot prevent me being upset- there aren't any words to pad the bad news and I have learned to try, try to hear him out first. Sometimes the connection between my common sense and my mouth misfires. But then he shushes me and I don't get upset when he does. 

So when he says things like- glad I turned my bid in for January, I'm not on the schedule- I hear- don't plan on me being around much in January, it's not my fault.  When he says things like- what are your druthers- I know he cares and will accommodate any crazy wants or needs I might have as best as he can. And I try not to be too wanty or needy even though I want to throw myself on the ground, flail my arms and legs around and scream- you were just gone, I know you are going to be gone all the time- I don't want to CHOOSE between anniversary and whose birthdays you are gonna miss. I don't wanna, wanna, wanna. But I will. And I will say be home for the birthdays or spring break every time- even if it ends up not being an option- because I am a grown up and know that I can communicate my love for him every day, any day I choose- not just on an anniversary or a birthday - but the little ones want him there and it's much more difficult to communicate to them why he can't be there. It's part and parcel of the lifestyle. The part that we try and avoid. I know that and try to shield them from it. And this is a good reminder why he left active duty and that we are lucky.  No this isn't how we planned it, it rarely works out that way anyhow. So I am grateful for the reminder of how much I do love him and like him and miss him. I am grateful when he is home- because he is amazing and engages and is a partner in this chaotic home. I know he will have to be gone a bunch in the future, so we will appreciate the time he is home and the parts we can control. And I will continue to be grateful for phones and skype which have given us the amazing opportunity to communicate despite the distance.

And when he calls and says- hey buddy- just wanted to make sure everything is ok- I saw there were 2 charges to Starbucks in one day- I know he would be here if he could so I say- yep everything is fine- just felt like a little extra boost and he knows that we are out of creamer, or coffee- or everything and I just couldn't face the commissary and that's ok. 

Top '10 Christmas Memories

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The Magic of Christmas.

I remember a crisp Christmas Eve, many, many years ago. Standing in the driveway of our home on Longport Drive, gazing up at countless stars and wondering how exactly I could have missed them all my 8 short years. Well the scientific reason was easy, myopia. I had inherited my father's atrocious nearsightedness. As with many things when you are young, you don't miss what you don't know- I just assumed stars were specks in the black vastness that I couldn't see. After being doomed to wear the "smart" label oculars, I gradually became grateful to see all that I had been missing and no longer minded the less than "smart" accessories adorning my face. Stars were magical. The night was magical. As a little red light zoomed across the sky- I ran up to bed and jumped under the covers. Christmas Eve was always spent at Grandma Connolly's. Filled with cousins and food and lots of loud discussions by adults. There were presents, lots of presents- which always amazed me. Despite our genetic similarities, we all wanted such different things at Christmas. I remember sitting in midnight mass, feeling the warmth of those around me as well as the season. I felt so sleepy, it was a battle to keep my eyes open. Yet afterwards, there were always presents and that kept us going. We hardly had time to play as we would have to drive home and get ready for Santa to arrive. Although being utterly convinced I would never be able to sleep with all the anticipation- I rarely could stay awake for the car ride home.

What I remember most about Christmas morning was the feeling. The magical feeling of Christmas. Looking back, I would have to say I was in love with Christmas. The only other time I have ever felt such an immense physical adoration, was after I fell in love with a certain young man.  The two are quite similar if I actually stop to think about it. I loved everything about Christmas, the smells, the sounds, the decorations, the tastes- how everyone seemed to be happy. I remember the year after my aunt died, feeling loss for the first time at Christmas. A piece of the magic had gone. It didn't help that my brother and most my friends had stopped believing in Santa. It seemed absurd to just stop believing. I was old enough to know better, but I chose not to. As most 10-11 year olds do. They threw the logistics at me. They threw proof. I was never one to hunt for presents. My brother Bob did. That's how he said he knew. One year he found presents that were later from Santa. We had just moved into a new house and our parents seemed to be working overtime to make ends meet. There was lots of time to search. I didn't. I liked the surprise of opening a present. It was far to much work to pretend to be surprised. So I let him search and I sat playing on the organ that sat in our front room. Whenever my mom played, her fingers floated over the keys and the result was magical. Songs like Moonriver would fill the room. I decided to teach myself to play. Since I didn't know how to read music, I attached letters A-F to the keys and went from there. Mostly I fiddled around trying to make songs sound like something familiar. I managed to squeak out a tattered version of Silent Night. I was fairly impressed with myself. I sat and looked out the window at the falling snow. Icicles dripped from the gutters. I could hear the familiar slushy whoosh of cars going by.  I felt very lonely. I didn't want for the magic of Christmas to be ruined.  So I composed a song. It wasn't as much a song, as a series of notes smooshed together that described my feelings. The lilting ups and downs of childhood on the verge of adolescence. A time when magic tricks become slights of hand and explanations debunk mysteries. I learned there was a plausible explanation for lots of things. I loved my song. I often wondered if it was truly mine, or if it was something I had heard one time and my subconscious recreated. It didn't matter- I wasn't sharing it with the world. It was mine. I wrote down the letters, in case I might forget by the next day. But I didn't. It helped with the feelings of loss and helped replace some of the magic of the season. It taught me that I was in control of what I believed, and what I chose to hear.

As I got older, I learned that bringing the magic to others was as much fun as getting gifts from Santa. I loved shopping for Phil's brothers who were still little and believed without question. I also learned that loved ones' lost were always missed more at Christmas.  I watched as the magic faded for his brothers. I immersed myself in a new magic- the magic of being in love. I became a logical, practical, scientific sort. I let some of the Christmas magic go. And then I had kids. Watching Christmas through their eyes brought back magic. It is so easy to believe in fairies, elves and a man who rewards good behavior with presents. Then last year it started.  The questions, at first veiled then outright.  "Mom, have you ever seen Santa?"  Sure, he's at the mall.  " No the real Santa."  No, I was never good at staying up to see him. "Then how do you KNOW?"
Do you KNOW I love you? "Mom! yes. But how do you know there's a Santa?"  Show me how you know I love you. He reaches over and gives me a hug.  That's a hug, show me love.  "I can't." But you know it exists? "yeah, I feel it."  A Hug is to Love  what Presents are to Santa. I could tell he was satisfied, but his curiosity was not. " My friends say parents leave presents under the tree. " Of course we do. "No, that you leave Santa's presents"  Oh honey, you know I get much too tired to stay up after you. Where would we get all the money for those presents? "Ohhhhh". And it comes down to money. Doesn't it always? Except with love.

I have had a very difficult time with Christmas in Hawaii. It's hot. It's sunny. Santa can't even wear his full garb without fear of dehydrating into an elf.  I don't even like snow. I think I had maybe 2 Christmases in Denver that were snowy- it was unreliable. But you could always go up into the mountains and smell the evergreens and the sting of the chill. But as a child, there was snow on Christmas, usually. The blow up Santa's ride Harleys here and lounge under palm trees on hammocks.  The other problem  is that it's an island. There are limited shipments of goods- if you don't grab in October there will undoubtably be stress. Shipping is either cost or date prohibitive and people are outright rude. I think that goes for just about everywhere, but it feels more pronounced. My husband complained about 5 hours in the car from Florida to Atlanta. In that time he probably passed 25 walmarts. In that time I could have visited all 3 walmarts on the island and driven around the actual island. twice. Finding the time to do Christmas shopping without the kids has been challenging. I am forever grateful for wonderful neighbors.  But after a particularly souring experience at Walmart, I came home and sat in front of my computer. I was just going to order what I needed and be done with it. But it wouldn't ship here. Nope couldn't get it delivered to the store either. Oh wait you can ship it- for $59- but the darn thing only costs $20?  Now a days I just feel like a grinch. I have to tell my son that of the 4 things on his list- Santa simply will not bring him 3. It's so much easier when they are 4 and want 25 things and if they get 1 of them, they will promptly forget about the other 24. 11 year olds keep track. And take notes. And will use it against you later.  No you don't need a go cart, or a mini motorcycle or a puppy. There are 2 televisions within 25 feet of your room- you do not need a tv in there- and where would we put it?  "I'll clear a space" Kinda like you clear a space for your body every night after I have asked you 3 billion times to clean it?   I feel that familiar loss creeping in. I see it draining from him and I have neither the magic or funds to prevent it. I sit at the computer and the tears threaten. Bella is fast asleep on the couch, recovering from yet another bout with some virus.

A sound tinkles in the window.  Someone is playing the piano.  My house is never quiet enough to appreciate such things. I take a moment to appreciate it. I decide that I need an attitude check as do my children. Christmas isn't about the next best thing, or the toys. Sure it is a bit when you are a kid. But what do I remember about Christmas? I remember Christmas Eve with family and the feeling of Christmas morning.  And then I hear it.  MY song. Tinkling in from the window. No more, no less than the few notes I remember. It's not part of some concerto or a major piece- it's merely my song. Part of me wonders if I reproduced a well known piece. I guess I could knock on my neighbors door and find the practical explanation, or I could appreciate this gift. A gift of an auditory memory to a time where I chose to believe .  I choose to believe.

Bella wakes up and we go for a walk. Every year we buy presents for the angel tree, this year we got them for the tree at school.  You know it's a rough year when most requests are basic necessities, diapers- wipes- clocks, blankets.  Kiera looks at me while we were shopping- why does she want diapers for Christmas?  Well sweetie- maybe she doesn't have enough money to get diapers and she wants her baby to be comfortable for Christmas. I do believe I see a twinkle in her ice blue eyes. She gets it.  The box of diapers was too big to carry so Bella and I make a special trip.  As we walk into the office a motorcycle roars up. We drop off our presents and a man pulls open the door as we leave.  I say thank you, but fail to take notice.  He is walking behind us.  Bella drops her slippah and I stop to replace it. I look up and see the man getting back on the motorcycle. He has a nice round belly and a long white beard. I whisper to Bella "look!"  She looks and her eyes get big. "Is that....Santa?" she asks and a grin comes to her little face, she knows it is- who else could it be? I nod.  "Why isn't he wearing a suit?" It's a little hot don't you think?  "Yeah"  And we watch him roar out of sight. And with a song and a choice, the magic was restored.

Happy Birthday Buddy!!!

For weeks now, my kids have been re-enacting a SNL skit that lil Phillip watched with Emma Stone where she slips on grape jelly and breaks her arm. Then leg. Then another arm. And leg. Slapstick stuff- they love it. It was pretty harmless, so I let him carry on. He then showed it to the girls and they have been wandering around singing- now sign my cast, sign my cast, sign my cast. We decided to remake the video for Phil's birthday. It's entirely trainwreckish- but was an outstanding team building experience. Happy Birthday to my best friend and my baby daddy. We love you very much- now sign my card, now sign my card, sign my card.

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My Favorite Turkeys

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Mutants flying the friendly skies

I guess I am really glad(sarcastic tone) that flying has become so expensive that it really isn't an option to take my family of 6 anywhere. I won't complain too much since I live in a vacation destination, but it does totally suck being away from family and friends. Now not only is it cost prohibitive, but health prohibitive as well. Yeah I'm talking about those new airport scanners that are all the rage.  I honestly don't care that some TSA agent is sitting in a secluded room viewing images of my naked body. I've had 4 kids, my body is a warzone. But big picture- I question the safety- so I started doing research. It's what I do.

I found that the amount of radiation you are exposed to is minimal. It does not penetrate the skin, it merely penetrates the clothing so it can generate a picture. SO what about the skin?  Sure sunscreen protects against UVA/UVB- but I'm pretty sure it doesn't cover this backscatter technology xray radiation.  Is the amount of exposure minimal? yep, I'll give you that.  Is it safe? You are not going to hear reputable people say that. Pay attention. Who so far is declining scans? Cancer patients, pregnant women, and pilots. I heard a story of a bladder cancer survivor who lives with a urostomy bag, had the bag spilled all down the front of him during his "aggressive pat down" . He had to sit on his flight soaked with urine. A breast cancer survivor was agressively searched and had to remove her prosthesis for inspection. I guess technically if she still had breasts, they would have been aggressively squeezed- so should she feel lucky she can at least take hers out?  After spending years of my life with cancer survivors and remembering many who didn't- the quest for normal after treatment or death is a long bumpy road- I would like to thank the Government for adding one more roadblock to our already diminished quality of life. But we are not the majority and these methods are in place to protect the majority.  That doesn't mean it's safe.

In article after article I read, in the USA Today, reuters, cnet, webmd- all say the risk is low to the general population. Not safe, low risk. It is mentioned that as in medical scans- if the benefit outweighs the risk, it is acceptable. Not safe, acceptable. They repeatedly emphasize the radiation exposure is the equivalent to that of 2-3 minutes of flying.  Great so now we are compounding risks. I see why pilots would refuse- they get enough radiation exposure in the flying contraption on a day to day basis- to add to it would be off putting. It is not reccommended for pregnant women. Really? Why so? If it truly doesn't penetrate the skin- the baby should not be at additional risk, right? What the experts will tell you is that studies have not been done on the long term effects and although the risk is acceptable to the general population- it would be cruel to subject the unborn population to it. Hmm. What about children?  Just because they are on the outside- doesn't really make them any more equipped to deal with it, does it? But it's either that or an aggressive pat down and we spend a lot of time teaching them good touch-bad touch. DO we now have to say only doctors and TSA agents can touch you there? Are we going to see a rash of pedophiles dressing up as TSA agents and hanging out at playgrounds, probably not- but maybe we'll see an influx of applications to the TSA. Definitely the moral fiber we want guarding the friendly skies.

The last disconcerting thing I found was the repeated mention that those with genetic mutations that predispose them to cancer should be aware of the additional risks. I have Li Fraumeni Syndrome. It is a genetic mutation that not only predisposes me to cancer, but to many cancers in my lifetime and by lifetime I mean a lifespan that is 10-30 years shorter than the average lifespan. I am one of the "lucky" ones- I have not had cancer yet. Most in my peer group in this syndrome have had at least 1 type of cancer. We have all watched relatives die from it. So what's a little skin cancer when you are looking at terminal brain tumors, and adrenalectomies and colostomies and mastectomies,right? It's one more thing to worry about.  I know mutants who refuse to have dental xrays to limit the exposure to radiation. Radiation therapy in these families is a last resort, because it has been shown that additional tumors pop up in radiation fields. Good times. So what's a mutant to do?

I encourage people to do their research and be aware that you are not being told the whole story. The contract for scanners was in and it went to the lowest bidder, not the one who makes the "safer"- millimeter technology scanner. There are many veils of false security- these scanners are one of them. A friend posted an article on Israeli airport security. Their first line of defense? Eye Contact. You can tell a lot about a person with how they react to eye contact. You'll find TSA shouts over your head- they will actively look away if you try to make eye contact. I'm sure they get their fair share of rudeness as well.  SO what's the solution?  How do we make flying a reasonable safe mode of transportation again?

I have a solution. Combine Healthcare and TSA. Standardized healthcare does away with many of the dignities TSA is starting to. You can be categorized by health status which determines your screening regime. Just think about how many germs you are exposed to in an ER or a plane. The same right? You can get the Xrays you need and be on your way to a different destination all at the same time. Throw the people who can treat those conditions into the mix. I mean international travellers do pose a problem- but we treat most of them on our dime anyway when medical attention is needed, I say just add a surcharge for those tickets. It's the fiscally responsible thing to do. Ok I am being sarcastic, but when you start posing medical risks for transportation, the appropriate specialists should be involved. 

Yes, flying is choice. It is also a business.  Although federally regulated, business is business and rarely is anything but the customers pocketbook considered. Be your own advocate, especially when caught between an ionizing rock and a hard pat down.

Thanksgiving Lost

When I was a child we spent a whole month working up to Thanksgiving. We got to dress up as Pilgrims and Indians and always had a feast in class. As soon as the Halloween ghosts and ghouls were put away- the festive leaves and turkeys and cornocopias came out. By the time my own children were in preschool, we were not allowed to call them Indians, they were Native Americans.  That never sat well with me, because not only were me and my children native to the Americas, all of their grandparents and great grandparents were as well. In  United Nations conference, the majority of representatives agreed that American Indian was a better descriptor as by definition all those born in the Americas are considered native americans and that lead to confusion. Since people from India are also referred to as Indians, that confusion also needed to be irradicated. After all- what kind of society are we if we cannot lump groups of people together and give them a name? Then in a stroke of genius- we commemorate a group of people's(whose name we continue to change) in an aptly named holiday- Thanksgiving.

Thanksgiving has been celebrated as early as the 1560's, not 1621 in Plymouth as generally thought. A Thanksgiving feast would be held to celebrate a bountiful harvest and to give thanks to God. Many codes in early communities recognized the day as a holiday and then in 1941, President Roosevelt gave it official holiday status. In the efforts to keep church and state separate, the ties to God were not emphasized and the date was set for economic reasons not social welfare, although many would argue the two are intertwined. Thanksgiving and Christmas were traditionally the 2 holidays that almost no one worked. The season was respected and employees were as well. Despite everything being closed on Thanksgiving- Christmas decorations magically appeared on Black Friday. I have noticed a trend over the past few years- Christmas creeps in earlier and earlier. It is happening everywhere. At first I thought it was here on the island, an economic necessity to put out Christmas decorations due to lack of storage space. That is not the case.  Last year as the Halloween decorations came out, so did the Christmas lights. This year- there was wall of lights and other items that came out in July with the school supplies. You still see Halloween decorations, but you are hard pressed to find fall decorations. Thanksgiving has been pushed out for it's lack of commercial value. If people aren't told to buy items to help celebrate a Holiday- does the holiday no longer exist?

Apparently things are creeping this way as Walmart and Sears have announced that they will be open for Thanksgiving. Economic hardships are cited for the change in policy. I wonder if in the economic conscious decision making process, the stores are giving employees the option to work?  Are they appealing to those most financially strained, "gifting" them the opportunity to make extra funds on a holiday? I am no business major and I don't claim to know the inner workings of the system, but common sense tells me the costs of operating on a holiday might surpass the revenue- especially in light of the wonderful internet shopping opportunities. But what are the bigger costs to us as a society? When we deem shopping paramount importance to that of family and a sense of gratitude, no one wins.  There have been many a Thanksgiving item forgotten in my past. There have been mad dashes to gas stations or any open mart. Those are what great stories are made of. Or the ingenuity and creativity of using blue or green twine as available- sometimes yielding interesting colored gravy.  Scrounging around to replace something burnt or just making do. Magazines dedicate entire issues to Thanksgiving disasters- you will not find one story on the Thanksgiving that was saved by running to walmart at the last second.

I never partake in Black Friday. I don't like shopping under the best conditions, no matter how good the deal. I've learned my time is more important.  Yet for many it is a tradition, a tradition that along with Thanksgiving will die. Traditionally we decorate our tree the day after Thanksgiving. It gives me the excuse not to face the throngs of bargain hunters. Because although I love seeing the joy on my children's faces at Christmas- I mourn the loss of the true spirit of giving in the commercial marketplace. The spirit that is being zapped away with the loss of fall, the loss of harvest, the loss of Thankfullness. I have actually read articles entitled "Tired of Thanksgiving dinner?" that offer alternatives to the traditional fare. I shake my head- tired of Thanksgiving? If you are tired of Thanksgiving, perhaps you should apply at Walmart or Sears- I hear they have some holiday jobs available. To me Thanksgiving is tradition and you don't mess with tradition. Sometimes you move tradition a day or 2 because your husband is guarding the borders so you can rest securely. You don't skip it for a good sale. 

So Walmart will be open. Many other places as well. I will not go. I will honor centuries of tradition. Even though I did not personally harvest the bounty that will set on my table, I will be thankful for those who did. I will be Thankful that with God's good graces, I will have my best friend and all of my children at one table for one meal. I will be Thankful that another year has passed and those who have passed with it. I will be Thankful for the gifts I have and not Thanksgiving Lost.

Oprah's Male Child Abuse Show

Today I got a message from my aunt(actually my husband's aunt) imploring me to make time in my busy schedule to check out Oprah. I haven't made time in my crazy life for Oprah in over 11 years. I don't know why today was different. Although I have periodically taken time to peruse her magazine or email her great topics for shows, only once did I hear back. Over 5 years ago, I wrote in to suggest a show focusing on male child abuse victims. And as I went online to look for today's episode that my aunt wanted me to watch(something about the Jackson kids- which I never did see-because) I got sidetracked by multiple videos by male sexual abuse victims debunking the popular theories on sexual abuse. And for once, I think she nailed it. No goodie bag on earth could take away the monsters these men have carried with them and dealt with their entire lives. The best A-ha moment in the world is for people to wake up and realize there is a huge problem. The best way to raise awareness is to reach deep down in those places we don't like to talk about and wrench out what is really going on.

My view is this. When we get rid of acceptability of any kind of abuse regardless of gender, we are taking great strides in making the world a better place. Abuse happens. It is covered up, lied about, and festers as an ugly secret people spend their lives running away from. When victims become suspects and it becomes cheaper to walk away than stand up and fight- we have lost all credibilty in this "system" of justice we propose to have. Abuse knows no age, sex, or race. It is NEVER acceptable for an adult to have relations of any sort of sexual nature with a child under ANY circumstances. EVER. The consentual sex laws may vary from state to state and that is merely words written on paper. When we as a society allow predators, convicted offenders to mingle amongst playgrounds claiming THEIR right to privacy trumps the hope of a poor child victim's RIGHT to an unabused childhood- we are wrong. It should not be tolerated under the name of state, religion, or temporary insanity. Temporary insanity is what a parent experiences the second they find out something like this has happened to their child. The good parents regain consciousness and help their children go on with life in this new found jaded reality of pain, the bad parents enable the cycle and covet the secrecy of lies.

1/4 women will be abused. No one knows the numbers for men, because many won't ever tell. All I know is it's too high. Hug your children. Let them know their body is their own and that you are their greatest ally. Then show them you are. Accidents happen- Abuse is never an accident and it will happen again- unless we each make it a point to not tolerate those who abuse. Stepping off my soap box now.



"http://www.oprah.com/oprahshow/The-Stigma-of-Male-Child-Abuse-Video/topic/oprahshow"

Flying the Friendly Skies

After 36 fun filled hours of conference, cancer and cousins, I exit Ami’s monstrosity of a truck and prepare for another long day of airline craziness. The whirlwind of the trip surrounds me and yet somehow- none of it has been anywhere near as exhausting day to day care and feeding of my four monstrosities. I slept less than I require, well that’s not exactly true, but consecutive hours of sleep were fairly fleeting. When you get to see family once every few years or so, it seems kind of trivial to waste away your time sleeping when there is so much catching up to do. I am sad that my time with my cousins was so short, yet relieved to visit and exit before the familial intricacies that color our relationships have an opportunity to damper the experience. As I am pondering the fun times recently shared, I am rudely pushed out of this way by a woman and her monstrosity of a bag. I let it go. And before I can even get my balance back, 3 other ladies wheel their bags up behind her. I notice all of the bags are wrapped identically with brightly colored ribbons, identifying them as a group.




Now mind you, I was in line, at the check in counter of the airline. As I rounded the curve of the the people herder ropes, the said offender so rudely acted upon my person in an unfriendly and inconsiderate manner. She starts calling to the rest of the group, in a language I cannot identify. I know she is telling them to get with her group of rude interrupter pusherers. I say No. No is universal as was my tone. She looks at me and I shake my head and say NO again. “If you are calling the whole group over- let me in front of you” I say as I move to the side to go around them. She says something to the 3 who are now moving to block my way. There are at least 10 people with matching brightly colored ribbons behind me, trying to push around me. I scan the faces around me, feeling certain I would spot Ashton Kutcher and willing to laugh off my turn being punked. There is a man pushing at my right and I say “NO!” rather loudly and rudely. A security guard rushes over. He unfastens the guard rope and ushers me through, replacing it after me. “Please proceed to any of the empty kiosks”. As I look for the empty kiosks- I realize that there is a line of 5 people in front of the crazy ribbon pusherers all waiting patiently for the next kiosk while there are dozens of them open. The security guard is yelling at that group to step forward to any open kiosk they are all available for self check in. I then hear him berating the group leader. I feel slightly vindicated and hope they are not on the flight going to Hawaii and that somehow I would be shadowed by these horrendous pusherers for the next week.



I also have come to realize that despite climbing airline ticket prices, e-v-e-r-y-t-h-i-n-g is becoming more automated- and by automated- I mean self service. There are airline employees barking orders at every step for those of us who do not travel frequently enough to know the routine of every airport in the DC area. And this is the second one I’ve been to in the past 48 hours, and the 5th airport- so I’m feeling fairly current on my airline travel refresher course. The conference folks were nice enough to arrange my travel and I generally assumed I would be flying out of the same airport I arrived at. And you know what they say about Assumptions. Unfortunately the DC area has 3 airports and when someone else is arranging- you get what you get. Mostly I am glad to have noticed the change in departure airport prior to arriving at the wrong airport.



I successfully completed the grueling self check in procedure which is easy except for the excessive need to decline umpteen upgrades- which is to say additional costs. I look up and 3 employees are just staring at me behind the counter. I hoist my bag onto the scale as the boarding passes for my journey slip out of the kiosk printer. I place my ID on the counter and as I gather the boarding passes, the employee picks up my id and hands it to me while snidely pointing out that it is a self service counter. I take my ID and stand there patiently as he grabs the bag tag. “Mallory” He calls out. I hand him my ID and boarding pass and just wait. “Take the bag over there.” You just have a merry happy sunshiney day too there mr happy pants. People are mean here. Well people are mean everywhere, but especially here. And by here, I mean airports, malls, public places, everywhere. I think the only place that people generally are not mean are Disney World and hence it garners the label- happiest place on earth. I venture towards security smiling at every face I meet, telling each TSA worker along the way how dearly I hope they have a wonderful day. I get a lot of weird looks. How is it everyone expects rudeness and pushererness- yet if you say simple nice ities you are looked at as a loony toon.



I know that the security check points are an exercise in rudeness tolerance. On both sides. Travelers are generally grumpy at the “reasonable” indignities in the name of security while security employees are barraged with the emotional projection by those who indignantly tolerate the measures enacted through a higher power in the name of safety. And people are mean. I follow the directions being barked on both sides. Shoes removed, sweaters and jackets removed, put items in bins- make sure all liquids in their appropriate Ziploc containers are in a bin and all laptops must be in their own bin. I don’t put my shoes in the bin. When I went through security in Honolulu, I was barked at for putting my shoes in the bin. “This is NOT your airport security” I was told. I was taken aback. Oh, then where do I go for MY airport security, because I kinda need to make my flight. “ Would you put your shoes on your baby?” Um no. except maybe Bella, because if my shoes were ON her, then she might not be licking them and THAT’s a win-win situation. But then again I wouldn’t put my baby in a bin to go through an xray machine conveyor belt at an airport either. I’m not really sure where this is going. The woman in front of me turns back to look at me and just shrugs while the tirade continues. We do it such and such way here- we have respect for the aina and your health and people don’t need their lovely bags and jackets dirtied by the nasty shoes that I was trying to put in the bin. OK Mr. I clearly am power tripping in an ignorant fashion with people who fortunately are only held hostage by your stupidity for however long it takes to scan the bags. You are talking to the woman who is abandoning 24 hour disinfecting ops for a flying sardine can of recycled air and considers it a “vacation”.

First of all- shoes are not the cleanest of clothing items. I wouldn’t go around licking them. I know those who do but they have the maturity and intellect of a 4 year old. We are both adults. Secondly, you are implying these bins, that are stacked on the floor, the same floor that soils the shoes that sooo offend you. And the bottoms of these bins that alternate turns on the floor and sandwiched between other bins are then filled with personal items and sent through the xray machine. When they are not there, they are on a conveyor belt, which is where he would like for us to put our offensive footwear. So visualize a smear of red paint on the bottom of your shoes. The red paint goes to conveyor. Conveyor belt goes around and waits for next bin, bin gets put on conveyor, red paint gets on bin, bin goes through, bin takes red paint and deposits it on the inside of the next bin it gets stacked on in the pile. Cycle complete mister Einstein. You really aren’t doing anyone any favors. Thirdly- do you ever watch people and their bags? As they wait in line- where are the bags? On this dirty ground that is so offensively soiling our shoes. You are seriously implying that there is some sort of sanitary state of airport security bins that visit with thousands of humans and their respective questionable hygiene states from all over the world on a daily basis. Outstanding logic. But I digress.



I clear security and my phone starts ringing. It is my lovely husband who I have seen place his shoes on the bin in the Honolulu airport, but that is not the point. I want to say hi to him before I jump on a plane and I know that it is a matter of OCD importance that he talk to me before I get on said flight. Every time he has a big flight, and if I think about it- just about any time he flies- he calls or sends me a text that usually says no more than love you! It’s always nice to hear, or read so I appreciate it and I also appreciate that before he slips the surly bonds of gravity- I am on his mind. I don’t get to fly as often as he does, so I wasn’t really aware until this trip,that the superstition applies to me flying as well. I was relieved to think back to my many connections to get to DC that at each stop I sent a quick text. I don’t mess with people’s superstitions- it’s not good luck. Hi buddy, I love you. I just went through security and they were surprisingly gentle. He is laughing at me and I regale him with the tale of the rude pusherers and the kiosk incident and he laughs. I am chatting away as people walk by and they all look at me. I look around- I’m not in a restricted area, there is no one around- I guess I’m the only one to look at. I smile. People look away, few smile back. Well excuuuuse me- you were looking at me. I rub my nose to make sure there is nothing on it and make sure my clothing and zippers are all in order. I just keep smiling. Do people not talk on the phone here- I’m not being loud . I realize there is no time to chat on and on and I haven’t even gotten to the story about the guy with his hands in his pants on the metro. Yeah that’s a good one, but I tell him I love him and venture on my way. People are still looking at me and I am developing a complex. It occurs to me how different people are. I mean theoretically- it is an airport and people are from everywhere. But if you walk around the airport at Honolulu- many people will not look at you. In many cultures, eye contact is offensive, confrontational, disrespectful. Yet pushing a person out of the way is perfectly acceptable. Go figure.