tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34390859907963988122024-03-13T21:50:34.424-06:00Gas-Food-LodgingGingerBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09976594257345428901noreply@blogger.comBlogger353125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3439085990796398812.post-31819645826164881052014-06-18T17:01:00.000-06:002014-06-18T17:01:22.514-06:00So much to do, so little time!Anxiety on the receding level means action on the mommy level. Grief is still there, depression is lurking behind (in a shadow, obviously) and anxiety still has me grinding teeth and thinking stupid thoughts while missing other thoughts of greater value, but the energy to do the things of family living is returning to our family life. Luckily, I still don't have a job, though it seems possible in the future. I keep telling friends I cannot fathom how I ever had a full-time, high-intensity job AND cared for kids and home and did all that therapy for Hannah, lived with a depressed and slow moving husband (in secret he may have been speedy, I am still not sure) and...!!!...then started on therapy for me, then spousal suicide and then more therapy for Claire, then me...then arrgghhh...then I remember that I was propped up with oxycodone from November 2010 to March 2013. And then propelled by PTSD, grief, sobriety and the need to eventually get better, then ... .... .... PRESTO! I now operate at roughly 65% and climbing of who I used to be before I married a depressed! lying! manipulative! wrongly made! sort of beautiful in a flawed but beautiful manly and deeply fucked up manly way kind of man and had children with him and eventually had all my own previous flaws and insecurities meet up with special needs! Depression of self plus spouse! Life threatened babies! Death of a parent (and beloved dog)! Life in a CAPITAL L Sense, plus regular life and fell the fuck apart. Boom. Did I mention BOOM!? So now, I figure 65% operational skills is not bad, considering. People say you need a year for grief, you need a year to get equilibrium in recovery, and obviously you need a year plus for PTSD due to its earth shattering and ass kicking nature. So sixteen months since spousal death, this is not bad, not bad at all. Except ALL. Kinda bad still, honestly, but not AS bad as before. A win!<br />
<br />
We live to fight the good fight, and smile a little today. Knowing there are more smiles tomorrow and beyond.<br />
<br />
In the last two weeks I have spent 40 hours or so pulling weeds, been social repeatedly on as many as four days in a row, volunteered at church, co-parented other peoples' kids as well as my own, gone to continued therapy, sorted the detritus of about the last two plus years in my homey mess and recycled or tossed quite a lot of it, and been validated for how I have cared for my daughter with a metabolic disorder and CP by people in the know who say I have done well by reducing PT and just living. I have read books to my kids and encouraged them. I have loved myself, if not fully, at least I have tried, and told myself it is OK to gain weight while I am in triple recovery, and I bought clothes for me in this size, to reconfirm my affirmation. Firm is a word that partly fits, except for when I jiggle a lot. I have prayed and meditated, though not always with feelings of peace. I have felt optimism, pessimism but less so, hope, despair (natch) but then, hope some more, belief I can truly make my journals of turmoil into a book that might help others recover from trauma and despair, doubt, and, ultimately, belief, again. We have been to the zoo, swimming lessons, the lawn mower repair shop, book club, the store (too many times to count reliably) and I almost set up the computer again to receive pix so I can catch up on holiday and event posts.<br />
<br />
Crap, I am pooped. But also, I am having some extra coffee so I can keep going.GingerBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09976594257345428901noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3439085990796398812.post-74136118965467890622014-05-19T14:06:00.002-06:002014-05-19T14:11:34.368-06:00Are those furry black spiders with white dots dangerous? If so, I am a hero!Because I just killed one with a handy dirty sandal (not one I was wearing) out on the hot red patio my kids play on in my back yard. See self, you are strong! Mighty! Full of pizzazz!<br />
<br />
This act of bravery followed me getting on a ladder to tighten a loose light bulb in the garage door opener feature, and replace the burned out bulb.<br />
<br />
Check me out!! I am getting better! Or at least able to face a ladder to do a simple household chore. This may sound silly but I have had a huge fear of going more than two steps up a ladder since I got such raging PTSD, because I often felt like the world's solid nature might be yanked away at any minute and that I would fall down, likely into an abyss, but certainly off the ladder.<br />
<br />
I am so much better that I suddenly feel bad about the state of my home and life generally and therefore make myself busy starting to do things. I only finish doing fun things with my kids and the most basic things like appointments, food, clothes for the little ones, but it is better than before. I would like to not feel bad about not suddenly being 100% myself again but instead being somewhere in the 50% range, but with such a huge step up, I'll take it and run.<br />
<br />
Don't fear I am off somewhere relapsing, I am really off somewhere with a Swiffer cloth making ineffectual stabs at cleaning things. And pre-treating poopstains in tiny underwear. I really didn't know skidmarks went on this long.<br />
<br />
I will be back soon with photos to prove kids with stroke and suicidal parents go hiking . . . and camping . . . and perform in the chorus of the kindergarten play, and have huge birthday celebrations and so on, and so on, and so on.<br />
<br />
<br />GingerBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09976594257345428901noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3439085990796398812.post-46721684821879131252014-03-22T08:23:00.000-06:002014-03-22T18:25:16.675-06:00A few ways CP changes my parenting styleI have two kids, one with CP, and one without. After the first few years of seemingly endless PT and OT, therapy generally now comes through living for Hannah. That means my affected child copies her sister and therefore I shamelessly use my older child to help the younger one, just by hoping two handed activities look good. Lately I have hosted a lot of play dates for both kids, and I have realized that not only do I use my kids to help each other but I am using other families' kids to encourage mine, and it works. It seems like other kids who come over think my house is the "no rules" house. I have an indoor scooter, and kids can ride it through the house, and I kept the Flintstones style car past the normal age based time frame, and people climb on top and push each other around in creative ways. What I have been enjoying is how physical kids can get in group play and how that inspires Hannah in particular, but also keeps Claire from sitting and watching TV. Hannah got the scooter when she was three or so, as an idea from a PT, with the hope that she would use it and increase balance and strength in her affected leg. We got the three wheeled style with a wider platform. Honestly she still doesn't push off with her affected leg but she will get on it and scoot through the house at least once each time some other child takes it for a spin and leaves it lying about. A tall child who is visiting today was able to get the cereal boxes off the fridge, which us something my kids would just call to me to do for them, so even self sufficiency skills get boosted by playing with other kids. Seeing kids whose parents must be telling the kids to get it themselves (unlike me, as I seem to find it terrifying to let my kids life and pour a gallon of milk and spill it) Hannah now gets inspired to carry a stool around so she can get things. All in all, my house is a complete disaster now that people get their own things of interest but I figure it is only to Hannah's benefit to keep stretching for things above her literal and figurative reach. I am trying to work on not doing for my kids when they could do for themselves, but right now, just working on that is all I can do. It really is helpful though, when a mom of a fellow almost eight year old who is coming to sleepover texts me to say her child gets clumsy when she hits her exhaustion limit, and to know that is not really a factor of CP or small stature but one of run of the mill childhood experience. So today, I am grateful for the village people who sometimes send their kids to me. But also I am tired of picking up M&Ms.GingerBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09976594257345428901noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3439085990796398812.post-89458899610275836172014-03-16T15:48:00.000-06:002014-03-17T17:49:58.739-06:00Good news for clumsy people everywhereWhere have I been, and where is my brain? Firstly, celebrating the great good news that the 5 second rule for eating food off the floor is indeed valid. H is clumsy, given her lack of right sided motor skills, but then again, C and I drop our fair share of food on the floor. When both kids were still at Kids Kampus, I agreed with the 5 second rule wholeheartedly since my blessed daycare seemed to mop the floors once an hour or so. Since I was often there I was in the know about their cleaning efforts, as I came at random times to either meet an Early Intervention caseworker or to pickup and return my child. My house, though, has rarely been cleaned as frequently. OK, never. Whatever. And now, thanks to PTSD (thank you MCADD and Lord Honey, not) my house is never clean enough that I would think eating off my floors a great idea. So news reports this week of a study testing the five second rule and finding it valid were welcome here. Check NPR or Google it, the news is in, picking up food quickly really does make it safer. Hooray for us! H has absolutely no fear of eating food she drops, and since we became dog free a couple years ago when Sophie went to Dog Heaven, I stopped being quite so worried about what the floor might harbor that could sicken or kill a person who might eat the odd unwrapped chocolate or piece of cheese that dropped. Let's skip right over the deer poo in my yard, literally and figuratively, OK? Like in the Lego movie, Everything is Awesome! We can retrieve each Samoa and jelly bean and stuff it in, provided we are quick about it. Is it wrong to feel so happy about being slovenly and clumsy? I say no. In my never ending quest for affirming optimism, I say ... Yay!<br />
<br />
Secondly, I have been internet sleuthing literacy and Common Core and related stuff, not because my kids are failing, but because the homework they get just makes me ... wonder.<br />
<br />
Thirdly, the time just gets away from me. When I ask aloud where the time goes, C generally says that an old man takes it and almost never gives it back. I think this goes back to me telling her something random about Father Time, and maybe her seeing weirdly drawn cartoons of the new year as a baby and such. Lawyers sometimes file a Motion to Enlarge Time, which I have always wanted to file but I could never figure out on whom I might serve the motion. Maybe later this week . . .<br />
<br />
<br />GingerBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09976594257345428901noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3439085990796398812.post-73414773691340528092014-02-23T22:16:00.000-07:002014-02-25T07:17:06.278-07:00Less gloom, more zoom!In less gloomy Gas Food Lodging news, both girls did a painting for the school talent show. Each girl wanted to paint something near and dear to her heart, so Hannah painted a picture of her favorite stuffed pony, Sharley.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4-xu5CPZufA/UwyjOM9Ew9I/AAAAAAAABIk/vt1GrO-o5gY/s1600/20140223_095256.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4-xu5CPZufA/UwyjOM9Ew9I/AAAAAAAABIk/vt1GrO-o5gY/s1600/20140223_095256.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
Claire painted her cousin engaged in her "all Katniss, all the time" favorite activity.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-2BPAmdkqKt8/UwyjRBCLj_I/AAAAAAAABIs/uO7mEVm0uZM/s1600/20140223_095247.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-2BPAmdkqKt8/UwyjRBCLj_I/AAAAAAAABIs/uO7mEVm0uZM/s1600/20140223_095247.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
At the talent show I felt blessedly grateful that neither of my children plays the clarinet or drums, and had a very strange conversation with a very conservative friend about her daughter's hula hoop skills and the lack of a future in hula hooping although pole dancing might be lucrative in the health and fitness realm.<br />
<br />
Hannah is suddenly very attached to her Daddy shirt which still smells faintly of her father and which she can roll up, cuddle, and seemingly animate with emotions and interest. "No, Daddy shirt wants to go, too!" I put the brakes on Daddy shirt going into the store, and thought it best he not attend church, though he will be allowed to stay in the car.<br />
<br />
At church today, as we took communion, Hannah chewed the host after dipping it in the chalice, and her response to the phrase "the blood of Christ, the cup of salvation" . . . was "oh, juicy."<br />
<br />
We went tubing with a friend, and Claire did not love it as much as Hannah did. Hannah loved it a lot. Fortunately for me we got a picture of the joy that did not include my mountainous er, um, mountains, which remain larger than Hannah's head and dominate most pictures.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-eW3Qd3cDUs4/UwuoUIE3cxI/AAAAAAAABH8/wk-5CLdwt_M/s1600/20140223_155706(0).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-eW3Qd3cDUs4/UwuoUIE3cxI/AAAAAAAABH8/wk-5CLdwt_M/s1600/20140223_155706(0).jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
<br />GingerBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09976594257345428901noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3439085990796398812.post-62071095781269673802014-02-16T00:15:00.000-07:002014-02-17T00:47:21.802-07:00Put out the sun, dismantle the moon, tear up all the flowers<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The bloom is off the rose of love. Or so it seems when your Valentine killed himself one year ago. How did I mark the anniversary of being notified of my husband's suicide? I had a couple kids over for a sleepover and let the four younguns trash the house. How did I mark the anniversary of the Valentine's Day I had last year, when I was tearing about buying pills and clothes for my kids to wear to their father's funeral? I had a cookie decorating and craft party for my daughters and friends, and let the five younguns trash the house. Despite my fifty dollars worth of icing, cookies, new scissors and rolls of tape, they ended the affair not with things of pink but with making Fairy Soup by grinding grass and bits of plants with rocks into a wooden bowl of water on the front porch. And I let the bowl stay there, to attract the odd Fairy who might happen by. I hope she might put the bloom back on the rose. Maybe even plant the rose. And when we got good and exhausted, the next day, to mark the anniversary of the funeral, we stayed in our pajamas and hung out, and hung on, and we rested. Enough grieving<b>. </b>I've been a widow for one year, and the book sucks, so now I need to add some new chapters,</span>GingerBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09976594257345428901noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3439085990796398812.post-9661258336053835542014-02-06T17:36:00.000-07:002014-02-17T00:47:08.016-07:00Back to bracing basicsHannah must have just stretched or something and her wrist is kinking up a bit. We braced for so very long, and when, over the last year, and after the last brace had such fatigued fabric that it couldn't hold the stay in the palm of her hand anymore, we stopped bracing. Her OT said when her wrist didn't flex and drop her hand, as was not happening much last summer, she would do just as well without it so it wouldn't impair her volitional movements. Happily, we stopped bracing. Suddenly Hannah recently noticed she couldn't hold a paper down with her affected hand while writing with lefty and she wanted to spend more time at OT. We went in this week to get new ideas and I had thoughts of a new brace, and came home with two, one to help hold her hand down during school work and the other to provide a better grip on swings and playground equipment and the like. Now of course she doesn't want to wear either one, so we are back to that nasty place of trying to create a commitment to therapy after taking a break. This is not my favorite place, as it brings up all my issues of wanting to encourage her to build skills and strength and confidence and lay down neural pathways for the future, all conflicting with my desire not to ever communicate to her that she is anything other than wonderful, perfect, not broken, and not in need of fixing. This is something I will never feel I really have down.<br />
<br />
However, in other Hannah news, communication skills are really on an upswing. Han has fully embraced and adopted the family practice of making old songs new again, changing the lyrics to songs of interest and renown to fit the topic in one's mind. Now "I just wanna see you ... I just wanna see you-oo, see you be brave" becomes "I just wanna see you, I just wanna see you-oo, see you be ... FART!"<br />
<br />
Bracing.GingerBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09976594257345428901noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3439085990796398812.post-65612572475771482242014-02-04T23:18:00.000-07:002014-02-17T00:46:46.903-07:00You snarky little turd, DepressionYou have a mouth like a sailor. Why do you curse like that? I see you coming but I will not fall prey to your wiles. You will not convince me of any more drama. I see you, sneaking about, peering around the corners of my mind. Piss off and take your demon brother Anxiety with you. I will let you in if I must but we are not going to bed. We will be business acquaintances at best. I will not even friend you. You may be reliable, familiar, even seductive, but this is a dance I prefer to sit out. Ropes course? No. Not more than a promise of hypothetical coffee. I would rather keep it down to a polite nod to acknowledge we know one another but no longer really connect. Take care. Call me. (I will consider it a butt dial).GingerBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09976594257345428901noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3439085990796398812.post-82706686760188268682014-02-03T14:34:00.000-07:002014-02-03T14:34:00.618-07:00Pop, pop, pop music!So, what is getting me through, these days? Pop music! Everybody talk about, as in . . . and so I continue to miss Adam Ant, derailed by mental illness, but at least we now have Bruno Mars. M, anybody? I am all about inspiration these days, as I still battle the depression, the anxiety, the PTSD, recovery from addiction, death of my spouse, blah-de-blah endless blah and yuck and yet I am hanging on by embracing the beautiful, the divine, the brave, the innocence, the happy.<br />
<br />
Right now my happy music is <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QUQsqBqxoR4">Brave</a> and <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=y6Sxv-sUYtM">Happy</a>. Thank you pop music, just for being you. And courtesy of Hope over at <a href="http://www.graceinsmallthings.com/">Grace in Small Things</a>, I am adding on Mariachi music today and I will let you know how that goes (probably with horns). <br />
<br />
If the people who live in my house will stop being ill or getting head lice or both (thank you grade school in all your hat sharing, scarf swapping, up close and personal glory) then I will return to blogging my way through the blues. Right now I am charged with keeping up our spirits without spreading illness or despair. Those of you who know young children will correctly guess that this involves a lot of craft supplies and clean up, so you know I am otherwise occupied.<br />
<br />
Whoever you are who Googles MCADD and lands here, please contact me if you need to talk about it. We still have it and still find it to be the least of our worries, actually.GingerBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09976594257345428901noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3439085990796398812.post-60827284761419290502014-01-22T09:10:00.000-07:002014-01-22T09:10:11.691-07:00Hang on, hang on, hang on.I am coming back and hanging on. Really, I am. The gas tank is not empty and the cupboards are not bare.GingerBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09976594257345428901noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3439085990796398812.post-52195794517020949312013-11-14T21:26:00.000-07:002013-11-15T10:05:02.537-07:00Take that, CP, pediatric stroke...my daughter can take you!So we had our clinic visit at Shriner's Hospital yesterday, and the verdict is in...Hannah rocks. I sort of knew this but it is great to be told. I really struggle with accepting acknowledgment for doing well as a parent, because I am so full of self defeating thoughts about my abilities to take care of kids with better than expected needs, but the truth is, I have done well by her. Dr. Mike said so! In fact his words were "best job ever!" But enough of me and my issues, she is rocking it all, so much that we continue to not brace her during the day so she is not inhibited in her voluntary movements. We will continue the night stretching brace and knee brace to make the AFO effective when she might otherwise bend her leg during sleep. I was given the advice that ... Are you ready? ... We need not go to PT but once a year to have an eval and get ideas for activities but life is the PT Hannah needs right now, so I should encourage her to be as active as possible, continue taking walks in our hilly neighborhood, continue going to the bounce facility regularly, continue with dance and any sport or activity that she enjoys, continue to have a big variety of footwear (especially cowboy boots) and so on. We will continue with OT visits and activities, as her hand and arm still need more development but my treating team doesn't think surgeries or bracing will be needed for her gait and mobility. Ahem. Yep, she rocks. Of course we could have increased spasticity with a growth spurt but really the leg spasticity is still dynamic spasticity only. Basically, no need to borrow trouble and look for negative outcomes. And PT in life rather than at the clinic.<br />
<br />
Oh, happy day. Thanks be to God, Early Intervention, the Angel of PT, and an awesome kid. My heart is full.GingerBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09976594257345428901noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3439085990796398812.post-63779210175167734072013-11-04T13:16:00.000-07:002013-11-04T13:16:18.453-07:00RattledSo recovery from trauma, from grief, from anything probably always goes only in fits and starts. One of those sayings we should all drop is that it gets a little better every day, because that sets us up wanting things to get a little better every day and when it doesn't we add it to our stockpile of things we suck at. We should instead say "every now and then you'll notice that the hard stuff gets a little easier to bear" and leave it at that. Today I learned that my neighbor passed away, just over three weeks after his cancer diagnosis was made, and leaving a daughter in my age range and his wife of fifty years grieving, as well as many other family members and friends. I was able to run over and give comfort and say nice things but I came home and was rattled and had to have a brief lie down. When I realized I was not just mourning him and the loss of a father and husband, but also feeling some ugly nasty feelings I don't want to have, I had to get back up. Also, the phone rang and I am trying to actually take calls and stop avoiding people and things, so I answered, to hear from a dear friend who checks up on me now and then. This friend has the distinction of being one of my few friends who has had the awful experience of losing a child, and having had the trauma fairy come to wave her PTSD wand at her family. I told her how I'd gotten rattled and she told me that she lost her footing a few days ago when she learned that a neighbor who, like her, had previously lost an adult child who died in a random fatal traffic accident, has now suffered the same <i>again</i>, now losing one of her teenaged twin girls in a head on traffic accident and the other remains in very serious condition. This mom is driving back and forth from one city to see her injured daughter in the hospital and to see the other at the morgue in a different city. I can't believe it even though it is surely real. The horror that family is going through astounds me. And I can't believe that you can survive the worst of the worst, get on the other side of the abyss, and it can happen again. I can't go through mine again, I know I can't. So, say a little prayer for moms in distress.<br />
<br />GingerBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09976594257345428901noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3439085990796398812.post-696430760938232822013-11-02T12:43:00.000-06:002013-11-04T13:14:08.451-07:00Goodness, that was a lot of extraI keep hoping my energy is on an upswing, and my mood right behind that, but then it swings back down. I don't need to tell you this, but do try to never get hit by a personal life Tsunami, because it really is an ass kicker to come back from in so so so many ways. I am tired of not being who I used to be, tired of being tired, tired of having to lie down and read something soothing after paying a bill or taking a phone call or having a thought.<br />
<br />
Today, I am tired by the normal! Progress!! Still tired by other stuff too, abnormal as it may be and always will be, but I did more this week for parenting purposes and did not 1) lose my sobriety, 2) lose my faith, or 3) actually let the house get any dirtier. Success! The things I did this week that were extra were making a yarn wig for Raggedy Ann (tips to follow), making a poster for my daughter to be Star of the Week at Kindergarten (turns out in my mid 40s I still can't cut out a star free hand, but now I have Google and I can find a template to use, lickety split), attend and assist at 2! class parties, decorate the front porch (I did not however, carve pumpkins, and I tell myself that PTSD means I shouldn't use a knife that sharp while I still have this shaky hands thing going on. Spilled cofffee is one thing, knicked knuckles is entirely another). And like mt depressed people who weigh too much, I ate as many Reeses PB cups as I could, and a smattering of other stuff, so of course I am tired. Perfect for that extra hour of sleep.GingerBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09976594257345428901noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3439085990796398812.post-39182214077237299162013-11-01T17:27:00.000-06:002013-11-04T13:12:10.090-07:00Friday Haiku - This is Halloween Hangover TownWe were late to school<br />
So was everybody else<br />
Sugar is tiring.<br />
<br />
School parties were fun<br />
and the Parade was more so<br />
Wonder Woman rocks<br />
<br />
Raggedy Ann flops<br />
Now I can make a yarn wig!<br />
But I am wiped out.<br />
<br />
Another "first" day<br />
to be gotten through with grief.<br />
I did it, barely.GingerBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09976594257345428901noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3439085990796398812.post-31122857713962654532013-10-25T11:38:00.000-06:002013-10-25T11:38:02.063-06:00Congratulate yourself today - you didn't give up!Already the post title sounds trite, I know, but it is really what I want to say.<br />
<br />
You did it! You didn't give in to the stress, the worries, the anxiety about the known and the unknown that lie ahead for you and your family, and the to-do lists, and the unending needs of those you provide for, and the fact that the long and winding road looks really long sometimes. You didn't decide that it was too much. You didn't let negative thoughts and self doubt sink your boat. You didn't feel the weight of the burdens you carry and decide to put them down. You kept going. You did your many, many jobs, and you went looking on the internet for help and inspiration and ideas from people who get it. You deserve to feel good about that. I think you should feel good about being you today.<br />
<br />
Brought to you from a gloomy person trying to claw her way out of the abyss, who today, sees joy ahead, and hopes you do too.GingerBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09976594257345428901noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3439085990796398812.post-64587327822173728272013-10-22T14:10:00.000-06:002013-10-22T14:10:00.054-06:00Talk to me, TEDToday, after spending an unhealthy amount of time reading about the people in that religion that the guy from <i>Grease</i> and <i>Saturday Night Fever</i> and also the guy from <i>Risky Business</i> were in, I decided to stop looking at distressing things and instead, focus on the positive. I went to TED. When I didn't go to bed, because I couldn't sleep any more, at about 4:00 a.m., that is. I love TED! Here are the things I learned. . .<br />
<br />
Attititude<br />
Awareness<br />
Authenticity<br />
<br />
will help me feel better, from the guy who made the 1000 Awesome Things Blog. Better still if I can pull out a wedgie when no one is looking. <br />
<br />
Tell me your favorite TED talks and I'll tell you more of mine. People who don't sleep well look at the Internet a lot, and I bet we can help each other on this one.GingerBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09976594257345428901noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3439085990796398812.post-88500013389906251982013-10-22T10:36:00.000-06:002013-10-22T10:36:13.166-06:00Spousal suicide / PTSD/ scorecardNumber of times my arms went numb yesterday - 3<br />
Number of times I flinched at sounds and light flashes at a kids movie Sunday - countless<br />
Number of times my head went zingy yesterday - 3<br />
Number of people in my family of 3 who graduated from counseling - 1 (not me)<br />
Number of IBS events - more than I care to say<br />
Belief that my daughter will be OK - almost 1GingerBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09976594257345428901noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3439085990796398812.post-21015046753524739312013-10-18T13:55:00.001-06:002013-10-18T13:55:46.963-06:00Your child was diagnosed with MCADD but will live a full life, with careWhen we got the confirmation of my daughter's MCADD diagnosis, we had an answer for the crisis she had gone through, but I was terrified of being able to keep her alive. Five years out, she is indeed alive, and MCADD was not a death sentence. A butt-kicking experience, but doable.<br />
<br />
Most children will be diagnosed through the expanded newborn screening, done shortly after birth through the heel stick blood tests. The nurses who have practiced for years often refer to the test as the PKU test, since for years that was the main illness diagnosed by newborn screening. Now, most states have expanded their newborn screening for metabolic disorders, and MCADD is about as common as PKU, and the second most common genetic metabolic disorder. Loads of kids are diagnosed years after their births, when a younger sibling comes up positive on the newborn screening and then all other kids in the family get tested, and the family learns they have been successfully living with MCADD for years. Regardless of how you learn about it, being told your child may die from a regular average every day cold, is indeed terrifying. The scariest day is when the parent goes to the internet to learn about the new presence in their lives, and they find websites describing the tragic stories of children dying when the condition was unknown. Armed with the knowledge that as long as your child never goes into a serious low blood sugar state, she will live, you pick up the pieces and move on, fear in your heart.<br />
<br />
My daughter's stroke and cerebral palsy were caused by the MCADD factor, but are certainly not a common outcome for MCADD. Hannah was not a gifted nurser, and her blood sugar went down slowly after her birth, so that 2 1/2 days after her delivery she experienced a metabolic crisis. If we had a normal delivery she would probably have died and people might have called it SIDS, but since she was born by Cesarean section, we were still in the hospital. Nurses charted her low temperature and took her from my room, her blood glucose was measured, they tried to feed her, and measured her blood glucose again, and again, and eventually charted "glucose IV stat" but it was not given for another 20+ minutes. She became fully hypotonic, with absolutely no muscle tone, and experienced a metabolic crisis. Doctors were baffled by her condition, gave antibiotics and monitored her closely, and about six days after she was born, we were given the MCADD results. At the time, no one expected there to be lasting complications, and the stroke was not diagnosed. I had enough to worry about, being told that a few hours delay in feeding could kill her and that fever and vomiting might be cause for a hospital admission to avoid a hasty death. We came home without her, brought her home a couple weeks later, and I pumped breast milk for the next 18 months, since she never was an adept nurser. I was terrified, I wondered if I should quit my job to stay home with her or try to get a nanny rather that putting her in day care, and I wondered how I could keep her alive if a world class medical facility nearly couldn't. Three times I have taken her to the pediatric ER for testing and a glucose IV and three times she started keeping food down while there, recovered, and has never had to be admitted to a hospital for her MCADD condition. Now that she is bigger, fasting is less risky, provided she doesn't fast for long or have other illness of a significant nature. Day care was fine, in fact, given her CP, it was a huge part of her successful development to date.<br />
<br />
If I could tell parents of kids with MCADD anything, it would be - you are good enough to do this. You really, really are, so don't waste any energy with fear and self doubt - just be mindful and do your best. If you get here because you are in a similar situation, please email me for support. If you struggle with your fears of being adequate, get help. If you are trying to be supermom, don't hurt yourself to do it.<br />
<br />
I don't want to blame my meltdown on my daughter, but instead on how I reacted to her condition - but having a daily fear like this contributed in a big way to self medicating myself into a pain pill addiction that could have robbed my daughter of her mother altogether. Not cool! Not good parenting! I hope that other parents are smarter than I was, and don't let self defeating beliefs, the depression and anxiety that can come with family illnesses be part of why you sink under the weight of what is on your plate. I wish I could go back and tell myself that indeed I was good enough to care for this child, that I was up to the task. History has proved that I was, so far, yet I didn't invest appropriately in my own health and well being and I very nearly blew it. Having other family issues come along means I can no longer cushion the blows with pain meds and anxiety drugs, so now I must do it all sober, which is both harder and easier, and now I need not engage in further beating myself up for daily acts that affirm my negative beliefs. But I wish I had forgiven myself sooner and in a less gut wrenching fashion. So my message to other parents who have similar burdens to carry, take care of you, so you can take care of the kids. You deserve to be proud of what you do to serve your kids of every flavor, and to be good to yourself.GingerBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09976594257345428901noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3439085990796398812.post-89853493727360821432013-10-16T10:35:00.000-06:002013-10-16T10:35:03.258-06:00Today I believe I will get better, somedaySome of the craziest sounding PTSD symptoms I have involve the sensation of skittering on my feet while my mind is racing as I try to get things done. All of the body stuff is just plain weird but certain things are so nonsensical I don't like to even describe them, so saying I feel I am skittering out of control when I just need to do an errand is the best I can do. I know and am conscious of the fact that I am not required to go one hundred miles an hour but I feel as if I should and as I think of the steps involved, to say, get groceries, I feel mounting tension and so I just stop and do less or nothing. This explains why my house looks so bad, the do less feature, and also is part of why I seem to do nothing compared to pre-PTSD /sobriety life. I am going to check with my therapist on Thursday but I think the unease I feel that sort of paralyzes me is really about doing too much, the perfectionism trait common to addicts/alcoholics/women who work and deal with special needs kids and a million other things. All this therapy I have been getting and I just figured out I need to give myself permission to fail. Bugger.GingerBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09976594257345428901noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3439085990796398812.post-54629671055225756612013-10-14T13:06:00.000-06:002013-10-14T13:06:20.605-06:00Friday Haiku - Psoriasis, Death, and TaxesO, psoriasis!<br />
Bane of my adolescence,<br />
I have not missed you.<br />
<br />
Next time you come back<br />
I will punch you in the throat<br />
and I won't feel bad.<br />
<br />
But for now I will<br />
hide my spotty self in lots<br />
of baggy clothing.<br />
<br />
And think of all the<br />
weird baths, lotions, creams and pills<br />
you brought to my life.<br />
<br />
I can blame taxes<br />
getting filed with a dead man.<br />
Why ever, you came.<br />
<br />
You're a right bastard.<br />
You actually suck out loud.<br />
Please take a long hike.<br />
<br />
<br />GingerBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09976594257345428901noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3439085990796398812.post-42104811986679625032013-10-14T08:05:00.001-06:002013-10-14T13:07:18.180-06:00World Mental Health Day came and wentI didn't celebrate it. I am hanging on to my mental health as best as I can, and sometimes I think there has been a bit of healing in little fits and starts, but neither grief nor wellness follows the notorious stages as described by folks in the helping professions.<br />
<br />
Take denial, for instance, as it applies to dealing with death. I had a boatload of denial in the weeks following my husband's suicide, but then less. However, denial comes back but not in good ways-now I feel denial that he ever lived. My kids burst out with things like "I'm starting to forget what he looked like!" followed by tears. I feel reluctance to get rid of the last bits of paper with his handwriting in case that means he gets totally erased himself. And this from someone who is not wholly grieving his passing because I am actually quite angry with him, still. I sometimes wonder if he was really real, at all.<br />
<br />
This is where my existential angst gets me stuck - my kids didn't exist, and then they did, and even if it kicked my butt the experience of being a parent has been amazing...yet now the other parent exists no more. Wha??? I don't get it. No wonder my head hurts and my heart aches and my hands shake. All this bursting into existence and snuffing it out leaves the pile of consciousness that us "me" dizzy with the breathtaking power of it all.<br />
<br />
So as usual, a folk song plays in my mind, from the inestimable Cheryl Wheeler.<br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #545559; font-family: verdana; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">Life is short, but the days and nights are long</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #545559; font-family: verdana; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">Time will heal all these wounds</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #545559; font-family: verdana; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">Some day soon</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #545559; font-family: verdana; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">I'll be rising I'll be strong</span><br />
<br style="background-color: white; color: #545559; font-family: verdana; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;" />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #545559; font-family: verdana; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">But now I'm loosing all my battles</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #545559; font-family: verdana; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">Now I'm down and dropping still</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #545559; font-family: verdana; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">And this snow's blowing through</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #545559; font-family: verdana; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">Like some ghost</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #545559; font-family: verdana; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">With this blue I know too well</span><br />
<br style="background-color: white; color: #545559; font-family: verdana; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;" />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #545559; font-family: verdana; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">Broken hearts keep on beating just the same</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #545559; font-family: verdana; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">So I guess I can too</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #545559; font-family: verdana; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">Go through these moves</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #545559; font-family: verdana; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">Facing forward, walking straight</span><br />
<br style="background-color: white; color: #545559; font-family: verdana; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;" />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #545559; font-family: verdana; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">But now my glance keeps drifting downward</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #545559; font-family: verdana; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">Now my feet can't find their way</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #545559; font-family: verdana; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">And this cold's creeping in</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #545559; font-family: verdana; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">Through my bones</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #545559; font-family: verdana; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">Whisperin it's here to stay</span><br />
<br style="background-color: white; color: #545559; font-family: verdana; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;" />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #545559; font-family: verdana; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">I'll bide my time, like there's any other way</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #545559; font-family: verdana; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">It moves too slow, moves too fast</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #545559; font-family: verdana; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">It's gone and past</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #545559; font-family: verdana; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">And stopped entirely today</span><br />
<br style="background-color: white; color: #545559; font-family: verdana; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;" />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #545559; font-family: verdana; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">I know there's light on some horizon</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #545559; font-family: verdana; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">But I can't see so far ahead</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #545559; font-family: verdana; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">Patience and grace, blessed is love</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #545559; font-family: verdana; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">I'm loosin my faith</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #545559; font-family: verdana; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">In most of that stuff those wise men said</span>GingerBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09976594257345428901noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3439085990796398812.post-31567817514701385032013-10-07T19:05:00.000-06:002013-10-07T19:05:03.777-06:00Spousal suicide / PTSD / parenting scorecardCompliments on how I am doing at staying sober and alive - a few<br />
<br />
My ability to teach my kids that we can dislike what Daddy did but still love him - better than expected<br />
<br />
My keeping an atmosphere in which they express love for Daddy - amazing<br />
<br />
Feeling a boatload of PTSD symptoms as I deal with estate, taxes, and what to do with the cremains - better than you might think but still packing a whallop<br />
<br />
Ability to get rid of Daddy's car and clothes - still behind the curve<br />
<br />
Number of counseling appointments this week for the three girls who live here - 3<br />
<br />
Number of people for whom the counselor says we are almost done - 1 (not me)<br />
<br />
Number of times I burst into tears at memories and intrusive thoughts today - just 2<br />
<br />
If my arms weren't numb and my hands not so shaky I would be kicking butt and taking names.GingerBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09976594257345428901noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3439085990796398812.post-53875658303445565802013-10-04T15:53:00.000-06:002013-10-04T15:53:00.301-06:00C freakin' PFor World Cerebral Palsy Awareness Day I figured I would add to the interwebs' collective store of knowledge about CP but it turned out I learned far more reading other people's posts. How is it possible that I didn't know that no one does CP research? Go figure.<br />
<br />
We are lucky, because CP doesn't really hold Hannah back <i>that</i> much. She is in a regular class, doesn't have identifiable barriers to learning that the school can assist with (they adapt when she uses scissors, etc., as needed), and as far as I know she has no cognitive impact (she does think farts are super funny but somehow I think that has nothing to do with CP). She is clever and smart and beautiful and sometimes quite winsome and sweet, and sometimes hisses at me like a feral cat (probably more related to being five, having her father commit suicide and about 90 days later mom went off to do forty five days in rehab, again not so much CP related behavior). Mostly she navigates her world incognito, and maybe is perceived as young in her peer group, which is actually true. However, despite her success, when we were at a park playground near our home and ran into a family with a child in her kindergarten class who is very active and able bodied, that child asked me why Hannah needed help to navigate a tricky monkey bar feature and proceeded to show far more interest in Hannah's big sister. Every now and then she drools a little when she concentrates. We still end up at Shriners all the time for OT and PT, use stretching braces at night and continue to get conflicting advice about the benefits of using AFOs (proof there oughtta be more research right there, since the conflict comes from two parts of the same hospital so what is a mother to do??) I don't, at this time, teach Hannah that she has special needs and the word disabled is never used here. I think she would tell you her Righty doesn't work all the time, or that it gets tired, I don't even know that she knows she has CP although she might be able to say she had a stroke, I dunno, I'd have to ask her. It is not ruining our lives but it is a drag.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-CiWIPMXQZN8/Uk84MyuBIFI/AAAAAAAABHY/irLzFqnUY0k/s1600/20130924_164406.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-CiWIPMXQZN8/Uk84MyuBIFI/AAAAAAAABHY/irLzFqnUY0k/s320/20130924_164406.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
I wish I could be a little more grateful, as some moms sound when they tell how they love their child and CP is part of who that child is. I guess I still don't have that level of acceptance. If I could wave a magic wand and take CP away from Hannah, I would do it quick like a bunny and never look back, because I hate that she can still be a doctor but perhaps not a surgeon who needs two strong steady hands to operate, or when and if she has kids her not quite as able hand won't be as handy to hold her baby or a million other things that will be harder for her than they would be without CP. She is indeed the child I wanted and she doesn't disappoint me but I do wish I could smooth her path down to the regular rocky path of life from birth to adulthood. I do wish she didn't have to spend time at a clinic where the Cozy Coupe cars weren't specially built with IV stands and stickers that say "cancer fears me" but yet I am grateful to have such a facility available to my family so she gets the necessary help to be able to do the most she is capable to do.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-frzF2_UyjF8/Uk84JKjDKqI/AAAAAAAABHM/NGbqNaeYxm8/s1600/20130905_162821.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-frzF2_UyjF8/Uk84JKjDKqI/AAAAAAAABHM/NGbqNaeYxm8/s320/20130905_162821.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<br />GingerBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09976594257345428901noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3439085990796398812.post-76805820552541063982013-09-30T14:04:00.001-06:002013-09-30T14:13:16.241-06:00The lion may lie down with the lamb, but I lie down with the laundryToday feels somehow confessional to me, so I will spill some more about being somewhat nuts. It may also apply to the grief stricken, recovering addict, or other types of crazy but somehow I just associate it with my PTSD/anxiety/depression and being tired. I don't have the energy I used to have and I don't know when it may come back but when it does I certainly hope it will include laundry doing.<br />
<br />
I sleep with my clothes. My clean clothes. And my kids' clean clothes, because I can't stand to put them away, apparently. This is a side benefit of becoming single, whether by death or divorce, when your bed is suddenly bigger than it was, you can just pile up the clothes that are supposed to get put away, and voila! no more empty bed syndrome. A goodly pile of clothes will weigh down your comforter so you can't use it all, just like sharing the bed with someone full sized does! No snoring, no body odor, no <a href="http://gas-food-lodging.blogspot.com/2009/08/mansand_27.html">mansand</a> on your sheet, and no pesky hours spent trying to stuff your drawers and closets with last week's fashions. If you keep the pile small then you can have a pint sized child in or on that side of the bed for snuggles and book time and still not have to tackle that chore. Yes, you can use my idea! You're welcome!<br />
<br />
This household tip brought to you courtesy of product sponsor "I Can't Believe it's A Laundry Basket!"<br />
<br />GingerBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09976594257345428901noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3439085990796398812.post-82794182664535068112013-09-28T15:58:00.001-06:002013-09-28T15:58:51.146-06:00A rant about "mild pedophilia"I tried very hard not to write about this but apparently I will have writer's block until I do.<br />
<br />
Of course I love to look at my NPR app on my iPad, and this week saw a story on evolutionary biologist Richard Dawkins, who mentions in his new autobiography having been subject to "mild pedophilia" in school. This popped up a few times in my Twitter feed over the previous week also, I assume, because it stood out for its nonsensicality. It is an oxymoron to me, and I can't work out how the interwebs didn't light up in universal disgust. My folks, language snobs from way back, would gently mock those who said "half dead" "a little pregnant" or "genuine imitation." Also, since I know a little about the harm done by pedophiles, I have a strong desire to scream about "mild pedophilia" because even if Dawkins didn't defend it<i> per se</i>, a whole bunch of people defended it while defending him, and I am really angry about it all. <br />
<br />
No one should sexualize a child. No one. It isn't mild to do so, no matter what. Sure kids engage in self exploration, sure they play doctor or whatever with each other, but sexual contact intended to result in sexual gratification of the adult or child is simply wrong. I am glad if Dawkins wasn't traumatized by his experience, but I hate that he describes it as "mild" pedophilia. Pedophilia cannot be mild, ever, full stop, and you don't have to be a conservative to say so. When I went strolling about the internet to see what other people thought, my head exploded (metaphorically). How can there be so many people who would justify this type of behavior that falls short of rape and say that it is how conservatives and the religious right condemn normal behavior? Who are these people? A lot of anonymous commenters said things like children need to learn sexual behavior and people in traditional societies masturbate children to calm them and that is not seen as abusive, and only in today's modern society do we create the trauma by telling children they were traumatized. <br />
<br />
All these commenters say that Dawkins was not defending mild pedophilia the first time, or when he explained his remarks later in an interview with <i>The Times</i>. Here are the quotes of that interview I found:<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="background-color: whitesmoke; font-family: Georgia, Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 24px;">Today we read, almost daily, of adults whose childhood was blighted by an uncle perhaps, or even a parent, who would day after day, week after week, year after year, sexually abuse a vulnerable child. The child would often have no escape, would not be believed if he/she told the other parent, or told a teacher. In many cases it is only now, when the abused children have reached adulthood, that these stories are coming out. To make light of their stories, even after all these years, might in some cases re-awaken the trauma of not being believed at the time when it was all happening, and when being believed would have meant so much to the child . . .</span></blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="background-color: whitesmoke; font-family: Georgia, Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 24px;">I cannot know for certain that my companions’ experiences with the same teacher were are brief as mine, and theirs may have been recurrent where mine was not. That’s why I said only “I don’t </span><em style="background-color: whitesmoke; font-family: Georgia, Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 24px;">think</em><span style="background-color: whitesmoke; font-family: Georgia, Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 24px;"> he did any of us lasting damage”. We discussed it among ourselves on many occasions, especially after his suicide, and there was indeed general agreement that his gassing himself was far more upsetting than his sexual depredations had been. If I am wrong about any particular individual; if any of my companions really was traumatised by the abuse long after it happened; if, perhaps it happened many times and amounted to more than the single disagreeable but brief fondling that I endured, I apologise.</span></blockquote>
Something is so very, very wrong that the man doesn't notice the likely connection between this pedophile's actions and his suicide. That teacher knew it was wrong. Who knows what path led from his touching and assaulting unknown numbers of his students, but when he took his life and "upset" his students he made it clear that he knew he was wrong, and who are we to say his molesting wasn't as wrong as some other things are, and not such a big deal? It need not be deeply traumatizing to be wrong, it is enough that that one teacher may have fondled so many boys who didn't tell, who didn't get help, and who then went on to "initiate" other boys that way and thereby doom so many other kids to being victims. The code of silence begins with each victim, and each failure to recognize the harm done, and the minimization of saying "well, it didn't hurt me much" degrades the care we owe to every other child who that perpetrator's actions ultimately affect.<br />
<br />
Would Dawkins be able to view this the same way if it had happened to his own child? If he could, then the Selfish Gene he writes of must be dominant in his family, and I am sorry no one could nurture it to less prominence in his psyche, but I surely don't want him as my neighbor, kids' teacher, or professor. I want to be around people for whom children deserve to be protected from intentional harmful actions regardless of the level of harm intended or inflicted. Introducing a young person to sexuality is just plain wrong. Sexualizing a child, acting without consent and without that child being capable of understanding their feelings is not ever mild, it is always and forever a moral wrong. I have never been called conservative but I want to stand up now, for all past and future victims and say, an adult who touches a child and intends sexual gratification or either party is wrong, and not mildly. Pedophilia is not mild at all.GingerBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09976594257345428901noreply@blogger.com0