What Caitlyn Does With Bruce's Penis is None of My Business

I wasn't going to write about Caitlyn Jenner.  In fact, after I read this piece of perfection, I really wasn't going to write anything; because, damn.  She nailed it.  The fact that it came from a Christian woman is what sealed it for me.  

Actually, let's back up.  I almost stopped reading that post when the author at "Motherhood...Unscripted" mentions the she is a Christian woman.  I guess that statement reveals my own prejudices fairly well, doesn't it?  I never said I was perfect.  I am working on it.  Being open to some one's words is a baby step in the right direction, I think.

My biases (that I SWEAR, I am working on!) are the subject of another post (or three) another day.

Okay, so the internet practically exploded when Caitlyn Jenner revealed her new, gorgeous self in Vanity Fair.

The haters came out almost immediately with the pictures.  I won't give them credit by posting any examples, but .5 seconds of Googling will get you many.  On one hand, I get it.  I don't condone it, but I get it.  It can be frightening when people don't follow the "norm".  It makes us question reality and our own place in the world and that is really, really scary.  It's much easier to see the world in black and white and wrong versus right, than to see the infinite shades of gray.  It takes a whole lot of thinking and who has time for that?  (Sarcasm...sorry.)

Seriously, though.  Wouldn't things be much easier (for you) if people just stayed who you thought they were?  And that is precisely my point.  What YOU think about someone else might have very little or nothing at all to do with who they really are. As parents, our kids grow out of the roles we assign them.  They get tattoos and girlfriends that you won't necessarily like.  They get to decide how to live their own lives...as scary as it seems.  We did it, with varying degrees of success, and they will too.

How we react, however, is all on us.  I think it is healthy to ask why, because only in questioning can we get to understanding, or at least, some level of acceptance.  In this case, I think the first, and only question we need to ask is:  How does Caitlyn Jenner's life affect me?  I can only answer for myself.  My answer is:  Mostly, it does not.  I say mostly because she has said that she is a Republican; and Republicans with money can and DO affect my life.  

(again, this is a post for another day)

The only other way Caitlyn affects me, is that her spread in Vanity Fair gives me one more unattainable model of beauty to reach for.  It is slightly disheartening that a sixty-something, former man, can look that freaking great in a corset.  I mean, those legs!  Those breasts!  Those collarbones!  Sigh...  Then again, if I could be made up and dressed by professionals, then photographed in soft lighting by Annie Liebovitz, I would probably look pretty hot, too.  It would definitely be better than yelling at my kids or husband to stop shooting me from under my chin while trying to hide behind my tallest child.

Caitlyn, in the end, is just a human being.  She has asked to be called "she" and I respect that.  It is her body, after all.  She still has a penis.  As confusing as that may be, in the end, who cares?  She has had that penis all her life.  I can imagine she is pretty attached to it (no pun intended...really).  That penis ran across the finish line along with the rest of (eventually to be) her and collected a gold medal in the decathlon in the 1976 Summer Olympics.  Maybe it is this that has people so bothered.  How can Caitlyn be Bruce and vice-versa?  I honestly don't have the answers to that.  Caitlyn herself said in the Vanity Fair article that she still screws up her name.  So, it's okay if we are confused, too.  

It's just not okay to be mean, or belittle those who feel as she does, or others' who don't quite fit into the neat little boxes that we wish they would.  I repeat:  It is NOT okay.  If your reaction to Caitlyn is one of anger or hatred, I suggest that you take a good look at yourself and ask why?

This is Nothing Important

My dear husband and I were talking about dream "visits" the other day.  If you have had them, you know the kind I mean.  If not, they are the kind of dreams that feel as if you have spent time with someone that you love that has passed on.  I feel lucky that I have them, even though they usually always make me cry upon waking.

Occasionally, I have "place visits" in my dreams and these make me cry, too; mostly because I am usually dreaming of some wonderful destination that I am longing to be in; Paris, the pyramids in Mexico, or my grandparents' old house that has long since been demolished and turned into two family homes.  If I could time travel, I would go back to the brick front steps of that house or to huge swing in the backyard just to have another conversation with them.  God, I miss them every day.

This morning, I had a visit of another sort.  I woke up suddenly to the sound of crashing from the living room.  Since I have cats and am used to being awoken thus, I just figured I would survey the damage when I was good and ready (it was not the Christmas tree as I had feared, only some heavy cookbooks).  I managed to fall back to sleep almost instantly and immediately fell into a luscious visit with a 6'4 WWE wrestler.  It was the kind of dream that made me feel like I needed a mental shower upon waking; or a long soak in a hot bath for real.  It was a very nice dream.  It was so nice, in fact, that it made me feel guilty enough that I needed to write up this post; as a kind of confession.

I know I can't control my subconscious.  My rich fantasy life is as deeply embedded in my DNA as graying, mousy brown hair, blue eyes and irrational guilt.  They are all parts of me that I am learning to embrace.

Whatever it means and however it makes me feel, it was nice to wake up with a smile on my face, for once, on an otherwise dreary Monday.  Now, if you don't mind, I am going back to bed.

You Really Like Me!

My friend, over at Kimchi Latkes has been kind enough to send me a blogger award.  I really don't know what this means, other than she received some (well deserved) from other bloggers and decided to pass one on to me.  I might be happier about it if there was some kind of cash prize involved, but I am thrilled, nonetheless.  

As part of the award, you apparently have to answer a few questions about yourself that the nominating blogger poses.  Again, I really haven't got a clue about all this, but here are my answers to the questions posed by Kimchi:

1. If you could bring only three food items to a desert island, what would they be?  (Don’t worry about survival or nutrition here, I want to know what three things you’d be content eating over and over for the rest of your life.)

Having just written a post about eating more healthily, I think that being content and nutrition go hand in hand.  That said, my items are pretty healthy and I could be happy living on them, if not for the rest of my life, at least for a long weekend.  Anyway, I would pick pistachios, olives and bananas.

2. If you were attacked by a vampire and they offered to turn you into one, would you accept?  Explain.

Oh, the can of worms this question opens up!  I have mentioned vampires quite a bit in my writing.  I don't mean icky, totally boring Twilight type vampires, though.  I mean, super hot and sexy vampires; the way they are meant to be.  If one of these super hot and sexy vampires offered to bite me, I would not hesitate.  This probably would not be adultery, since I have a sneaking suspicion that my smoking hot husband is going to come out as a vampire any day now.

3. Time travel to any point in Earth’s history, and any location.  Where would you go, and why?

Good one.  I think I would like to go back to 1911 and see Machu Picchu when it was first seen by outsiders.  I've always wanted to go there and the idea of seeing such a magical place before most anyone else is pretty appealing.  Plus, Absinthe.  I would stock up.  

4. What is your favorite children’s book/fairy tale/folk tale?

I love anything to do with Santa Claus.  Who is cooler than a guy who flies around the world in one night in order to make kids happy?  No one, that's who.

5. Ocean or mountain vacation?

Can't I have both?  I spend lots of vacation time in the Adirondacks of New York and love that, but when I think about dream vacations, they usually include some kind of exotic, beach locale.  Think me and my husband on a lonely Greek island.  Ocean.

6. Describe the best thing that has ever happened to you.

I think the best thing that ever happened, was the thing that lead to all the other "best things" in my life.  It was meeting my husband while we worked together in Los Angeles in 1992.  All the best stuff came after.

Whew!  That was fun!  :)  

I USED to be Hot, Damnit!

My husband is really good looking.  He's got this very potent Apache Indian/Mexican/tiny bit European thing happening and apparently, he got all the best traits of each.

When we first got together, a million years and three children ago, we were fairly compatible on the looks scale.  Because we lived in L.A. at the time, neither one of us was up for any modeling jobs (see my explanation of L.A. hotness math right here), but we were doing okay, even though I felt kind of chunky at the time.

Just kids, ages 28 and 23.

***note*** 

Chunky is a relative term.  At this point, I would probably, willingly give up an appendage to be 1993 chunky.  My DH would not need to do this since he is the exact same weight he was in 1993.  So, so unfair.

Twenty years later

Okay, well, he's doing a kind of squinty thing in this, more recent picture, but otherwise, he looks basically the same.

He's still got the same jawline and adorable dimples and clear skin and...he's just still super handsome.

I, on the other hand, am not feeling quite so adorable.  Twice in the last two weeks, I have seen young women check my husband out, look at me, then back at him.  I know what they are thinking.  They are doing the math and according to their version of hotness math, we don't add up. I've seen plenty of younger girls check my husband out over the years, but it's only recently that I have noticed this phenomenon.  

It makes me happy that he still turns heads.  

It makes me wish that I still did.

It makes me feel pretty terrible about myself.

It's typical in these instances that I want to pull out an old picture of myself and scream "I USED TO BE HOT!!!" at the offenders.

Actual abs

But, I don't and they wouldn't care, anyway.  They would just shake their young, pH balanced hair in pity at the crazy, chunky, middle aged mom and her obviously vision impaired mate.

They don't get us.

They don't realize what we have have been through or what drew us together or what still keeps us going.  They don't wonder what makes him ageless (is it his genes or is he a vampire?), they just see that he looks good.

His tiny facial crinkles add character.  

My wrinkles add years.

His bald head looks intentional.

My short hair looks like I gave up.

It is disconcerting when these looks occur after I have actually given thought to my appearance.  It hurts my feelings to have chosen an outfit specifically because it made me feel pretty good, only to have someone look me over and wonder what I was thinking.

And it probably shouldn't matter to me.  After all, I HAVE the hot guy and unless I am terribly mistaken, he isn't going anywhere.  Those young things barely register to him and if he even notices, it's for a second.  He has never made me feel less than beautiful and young and desirable.  

It's not these young girls that are the problem.  It's the fact that I care at all.

The treadmill is calling my name.

The Water Heater as Life and Christmas Miracles

On Christmas Eve Eve, our water heater went out.  The kids and I were eating lunch, when all of a sudden, there was a hissing, teakettle-like whistling coming from it.  It took me a few minutes to realize what it was and when I did, I called my dear husband, held the phone up to the thing and said "the water heater is doing that".  He talked me through shutting off the water supply to it and the hissing stopped.  I was momentarily relieved in the silence, but almost immediately starting sweating.  

"How much is a new water heater?"  

Since DH would be home within a couple of hours, we hung up with the plan that he would deal with it then.  Of course, we had no hot water now, but it was no big deal at the moment.  I had already showered. The kids had no school, so they could be a little stinky for the time being.  

But, seriously... "How much is a new water heater?".

That was the song playing in my head for the next few hours.

When DH came home, he confirmed that the darn thing was indeed, shot and after taking a fast shower in what was left of the waning tepid water, he started making calls.  The good news is that my DH works for a heating and air conditioning company and they install water heaters.  They would come out first thing in the morning and by noon, we'd have hot water, without the tea kettle sound.  The bad news is that we'd still have to pay for it, somehow and for today, I'd have to do dishes with ice cold water.  The fact that it was literally 1 degree outside made this prospect really unappealing.

I sucked it up, telling myself that this was a First World problem and I was lucky that I had a roof over my head and indoor plumbing...even if my hands were numb through the dish washing gloves.  Lucky, damnit!  Suck it up!

The service guy that came the next morning was very nice.  While waiting for a helper to come so they could carry the old one out together, he decided to take a look at the furnace, which was rattling near the hot water heater.  

He asked if it always made that sound, and to my memory, it had for a while.  DH had replaced parts and cleaned it and done all kind of tinkering with it, but it still rattled.  It was really annoying when we tried to watch TV, or have a conversation or pretty much anything when it started up; but we were used to it; annoyed by it, but used to it.

Since he had some time, he asked if I wanted him to check it out.  I figured, "what the hell?", since we already couldn't really afford a new water heater, we might as well add the furnace servicing on top of it, because what's another couple hundred bucks?  Anyway...

I was in the kitchen when he called me over to listen to the furnace.  I thought it was funny, since normally I could hear the stupid thing from the kitchen anyway.  He assured me that it was running and I couldn't believe it!

In all the tinkering DH had done, he hadn't realized that there were two little gaskets that had dry rotted.  Once they were replaced, the thing quieted down to a dull hum.

I could have kissed that service guy.

After it was all said and done, DH came home, also professed his love for the service guy, but also for his boss who said (When DH asked for the bill) "Merry Christmas!".  It was on the house.  It helps that my DH is the most ridiculously fantastic employee in the world.  Maybe it's the fact that he was in the Marines, or maybe it's just that he is a perfectionist by nature (I think it's the latter).  He's just an awesome guy to have on your team, whatever that team may be.  I am lucky; hot water, or cold, rich, poor (mostly kinda poor) to have that guy.

Christmas came and went.  In my busy-ness, I didn't give much thought to the now quiet furnace or the miracle of "on the house" hot water.  I was grateful, thankful, but beyond that, focused on dinner and presents and missing family and friends and trying to find five minutes to be alone with DH.

(that's a blog post for another day:  Intimacy in a Small House).

This morning I woke up, heard that quiet furnace and started to wonder about what other annoying things I was used to.  I mean, surely if I can listen to a god-awful, rattly furnace day in and day out and think " Well, yeah, that's just the way things are", there must be other things that I am used to that need to be changed.

I'm used to being heavier than I should be.
I'm used to being out of work.
I'm used to these drafty old windows and this cold, icky climate.

I'm wondering what kind of service guy I need to call to fix this; but I am pretty sure she already lives in my head.

It's time for some changes and a new year is the perfect time to make a plan.  2014:  The year of the un-rattling.  

Happy New Year!

Hypothetical

I have written ad nauseum about losing a good friend (ex-boyfriend) of mine.  I probably wrote five or six (or more) different posts on different blogs about it over the years, and much, much more than that in various diaries and such.

Here is an excerpt from one of my favorite posts:

My favorite song to listen to when I am depressed is "Smoke" by Ben Folds Five.  You can feel the despair in the way he bangs the piano keys and in the catch of his voice.  

But, the lyrics...therein lies the magic.
"Here's a secret...no one will ever know the reasons for the tears"

That line says it all.

It's hard to lose someone that you love, but I have found that it's the sadness that no one understands that is the hardest to deal with.  

For example:  if your cat/dog/significant other dies, everyone knows why you are sad.  If your high school boyfriend that you hadn't seen in three years dies, people are sympathetic, but only to a point.  When it's been a year and you are still talking about it, people wonder what's wrong with you.  When it's been almost twenty, they just think you are crazy.

"They were broken up!" they say to themselves.  They think they know the whole story.  But they don't.

This year marked twenty two years since he passed.  It also marked the fact that he has now spent more time dead than he ever did alive.  

I've spent many hours contemplating his death.  Even so many years later, I still find myself reaching for him telepathically.  I know that this will sound weird, but of all those that I have loved and lost, he has kept in touch the best.  It's complicated; just like it was when he was here.

I imagine that it's hard for my husband to understand this relationship.  I say I imagine because we haven't talked about it much.  Mostly, I am afraid to bring it up, for fear of sounding like a crazy person.  Of course, I am much more prone to jealousy than he is, so maybe I am just that:  crazy.  

The dead have a way of only showing their good side, though.  I forget how angry he made me and remember how much he made me laugh.  I forget that his skin was not always flawless; in the beyond, he glows with color and health.  Dying before your twenty first birthday helps, too.  I mean, it's pretty much downhill for your looks somewhere around twenty eight, so he had the privilege(?) of dying before he started balding or developing a beer belly.

I'm not saying any of this is logical.  What I am saying is that it's a tough act to follow.  

The guy I was with when it happened understood this and was, in turn, totally jealous of a corpse and actually angered by my grief.  Those were fun conversations.  Seriously?  I need to explain why I am crying?  Or worse, hide the fact that I am sad?  Geez.  

I'm pretty sure that was the beginning of the end for us, even though we stayed together for another eighteen months.  I was lost in wishing I had done things differently; regretting that I hadn't called my friend after what would be our last fight.  Too much grief and too many unresolved and un-resolvable feelings messed me up.  

I can barely remember the girl I was when I met my husband in 1992.  I was still grieving KD and I had just lost my maternal grandfather, whom I adored.  I was lost.  I remember arming myself with sarcasm and hiding my vulnerability behind a thin wall of bravado.  "You are dating someone else?  Who cares?!?"  (ha).  I'm not sure how quickly he realized that I was mostly bluster.  I'm really not sure what there was of substance for him to be attracted to, but there must have been something. I think in my sadness I had become something of a ghost, myself.  Maybe he was a bit lost,too.  Maybe we rescued each other.  

In any case, this year marks twenty years that my husband and I have been together.  Twenty years!  In that time, both of our lives have been touched by plenty of grief.  We've lost five grandparents and three parents.  We've worried and struggled and have become a family of five along the way.  

Somehow, midst all the pain, we've managed to become more, rather than less.  The sorrow has colored us in, rather than diminishing us.  We've become stronger as a couple and grateful for what is, rather than wishing for what isn't.  It hasn't been an easy lesson, but I am grateful for it.  

I am glad that I have learned that there is more to life than "counting my abs and lovers", something I used to say about my hypothetical single life.

As for my long gone friend, I will always miss him.  I just will.  There is not much I can do about that.  But as I have grown in wisdom, I have learned to feel lucky for what was and what still is.  Life is a gift.  It may be poorly wrapped at times.  It may be smaller than what we were hoping for, but if we hold it up to the light, we will see its beauty and it will be a joy to behold.

Sexual Olympics(?!), Life, Love and Living with these Weirdos.

This blog title is in honor of an epic autocorrect.  The words the poster meant to type were "Special Olympics" and instead got "sexual Olympics" and did not realize it until 47 comments were posted under it.  Ooops.

Anyway...

I have been "dealing" with Down syndrome for more than fourteen years.  I use the term dealing because, good or bad, it is something that needs to be dealt with, from people's attitudes, to medical issues, to school, to looking towards the future; it all needs to be dealt within the context of how Down syndrome does or does not affect all these things. Confusing?  Yes, it is.

It's a complicated journey, but, so is life.  I try and remind people of this when they think having a kid with Down syndrome is any harder than having a kid without it.  It's not harder, really, most of the time it's just life.  I really don't know any better.  

My oldest was born six weeks early.  He didn't have any issues, other than jaundice, but he had to stay in the hospital for a few days after I was released.  At the time (17 years ago) I felt a little sorry for myself that I had to leave my baby behind, pump breast milk for his feedings and schlep back and forth to the hospital.  In the scheme of things, I now realize that this was a small thing in comparison to what others go through, but at the time, as a young, new mom, it felt monumental.

After those first few trying and jaundiced weeks, our baby thrived and became, to us, the most brilliant and adorable child ever conceived.  

When I was pregnant with my Charles, my oldest was a sweet and precocious two year old.  Sometime in those nine months that I was waiting for Charles, we noticed a change in his (OS's) behavior.  He started obsessing over bathrooms and bathroom fixtures.  Maybe this was really not that strange, since he was on the verge of potty training, but it was more than interest.  He was manic about it.  He HAD to explore every bathroom, every place we went. More than once, I had to drag him out of someones shower. 

He also became worried about people leaving and had to say goodbye, four, five, twenty seven times before they actually walked out the door.  Then, he would say "I have to blow you kisses!" and it sounds cute, but he would be seriously panicking and would go ballistic if you did not return the required number of kisses to him.  It was exhausting to watch and worrisome, of course, because here I was, thinking I had the perfect child, pregnant with the next child (and I had no idea what was in store with this one, yet) and here he was acting all weird!  I just kept thinking "what the hell?".  I spent every day with him.  I rarely left him, even in the hands of his capable and loving dad and I can count on one hand the number of times we had babysitters when he was little.  

He had no reason to fear me leaving, he saw his dad every day for several hours before bed, we had a consistent routine, his nap times and bedtimes were strictly observed.  I felt like we were doing everything right and I struggled with his irrational behaviors.  If I had just realized back then that those behaviors were perfectly rational for a kid on the autism spectrum, I may have worried less.  

Once we had some answers for him, it became easier to manage, but it would be almost four years, many doctors appointments and IEP's before we'd get a "maybe it could be Asperger's" diagnosis.  Oh, the subtle nuances of neurological spectrum.  Sigh.  In the meantime, OS had been kicked out of first grade for kicking and threatening another classmate and spitting at his teacher.  Huge Freaking Sigh.  

We were still in the early stages of this struggle with OS when we got the news that Charles, our second boy, would be born with Down syndrome.  Actually, this news came in stages.  And all the stages were scary.  The first stage was the news that he had a serious heart condition; a complete A.V. Canal defect.  Imagine a heart with two big chambers instead of four and that's basically what it means.  So, heart surgery was in this baby's future, for sure.  

What wasn't sure at first was whether or not he had Down syndrome.  They suspected he did, but we wouldn't know unless we had an amniocentesis.  

A few weeks later, we had those results and Trisomy 21 it was.  

At this point, we already knew that we were having a boy and we had already named him Charles.  He was ours.  This little bundle of broken heart pieces was on his way and we had to prepare.

I'm not going to say that it was all rainbows and unicorns.  

No.  There were plenty of tears shed.  There was plenty of extra worry now that OS was having issues AND we were having a baby that was going to need extra love and attention.

I think we had one pretty rotten weekend, maybe a few days more than that, but not much.  One day, a few days after the news, we went out to lunch.  We were sitting down to eat when in walks a couple with their son.  He looked to be a teenager and he had Down syndrome.  My husband and I looked at each other and we both knew it would be okay.  They looked so normal.  They didn't look depressed or angry or unhappy.  They just looked like a happy family.  That was all we wanted to be.

I don't think I cried about the diagnosis after that.  Sure, I worried.  I especially worried about his heart, because that all seemed so scary.  Looking back on it all these years later, I wish I could tell myself not to be scared, that someday, that unborn kid would be a silly, strong, John Cena and Michael Jackson imitating ball of energy.  That he would make us laugh.  That he would have friends.  That we would be happy.  Not happy in spite of Charles having Down syndrome, or OS having Autism; just happy because we are a family and we love each other.

After all the craziness that surrounded us in those early day with Charles and pretty much the day after I finally zipped up my pre-pregnancy jeans, we got another surprise in the form of a positive pregnancy test.  Baby number three was due eleven months after Charles' birthday.

Again, I was scared.  Scared to go through all of that (while it was still very fresh in my mind!) again.  Scared of being broke.  Scared of not being able to give any of my kids the attention they needed.  Scared of having to get a minivan!  And yet, here we are 14 years later, with three teen aged sons, the youngest of which is my Charles' best friend and champion.  He is his buddy, his occasional interpreter, his roommate and his school peer.  I can't imagine a better little (much taller) brother for Charles than E.

I guess what I am trying to get at (in a really rambly and incomprehensible way), is that we have our challenges.  My kids are not the easy, drop them off at school and don't worry about it, kind of kids.  My kids all have Individualized Education Plans (IEP's).  My oldest and youngest are both on the Autism spectrum and have very different issues.  It makes life interesting.  Sometimes, it makes life harder, but only on the bad days.  

Who doesn't have those?  

We are as "normal" a family as any other, especially if normal means making big weekend breakfasts, driving to see relatives every summer, going to sporting events and concerts, watching movies, arguing and laughing, then we are a typical bunch.  I've often said that the only real difference I can see between my family and others is that our lows might be lower, but our highs are higher.  They just are.  It all balances out in the end.

Here it is.  It's life with kids.  You take the good with the bad, the weird with the wonderful.  Down syndrome or Autism doesn't change what makes being a family, a family; how could it?

Holy Wolverine on a Motorcycle: I Love Hugh Jackman!

Today was the perfect, rainy day for a movie, so I took my younger two boys and a friend to see "The Wolverine".

I'm not gonna lie.  I LOVE the fact that I can go and watch Hugh Jackman in his sideburns and his white t-shirt and his claws on the big screen and not feel like a huge perv because it's an action/superhero movie and my boys, like most boys, love that crap.  Love it.

But for me?  It's porn.  Totally legal, awesome, PG-13 rated, all American porn.

If you asked me about the story, my answers would range from "What?" to "I don't care."

I think it took place in Japan, mostly.

Don't get me wrong.  I think Hugh Jackman is super hot in a tux singing show tunes and dancing, too.

 

Or, sweaty and riding a horse in the Outback.

Or, toothless and pulling a ship with a fat chain around his neck, while still freaking singing his lungs out.

Hot, hot, HOTTT!

But, the sideburned, leather jacket and jeans wearing, ass kicking, angry, claw having Wolverine is my favorite.

 

Hell, I don't even care if the gay rumors are true.  He can be RichardfreakingSimmons gay for all I care, as long as he keeps playing Wolverine.  

It's not like I'd actually have a shot in any case.  Or, that I would even consider committing adultery with anyone...even if Hugh Jackman did beg me to jump on the back of his motorcycle.  (You know that, right, Honey?!?)



Okay, let's not exaggerate...I'd totally jump on.  But, it would be a one time thing, I swear.  

And then, the next time he wins an Oscar/Grammy/Tony/GoldenGlobe he'd look straight into the camera and say "this one's for you" and mean me.

Going to sleep with a smile on my face, now.  :D

Fantasy

I have a rich fantasy life.  I always have.  Most of my fantasies are not fit for public consumption.  Let me re-phrase that:  Most of my fantasies are not things that I want my mom to read.  Maybe in a few years, under a pseudonym.  :)

Anyway, what I am talking about now is a fantasy I have for the future of Down syndrome.  

In this fantasy, Wils and Kate give birth to a royal, gorgeous, sweet baby with Trisomy 21 and they and the Royal Family and the whole world embrace this baby with no reservations. 

The baby is photographed and cooed over and no one on late night television feels the need to tell "r"-word jokes.

What would a famous-from-birth child with Down syndrome do for the acceptance of other people with Down syndrome?

What would it do for children whom, at this very moment, are living in filth and isolation and despair in institutions around the world?

What would it do for parents to be, who, today, receive a diagnosis of T-21?  

What would it do to stereotypes of all kinds?

What would it do to us as human beings?

Would we collectively become more compassionate?  

Would we start to look at our own personal prejudices?  

Would the lightbulb go off for the world that maybe, just maybe we are all one, instead of: 

black
white
brown
native
freckled
christian
muslim
atheist
gay
straight
somewhere in-between
young
old
abled
disabled
rich 
poor?

Would we start to think in terms of love instead of labels?

Possibilities instead of limits?

Would we start to see a BABY; nothing more or less than that.  Just a baby, wanting and needing love and nurturing and every chance available to grow into their potential, whatever that potential may be.

It is a fantasy, I know.

But, oh, if it were real.

MyFace

See what I did there?  

I think way too much.  I know it doesn't sound like a bad thing, but trust me, it is.  

I also, occasionally, think too little.  I am spontaneous and short tempered and passionate.  Sometimes, I forget to think before I act.  Sometimes this works out alright and sometimes, well, it doesn't.  That's okay.  Some of the greatest gifts in my life came out of acting as though rational thought was not even a consideration (my husband, a couple of my kids...ok, all of my kids, moving to California...).  The list is practically endless.

Then, there are the things that I perseverate on: 

Injustice

My weight

The environment

The meaning of life

I drive myself kind of crazy.

This tendency was bad enough before the invention of the Internet, but now, it has gotten much, much worse.

Now, whatever scary thought I get in my head ( " I am having a heart attack " / "my kid has Leukemia" /  "The World Trade Center Attack was an inside job"), I can find "proof" of it on the WWW.  Usually, I can find six million reasons why I should panic in the matter of half a second.

And I do panic...at least a little.

And then, the tiny, rational part of my brain says:  "Uh, hello?  Crazy?  Yeah, you need to take it down about seven thousand notches".  

And that also works...until the next time.

I was thinking about all of this when I heard back from the hematologist concerning my middle son, Charles, who had recently had a potentially scary blood test result (see Leukemia, above).  

After hearing that things were okay and hanging up, I had about two minutes of happy before I started to get sad for the kids who did not hear good news.  

I started to think about a little boy in England with months to live, thanks to effing Leukemia.  I thought about how, before the Internet, I probably wouldn't even know he existed, even though he is now pretty famous since he met the "Queen".  

http://www.newsday.com/entertainment/celebrities/helen-mirren-as-queen-elizabeth-ii-meets-with-sick-boy-1.5327321

Before the days of Facebook at least, and for sure before the Internet and email, if and when I heard this story, it would be gone from my head soon after.  Sweet and sad, yes; but I don't know them.  I can't get wrapped up in every tragedy.

Today, however, I feel like I know little Ollie, the boy in the story.  I am a fan of his page on Facebook.

https://www.facebook.com/OneLittleLifeInspiresEveryone?fref=ts

I have read his mom's personal account of his daily journey.  I have seen the many pictures of what going through chemo means.  I have cried for him and his family.  I am hoping for a miracle, as I know they are.

This is where it gets terrible and wonderful at the same time.  

Facebook has made me hate some people that I thought I loved and love some people that I have never even met.

It has made me realize the kind of person that I want to hang out with, call my family or friend and what kind of person I should aspire to be.

On this wonderful/terrible web I have met Buddy, 

http://reecesrainbow.org/?s=buddy

who lives halfway around the world, but I think of him every day and I am doing my best to make a small difference in his life. 

I have all this endless information in front of me.  Can I use it to fill my days with conspiracy theories and nonsense?  Sure.

Can I get angry at the injustice in the world?  Yes, and I should.

Do I perseverate on it?  Yes.  

But, I think that as much as I get aggravated and sad and sometimes, completely heartbroken, it is worth it, if I can do some good with it.  

Even if I just send some more love into the world, isn't that good?  I won't stop there, though.  I am doing...a little bit every day, but I am doing something.  

I hope my ripples meet Buddy and Ollie and Ethan Saylor and all those that I think about and work to help everyday.  

The same ripples have already washed over me and made me stronger and more determined to fight, to be heard, to stand up, to love, really love those that mean so much to me.

Facebook, with all it's flaws, has made the world closer.  If we can weed out the negative and cultivate the good, what kind of wonderful place will we live in?  

That, my friends, is something to think about.