Dear Supreme Court,

I am very disappointed in the choices you've made recently. As I would say to my children, I'm not mad at you. I'm mad at your choices. I find it baffling that you feel it acceptable for a corporation to have a religious leaning when said corporation is not a religious institution. I also find it baffling that you believe it appropriate to allow employers to determine their employee's access to contraception. Furthermore, I disagree that it's appropriate to remove the so-called abortion buffer zone around abortion clinics.

While you may feel that the choices you've made this last week are appropriate, I strongly, strongly disagree. They make me fear not only for my ability to make choices in a medical setting with a healthcare professional, they make me concerned for my daughter's ability to do so, my family's ability to do so and many others' ability to do so. You say that the government does not belong in private choices. So, what your recent decision has told me is that, while the government cannot be involved in my private choices, you're fine with other people - including my employer and complete strangers who are not medical professionals - being involved in said private choices.

Obamacare is bad because it impedes individual choice. Unless it allows individual choice, then it's bad. Freedom to choose is important in this country. Unless someone doesn't like the choice I'm making, may make or could be forced to make by circumstances, then my freedom to choose goes away.

I wish I could make a more intelligent-sounding argument. A more sound, legal, professional rationale for why I believe these choices are a mountain of garbage that makes me afraid and ashamed of my country. But, given how close to home these issues are, that's tough.

That is all. Now, go sit in a corner and think about what you've done. And pray for those of us who have to live with it.

Love,
Me

Thomas English Muffins, You're Either Smart or Clueless

I have a disgusting, perverted mind. So, like any disgusting and perverted mind would, when I read something about "nooks and crannies" on food packaging (or really any packaging), my mind immediately goes right into the gutter. Which is why I think that the people behind Thomas English Muffins are probably the smartest people alive. Because they make their muffins so damn memorable in addition to delicious. See? I did it again. 

It's sad that that was my most coherent thought yet today. By way of first-world, not-super-serious problems, my daughter and son have spent the day being by turns weird and cranky, then my daughter turned infectious. As luck would have it, she has a skin infection. In her nose. At least she lets me clean in there - it's tough enough shoving a Q-tip up someone else's nose. Doing it while they're squirming around doesn't help. So that's good.

Then just as I was putting the kids to bed, my husband calls me to the basement where apparently our house's main drain has backed up. Kind of. It's not an emergency, but annoying nonetheless. Then I remembered that I have a 7:30 meeting, so had to get online to do some work, get slammed by an audit I missed since I try not to work 24 hours a day, 7 days a week and now here I sit, snickering like a teenager at the thought of nooks and crannies. You're welcome.

My horoscope is now telling me what to make for dinner?

On a completely frivolous note, I just checked my horoscope. I'm curious and bored. I was told to take a few hours off work (by my boss) because a lot of our team, self included, is completely burned out from working 12 and 14 hour days lately - and it's only going to get worse since I'll temporarily be taking over for my boss when she has her baby. It "helped" that I feel kinda sick and apparently sound like living death.  Whatever.

Anyway, I checked my horoscope out of curiosity and it advised that I should avoid spending a lot of money and, while I'm at it, I should make chicken cacciatore. Ummm, what?

I can totally get behind saving money at any time, but am a little surprised by the recommendation that I ought to cook some chicken.

Horoscopes must have changed in the last few years since last I checked mine.

Medicare, the Musical

Because sometimes my brain just comes to a screeching halt after a full day of Medicare, I thought that today’s blog could be done with song (albeit done badly). Imagine the following set to the melody “O Tanenbaum.” That’s right. You’ve got it…

Medicare, A Song, by HiddenChicken

O Medicare, O Medicare

How doth thou suck so greatly?

O Medicare, O Medicare

Your laws are garbage lately!

You give me work

When I need it

Though your Rule

Is full of shit.

O Medicare, O Medicare,

Does this make sense to anyone?

No one’s this thick

Even when they try

The Final Rule makes me want

To poke out an eye

O Medicare, O Medicare,

Just go to single payer.

If what you want

Is better care,

Efficiencies,

No sucking air,

O Medicare, O Medicare,

Suck it up and do it.

Do it yourself

Under single payer

It’s less complex

With fewer (ok, no other) players

O Medicare, O Medicare,

Get your shit together.

Ok, so that totally sucked. But writing it was entertaining. Not sure it was as fun for you to read it.

Aggravation Station

Otherwise known as family fatigue. I'm going to complain. And it's going to sound whiny and horrible and incredibly stupid. But sometimes you just gotta do it.

My family is starting to remind me of quacking ducklings. Only instead of saying quack, they say, "Mom" or "Andi." Constantly. And it's driving me crazy. I wake up extra early to get some quiet time, maybe to run or do some research, and inevitably one of them hears me and gets up to hang out with me. Lovely. I'm happy to give them a few extra cuddles, but some day I want to reclaim my lap, or at least my lap at 5:30 a.m. 

Anyway, I hold my children, I shower, I feed my children while they irritate the shit out of each other at the breakfast table. Then I take off early for work, my husband drops the kids off. Inevitably I get a call. "Is Ragsy's lunch packed? Does he need to wear his swimsuit? Now or later? What are they doing today? Does Evelyn need a swimsuit? What are they doing today? Did you drop off the check? We need to do X, Y, Z (code for I need to do X, Y, Z)." Then I go into meetings, usually double or triple booked until 4:30, when I go pick up the kids. More calls on the way there, sometimes from my husband. I get the kids in the car. They argue.

I take them to the activity of the day. The one not involved in said activity sits with me and talks, gets bored, tries to climb on me, plays with a friend, comes back, climbs on me some more. I get them into the car, they argue, then we get home. "When is dinner? What are we having? Where are we eating it? Why can't we have something else? Why do I need to shower? Can I play? What should I play? Can I have a friend over? When do I get a friend over? Mom, what are you doing? Can I do that, too?"

Kids arguing about going to bed. Kids arguing with my husband. My husband complaining about them arguing to me while they're arguing. Kids arguing in bed with me, with each other, over who I'm putting to bed. Finally they're in bed. My husband then complains about the kids who were arguing and complaining. He asks, "What are we going to do now? Did you eat dinner? What did you have? Is there more? Can I have some? When do I get some? Why are you going running? You didn't get to do it this morning? Why do you wake up at 5:30 if you don't run in the morning? Well, why can't you just send the kids back to bed?"

This must be one reason people meditate. To avoid becoming homicidal, annoyance-filled rage bags. The big things will really piss you off and make you crazy in an instant. The little things erode your sanity more slowly.

Being a Tooth Fairy Is Dangerous

I posted about this on Facebook, but since I can't keep my mouth shut about things I think are funny, I thought I'd share here, too.

So, a few days ago my son lost a tooth. When I attempted to play Tooth Fairy, I nearly killed myself. Apparently Rags had told his sister that he suspected it might be the parents leaving the money and taking the teeth, so he decided to booby trap his bed. And by booby trap, I mean he set up a homemade trip wire, some cans and a motion detector from his Spy Gear collection.

I almost inadvertently smacked him in the head taking that damn tooth. Luckily he did not wake up. But I think this Tooth Fairy isn't long for this world, or my son's world anyway.

Race

One of the most disappointing things I ever heard my daughter say was last night when she whispered, "Mommy, I wish I were white like my friend Claire." Well, shit. I would rather that she started swearing like a sailor. It's easy to teach someone not to curse, not so easy to teach a child to like herself the way she is, especially when it's something she can't change, like her skin color.

Her brother never really went through this, at least not so young. He was aware that his skin tone was different from his friends', but for him that just led to observations and questions without judgment. "Mom, do white people float?" and other gems, such as, "Mom, why are you undercooked?" (Yes, white people float and I am not undercooked, darnit - just pink!)

I always consider both my kids the best of me and my husband. Their skin is a combination of ours - my son's is more tawny and my daughter's is more iced mocha. My son is my wonderful, literal mad scientist, who will find a way to build anything whether he actually has the materials or not (I don't know many kids who managed to build a trebouchet out of a tree at age 5, but the desire to fling himself into the next neighborhood was just too strong) and who loves math because there's always an answer.

My daughter is my overachiever who gets to the heart of things even when you omit age-inappropriate commentary, who taught herself to read early because she didn't feel like waiting for her turn at bedtime and decided one day last week that it was time for her to tie her own shoes and actually managed to do it. She also cares a hell of a lot more about what people think of her. She's me, only way smarter.

I tell her that her skin color is beautiful, whether she's white or brown or bright green. But I can tell she's not convinced. And it sucks, sucks, sucks. Hopefully she'll internalize it. Half her family is either the deep mahogany of Southern India or slightly fairer latte of the North. The other half is shades of ivory and alabaster with freckles tossed in for good measure. But whether we're dark, light or somewhere in between, we are who we are. I wouldn't change any of us for a second (though it'd be nice if she stopped scaring the bejeezus out of me at 2 a.m.).

Fail

Remember how I was going to go running at 5:15 this morning? About that. Easier said than done when a 4 year old wakes you up to chat. Four times.

What's sad is how flipping freaked out I was the first time. When my daughter wears her hair down, she looks like the girl from The Ring if it's all in her face. It didn't help that she was hissing, "I need to potty," which sounds a hell of a lot like, "I need bodies," when you're dead asleep at 2 a.m.

So, I got her her bodies (or plopped her down on the toilet - can't remember which one because I was tired), put her to bed and went to sleep.

So she did what any rational person would do and woke me a half hour later to inform me that there were now tigers in her room. Darned tigers. They visit way too often. The tigers and the puppies in the wall seem to be our most frequent nocturnal visitors, at least in Evelyn's room. Rags has Death Gerbils. I like the tigers better. Less weird.

So I staggered back to her bedroom, demanded the tigers hie themselves off somewhere else and put her back to bed and staggered right back.  My husband was on my pillow so of course I had to roll him off. A few more grunts, a snort and all was peaceful again.

Another half hour goes by. At 3 a.m., she serenades me with, "Let It Go" from Frozen. After we watched the movie at least 6 or 7 times on the way to India and back and I was stupid enough to buy her the soundtrack, I kind of really absolutely loathe that song. Just a little. Mostly because it gets stuck in my head while I'm at work. Disney and Medicare don't exactly go together.  

3:30 a.m. and Evelyn shows up again, this time to ask how I'm doing. Which apparently startled my husband, who was lying close enough that when he jerked in surprise, he slammed his knee into my bottom, nearly sending me into the headboard. It's inappropriate to tell a four year old your ass hurts (in fact, it's inappropriate to say ass to a 4 year old one way or the other), so I didn't say that. I put her back to bed instead.

By the time my alarm went off at 5:15 a.m., I'm not sure I could've gotten out of bed even if the chick from The Ring, the tigers, puppies, Death Hamsters and Elsa had climbed in, too. So I reset it to 6 a.m. and slept in instead. Ta-dah!

Why I shouldn’t go running at 7 a.m.

I got up at 6:30 this morning and was out at the park on a two hour trail run (waddle?) by 7. My husband tells me I shouldn’t do that, because the energy I get from doing so results in conversations like this, which happened as we were eating dinner:

Me: Hmmm, taking a bite of fresh cherry makes this brie taste that much more stinky. Yet compelling. Like watching the Kardashians.

Husband: Wait, what?

Me: Yep. Hey, do you think if I worked out enough my ass would be as strong as a nutcracker? If that happens, you’d better be careful when I make candied pecans.

Husband: Are you saying that you’d have a buttcracker?

Me: Maybe. Hey. That reminds me, I need to do laundry.

Husband: Andi, how the hell did you get from cherries to Kardashians to buttcrackers to laundry all in under two minutes?

Me: I’m just that awesome.

Husband: Please never run in the morning again. 

Me: I wonder what will happen when I get up tomorrow at 5:15 to run?

Do-gooder

Believe it or not, sometimes I have my moments when I step outside of my own little life and think about other people not in my immediate family or circle of friends. No, really.

So, I've been thinking about ways I can be useful. It's hard to figure out where to start. People everywhere live shit lives, much of it part of a system of government that doesn't work for them, socio-economic challenges, cultural norms, scarcity of food and other issues. What I have trouble understanding, though, is that as Americans, we feel it's obvious that these issues prevent people (women, minorities, people of other religious backgrounds) from receiving things as simple and basic as food and shelter. But a lot of us look at those as problems that only affect other countries, like we've got it all taken care of at home. As though democracy and capitalism are great bastions of government and commerce that fix everything.

But what about here? There's only so much you can do by "pulling yourself up by your bootstraps" if no one gives a rat's ass that you've got three jobs but still struggle to feed your children or yourself. Or that a lot of people are one illness away from bankruptcy and that several generations of your family have lived in poverty, so that's just what you've come to expect of yourself and your kids.

You get used to living in the world and breathing side by side with other people and pretending that, well, if you have enough, surely everyone else does, too. And if they don't, they just aren't doing it right, aren't working hard enough. But how do you fix that?

I can give people money. I'm not rich, but I have a small amount to spare. I can give time, but what does that mean? I'm constantly running like a chicken with my head cut off to manage my own life and my kids', but it's not so bad I couldn't coordinate helping in a soup kitchen, local food pantry or even a health clinic. But that solves only an immediate need. In many situations, it doesn't even satisfy someone's needs for a full day.

So is legislation the answer? The client of our current government blows goats as far as doing really anything about anything. But legislation is what I know. It's what I do every day - disagree with what the government tells us to do in proposed law, try to get them to change it, then operationalize what our government finalizes. Is there an opportunity to help that way? It's definitely worth the research to find out.

Adventures in Testing

Yesterday was a full day. 8:30 blood work, wait.

10 a.m. gastroenterologist and surgeons, wait.

12 p.m. diabetes class, wait.

2 p.m., MRI, which took until about 4:30. Go home.

The diabetes class was certainly the most interesting. I had no idea that transplant patients so frequently developed diabetes after transplant, even if temporarily. The educators gave fantastic information and we got a chance to play with needles. And by "play," I mean get over my discomfort. One of the requirements was that we all give ourselves a shot in the abdomen to ensure all the caregivers and patients had a chance to practice on human skin. It was remarkably easy.

The class reminded me that all of this is actually happening. When the call comes, whenever it comes and if it comes, I will be completely responsible for my mom, up to and including potentially giving her injections. Honestly, I think the injections, should she need them, will be the easiest part.

The worst part of the day was seeing a young guy in our class who was all alone. I felt so bad for him. I'm not the patient, but I can't imagine going through half the shit my mom is by myself. Waiting by myself in a cold, empty room before I had surgery when I lost the baby was bad enough, but at least my husband got there in time to hold my hand before I was on the operating table, and my best friend was there to hold my kids' hands the night I didn't come home.

I hope he had a mom or a dad or a girlfriend or friend who will hold his hand. Everyone needs someone, but sometimes you don't know how much until the shit hits the fan.

True Stupidity?

My brain will never be whole again. My mom and sister are here for mom's latest round of medical testing and made me watch True Tori with them.

I often say things like, "I'm pretty sure X made me lose brain cells." I'm not just pretty sure this time. I'm damn sure, and there's nothing pretty about it. In fact, I wish I'd lost more brain cells because then I might be able to erase the memory of such an abomination.

Anyway, tomorrow will be interesting in a long, drawn out, wait-in-a-waiting-room kinda way. But, hey, it's the first time both mom and my sister have visited me at the same time in years and I only wish that they (my sister especially) could stay longer.

I wish I could just give over a portion of my liver so my mom didn't have to wait. I mean, if I had to choose an organ to give away, I'd rather give something that can grow back. I spoke about it with her surgeon, but a live donation carries a far higher risk of death. For the donor, not the recipient.

So, wait in the waiting room we shall. Hopefully there will be no True Tori.