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Madeline
About
I'm Andrea, but most people call me Dre. Two words that describe me well are neurotic and moody. I'm married to Jeremy, and we've got two daughters: Alison (6) and Blythe (2). We live The Sweet Life on a small ranch in Northern California, where sleep is a luxury and poop reigns.
Wanna Chat? Jerdre53(at)aol(dot)comBossy
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Girl Talk Thursday - Chicken Shit
I've been thinking about participating in Girl Talk Thursday for awhile. The problem is, I usually don't think about it until Friday morning. Woops!
But the topic today is something I've been thinking about - being a chicken.
I'm a big fat chicken about a lot of things, but there's one thing in particular that I don't want to be chicken about.
That one thing is my writing.
I've started writing seven novels in the past twelve years. Been passionate about them to the point that I can't think of anything else, writing and outlining and developing characters at every spare moment.
Inevitably, I come to a point where I want some feedback. But I'm too chicken shit to show my writing to anyone. The blog doesn't count, of course, because it's fluid and ever changing, and people who come here to read aren't expecting works of pure genius.
My real writing, that's something I hope to have published some day. I want someone to purchase one of my books, spend their precious time reading it, and come away happy that they did so.
That's a whole lot of pressure.
I realize that what shows up on bookshelves isn't anyone's first draft - which is why I need feedback. I can't be objective when I'm neck deep in the process of developing a scene. But I've always been too chicken to show anything I've seriously written.
Until now.
Maura is taking a look at the first few chapters of a novel I'd decided to abandon. Something I haven't looked at in 9 months, but that I know has potential to be something worth reading. Something worth writing.
I'm still a chicken. But at least, for now, I feel capable of laying some eggs.
More Than a Salad
This morning, as I rushed to prepare Alison's school lunch, my eyes drifted toward the container of left over salad I was saving for my lunch. As soon as I saw the lid lying askew, exposing the now disgusting looking salad to the air of the fridge, I abandoned my task and stomped over to my unsuspecting husband.
He had apparently been curious about the container from Strings in the fridge last night. I'm sure he was incredibly disappointed to find salad where chicken parmesan should be. That was no excuse, however, for just dropping the cardboard circle haphazardly over the top of the container, rather than sealing it the way he found it.
He tried blaming the salad for looking unappetizing.
So, basically, had the salad looked good to him, he would have gone ahead and eaten it? But since he found it unappealing, he couldn't be bothered to preserve it for me?
Well, thanks.
Tears began to spill over my cheeks and I couldn't let it go. It was my salad. That I went to the trouble of bringing home. Maybe I like my salads to look unappetizing, it was still mine. Had he eaten it, that would be one thing, but now it was ruined and nobody was going to eat it.
He apologized, profusely - he hadn't meant to be careless, hadn't meant to ruin my lunch, hadn't meant to upset me.
Even as I accepted his apology, I felt stupid for making such a big deal about a wilty salad. On any given day, I probably would have been happy about the excuse to eat something delicious, rather than a left over salad that, truthfully, wasn't all that tasty the first time around.
I knew I was making a mountain out of something far more ridiculous than a molehill - an anthill, maybe. A very tiny anthill, made by miniature ants.
There are mountains all around me - other people's mountains, ones I want desperately to help them conquer, but I can't. And while those steep peaks looming in the distance help me to see my molehills for what they truly are, I find my eyes filling with tears and my face flushed with heat.
Life is so freaking unfair sometimes. And it's not the salad, forget the salad, it's the injustice of people's mountains. And looking at that pathetic salad, I'm reminded that there's nothing in the world I can do about that.
I can try to ease people's suffering, but how I would love to throw it away like an old, wilty salad.
Replace it with something tasty and warm, paired with a nice bottle of wine and some laughs.
What I wouldn't give to have that power.
The Good, The Bad and The Ugly
I mentioned before that Jeremy and I created a charitable organization to help connect the ranchers of our community with hungry families. In our minds, it created a win-win situation for everyone involved.
Unfortunately, things have come to a screeching halt because the issue of liability was brought up by a reporter interested in doing an article in our local paper. Rather than highlight the good we were doing, she wanted to focus on the bad: who people could sue.
Thanks for the support, local paper!
Our organization has helped hundreds of otherwise hungry families eat nutritious food, donated by ranchers who asked for nothing in return - not even a tax write-off.
Professionals are involved in every step of the process, to make sure only quality ground beef goes home to those families. And yet, when a reporter starts asking those professionals about liability, people get spooked. And families go hungry while people like me scramble to do some damage control.
It was suggested by the reporter that instead of asking local ranchers to donate meat, we'd do better to ask supermarkets, thereby putting the issue of liability on "Corporate America".
Well, listen here. That is not the point.
The point is that we are a community, taking care of our own.
Supermarkets cannot donate hundreds of pounds of beef in one go. They are working for a profit. Ranchers, though? They can donate a quarter of a steer and not blink an eye.
Your average steer weighs about 1500 pounds. Subtract about 30% of that for bone and, um... the stuff that goes into "hot dogs" and you've got 1050 pounds. A quarter of that is 262.5 pounds of ground beef.
Do you know how many mouths that feeds?
And yet. Our meat packer - the only one in our area that is state inspected, is spooked. They won't package any more "charity meat" until we can take the liability off of their hands.
Our insurance agents can't get a liability policy for us, because the meat isn't ours. They say the liability lies with the packers.
The USDA requirements for donated meat have been met - and yet, people are going hungry.
I don't know what to do. I have no idea how to keep things going at this point, and I don't have any money to give to a corporate attorney. I hope, with a little bit of research, I can solve this problem and be able to move forward. I've already discovered that Idaho has dealt with this issue already.
Has California? If not, how can I get them to?
A part of me wishes that the people who have used our court system to become millionaires over cups of spilled coffee could see what they've done to the spirit of giving - they should be ashamed at the ugliness they have created.
Strength
Watching footage of people being pulled from rubble from the comfort of our living rooms can make us feel powerless, especially in our current economy, when many people can't donate much to relief funds.
But there is something most people can do, and it doesn't cost a dime.
Give Blood.
Give it now, in the midst of major catastrophe, and give it later, when time has brought about complacency. Give it for the heroes, for the needy, for the woman behind you on line at Starbucks.
I am that woman.
This is my family in crisis. My family that would be incomplete, were it not for blood donors.
Here you see a phenomenally strong and able-bodied man, gently cradling his newborn daughter and holding his wife's hand as medical professionals try to force her uterus to stop bleeding. He is the epitome of strength, and yet he is powerless to save the woman he loves.
My husband, one of the strongest people I have ever known, held my hand. He helped me through the pain, he kept me from fading away.
But it was blood donors (with the help of a fabulous midwife and countless doctors, nurses, and EMTs) who saved my life. I hemorrhaged severely three times after giving birth to Blythe. During the second and third hemorrhages, which occurred in less than 24 hours, I lost seven pints of blood.
My body only holds approximately eight pints of blood.
I am alive today because eight random strangers took the time to give their blood and plasma.
Giving blood saves lives. It saves lives in times of worldwide tragedy, and it saves lives every single day, for people whose stories will never make it onto the 5 o'clock news.
So, give. Give now and give often. Go to www.redcrossblood.org, or www.BloodSource.org to find out where, how, and, if I haven't yet convinced you, why.
You never know when you will be the one in need.
*you can't see it very well in this photo, but jeremy just so happens to be wearing his "Don't Be Chicken: Give Blood!" t-shirt (from bloodsource) in this photo. coincidence? i don't think so.*
The One Where Ross is Too Whiney... for JANICE
I smile more. I laugh more. I love more.
That being said, now that my brain isn't so fuzzy, I've been looking back at myself over the past few months and I hate to admit, I feel a little bit like Ross. And not just because Ross is my least favorite Friend.
Have you seen the Friends episode where Ross is going through a tough time after losing his job on account of his RAGE, and then he starts dating JANICE?
And then, at the end, JANICE breaks it off because Ross is too whiney and annoying... for JANICE.
Here's a transcript of the scene:
-------
Janice: You're a very sweet person Ross. Um, unfortunately I don't think I can take another second of you whining!
Ross: Let me make sure I'm hearing this right. You... you're ending this with me because I'm too whiney? So you're saying I've become so whiney that I annoy you--Janice.
Janice: Well, yeah.
Ross: OH... MY... GOD!
Janice: Well, I guess that's two out of three... Joey. Hahahahahahahaha.
--------Up there is a clip of the last half of the episode. If you can't see it, go here.
And can I just say, if my brain is clear enough to figure out how to embed a freaking video? People, I am back. Although, I don't know how to make it show you just the clip I want. Cut me some slack.
Anyway, my point?
I've been self-centered. I've been whiney. I've been a huge Debbie Downer. And maybe not everyone who reads here or follows me on twitter noticed, but I'm pretty sure the people I whined to noticed.
*coughMeghancoughKimcoughMauracoughKellycough*
So I'm here to say, I'm sorry. I'm sorry for not being the friend I'd like to be. I'm sorry for being whiney and annoying enough to make JANICE break up with me.
Forgive me?
I promise that if you do, the next time I have the opportunity, the first round's on me.
*wink*
oh, and? the fact that spellcheck wants me to change whiney to whitey makes me laugh. hard.
Decisions, Decisions: Choosing a Preschool for my Special Needs Child
With Alison, I started looking for preschools right around her first birthday (anal retentive, much?) and I toured dozens before I found the right one for her to attend at age three. I assumed Blythe would attend the same school, and even began working there a few months ago, in an attempt to get the staff ready for dealing with Blythe's food allergies.
But then, I stopped being in denial about the fact that Blythe has Special Needs. The truth of the matter is, most preschools - even amazing, incredible ones - aren't prepared to handle kids with Special Needs, and when those needs are life threatening, as in Blythe's case, there just isn't room for error.
With Alison, I did all the researching, touring, and deciding without her input. With Blythe's Sensory Processing Disorder, I knew she would have to be involved in the search. I don't see, hear, or smell things the way she does, so I am pretty much unqualified to choose a preschool for her on my own.
Today, Blythe and I spent an hour auditing a small, in-home preschool run by a sweet German lady, whom I'll call Frau. The school isn't specifically for Special Needs kids, but Frau has a lot of experience with Autism and food allergies, so she will have no problem accommodating Blythe.
Random bonus? Jeremy and I have been teaching the kids German and Spanish (what little our addled brains can recall, that is) since they were in the womb, so Blythe may end up being bilingual, after all.
I've made a list of "Pro's and Con's" to file away and compare to other preschools when the time comes to make a decision, but so far, the list of "Pro's" is a mile long. At the top, in big block letters, is the fact that Blythe was instantly comfortable in the environment.
I also really like the way Frau has coordinated the curriculum. They study one subject per week (math, science, reading, social studies) so that even kids who only attend one day a week - as Blythe would, to start out - get a well rounded learning experience.
Another huge "Pro" is that while Frau's preschool is structured, she also allows for individuality. Case in point: one of the kids today was having a hard time concentrating on the task at hand, and so she gave him the option of either participating or playing elsewhere, quietly.
And because of that, none of the other kids got distracted and the child in question didn't have a melt-down. Blythe needs that kind of environment - at least at this stage, and definitely at this age.
And? It's clean, organized, and child friendly. Frau's kids are all grown and one of her grandkids (who calls her Oma, cue flashback to my childhood in Germany!) attends the preschool. Frau looks like a Grandma, which I think is one of the reasons Blythe was so immediately comfortable with her.
I'm excited about Blythe's prospects. I'm excited about our meeting with Frau and her assistant, about focusing on the next step in Blythe's development, about continuing to tour schools that have been recommended by the parents of other Special Needs kids. I'm excited about it all.
My baby is growing up! And for now, that thought doesn't terrify me one bit.
Withdrawal from Lexapro: Part 1
Disclaimer: This post is long. Mainly because I was a wimp and didn't post the first part last week, as I should have. So, two posts in one = long ass post.
Nine months ago, I was suffering from depression and anxiety so severe, I felt as though I was struggling to live my life from the bottom of a deep hole.
Fortunately, I have a wonderful doctor who gently suggested that I try some medication, coupled with therapy. Just for a little while, just to make it so that I could put one foot in front of the other without feeling completely overwhelmed.
The plan, initially, was for me to start with 10mg of Lexapro and re-evaluate my situation in nine months. I have no doubt that Lexapro saved me from myself. Because of it, I was able to function, to interact with people, to care for my kids in a manner that was acceptable to me.
However... for the past few months, the side effects from the Lexapro have been outweighing the benefits. I feel myself walking through a constant fog of apathy accentuated with days of extreme sadness. Every single aspect of my life feels overwhelming, and yet I have no energy or desire to tackle even the smallest item on my to-do list. No matter what I eat, or how little I eat, I gain an average of 2-3 pounds per week. Even worse, my body fat percentage jumped six percent in four weeks.
I complain, constantly, and can't see the sunshine in my life, even as it blinds me.
Four weeks ago, I decided that I need to either up my dosage of Lexapro, or kick it to the curb.
Me? I choose to reclaim my life, and quit the meds with a plan in place, a safety net, and my therapist on speed-dial.
---------
I wrote that last week. I never published it, because I wasn't sure I would go through with it. I had little confidence in my ability to swallow that last pill and walk away.
But today? Today is day four without my meds. Today I feel amazing. Today I feel as though the fog is lifting and I can see my surroundings for the first time in a very, very long time.
And, bonus - my body fat has already dropped 2% with no exercise what-so-ever. Unless wearing my Sketchers Shape-Ups while sitting on the couch reading People Magazine counts as exercise. Doubtful.
I have experienced some negative side-effects from Lexapro Withdrawal so far. The worst, for me, is the vertigo and the muscle cramps. I have also experienced some brain zaps, a racing heart, and short bouts of rage and crying. But I know they are temporary. And thanks to an amazing therapist and an incredible book, I know how to fight them and an even mor
My saving grace has been the book Depression Free, Naturally, written by Joan Mathews Larson, PH.D. who works in conjunction with the Health Recovery Center. My friend Kelly, who is familiar with my struggles, recommended I read this book.
By the way, Kelly - I owe you, big time. This book helped me to create a plan for myself, not only for the days and weeks following my last dosage of Lexapro, but for keeping myself mentally and hormonally healthy for the rest of my life.
Currently, to combat the horrid side effects of Lexapro Withdrawal, I am taking the following supplements:
Breakfast:
3 - Amino Acid Combos
1 - B Vitamin Complex
1 - Omega 3
1 - Magnesium
1 - Chewable Vit. C
Lunch:
1 - B Vitamin Complex
3 - Amino Acid Combos
1 - Iron
1 - Zinc
After Dinner:
3 - Amino Acid Combos
1 - B Vitamin Complex
1 - Chewable Vit. C
2 - Tryptophan
And, when I need it for anxiety, I'm taking Hyland's Nerve Tonic.
I know that seems like a lot, and it is! But without these, my symptoms would be much, much worse. Based on my research, the symptoms of Lexapro Withdrawal can be so severe that normally sane people contemplate suicide, hear voices, and go without sleep for weeks at a time. I didn't want that to be me.
In fact, the first night I took the Tryptophan, I had a good night of sleep for the first time in nearly ten years. It is my new best friend.
The next few weeks will be rough, I know that. But I am so excited about the future. I am incredibly happy to start getting to know my true self again, and to introduce her to all of you.
Thank you for supporting me as I navigate the journey that is my life - it means so very much to me.
We Have a Winner!
What I did find:
1. Dirty T-Shirt
2. Almost empty container of Planter's Dry Roasted Peanuts
4. Used Flosser
5. Popsicle Stick
6. Crusty Paper Plate
7. Paper Towel with a Big Spot on it
9. Granola Bar Wrapper
10. Jar of Peanut Butter
11. 2 Dirty Socks - That Don't Match
Debbie correctly guessed that neither #2 - a half eaten cookie or #8 - a bowl with gooey ice cream at the bottom, were found under my bed. She wins the $25 gift card to In-n-Out Burger, or something equally delicious if she'd prefer, since Memphis doesn't seem to have an In-n-Out Burger.
In which case, stay tuned: the gift card may resurface the next time I clean the space under my bed.
Unless I get a hankering for a burger between now and then.
Pick What Doesn't Belong, Win FREE FOOD!
Your task: read the following list and pick which TWO items I DIDN'T find under my bed, and I'll send you a $25 gift card to In-N-Out Burger!
Unless, of course, you're Meghan, or you just don't have one near you, in which case I'll send you a gift card for something else that happens to be delicious, based on your preference. And on what gift cards I happen to have in my junk drawer at the time.
1. Dirty T-Shirt
2. Almost empty container of Planter's Dry Roasted Peanuts
3. Half Eaten Cookie
4. Used Flosser
5. Popsicle Stick
6. Crusty Paper Plate
7. Paper Towel with a Big Spot on it
8. Bowl with Gooey Ice Cream at the Bottom
9. Granola Bar Wrapper
10. Jar of Peanut Butter
11. 2 Dirty Socks - That Don't Match
You have until.... hmmm... Tuesday 1/19/10 at 5:00 pm Pacific to enter your guess (2 guesses, maximum, unless nobody actually enters and then my five readers can guess as much as they want), at which time I'll post a photo of what I actually found.
Good Luck! And tell your friends!
You Don't Have to Kiss Me
Mainly because I'm lazy, and have a terrible short term memory.
You're supposed to give me some love and make me feel wonderful about myself, but you don't have to kiss me, buy me dinner or sleep with me later. Aren't you lucky?
In honor of Delurker Day, I'll tell you an odd detail about myself...
I used to believe I was a cat in a former life. I had a list of reasons why, and everything.
So, if you've been lurking around here, or even if you've just found my site, show yourself!
