Zombies Love Kids

It’s not that I’d say we have a zombie fetish around here lately…

Zombies say wut? Lol @aaronvest

Ok fine. We do. And shockingly it’s NOT my zombie-loving husband’s fault.

It’s mine.

I introduced the kids to Plants vs. Zombies on the iPhone, to take us away from Angry Birds every so often. Now it’s zombie-mania around here.

I’m not sure if this is good or bad. You see, I hate scary stuff. I mean, I HATE IT. While picking out decorations for our home for Halloween, I’m the Mom that goes for those really cute ghosts and ‘BOO’ signs. The kids? They are now asking for graves. Zombie arms sticking up from our lawn. Chainsaws.

This can’t be good.

Or maybe it’s awesome.

I’m confused.

Braaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaiiiiiiiiiiiiinnnnnnnnnnnsssssss

A Piece of Me

If you’ve hung out with me at all over the course of the past year or so, odds are you have something to remember me by.

My hair has been falling out steadily for a good 18 months or so. It’s on your laptop bag. It’s on your backpack. It’s on your sweater. If you’ve hugged me it’s probably on your shoulder.

today's hair loss. suck it lupus

Sorry about that.

Turns out this Lupus thing makes my hair thin. Who knew? It was always just a bit of a joke around here. I shed. I would shed and we would laugh.

ha ha look more hair!

But I’ve noticed something lately that isn’t as funny. I can see the spots on my scalp. Now, Aaron assures me I’m the only one who can see them, but I can see them.

Maybe it’s all in my mind. But I swear my part is very… party. Bigger. Whiter.

So now with the usual vitamins and meds, I’ve taken to hat buying. Because what’s a girl to do who’s scalp is monstrously thinning but buy cute hats? My Mom suggested I cut my hair, so I’m not brushing it as much … but I like that at least my hair coming out the back of a hat looks normal.

Maybe I’m over-reacting.

Maybe it’s really not as bad as I’m imagining and it’s just given me something to focus on. Maybe this very thin line of hair on my scalp is yet another very vain and silly bump in this summer filled with hospitals and I need to just get over it.

Or buy more hats.

Time

It's a good day when I can do this

The clock is my biggest enemy as of late. In a day where I usually have nothing to do but pick up or drop off children, you’d think the clock would be my friend. But no.

Either I’m too tired and need a few extra minutes before I get back in the car, or I’m too anxious and lonely and need the clock the move faster so my babies are home in my arms.

I stare, wondering if I can make the hands move so my husband can leave work. I pace in the kitchen waiting impatiently for the rest of the meal to cook, so we can all sit down together and talk about our days.

Not enough or too much – the clock taunts me all day long.

And then there are those stolen moments, that only last a second or two but feel like a lifetime. My son asks me to test his new invention or my daughter asks me to cuddle on the couch with her. We all melt into each other and inhale as if we have nowhere to go and nothing to do.

It passes and we exhale … the tv seems loud again and the dog runs and jumps to tackle us all .. but not before I lock another moment in my mind, cursing and thanking the clock ticking overhead.

Name It, Change It … and Me

*I’m not really the President of BlogHer … but I’m guessing you guys get the joke

Let He Who Is Without Sin

Paying close attention to the debate over American Muslims, mosques, and religion and ideology leading up to this September 11th, something has been bothering me.

It’s subtle really. One of those talking points we’ve heard endless times on cable news and blogs and in facebook debates with family and friends.

They are barbaric. They STONE their women. They are not peaceful.

They, of course, being Muslims.

I have yet to find anyone who isn’t appalled by the stoning of a woman. I have yet to find an American not shocked by the treatment of a gender in some parts of the world, Muslim nations included.

But I’ve realized what, about this debate, has been bugging me:

All these American men calling out the stoning of a woman as “barbaric” while so many American women still suffer domestic violence at home. All these men of a certain generation, and a certain region, and a certain culture- using the stoning as if they are suddenly aware that women are often beaten, raped, treated as less than equals.

I watched a family member post about this on facebook- condemning (and rightfully so) the stoning of women by extreme Muslims all the while I was thinking “but your Dad beat your Mom, your Dad beat you…yet you sit on your high horse about how this culture operates…”

I’m thankful the treatment of women globally has become a concern for some of these friends and family members…many of whom I know for a fact either suffered or saw domestic abuse in their own homes. However their sudden and vehement disgust at how extremists operate in other countries rings hollow for me, when they seem to turn a blind eye to what has happened in their own families over the years.

Was it not my grandmother’s generation that saw domestic abuse ignored and endorsed by police?

Nothing but a family matter here, sometimes these women have it coming.

Was it not my mother’s generation that bore the stigma of the “women who left” and the “women who stayed” – where I can’t tell you how many times my Dad or Mom had to enter a certain family member’s home to hide or try to take away guns and grab kids.

Not too many years ago I sat in a “hardshell” Christian church where as a woman, I needed to be separated from my husband and son.

“Well that was just a different time and those people have different ways”- was the excuse given.

The things we dismiss in our own families, in our own history, in our own culture while we call other barbarians and evil and anything but peaceful.

While Americans are in an uproar over extremists Islamic practice, we seem to fail to realize our culture can be just a brutal and our extremists just as barbaric. Or worse, hidden below the surface, where instead of a public stoning we have an Aunt who “bumped into a door” or a niece “not allowed” to wear a skirt above her shin.

While the rhetoric continues to fly, and more seem to have epiphanies about the treatment of women, I hope they also look in their own communities and remember we are not so different. We are not so much better. And we certainly are not innocent.

I encourage you to drop the holier-than-thou act, pretending this land far away is so foreign and strange and evil, while your own country and men so pure and good.

The only difference I see is these men don’t care what the world thinks and openly treat their women poorly, while you hide the cuts on your knuckles and fan away your own cultural and family history as “things were different then” or “that’s just not how that part of the family works.”

There is no excuse. Ever. Not in Iran. Not in Saudi Arabia. And certainly not here in the United States.

Sometimes A Picture Is Worth A Thousand Words

Spring, Summer 2010 – aka the Year of Doom. Every incision.

Count the incisions

Artwork by Aaron Vest

Charter Schools-Our Story

As the new school year gets underway, I find myself, once again explaining why we’re not at our neighborhood school.

You see, I made the decision to yank my kids from our awarding winning public school, and place them in a public charter.

<silence>

It’s ok. That’s the reaction I usually get. You see, my kids are bright. And active. And while my son was doing just fine academically at our neighborhood school, he was stressed. Conforming to the traditional setting did not suit him at all. In fact, it was sucking the creativity and the life right out of him. My bright, bright boy was struggling to keep his hands still and his mouth shut and his eyes and heart were glazing over.

I wouldn't battle them

When his then teacher suggested we use medication to stifle what little spunk was left, I was done.

Done.

Now mind you I’m not one of those mother’s who is blind to their child’s faults. We also sought the advice of pediatricians, school psychologists, and a therapist. Its been a long road for a kind-hearted boy who wasn’t a bad kid, but was quickly being labeled as one because he would roll his pencil in his fingers or had trouble sitting for more than 20 minutes at a time.

There he was, standing against the wall at recess because he hadn’t finished a work sheet…when what he needed more than anything was that 30 minutes to run free and climb and play.

So without knowing what I was going to do, but knowing this had to change, I pulled my son from his Kindergarten and sought an alternative. For all I knew that meant I would home school, or we’d sell body parts for a private school…I didn’t care.

As luck would have it, a spot opened up at the brand new charter in our valley. The first, in our valley. Project learning based. Hands on. Individualized learning. Something his then teacher said she couldn’t do for him, due to a lack of resources. And let me be clear… I do not fault her, or the old school at all. They did what they could do and they managed their classes as best they could with the resources they had. But it was a one size fits all solution…one I couldn’t accept for my son and now, my daughter.

I have the utmost respect for the teachers union. For educators. For the system that is being held together by strings and band-aids and for those who work so hard every day to keep it together and educate our kids. But that system does not work for every child. It’s leaving so many of our boys and girls behind in it’s wake, and I refuse to let my kids suffer while the system gets fixed.

I couldn’t wait another five years, or another round of elections, or another anything. My kids are in elementary school NOW and I have no time for this system to change.

I’m lucky, I found a solution in my own neighborhood. Others are not so lucky. But I would have homeschooled and worked full time if that was my only other choice. I would have gotten a second job to pay for that private school. There are no limits to what we’d do for our kids.

I was talking to my husband the other night about telling this story. About how our family ended up at a charter…and I hesitated. You see, even in our growing valley, traditional ‘values’ run deep and there is already the nay-sayers that are complaining about the ‘un’learning we do at our school. I didn’t want to stir that pot.

But, in the end, I wanted to share our story because it’s not just ours. You see, I’m seeing many families transfer over from those award winning schools. I’m hearing other stories of the struggle with hours upon hours of homework, killing and drilling, soul sucking teach to the test.

There are many.

And while our charter is NOT for everyone, it is the perfect fit for us- the quirky family with the writer mother and artist father and two amazing children who learn through play and encouragement and love.

I’m Erin, and I support charter schools. I also support public education. Those two things can- and sometimes do- go hand-in-hand.

The Lupus Wrangler

There is no cure for Lupus.

Imagine as I tried to explain that fact to my kids as I took my first round of medication to fight the disorder.

It keeps the Lupus quiet in my body.
You mean it puts it in a cage! Mom, put that Lupus in a cage and show it who is boss!

For @Technosailor :p

I’m a Lupus wrangler, according to my children…and I plan on living up to that image.

It’s hard some days. The disorder is currently being a jerk to my liver. Which means a step up in treatment and a lack of dirty martini’s for Mommy. Sigh. But that’s ok…because we’re fighting to keep Lupus in it’s cage.

Help us.