50,024

Winner! 50,024 words completed at 10:04 pm! With two days to spare!

Enough said... I'm off to have some wine!

Diagnosis: Old and Fat

So yesterday I went to a rheumatologist . For those of you previously unconcerned with the minutiae of my life, I was diagnosed with Juvenile Rheumatoid Arthritis around age 2 or 3.... sometime following a routine vaccination. Upon reviewing boxes of my childhood medical records sometime last year, I discovered that my parents devoted significant time and resources to conversing with experts as to the likelihood that there was a correlation to the vaccine... but not enough was uncovered for them to justify an attempt at legal recourse.

Nutshell blah blah blah: specialists in Chicago, various drug treatments, a community pharmacist (and family friend) who took the time to crush my medication into individual doses so they could be stirred into my applesauce, a clinic that noted me as "the first child patient" on their roster, one hospitalization in second grade, a permanent excuse slip from gym class for the duration of elementary and junior high and high school, token appearance on a telethon, "remission" at age 18, joint fusion on my wrist at age 21.

Fast forward MANY years to a few months ago: significant pain in my left knee when I'm going up the stairs. Pain in my hips. Pain in my wrists and arms. I wonder if the rheumatism is coming back enough to warrant prescription medication again, so I set an appointment with a rheumatologist.

The good news: it's not the JRA flaring up. I don't need to go on medication.
The other news: The hip? Oh, that's BURSITIS. The joint pain? That's related to wear-and-tear arthritis... a.k.a. osteoarthritis... a.k.a. old person arthritis.

What?

Oh yes, the doc explained... your cartilage and joints were so damaged in your youth that now you're getting old person's arthritis... just a lot earlier.

I looked at the guy, Dr. Kee, who was actually very cool and personable and just a year younger than me and I said, "But I had those ten golden years in my 20s! You know, I was going to step class every single day, lifting weights... I could do almost 400 pounds on the quad lift, you know. Oh, those ten years ...."

And of course, Dr. Kee mentioned that "being overweight" can also make the joints worse. And losing just ten pounds would make a difference (three times. he said it three times). So basically, per the title of this blog entry.... diagnosis: OLD and FAT.

And you know, I can totally deal with that.

But you know when the cold reality set in? As the technician set me up to take MULTIPLE xrays of my hips, I inquired, "What about the lead apron?"

She continued at her work and replied, "That's mostly for young kids, when we're really more concerned about their growth and development."

Goodbye eggs, hello wheelchair.

On a positive note, I'll close by saying that I'm up for the challenge of getting back into healthier eating habits and regular exercise. If it means a future of holding and playing with and keeping up with my little girls—without wincing and limping and constantly stuffing my face with ibuprofen—I'm on board.

Just don't squeeze my knobby hand too hard with your congratulations. Ouch! Granny don't like that.

NaNoWriMo

I signed up to participate in National Novel Writing Month
….the objective being to write a 50,000 word novel in the month of November. Starting November 1, ending November 30, that's the dealio.

I started thinking about story ideas in September. In October, I ceased all reading for pleasure in order to clear my mind. I also decided on a storyline and jotted down a few plot points (allowable, according to the website). And I started writing on November 2. (Why the delay? Because at the end of the day on November 1, I was too cranky and pissed off and thought about canning the whole thing.)

I signed up because I love validation. I love achievement. And the thought of simply being listed as "an official winner" is a huge motivator for me. I am also blessed with the ability to write, as the website calls it, "a lot of crap".

But contrary to what the contest encourages, I didn't shout the news from the rooftops in order to win support and encouragement from everyone I know. I hid my light under a bushel in case it fizzled and went out….

But now that I'm 30,067 words into my story, I'll go ahead and admit that I'm doing it. See? I'm official. (does this really surprise you? coming from the same woman who didn't announce either of her pregnancies until she was 6 months along... just pretending to be a chubster?)

And if that isn't enough narcissistic drivel for you….

I committed myself to writing 1725 words a day, and sometimes the hardest part is figuring out which facet of the story I'm going to work on later that night.

Because the daily task of sitting down to write doesn't even happen until the end of the day—which really means after getting up at 7am, going to work, getting home around 6pm, taking care of the girls, getting the girls to bed, and then achieving a quiet and restful house by about 10pm.

My personal rule is that writing for the day ends at midnight – otherwise, technically I'm already writing into the next day. So getting those words in during the last two hours of the day has been a challenge. Throw in a few interruptions between midnight and 6am from one or both of the girls and that makes for a wild 24 hours.

And sometimes when I finally drop into bed, I spend a little time resenting my main characters. They're so NEEDY! Why do I have to do EVERYTHING for them?! It's like they're sitting around, waiting for me to channel for them, to put the words in their mouths and tell them what to think and do and how to interact with each other. Sheesh. Needy, I tell you. Get a life!

And then I look forward to getting up and doing it again tomorrow.

Oh well, I'll keep you posted.

And now this message

I will now do something this blog has never done before: plug another blog.

So if you will oblige me, please visit my coworker's blog: The Problem With Kevin.

Because he did an amazing recap of my latest adventures with the new iphone. And besides that, he has lovely little recurring columns called Monday Musings and Top Ten Fridays.

No, Kevin, I'm not making fun of you. Sometimes Monday Musings is the thing that gets me into work. It makes me happy.

The best part about Kevin's blog is that one time, not long ago, he got fed up with the backlash that comes from posting thoughtul yet provoking musings. And in sort of a retaliation mode, he decided to do mundane, ridiculous topics for a week... things like recipes and pretty pony pictures.

That was the week one of his guest blogs got linked to ESPN NBA frontpage, and all sorts of people started venturing to Kevin's personal blog to check out this sports expert Kevin. The same day he posted brilliant insights like: "Football - Weirdest shaped ball of all time." Tell me that isn't awesome and hilarious.

Cheers, Kevin. Everyone please go check him out.

I'm just pretending to be a teacher
aka... Here's what happens when you open your big mouth.



You may have noticed, I've been on a rant lately. First, it was the Disney characters that invaded our home (via the diapers… ta-da). Then, it was the costumes at Halloween. Is it because I'm evil and sadistic and I don't want my girls to have any fun? No, it's because I've been doing a lot of reading about marketing to kids.

But why, you ask? Don't you get enough of marketing and advertising at work?

To which I reply, Never! Don't you know me by now?!

After the Disney Incident, I went to our community ed group and said something that has been brewing on my mind for a while:

"Hey guys, how about a class that teaches kids about advertising… basic concepts like what's real and what's not…. And you know, someone in advertising—who's actually worked on campaigns directed at kids—could do it. Someone like me."

Of course, they loved the idea. So a few weeks later, I marched into our planning session with a tiered lesson outline geared towards three groups of kids: primary level, middle school and high school.

And about twenty minutes into our talk, it all changed: they loved the concept, but they thought it would work even better as a Parents' Academy session.

Crikes! You mean now I've got to talk to PARENTS? I've got to stand up in front of other adults, grown-up to grown-up, and come off like some kind of expert? That's a whole new ballgame, people. But sucker that I am, I accepted the challenge.

So now I'm developing a new outline. One that will give parents insider info on marketing strategies that target children, help them learn how to talk to their kids about the ads they see on TV and online, give them some insights as to why kids are the most coveted consumer group and how corporations are…. well, gee, you'll just have to attend my class now, won't you?

Stay tuned. The class is scheduled for April 2008.


PS: Ramona C: this one is for you. Do you remember?

Spooky


Nothing like a commercialized American holiday to make you realize what a truly dorky, old-fashioned, stifling parent you have become.

Tiny E was just two years, three days old when the evil holiday came around this year… so of course, I didn't plan on doing the whole trick-or-treat thing, let alone indulging in a costume. This is in keeping with my theory: avoid it as long as you can.

That morning, she had her two-year check up with the pediatrician, so I threw a couple of hats on us and proclaimed "Cowboys! Native American Indians! Something like that!" So far, so good.

We got to the ped's office, which actually appeared to be a convention of licensed characters… forgive me my ignorance, but there was something like Stretchy Girl (from the Incredibles movie), Thomas the Train (I TOTALLY know that one and we don't even have it at home) and um, well… a lot of other things that looked like licensed characters but I have no idea who they were. There was even a naughty nurse!!! (no, there wasn't. just checking to see if you're still with me here)

Apparently Dave and I are raising our children in a terrible void… each time we were approached by a different character (masquerading as a child's health care professional), we heard something like, "Oh! Does she like (insert licensed character's name here)?"

For cripe's sake, people, for the last time NO! And Mommy doesn't know what they hell you're talking about either, but please, please get away from us. The corporate empires are doing everything they can to win my kid's brand loyalty, and she can't even say REGISTERED TRADEMARK yet. Can someone just send in a nice little bunny to give my girl her flu shot??

Fast forward, eight hours.

A kind neighbor dropped by our house with two cuddly costumes – a ladybug and a bee. And I was powerless.

I dressed up my eldest kiddo and we paraded around the neighborhood, just like all the other parents and their little kiddlets. And you know what? We had a blast. I was gently reminded that this is the fun part about having kids: remembering how fun it was to do this stuff yourself, and then seeing it all again through their experience.

Next year: she'll probably figure out that the stuff they're putting in her pumpkin is candy… and it was meant for her, not mommy. Oh well.